In the Woods of Memory

by Shun Medoruma

  —I’ll help, too! I’ll clean up!

  With Mina’s hefty arm around my shoulder, we shuffled over to the sink in the hallway. As instructed, I washed my hands and face, and then rinsed out my mouth. I could feel the stares of not only my own class but of the neighboring class, too. I wanted to use the soap, but I just rinsed off and turned off the tap. When Mina held out her handkerchief, I hung my head.

  —What’s wrong? It’s okay. You can use it.

  When I still wouldn’t take it, she said:

  —Here, let me do that for you.

  She wiped my face, and then my neck, too. When she finished, I stood there passively until she draped her arm over my shoulder.

  —Let’s go, she said.

  As we headed to the nurse’s room, I could feel students from every classroom staring at me. Halfway down the stairs, Mina pulled me tightly to her side and whispered in my ear:

  —You tell anyone what happened, and we’ll never forgive you. You got that?

  —I won’t say anything, I answered in a shaky voice.

  When we arrived at the nurse’s room, I gave the same explanation that had been given to my social studies teacher.

  —Is that so? asked the nurse.

  I nodded, then turned to Mina and thanked her.

  —Well, she said consolingly, have a nice rest.

  With my eyes turned down, I nodded. Mina returned to the classroom, and the nurse handed me a spare PE shirt and told me to change out of my uniform. After I said thanks and changed, she asked me to take my temperature. I sat down on the bed and put the thermometer under my arm.

  —How do you feel? Do you still feel nauseous?

  —No, I’m okay.

  —Has this happened before?

  —No.

  —Do you have any allergies?

  —No, uh, nothing at all.

  —Today’s lunch was cream stew, right? Did you feel strange after eating?

  —No, not at all.

  —Did you have breakfast?

  —No, uh, I didn’t.

  —Do you ever have breakfast?

  —No, not usually.

  —I see....

  The thermometer beeped, so I took it out and handed it to her. She looked at the display and said I didn’t have a fever. Then she stared straight at me.

  —Did something happen in class?

  —No, nothing at all.

  —That’s the truth?

  —Uh, yes....

  —You’ve nothing to worry about. I’ll keep any secrets, and protect you no matter what.

  —Really, nothing happened.

  —If you’re telling the truth, that’s fine. But I hope you’ll let me know if anything’s wrong.

  —Okay. Thank you.

  —Okay. So why don’t you lie down and rest for a while?

  The nurse sounded nice, but I couldn’t trust her. If I told her what had happened, she’d certainly tell my teacher. And then my teacher would talk to the class, and I’d end up being accused of squealing. After that, I’d be bullied even more mercilessly.

  I pulled the divider curtain closed, climbed into the bed, and pulled the thin blanket up to my chin. The air conditioner kept the room cool, but the thought of returning to class caused me to break out in an unpleasant sweat. The volleyball team girls who’d cleaned up my vomit were certain to harass me later. The smell undoubtedly lingered for the rest of the day. I knew that everyone’s annoyance would be taken out on me later, and that made me feel more nervous. Why couldn’t I control myself? If I had to throw up, I should’ve gone out to the sink in the hallway. As I started to blame myself, I recalled the gooey sensation in my mouth and pictured Mina and the other girls letting their saliva drip into the can. As my stomach started to churn, I fought back the nausea welling up into my throat again. Realizing I should try to think of something else, I remembered the lady who had given the speech in the auditorium.

  Toward the end of her speech, the lady looked upset that students weren’t listening anymore. She fell silent and seemed to be struggling to find the right words. After what seemed like an eternity, she began:

  —It happened when we were searching for shellfish. The ocean was dazzlingly bright under the afternoon sun....

  Saying this, she squinted as if she actually were staring into the sun. Then she continued:

  —There were five of us: me, three of my classmates, and a slightly older girl. We were searching for shellfish when four American soldiers came swimming across from the port on the opposite bank.

