by John Shors
Isabelle leaned against his knees and stroked his forearm with her thumb. Lightning flashed above the sea, followed by the groan of thunder. “It’s good to hear . . . the old Josh make an appearance,” she said.
“I like the sound of him too.”
“Will I hear more of him in the days to come?”
“Undoubtedly. Probably more than you want.”
“Promise?”
He nodded, though his smile soon wavered. He opened and closed his bandaged hands, listening to the storm howl. Its fury was such that he wasn’t surprised that the ancient Greeks thought mighty gods lived atop a mountain in the sky. Turning his mind to the present, he said, “But we need to get off this island safely. And the war needs to end.”
“It will.”
“And we’d better win,” he replied, his face and voice suddenly solemn. “We have to win. If we don’t . . . everything will have been in vain. And a monster . . . a true monster . . . will rule the Earth.”
Isabelle looked toward the sea. “Do you think the rumors are true?”
“Of the camps?”
“Yes.”
“I pray that they aren’t. But . . . but I hear that terrible photos are being smuggled out of Poland—unspeakable things, really. Pictures of mass graves and gassings and mountains of naked bodies. Some say Hitler’s dream is to kill every Jew in Europe.”
“It can’t be. It just can’t. How many people is that?”
“Something like eleven million.”
Isabelle groaned, running her hands through her hair. “What can be done, Josh? What can we do to stop it?”
“Win the war. Win it as fast as possible. And hang Hitler and all of his kind.”
“We’re going to win, aren’t we? You’ve told me that a hundred times.”
“I ask the good Lord for victory every night,” he replied. “And I start every day with the same prayer. But, yes, I think we’ll win. Between us and the Russians, we’ll strangle Germany.”
“And Japan?”
“Japan is fighting a country twenty times its size. And Japan will fall, though it will be bloody.”
Isabelle mused over his words. As a nurse, as one who’d devoted her life to healing others, it was hard for her to wish ill upon anyone. But she knew that if Hitler stood before her, she’d find the strength to pull any trigger. “When do you think it will be over?” she asked, wanting to somehow count down the days.
“Two years. Maybe three. We’re just not ready to cross the Channel. And we can’t invade France until we can get there.”
Suddenly tired of her dark thoughts, she tried to bring herself back into a place of light. “So, in three years it will be done? All of it? The camps and the convoys and the buckets of amputated arms?”
“It ought to be.”
“And we’ll own a little house somewhere on the water, and you’ll be teaching me to sail? And we’ll have a baby who’s learning to talk?”
Joshua closed his eyes, imagining such a world. “That sounds wonderful. Just wonderful, Izzy.”
She kissed his hand, needing to believe in that future, needing for him to believe in it as well. “It will be wonderful,” she said softly. “It’s going to be our life.”
“CAN YOU FIND YOUR WAY?” Akira asked, wanting her to make the journey, but afraid for her all the same.
Annie held a torch in one hand and another branch in the other. Two weeks earlier, she’d never have dreamt of venturing alone to the back of an immense cave. But over the past few days, such fears had weighed less upon her. “I’ll be fine,” she said, pleased that he seemed concerned for her.
Akira lifted a coil of rope and draped it over his neck and shoulder. He glanced toward the campfire, around which everyone but Roger and Nathan was resting. Roger had left several hours earlier, disappearing into the rain. Nathan had recently departed. “Are you sure?” Akira asked, just to be certain.
“I’m sure.”
“Then I will next see you at Raja’s Ships, yes?”
“I’ll get a little fire going.”
“Please do not rush. It may be rather difficult for me to locate the opening.”
“Take your time. I won’t leave for a bit.”
Akira smiled and stepped into the waterfall that covered the cave’s entrance. A curtain of water cascaded upon him with considerable force, and even before he entered the storm, he was soaking wet. He was eager to explore the ground above their hideout, for the soldier in him knew that having an escape route at the cave’s rear was essential. Otherwise, they could be trapped far too easily.
