In the Woods of Memory Read online

  Beyond the trees in Sayoko’s yard, the sound of sobbing never let up. Sayoko will never feel true happiness again. From now on, her heart will always be crying. Seiji was furious at himself for allowing the Americans and their guns to cow him into inaction. The war’s not over. It’ll never be over. Not for Sayoko. And not for me. No, it’ll never be over. Staring at the harpoon head shimmering in the moonlight, Seiji swore to keep fighting against the Americans. Over the next couple of days, he carried water and provisions to the cave when no one was watching. From early morning to early afternoon, he went fishing with his father. From early evening, he stood beneath the cliff with his harpoon and watched the Americans working on the opposite shore. I’ll wait here even if the warning bell rings. At sea, they won’t be able to use their weapons. At sea, I can beat them. Day after day, Seiji waited for the Americans to swim to their island again.

  And yet, when the time came, he could seriously wound only one of them. Forgive me, Sayoko! I couldn’t avenge you.... But it’s not over yet. The grenade in his hand bore the full weight of all their grudges—those of Sayoko, himself, the villagers, and all the dead Japanese soldiers. This grenade will redeem me, he thought.

  He wasn’t sure how many days he’d been awake, but he was so restless and excited that words bounced around in his head and made it impossible to sleep. As he waited with his eyes closed, he suddenly felt something warm on the back of his neck. Before he’d even realized it, the light filtering into the cave had changed to sunlight. He grimaced and squinted at the sparkling rays. Suddenly, a man’s voice echoed through the cave:

  —Seiji, come out! We know you’re hiding in there. If you come out now, you’ll be spared. Don’t worry. Come on out. Your mom and dad, and everyone from the village, are waiting for you. Don’t do anything stupid. The American you stabbed isn’t going to die. So even if you’re arrested, you’ll be able to return home after a while. So come on out!

  The person on the megaphone must’ve been Kayō, the ward chief. During the war, the guy had been the head of the Defense Corps and had spoken of the Americans with loathing. But in the camp, he did an about-face and got himself put in charge of distributing provisions. Before they knew it, Kayō had become the new ward chief. Seiji recalled his father always spitting out, Dirty rat! whenever he saw him. The rat’s trying to trick me in order to help the enemy. The bastard only thinks about himself—even though our women are living in desperation. I’ll stab him along with the others. Seiji stared at the entrance and waited for the Americans to enter. I’m not afraid of dying. But before I’m shot, I’m taking one or two of them with me. He kept a finger on the grenade pin, so that he’d be ready at any moment. Just wait, Sayoko! I will have my revenge! The ward chief’s voice cut off, and a silence like that of the bottom of the ocean filled the cave. Seiji hid and waited with bated breath.

  Just then, he heard something fall into the cave. White plumes of smoke rose up toward the light streaming through the opening. Poison gas! Seiji clicked his tongue and immediately poured water from his canteen over a towel, which he then pressed to his nose and mouth. Then he pushed his face into a crack in the wall and tried to suck in fresh air from outside. The gas filling the cave engulfed him and sank deep into his eyes, nose, and skin. Tears poured from his eyes, which began to hurt so much he couldn’t open them. Splashing them with water from his canteen made no difference. Mucus poured from his nose and made his towel sopping wet. God of the Land! he prayed. God of the Woods! God of the Sea! God of the Village! I beseech you to protect me! But Seiji knew that like a poisoned fish floating with its white belly to the surface, his damaged lungs would soon fail, making it impossible to move. He finished off the water in the canteen and sucked in the last remaining scents of the woods and the sea. Then he wiped his eyes with the towel, turned toward the entrance, and lifted his swollen face to the light. Sayoko! Mom! Please protect me! With the grenade in his right hand, and the harpoon in his left, Seiji dashed out of the cave.

  KAYŌ [2005]

  —Do you remember the name of the Japanese-American soldier who handed you the megaphone?

  After changing the cassette tape and pressing the record button of the portable player on the table, the small woman only two years out of college looks at you and gives you a little smile. You drop your eyes and look at the tape turning inside the transparent plastic window. You can’t remember her name or the name of that soldier. And that makes you feel uncomfortable.

  Was it Henry? Or did you say Smith? You can clearly picture him. He was in his mid-twenties, and his tanned face had a little cut on the left cheek. You can also remember thinking that if you took him out of his military uniform and put him in Okinawan clothes, nobody would know the difference. But you can’t for the life of you remember his name. No, Henry was the name of that black soldier that caused trouble at the comfort station. And Smith was the guy that Seiji stabbed in the stomach with his harpoon. At a loss, you raise your head and return her gaze.

  —I’m pretty sure it was Robert....

  You’re surprised at the words that pop out of your mouth. But after you say the name aloud, you’re pretty sure that that’s right. And didn’t you say that his family name, from his Okinawan father, was Higa?

  —Robert Higa. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was it....

  Saying the name reminds you that Robert was also the name of that American politician who was assassinated. You were working on the base when the Americans were watching TV in the office and making a big fuss. Maybe that’s what made you say Robert in the first place. But you don’t correct yourself, even after the woman starts scribbling in her notebook.