  The lady’s expression grew stiff, and her eyes began to wander. I looked down to avoid her gaze, but then I remembered what Mina had told me, and lifted my head. That was when our eyes met. Once they did, I couldn’t turn away from her forceful gaze.

  —The American soldiers... and this might shock you, but I’m telling you because I want you to know what happens during war.... Well, those soldiers raped that older girl.... And they destroyed her body and soul.... What made her even worse, though, was that her father beat her pretty badly. You see, he thought those Americans made her pregnant, and even though the girl was the victim, he told her that she was better off dead than giving birth to an American. After that, she did in fact try to kill herself... many times.... But she never succeeded.... In the end, she gave birth to a boy, but she could only be with her baby for about a month, because her father put him up for adoption.... Uh, that means someone else takes the baby and raises it as their own.... So anyway, her baby was taken away. And after that, she was even crazier, partly because she could never see her child again.... Her family couldn’t bear having the other villagers always talking about them, so eventually they had to leave the island. After that, the girl lived quietly in her home in the south. There are fewer US bases there, compared to the north and central parts of Okinawa, so she was less likely to see American soldiers... . But before Okinawa reverted to Japan, there were a lot more Americans than now, so she couldn’t risk leaving the house.... For more than ten years, she never went outside. . . . Even with her father still yelling at her every day, she gradually improved and became more mentally stable.... At that time, the family next door ran a dressmaking shop. They were really nice people, and they showed the girl how to operate a sewing machine. She was very skillful with her hands and could concentrate on her work for hours, so she improved very quickly.. .. When she started earning an income through her sewing, her father stopped yelling at her as much. She spent her thirties and forties like that, working all day at the shop next door and then walking home. She never even thought of going anywhere else. Even so, I’m sure those were the happiest days of her life....

  The lady paused and looked off into the distance. Then she cleared her throat and continued:

  —But then things started to change. About ten years after Okinawa returned to Japan, big stores started springing up, and the amount of dressmaking work drastically decreased. The shop next door managed to scrape by for a while, by doing alterations on school uniforms for the local junior and senior high school students. But when the owners got older, they said the work was too demanding and closed the shop. .. . The girl became confined to the house again. By then, her father was dead, and her brothers had moved out, so she lived alone with her aging mother. They lived simply, relying on her mother’s pension and some assistance from her brothers.... But one day, she suddenly went crazy again. She’d scream and yell, hide in the bathroom or closet and not come out for hours, or suddenly dash out of the house and run around. Up until then, she’d never gone anywhere except to the shop next door. Now she’d sneak out late at night and then be discovered sitting covered in mud in a park over ten kilometers away. . . . Her mother was nearly eighty years old, and even though she was healthy, she was completely incapable of looking after her daughter. Even so, she insisted on taking care of her. However, the brothers decided to put their sister in a hospital anyway, against their mother’s wishes.... She’s been living there for over ten years now. Her m
other died recently, but she doesn’t know it. Of course, she’s much older now. Since she’s on medication, she doesn’t get violent like she used to, but she doesn’t have anyone to talk to, and it’s not clear whether she even recognizes her brothers. She spends her days drawing pictures by herself, or going outside when the weather’s fine and staring at the ocean.... You know, sometimes I wonder, if war hadn’t come to Okinawa, she wouldn’t have been raped by those soldiers, and she would’ve led a completely different life.... In war, you see, it’s not just that many lives are lost. The lives of the survivors are often ruined, too. For that girl and her family, the war still isn’t over.... I’m sorry I’m such a poor speaker, but thank you for listening to the end. I hope we never have go to war again, and that none of you has to suffer such agony. I sincerely wish that all of you can be happy. And I want you to know that’s how I feel.

  After the lady had finished, she bowed, and the audience applauded. Then she smiled awkwardly and stepped down from the platform.