The hill behind the cave was dominated by rocks and foliage. At some point, probably thousands of years before, this part of the cliff had fallen toward the sea. Moss-covered boulders lay atop an enormous pile of earth. A wide variety of shrubs and trees grew around the rocks. Knowing that the crack he sought was about three hundred paces to the northwest, Akira headed in that direction, counting off his steps.
Though the storm had lessened considerably, rain still assaulted the jungle. Footing was treacherous, and Akira moved with great care. Instead of climbing over slippery boulders, he walked around them and adjusted his course. He hadn’t been alone in this jungle, and now that he was, he found himself instinctively scanning for ambush sites and walking in a low crouch. After all, he’d been shot at in such places. Shot at by Filipinos and Thais and Chinese and Americans and Australians. Fortunately, by trying to move through jungles as if he were a fox and not a man, he’d never fallen victim to the kinds of ambushes that killed so many of his comrades.
Akira wanted to think of Annie now that he was alone. He wanted to reflect upon the way she made him feel and how she was able to do so. But being alone in the jungle, and not knowing Roger’s whereabouts, he forced himself to be vigilant. He continued to scan the land before him, listening for unusual sounds in the rain. He paused suddenly at unlikely places and peered into the gloom, looking for any sort of movement.
Knowing that he must be close to the crack, Akira started to search for it in earnest. No significant amount of water had been dripping through the opening when they’d seen it earlier, and so he knew that it must be somehow protected. Most likely it lay under a shelf of rock. Looking for such sites, he moved through his environs with increasing care. As he navigated around a decrepit banyan tree, he recalled searching for tunnels in a bamboo forest in China. Sadly, the soldier beside him had set off a trap, and Akira had been able to do no more than pull the man from the sharp stakes that had plunged into various parts of his body.
Pushing the memory away, Akira continued to search. He eased through a gathering of head-high ferns and was surprised to find Nathan sitting atop a massive boulder. Nathan held the airman’s dagger and appeared to be etching an image into a wide piece of bamboo. “Hello,” Akira said, bowing slightly, as if fearful of interrupting Nathan’s work.
Nathan lowered the dagger, peered through the rain and jungle, and smiled when he recognized Akira. “Come on up,” he said, gesturing for Akira to climb the boulder.
Akira dropped to his hands and knees and ascended the slippery stone. Moss and small plants grew amid ancient cracks, while other parts of the boulder seemed to have been bleached by the sun. As he rose, Akira wondered why Nathan had climbed the truck-sized rock and why he was sitting alone in the rain. Wordlessly, Akira moved beside Nathan, eyeing the bamboo in his lap.
Nathan lifted the piece of green wood, upon which he’d etched a simple scene from the island—three palm trees standing straight beneath a mighty sun. “It’s for my little girl,” he said, wiping rain from his brow.
Akira smiled, thinking of Nathan’s stash of such treasures, items that he often worked on after finishing his daily duties. “I am sure that she will like it.”
“Oh, Peggy likes most everything.”
Recalling her face from Nathan’s water-stained photo, Akira nodded. “She is your youngest, yes?”
“She’s my baby.”
“A
most beautiful child.”
“Thank you,” Nathan replied, staring into the jungle, thinking of the distance between himself and his family, as he had so many times before. “You know, it’s the simple things . . . I miss the most. If I were home, and it was a Saturday morning, Peggy would be packing a picnic lunch with her mother. And my boy and I would be loading the car.”
“And where would you drive?” Akira asked, recalling the Japanese families he’d seen on such picnics, gathered together beneath maple trees along the Kamo River.
“Usually to a pond, or maybe a stream. We like to fish a bit. And if there’s grass we’ll play some croquet. Then it’s time for a big lunch and a spot of shade.” Nathan sighed, folding his hands atop his lap, briefly biting his lower lip. “It . . . it seems like a long time ago.”
“I am sure that it must. But you will see them again.”
“You think so?”
“I think that . . . that you love them too much to not see them again.”