  Who cares about the name of some Japanese-American who could’ve passed for an Okinawan? Making excuses for yourself causes you to feel a relapse of the anger you felt toward him. The interpreter looked down on you, even though he was young enough to be your son. As you pick up the teacup on the table, you’re reminded of the weight of the megaphone he handed you. You could feel the piercing stares of the villagers on your back. When you turned around, you noticed Seiji’s father, Seikō, glaring at you with particular intensity. His tanned face was covered with a beard, and his inflamed eyes in their sunken sockets were like white stones burning in a cavern. He should’ve been pleading with you to help his son, but his eyes were full of undisguised hostility and menace instead. When you reflected that this guy had despised you since childhood, you spit out to yourself, Seiji can go to hell! But when you saw Hatsu praying at his side, you were immediately filled with a desire to help.

  —So you and the Japanese-American interpreter named Robert Higa tried to talk Seiji out of the cave?

  The expression on her face reminds you of how Hatsu looked when she was young. You stare at her, and she nods with an innocent smile. The fact that you can’t remember her name, even though you’ve heard it many times, along with being uncertain about the name of the interpreter, makes you conscious of your age. This causes your confidence to wither. Trying not to get depressed, you do your best to focus your mind on your cloudy and uncertain memories.

  —Yes, the interpreter asked me to help, so when he handed me the megaphone, I tried to talk Seiji out....

  The huge bishopwood and banyan trees that had hid the cave were blown up during the naval bombardment. Hazy light from the overcast sky shone into the depths of the cave, which slanted downward into darkness from the entrance at the bottom of the limestone cliff. You could see empty bottles, clothes, and pieces of boards scattered around inside, and on the gravel outside. The scene in the woods was vividly seared into your memory. You had also hidden in that cave, along with the nearly hundred other villagers who’d fled there for cover. By becoming the head of civil defense, you had avoided being forced into the Defense Corps. At the cave again, it was as if you could hear the shells from the naval bombardment flying through the air. And that made your hands shake. As the interpreter handed you the megaphone, he noticed your hands shaking, and laughed. Annoyed at h
is condescending attitude, you took the megaphone in your hands, and ignored his explanation about how to turn it on. Then you called down to Seiji, who you knew was hiding in the depths.

  —Seiji, we know you’re hiding in there. If you come out now, the Americans will let you live.... Don’t worry!

  You didn’t know if that second part was true. The interpreter had told you that the stabbed soldier wasn’t going to die, but when you asked what would happen to Seiji, he only shook his head. You bent the truth to soothe not only Seiji but also Hatsu. You added, Don’t worry! to soothe Hatsu and yourself.

  —Come out!

  Your words bounced off the cave’s walls and echoed back out through the entrance. You wanted to believe that you spoke for the entire village. However, you realized that not everyone there trusted you.

  When you handed the megaphone to the interpreter and turned around, you were greeted with the same looks that had been thrown at you earlier. The villagers stared at you and shook their heads as if you were a friend of the Americans. And you felt humiliated just like before. Those people never understood anything! They never considered how much I did for the village by negotiating with the Americans! They never understood how much trouble I went through to get more food distributed to them! And then when Seiji stabbed an American and put the entire village at risk, they praised him and acted as if I were to blame!

  You stare through the plastic window at the tape still turning and get the feeling that the words racing through your mind have been recorded. Flustered, you hold back the words about to gush out of your mouth and reach out for your cup of tea.

  The woman waits for you to put down your cup and then pours you some more.

  —Are you tired? she asks.

  —No, not at all. As they say, old folks living on their own go senile faster if they don’t have anyone to talk to. So I appreciate your coming.

  —Is that right? Well, I appreciate being able to listen to you. Since you say it’s okay, let’s continue. But let me know if you start to feel tired.

  You nod and smile, and wonder how long it’s been since you’ve been able to smile like this. Ever since Nae, your wife of over fifty years, passed away, you’ve been living alone. Recently, you haven’t been playing croquet or going to other events for seniors. You’ve been spending all your time locked up in the house without anyone to talk to. If your only son hadn’t died of malaria after the war, you’d probably have grandchildren about this woman’s age. As you look at her, tears begin to well up in your eyes. Pretending to blow your nose, you surreptitiously wipe away the tears.

  —Maybe you’re the one that’s tired. You must be tired of hearing war stories from an old guy like me.

  —No, not at all. I enjoy your stories. And your accounts of the war are quite valuable.

  From her words and expression, she seems to be telling the truth. She wrote her graduation thesis about the Battle of Okinawa. Since last year, she’s been working at the Board of Education in a temporary position. She visited you for the first time about two months ago. Initially, you were a bit suspicious and acted rather unsociably. But after a while—partly because she reminded you of Hatsu, and partly because you were happy to have someone sincerely interested in what you had to say—you invited her inside to talk. After living alone and sometimes going a week or longer without exchanging a single word with anyone, you started looking forward to her visits. So what did she say her name was again? You feel sorry for having forgotten, but you can’t very well ask again. You just hope that by some chance she’ll mention it once more.