  I hugged myself under my blanket and pictured that teenage girl, cringing inside a dark closet. As she waited in terror for the Americans to break down her door and drag her away, she covered her ears and curled herself into a ball—in a pathetic attempt to disappear. Just like me! I thought. Always scared, never able to relax. And just like her, I’ll go crazy and end up spending the rest of my days inside the house. Tears streamed down my cheeks. You’re being overly optimistic! Do you actually think you’ll make it to adulthood? Junior high lasts a long time, you know! Instead of worrying about the future, you’d better worry about the present! The voices inside my head chilled my body, and the last remnants of warmth fell away with my tears. If only I’d get colder and colder, and freeze to death.

  With my finger, I traced the scars on my wrist. Even though I’d cut deeply enough to cause some bleeding, I didn’t have the courage to slash the veins. Does that older girl living in a hospital and staring at the sea enjoy her life? When her baby was taken away, and she was locked up in her house, sitting in front of a sewing machine every day, was that fun? Wasn’t life unbearable? I bet she wanted to die, but just couldn’t manage to kill herself. But I wanted to ask the lady who gave the talk to make sure. Why is it necessary to endure so much pain? I pictured the lady’s troubled expression. And then I heard everyone laughing. If you don’t want to live, kill yourself. Nobody will care. And nobody will cry. But we’ll put flowers on your grave. How about some white chrysanthemums? And a can of orange juice containing our friendship! Everyone started laughing and jeering. I covered my ears and struggled, struggled, struggled to shut out the voices.

  The chime for the end of the period sounded. A few minutes later, my homeroom teacher came to check on me. After drawing open the curtain, she called my name and tapped me lightly on the shoulder. I pulled down the blanket and feigned a smile.

  —You got sick in class, huh? How are you feeling now?

  I nodded and answered in my cheeriest voice:

  —I’m okay! Don’t worry!

  I was used to fooling teachers. Most of them hated trouble and were more than happy to go along, so it wasn’t all that difficult.

  —Do you think you can attend the next class?

  Instead of answering her, I directed a question to the school nurse, standing behind her:

  —Excuse me, but would you mind if I rested a little longer?

  —Sure, said my homeroom teacher with a nod.

  —Yes, I think that would be best, too, said the nurse.

  —Well, I’ll notify your teacher for next period, said my homeroom teacher. I have class, too, so I guess I’d better get going.

  As she started to walk away, I called her. For a split second, a look of annoyance crossed her face, but she quickly managed to hide it.

  —Yes? she asked, feigning concern.

  —Could you tell Mina that I said thanks? I said. Thanks for bringing me here.

  —Sure, of course, she said with a nod and a smile.

  Then she closed the curtain and left. Before long, several other students arrived, and the nurse became too busy to worry about me. I spent another hour in bed. By then, the final period and homeroom were over, but my teacher hadn’t shown up again. I got out of bed and opened the curtain. The nurse, who was writing at the desk, turned toward me.

  —How are you feeling? she asked.

  —Oh, I’m fine now, I replied.

  —Have a seat, she said, waving me over.

  She put her hand on my forehead and nodded. Then she took my hand in hers and said:

  —I won’t tell anyone, so tell me the truth. You’re being bullied, aren’t you?

  —No, I’m not! I said, breaking free. My classmates are very nice!

  I stood up and flashed my biggest smile.

  —Can I go home now? I have cram school.

  For what seemed like a full minute, she stared directly in my face and looked me up and down.

  —Okay, I believe you, she finally said, but if anything’s going on, please let me know.

  She handed me the paper bag on her desk. I opened it and saw that my uniform had been folded neatly.

  —Take this, too.

  She handed me a slip of paper with an e-mail address written on it.

  —Please contact me if anything’s wrong.

  —Thank you, I said with a bow.

  I left the nurse’s room and headed back to my classroom. On the second floor, I edged my way along the wall and strained my ears near the door. Satisfied that no one was there, I entered. Before heading to my desk, I tore up the slip of paper from the nurse and tossed the pieces in the trash. As I was putting my books into my bag, a sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and took a look. At the top was written, “How would you feel if Puke Girl died?” Underneath were two columns, one labeled “happy” and one labeled “sad.” Not a single tick mark was under “sad,” but a couple dozen were under “happy.” I crumpled up the paper and went to throw it away, but realizing that that might lead to trouble, I shoved it into my bag and rushed from the room.

