Louise turned to one of the men who’d helped get Kozlowski up to the operating table. “Sergeant Fisk, are you ready?”
“Yes, miss.”
Fisk had been one of the ones struck with dengue but had recovered from that. How about his other wounds? He’d been at Cavite Navy Yard when the Japanese bombed it three days after Pearl Harbor and hospitalized ever since. Louise lifted his shirt to check the burn on his back. The burns were mostly healed, but she wished she didn’t have to send him into the bush.
“Miss Maria Elena has a bag packed for you. You need to keep taking your quinine, and I want that ointment rubbed on your back twice a day. Keep the wound clean, you hear?”
“Yes, Miss Louise.”
“I mean it. You shouldn’t be sent out there. None of you should. Fárez, make sure he gets his ointment.”
Fárez nodded. “Sure thing.”
“And that goes for you, too,” she told him. “You’d better keep changing that dressing on your left buttock, or it won’t heal properly.”
“Yeah, Fárez,” one of the other men said. “You don’t wanna keep limping around like Stumpy when his balls were all swelled up.”
Some of the men snickered, and Fárez blushed. “Ah, shut up. Come on, Fisk, let’s get out of here. Thank you, Miss Louise,” he said as he passed her.
Louise joined Dr. Claypool and the patient. There was no room for privacy in the little hospital, and soon the lieutenant was naked on the operating table except for a pair of undershorts, and these Louise pulled down so she could get at the wound. Kozlowski stared at the ceiling.
She used a wet cloth to scrub away the sweat and grime before she did her own washing up. Maria Elena and Frankie brought fresh water and soap and carried away dirty bandages, then set off to get blood to use during the surgery. Kozlowski’s dog tags said he had AB blood, which only one of the patients had, and that man was in no shape to donate. They looked around for type O instead, which could be given to anyone. There were a few men with the right type, but their medical conditions also precluded donation. It turned out that Maria Elena herself was the only one with type O who could give.
Louise gave Kozlowski morphine and doused the wound with iodine. Dr. Claypool watched her work.
“What treatment has he had so far?” Claypool asked. His voice quavered, and he looked almost as gray as the patient.
“None,” Louise said. “I bandaged it to cut down on bleeding, that’s all. How are you doing, Lieutenant?” she asked the patient as Claypool looked over his instrument tray and called for someone to bring him another lamp.
“Getting sleepy,” Kozlowski said. “Sure helps with the pain, though. I’m going to be knocked out cold, right?”
Louise glanced at the doctor, who shook his head. “No, Lieutenant. We’re not putting you all the way down. In your condition, it’s safer if you’re conscious. You might feel some pulling and tugging. Might even sting a little. But it shouldn’t be bad.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can. You’re strong and healthy.”
“Not feeling so healthy at the moment.”
Louise patted his arm. “You’ll do fine. Stay positive.”
“We’re wasting time,” Frankie said, coming over with the blood. “Those Japs will be up, and then we’ll be in trouble.”
“Easy,” Louise said. “We can’t rush this.”
The morphine was still taking effect, and the whole thing would go much better if Kozlowski wasn’t squirming in pain. She set up the IV to give him his blood.
Claypool felt along the man’s back. “No exit wound. The bullet is still in there. I can’t tell if that’s lucky or not. With its trajectory, it might have otherwise come out through the spine. He’d be dead or paralyzed. On the other hand, if it’s against the hepatic artery, we might very well finish the job if we fish it out. He’ll bleed to death.” He eyed the bag of Maria Elena’s blood. “For that matter, we’d better not waste what we have.”
He held out his hand, and Louise reached for the instrument tray, but the doctor was apparently testing the steadiness of his hand. If that was his question, the answer was “not very.” It was going to be a nerve-wracking surgery.
“Well, I don’t suppose it’s going to improve the longer I stand here,” he said. “Let’s get started. Forceps.”