  —Did you think the Americans wanted to capture Seiji alive?

  —I’m sure they did. If they didn’t, they would’ve thrown in a grenade. But they threw in a tear-gas canister instead.

  —Oh? It was tear gas? Not poison gas?

  —I might’ve said poison before, but I remembered later it was tear gas. Their aim was to smoke him out. Even though he might’ve suffocated if he’d stayed in too long.

  She gives a little nod and scribbles something in her notebook.

  When one of the Americans threw in the gas canister, shrieks rose up from the crowd of villagers, who were watching from about thirty meters away. The interpreter told you it was tear gas and that Seiji wouldn’t die right away.

  —It’s not poison gas, so don’t worry, you told the villagers.

  But the wailing of the women didn’t let up. You got nervous thinking that if something happened to Seiji, you’d be accused of treachery after the Americans left. To avoid the glaring stares of Seikō and the other men, you moved away from the interpreter. Everyone watched the gas rising up from the cave, which seemed connected to the very heart of the island. When you shrank back from the gas irritating your nose and eyes, the interpreter and several soldiers with guns also edged back a few steps. A dozen or so soldiers were positioned in a semicircle surrounding the cave. Behind them, there must’ve been over a hundred villagers. The partly cloudy sky made it difficult to determine whether it would clear up or rain. The sunlight wasn’t particularly bright, but the villagers, gathered in the woods with its lingering stench of burnt trees, were drenched with sweat. The interpreter talked with the commander. Once your role was finished, you were ignored. But your fate was far from sealed. Goddammit! Come out, you idiot! Cursing to yourself, you began to worry that Seiji might not actually be in there.

  You found out where Seiji was hiding from Buntoku Ōshiro. After returning home from the search and washing off, you were enjoying the whiskey you’d traded with an American acquaintance for a Japanese sword. Just then, you heard someone calling from outside. You opened the door, and Buntoku was standing there. He was the one who’d brought you the sword, which cost you more canned goods than usual. But you could see by the moonlight that this time he was empty-handed. When you told him you weren’t giving away anything for free, he whispered that he knew where Seiji was hiding. You signaled for Nae to hide the whiskey, checked outside to make sure no one was watching, and invited him inside.

  Buntoku explained that earlier in the day he’d been searching for mushrooms while collecting firewood. All of a sudden, Seiji came running naked through the woods carrying his harpoon and clothes. It didn’t seem wise to call out, so Buntoku hid and watched—and saw Seiji enter the cave. He suspected that something unusual had happened, and sure enough, when he returned to the village, everyone was in an uproar. If he’d spoken carelessly, the Americans would’ve suspected him, so he remained silent.

  —But you’ve got Americans you can trust, he said with a smile. You can keep it secret that I told you, and pass on the information yourself. In exchange, I’d appreciate if you’d give me some of those spoils of war of yours. You know what I mean: those food supplies you somehow got from the Americans.

  —Are you telling the truth? you asked to make sure. Because if you’re lying, the Americans will arrest you, too.

  After threatening him, you went to the back storeroom, picked out some canned beef and cookies, and put them in a sack. When you handed them over, Buntoku looked dissatisfied.

  —I’ll give you more later if what you said is true and Seiji is captured, you explained, having him step outside. Let’s keep this between ourselves.

  You nodded to each other, and Buntoku disappeared into the darkness. Then you closed the door and went back to drinking your whiskey.

  —But how did the Americans find out that Seiji was hiding in that cave? the woman asks.

  —It’s a small island, so it was impossible to hide without being discovered.

  —I heard that Seiji was a pretty good swimmer. Couldn’t he have swum off the island?

  —Yes, he probably could have. But the war was still going on, so even if he got off, he’d have had nowhere to go.

  —I guess that’s true.

  —Besides, Seiji wanted...

  You hold off saying what you were thinking and avert your eyes. As you look at the purple lilacs blooming in the garden, you thi
nk to yourself, Seiji wanted to die and take some Americans with him.

  The next morning, you went up to the Japanese-American interpreter, who was with the soldiers gathered at the banyan tree in preparation for the search. You explained that someone told you where Seiji was hiding, but the interpreter stared at you with suspicion.

  —Who is this someone? he asked.

  —He has nothing to do with it, so please don’t ask, you answered with an obsequious smile. Just by chance, he saw where Seiji was hiding.

  The interpreter still seemed doubtful, but he took you to see the commander, a thin Caucasian man of about thirty with razor cuts on his chin. The commander stared at you as he listened to the interpreter’s explanation. When the interpreter was finished, the commander spread a map out on the hood of a jeep and said something. You guessed he wanted to know the location, so you went to the map before the interpreter had a chance to explain. However, you couldn’t connect the thin lines on the map to the island’s topography. You suggested leading them to the cave yourself. After getting the translation, the commander nodded and signaled for you to get in the jeep. Villagers had been curiously watching you from the moment you went up to the interpreter, and now they saw you get in the back seat.