  I made a detour to avoid the playground and gym, and then exited by the rear gate. I was afraid someone might be there, but luckily, no one was. On my way home, I tried to stay near crowds as much as possible, even though that made the trip longer. I passed through the shopping district and then walked along the prefectural highway. It was a little over a kilometer to my house. When I’d made it halfway without meeting any of my classmates, I prayed that my good luck would continue for the second half. About two hundred meters from my house, I reached a cream-colored apartment building.

  The eight-story building had been built about ten years ago. It was the tallest building in the area, and one of my classmates lived there. I looked up and saw a young woman looking down at me from the eighth-floor landing of the outside stairway. I passed through the nearly empty parking lot. Sensing the woman’s stare, I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked at the ground. The stain on the asphalt still remained, even though the custodian had scrubbed the spot for a long time. Three months earlier, a woman in her mid-twenties had jumped from the landing on the eighth floor. A passerby had witnessed her climbing over the handrail. I saw the passerby making the statement on TV and also read about the incident in the newspaper. The media agreed with the police that it was suicide. The bloodstain was now so faded that if you didn’t know about the incident, you’d assume it was dirt. As I stared at the spot, I heard someone call my name. I looked up and saw the young woman leaning over the railing, still staring down at me. I have to stop her! I thought, and dashed up the steps.

  I kept running until the fifth floor, but then I got worn out and had to walk. Finally, I made it to the eighth-floor landing. But nobody was there. From the railing, I could see the ocean beyond the rows of houses. Since it was slightly cloudy, the ocean looked more gray than blue. There wasn’t any circulation in the stairwell, so I had worked up a sweat. But on the landing, I could feel a pleasant
breeze. Danger! Stay Away! read a sign on the railing written in red letters. Beneath it was a bouquet of withering white chrysanthemums wrapped in a dirty plastic sheet. It looked like it had just blown there by mistake. I gingerly placed my hands on the railing and looked over. The railing came up to my chest, but if I jumped as high as I could, I could probably pull myself up. The thought made my feet tingle and goose bumps stand up on my skin. The sweat under my arms and on my back made me shiver. On the asphalt below, I could see a young woman contorted into a strange shape. After a few seconds, the shape turned into a black shadow, which then faded into the asphalt and disappeared.

  —Hey! What’re you doing there?

  I turned around in surprise and saw a short man of about forty standing there with a phony smile.

  —It’s dangerous there, so come over here to me.

  He beckoned to me, but his eyes weren’t smiling. The railing knocked against my back, preventing my escape. Looking flustered, the man held out his right hand and moved closer.

  —It’s okay. Look! You got nothing to worry about.

  My body went stiff, and I couldn’t move. Stay away from me! I thought, but I couldn’t speak. Slowly, the man closed in on me. When he was about a meter away, he threw open his arms as if to hug me. I instinctively jumped to the side and pushed him away. He staggered back two or three steps and then fell on his backside. I slipped past him and ran down the steps.

  —What the hell are you doing, you idiot! I was trying to help you!

  His howl of protest was hurled at my back. I thought I heard footsteps behind me, so I raced down the steps without stopping. When I reached the landing and turned around, I was relieved that there was no sign of him. As I was catching my breath, a lump of concrete smashed into the ground right in front of me and shattered into pieces. I looked up and saw the man with another lump of concrete held over his head. Shouting incoherently, he hurled it at me. I jumped out of the way, and the concrete shattered on the ground right next to me. A fragment struck me in the ankle. As I raced toward the exit of the parking lot, other chunks of concrete came hurling toward me. All of them missed, but with each piece that struck the asphalt, I could feel another hole opening in my heart.