There was a curious way Louise lost track of time in surgery. Nothing mattered, not thirst, hunger, or even a full bladder. Everything stayed focused on the movement of the scalpel, the flow of blood into the vein and out of the wound. The steady movement of hands and instruments. Checking vital signs.
So far no disasters. Claypool found the bullet in the large intestine and extracted it. There was damage to the bowel and the wall of the stomach. An incision widened the wound to get at them more effectively. Louise had only the most general sense that the surgery was moving slowly based on the doctor’s deliberate movements.
Finally it was done, and nothing remained but the final sutures. Claypool held himself steady with one hand while gesturing to Kozlowski’s open belly.
“You’ll have to, Miss Louise. I’m going to faint if I don’t sit down.”
Louise had witnessed Claypool and other doctors suturing wounds on dozens of occasions. She could see every step in her mind. She’d held needles, tied knots, cut excess thread—everything but done the actual stitching. It turned out it was easier to imagine it than to accomplish the task with her untrained hands. When she finished, she looked at her work with dismay. Sloppy.
Others had come to stand over her shoulder while she worked. They must have been curious to see how a nurse would do performing a doctor’s work. Not very well, as it turned out. She shouldn’t be embarrassed, she should be relieved that the lieutenant was alive. Yet she couldn’t help the flush of shame as she turned to look at the people who’d been watching her. Their expressions were grim.
“I know,” she said, “but I did the best I could.”
It was only then that she noticed they weren’t looking at her. They were staring over her shoulder. Kozlowski’s eyes were open, and he was looking in the same direction. The other nurses and Dr. Claypool were also looking at whatever was behind her. Frankie had her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with terror.
Louise turned to see what they were all looking at. A startled cry came to her lips, which she immediately choked down.
Captain Mori was watching her, his face as rigid as a stone statue. His adjutant, Fujiwara, stood at his right shoulder. His eyes were narrowed in a look of perfect suspicion.
“What are you doing?” Mori asked.
“She’s performing surgery,” Dr. Claypool said. “I’m not well, and I—”
“You will be quiet! I asked the woman.”
Louise needed time to gather her composure. She tried to buy a moment. “Dr. Claypool has malaria, and so I took over in suturing the patient.”
“Where did this man get his injury?”
The suspicion was in full bloom on both of the Japanese’s faces, and she knew what they must be thinking. They’d had a firefight with partisans in the mountains, and wanted to know if this was one of the men they’d shot at. If so, he could be interrogated, tortured until he gave up the location of the others.
“What do you mean, where? This man was shot by Japanese troops weeks ago. Not all wounds heal properly, Captain. We had to perform surgery. That’s what this place is—a hospital.”
Under other circumstances, she’d have been ashamed by how smoothly the lie emerged from her mouth. Here it felt entirely justified.
And then, with horror, she realized that the tray of instruments, bloody gauze, and the like was still sitting in open view a few feet away. These men were observant. Fujiwara was already eyeing the tray. They’d see the bullet and know that this was a fresh injury.
And then Mori gave her an escape hatch. “Is that so? And in what way did this wound fail to heal properly?”
“I’ll show you.�
�� She pushed aside the gauze and fished out the bullet. “This is courtesy of the Imperial Japanese Army. We didn’t remove it earlier, because it was adjacent to the hepatic artery—that’s the blood supply for the liver and pancreas—and we worried if it was in the wrong place, movement would sever the vessel and he would bleed to death. But the bullet was shifting around in there and had to be extracted.”
Mori eyed the bullet and let out a grunt. A quick glance to Fujiwara, whose own expression was impassive. It was clear that he had doubts, but he no longer seemed convinced that she was lying.
“You drugged my men. My brother claims it was a medicinal treatment of a parasitic infection, but I don’t believe it. They have the look of opium users. I believe you gave them morphine to hide something.”
Louise thought about denying it, maybe even trying to convince these two men that they, too, had the same parasites—what had she called them? greater bone worms?—but they’d never buy it.
“It’s true,” she said. “I drugged them.”