Nathan bit his lip once more. He then wiped his eye. “I have to. I just can’t imagine . . . not seeing them again.”
“You will be home soon. I am sure of this.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Ferns surrounding the boulder trembled as raindrops fell. “You were forced into the war, weren’t you?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. I was handed a rifle and told to fight. Told to fight . . . you. So sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Still, please accept my apology.”
Nathan nodded, and then placed the piece of bamboo in Akira’s hand. “When you get back to Japan, please give this to a young girl. And please tell her that it came from an American soldier.”
Bowing deeply, Akira replied, “It will be my great honor to do this.”
“Thank you.”
Akira pocketed the bamboo and bowed again. “You are a good man.”
“Maybe one day good men won’t have to fight each other.”
“I hope we each live long enough to see that day.”
“I do too.” Nathan eyed the coil of rope around Akira’s neck and shoulder. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I’ll return to the cave. I wouldn’t want you . . . to keep anyone waiting.”
Akira said good-bye and watched Nathan carefully descend the boulder. As Nathan vanished into the jungle below, Akira again began his search for the opening to the cave. He moved with some haste, for he didn’t want Annie to worry about his whereabouts. As he searched, he thought of Nathan, promising himself that he’d do his best to ensure that this lonely father got home safely to his family.
When Akira spied a rock overhang that protected the soil beneath it, he wasn’t surprised to discover the crack. His mind shifting to Annie, he began to move more quickly, a sudden urge to caress her face possessing him. He found a stout, healthy tree near the opening and tied one end of the rope around the bottom of the trunk. He was about to climb down through the crack when he stopped and began to tie knots in the rope so that it would be easier for people to ascend. He created simple knots at two-foot intervals. After dropping the coil through the crack, he placed branches over the exposed rope until it was well hidden.
Akira moved under the overhang, putting his feet within the crack. The area around him didn’t feel right for some reason, and he paused to study his surroundings. The opening was larger than he expected and didn’t appear to be a natural split in the earth. Perhaps once it had been, but the crack seemed to have been widened at some point. The edges had been smoothed out and didn’t look as if they’d once been joined together.
Wondering if the ancient painters had enlarged the crack to give them additional light, Akira began to descend. To ensure that he wouldn’t lose his grip, he twisted his left ankle around the wet rope so that it came up between his knees and he was able to apply pressure to it. His legs and torso passed through the crack, and suddenly he plunged into a world of darkness.
“I’m here!” Annie shouted from below.
Akira smiled, imagining her. She’d be moving restlessly, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. It was possible she had a finger in her mouth and was biting a nail. Her eyes were certainly upon him, and he hoped he didn’t look too small from so far below. Knot by knot, he descended. He glanced at the ships, though as inspiring as they were, he quickly dropped his gaze to her. The rich light of a fire below bathed her face in amber, and he felt an immediate sense of comfort upon seeing her familiar features.
The rope was about seven feet short of touching the ground, so Akira had to jump when he reached its end. He landed gracefully, bending his knees so that his muscles absorbed the impact instead of his back. Before he could even fully straighten, Annie stepped to him, wrapping her arms about him. She kissed him hungrily, pulling him tight against her. “You’ve consumed me,” she said, running her hands through his wet hair. “I haven’t been able to eat or sleep or even talk with Isabelle.”
Akira kissed her, stroked the soft line of her jaw, and then pressed his nose into the skin beneath her temple. He inhaled slowly and deeply. “You smell like . . . like you.”
She eased her hands into his dripping shirt. “Me?”
“Yes. You have your own smell. A wonderful smell. Something fresh . . . like the sea or perhaps the sun.”
She smiled. “It’s just me.”
He kissed her forehead, delighted to once again be alone with her. “May I . . . may I tell you something?”
“Please.”
“It is a little . . . odd.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
He nodded, enjoying the sight of her sapphire-colored eyes. “Aboard the ship, I always watched you. I always listened to you.”
“You did? But why?”
“Because you treated me well. Because I liked how your hands felt on my leg.”
“On your bullet wound?”
“You washed my face once, yes? When you thought I was sleeping?”
Annie searched her memory. She had always wiped the grime from her patients, believing that if they felt clean, they would feel better. “I did?” she asked.
He gently touched her face. “You took a warm cloth. You pressed it against my skin and you swept away . . . you swept away the mud that had covered me for two days.”
She smiled, pulling him closer. “I’m glad I did.”
“I had never . . . been touched like that. So gently.”
“Never?”
“And when the ship sank, I knew that I could not let you die. That would be like . . . allowing . . . a rare flower to be pulled from the ground.”
She kissed his lips softly. “Is that why you taught me about haikus? To give something back to me? To show me how you truly felt?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that I often create them? Even here, waiting for you.”
“Please tell it to me.”
She kissed him again, longing to touch him as she had before. “Let me feel you first.”
Annie, who had known nothing but fast and awkward lovemaking during her time with Ted, began to slowly unbutton Akira’s shirt. Her hands renewed their exploration of his flesh. Her mouth moved over his skin in small circles. She felt his naked chest against her breasts, and her body tingled with anticipation. “I’m going to . . . I’m going to write a poem right now . . . with you,” she said, somewhat breathlessly, her fingers and lips gliding about him.
After having always had the course of lovemaking dictated to her, Annie felt empowered to be creating the unfolding scene. Knowing that Akira liked the way she’d once touched him aboard Benevolence, she touched him again in the same manner. And he responded to her as she hoped he would—his movements graceful and without thought of time.
The ships loomed above them as they began to make love. And as Annie was carried into a magical world that seemed divine in nature, it suddenly occurred to her that Jake had been right. The people aboard the ships did look happy. They did look free.
ROGE
R PEERED THROUGH the darkness toward the cave. The entrance glowed from the presence of the fire within. The odor of roasting fish filled the wet air. Though hungry, Roger wasn’t yet ready to enter the cave. He hated being within its confines, hated having his every movement witnessed by a group of people who seemed sickeningly in love with one another. How foreign he felt within the group. How troubled and clumsy and trapped. A sense of claustrophobia almost overwhelmed him when people gathered within the cave, when their laughter echoed off the damp walls. It was as if they were laughing at him, mocking his entire existence. He’d experienced such mockery before, and having to go through it again was more than he wanted to bear. How much better it would be to kill them all and have the cave to himself. Or at least to himself and Annie. He still craved her, his longing as powerful as his desire to draw smoke into his lungs. And now that he suspected his foe was touching her, this craving was even more acute and wrenching.
Roger blinked the rain away and turned toward the sea, briefly massaging the back of his aching head. From his pocket he removed a smooth, amber-colored snail shell that Ratu had found earlier. “Stupid little runt,” Roger muttered, remembering how the boy had excitedly shown the shell to everyone in camp, how he’d told them that his sister would love his discovery. “It sure is beautiful,” he said, shaking his head. “But not for much longer.” He threw the shell against a barnacle-encrusted rock, smiling when it shattered.
While distant thunder rumbled, Roger remained pleased by the theft and destruction of the shell. Because his parents hadn’t been able to afford gifts of any sort, throughout most of his childhood Roger had stolen what he desired. Though he’d secretly filled his pockets in stores and outdoor markets, he’d most enjoyed stealing from other children—taking their treasures and making them his. At first he’d covertly captured what he sought. But as the years passed and his strength and reputation grew, he’d simply hurt or threatened his classmates until they gave him whatever he wanted.
As the storm continued to subject the sky to its groans, memories of plundered toys and treasures kept Roger’s headache at bay. But gradually the pain crept forward, expanding once again now that his hands were empty. He cursed the pain, the world, and his empty hands. He ought to hold a cigarette or a woman or a gun. Or, better yet, all three. Instead he sat in the rain and imagined how those in the cave were talking about him, laughing at him.