Frankie drew in her breath, which drew Fujiwara’s penetrating stare.
“I made up a story, and I gave them morphine to render them senseless,” Louise said. Fujiwara looked back at her. “Here is why. We had a cache of medicine stored in the village. Beneath your house, in fact. If you look, you’ll see it’s disturbed under there, because someone had to crawl down and get it. There were medicines we didn’t want the Japanese to find, like quinine you’d steal for your own war efforts. Among them was a medication we needed for the surgery. It is meant to thicken the blood so that a patient doesn’t bleed to death on the operating table.
“Let’s be honest with each other, Captain Mori,” she continued, though she was stacking lies on top of lies. “The men you left behind aren’t the most imaginative. They wouldn’t have let me haul several tins of medication back to the hospital. We needed to do this surgery, and I needed your men not to interfere.”
Louise stopped and waited. It was a complicated tale that could break down if they questioned her. What was this blood thickener called? Where was it? How about a demonstration? Where were the dirty tins? But perhaps she’d admitted enough guilt to put them off the real trail. She could only hold her breath and pray that the secret police bought it.
Mori said something to Fujiwara. The younger man responded, and a smile touched the corners of Mori’s mouth. He turned to Louise.
“At first light, you will have the men brought outside. All of them. They will line up for roll call while we search your quarters.”
“But, Captain, these men are in no condition—”
“Any who resist or refuse will be shot.”
Louise kept protesting as the Japanese had each and every person in the hospital brought outside to stand in the early-morning air. Mori ignored her. Some men were so weak, they had to be supported by their comrades. Others could only be carried out on patati mats. The air was still and warm, and the birds kept up their chatter.
Several of Mori’s men waited outside. They’d fixed bayonets to their rifles, underscoring how serious this roll call was. A few villagers gathered, too, but most were absent in spite of the commotion. Smart not to get involved. Most of the Filipinos on hand were young men with the slouchy air of Sakdals. Louise looked for Sammy but didn’t see him. Neither was there any sign of the three Japanese men who’d been on guard duty.
Mori read off the names from his list and ordered the men to step forward as they were called. Those who couldn’t move on their own were carried. When he got to Fisk, someone pointed to Lieutenant Kozlowski, whom they’d carried out on his patati. Mori studied him, eyes falling to the fresh bandages from last night’s surgery.
Louise held her breath, waiting for someone to point out that this man looked nothing like Fisk, but the ruse seemed to work, and Mori continued down the list.
Stumpy came trotting in sometime during the roll call. He came up to Kozlowski with his half tail wagging, attempting to lick the lieutenant’s face. Louise’s mouth went dry. It seemed like a clear calling out of the whole fraud. But the Japanese seemed to see only a meddlesome village dog. One of them kicked at the dog, who growled and dodged the blow. Several more Japanese boots tried to land kicks, but Stumpy danced expertly out of reach.
Mori looked annoyed and said something to Fujiwara, who drew his sidearm. Louise wanted to call out for him to stop, but Stumpy’s meddling was at an end. He gave a final, disgusted-sounding bark, and trotted off. Fujiwara saved his ammunition.
Louise heard Fárez’s voice in her head after seeing Stumpy’s reaction to the Japanese soldiers. You can’t fool a dog.
The roll call ended. Mori and Fujiwara consulted for a few minutes. The sun rose in the sky, baking them. When Louise tried to see to her patients, she was ordered back into line at the point of a bayonet. She couldn’t even give Dr. Claypool water.
Mori and Fujiwara came over to where the nurses were standing. The three women hadn’t been allowed to speak to one another, but Louise had managed to keep Maria Elena behind her and partly shielded from the staring, leering Sakdals. Frankie seemed on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.
“You see,” Louise said. “We weren’t hiding anything. Now, please let me get my patients back inside.”
Mori didn’t answer but looked over the nurses. His eyes settled on Maria Elena. The young Filipina’s breathing picked up. He looked away, glanced past Louise, and studied Frankie.
“We didn’t do anything,” Frankie said. “I swear to God, we didn’t.”
“Hush, Frankie,” Louise said. “He knows that. May we please carry our men inside, Captain Mori?”
He ignored her. “You,” he said to Frankie. “You will come with us.”
Frankie let out a little cry. Japanese soldiers rushed in to haul her off. Her legs buckled, and she had to be supported. Louise’s heart sank.
For God’s sake, Louise thought as the Japanese dragged Frankie away. Be strong for once in your life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sammy was forced to concede his brother one thing: Yoshiko Mori was consistent. No favoritism. No special consideration for family.
He was staked to the muddy ground in the middle of a rice paddy along with the three Japanese guards he and Louise had outwitted. They wore nothing but their skimpy fundoshi underwear, and Sammy felt his skin burning beneath the rising sun. Sweat trickled down his armpits, and his mouth felt dried out with sand, but there would be no water until nightfall. Ants crawled over his legs, and he couldn’t shake them off.
To take his mind off the heat and thirst and ants, Sammy recited a verse about a snail in the morning light. The others looked at him blankly.
“What is that, some kind of poem?” Oto asked.
“It’s Issa,” he said.
“Who?” Oto said. He was especially dull witted today, with those piggish eyes that looked like those of a man who’d never had an original thought in his life.
“Kobayashi Issa? One of our greatest . . . oh, never mind.”
Sammy leaned back and tried in vain to get his aching back some support on the wooden stake. Hard to do with his hands tied behind him. His discomfort was making him mean. He owed these men an apology, not his loathing. They were fools for believing him, sure, but honest fools. A Sakdal had been nearby, armed with a rifle and a machete, supposedly guarding them, but he’d wandered off with a jug of coconut wine a few minutes earlier.
No guard was necessary. Didn’t even need to tie the men to the stakes, to be honest; they would have kept their arms twisted awkwardly behind them had they been ordered to do so. None of the soldiers would try to escape their punishment, because it was deserved.
In fact, any anger or frustration they’d shown when Fujiwara tied them up had been self-directed. Terasaki offered to kill himself. Yamaguchi bowed his head as if expecting it to be lopped off with the captain’s guntō. Sammy’s brother had seemed to consider both of these things but finally rejected the offers out of pr
udence.
Yoshi needed all Japanese on hand. Possibly even Sammy, who would be tried for his crimes eventually but for now was needed by the Kempeitai. He’d overheard two of the returning soldiers speak last night. Something about their colonel, who had ordered the small unit back to Cascadas at once. Why, Sammy didn’t know, and apparently neither did anyone else.
Louise’s plan had almost worked. Would have if the raiding party hadn’t come back in the middle of the night. Yoshi had come back to find Sammy outside, leaning on his crutches as he performed his so-called guard duties while the other three slept off their morphine dose.
They dragged Sammy away before he could figure out how to warn Louise, or even what to warn her about. He was anxious for them all, knowing the brutal path that lay ahead of them as prisoners, whether Yoshi figured out what the Americans had been up to or not. But especially for Louise. Pain burned in his chest when he thought of how she’d come looking for him in the village, the risks she’d taken. Pain, and something else.
You fool. You can’t fall in love with an American nurse. You’re going to die, she’s going to die.
Sammy could tell himself that as much as he wanted, but he still ached with worry. What would Yoshi do to her if he found out the truth? Later, as he was staked in place, he picked up enough scattered gossip to believe that she’d outwitted the Kempeitai. Held her nerve and told a convincing-enough story that if the morning roll call turned up clean, she’d get away with it.
And for that, I can endure the heat and the bugs.
But could he endure the dullards who were keeping him company? That was the real trick. Sammy glanced at the other three. Their faces were blank. No doubt their minds were equally free of clutter.
Oto grunted and tried to shift position. Pain flashed across his face for a moment before he seemed to get it under control.
The Year of Counting Souls Page 27