Letters to Mrs Hernandez

by C S Gibbs

  “Bravo! Today's letters, Senora.”

  “Gracias, Sandra. I shall sit outside to read them. Please fetch me a glass of water.” Vero strolled to the patio.

  The timing of the deliveries was remarkable. For amid the business letters for Hector sat two far-flung postmarks: one from Japan and another from New Zealand. Her husband's letters of commerce would have to wait – there was something much more important to be processed, here!

  Vero opened the two letters and removed them from their crumpled envelopes. It was at this moment that she found herself consumed by both unabashed excitement and voyeuristic guilt. In her hands sat the thoughts, feelings and outpourings of the two young people for whom she cared so much, who had found love in each other and who she, herself, had come to love as if they were her own. She felt pride in being able to maintain their love against all obstacles and circumstances. It was her duty to allow Setsu and Ben to find some sunshine together in a world so clouded by war and ignorance, so the letters would be re-packaged promptly and sent on their rightful ways.

  Just as soon, that is, as they had been read and checked. After all, Vero felt a maternal urge to ensure that there was nothing in the letters that would compromise either of them. She could not live with herself if she felt that she had allowed Setsu or Ben to be endangered. Not only that, but this was better than any romantic novel – who needed mere fiction when you could have the real thing happening right here?

  She called in to the house and Sandra appeared promptly. “On second thoughts, I'll have a glass of red wine! And please tell Luis to ready the horses – you and I will need to ride to the railway station in half an hour. Please pack me a bag for an overnight stay in the city.”

  She pored over the letters and felt the passion of every word. She wished that she could hold the pair of them together in her arms, right at that moment, but again, time was of the essence. If she was to get these letters on to the second leg of their journey, it was time to show some urgency.

  Finishing her wine, Vero made her way to her writing desk, across from the piano. She chose a pair of her favourite envelopes and slipped the letters in to them. On the first, she wrote: Senorita Setsu Kimura, courtesy of the Argentine Embassy, Tokyo, whilst the second stated: Mr B. Hutchinson, Royal New Zealand Air Force, Christchurch, New Zealand.

  “Senora, Luis asked me to tell you that the horses are ready, and I have laid out your riding clothes for you. Your overnight bag will be packed by the time you are changed.” announced Sandra from the doorway.

  Vero readied herself as quickly as she could. With Hector away in the car, horseback was the best option. She knew that there would be a train to Buenos Aires at noon, so if she rode quickly, she could be at the station in half an hour. All she had to do was get to the city, then she could stay in their apartment overnight and visit the foreign office in the morning. Nothing felt more important to her.

  Stepping out of the house in her riding clothes, Vero smiled at Sandra, who was also dressed for the ride. Both women mounted their horses – neither of which were riding side-saddle – and set off at a canter.

   

   

   

  Chapter Twenty-six - Ceremonial Scripture

  “Setsu! I am going over to Mr and Mrs Sakamoto's house for the Neighbourhood Association meeting,” called Masako to her daughter, who duly emerged from the kitchen to meet her mother in the hallway.

  “What time will you be home, Okasan?”

  “Well, we are having a talk on clothing distribution, then there is the NHK broadcast on the radio, so I will probably be home by eight. What will you do with yourself all on your own?”

  “Oh, I have work to do and I think I shall write a letter to Katsuhiro.”

  “You are a good girl. Make sure that you tell him how much I miss him!”

  Masako kissed her daughter on the cheek and made her way. Home by eight. That was all the information Setsu needed and now she would make the most of the available free time.

  On hearing the front door close, Setsu set about her first priority: making good her words and writing to Katsuhiro. She did this with an almost guilty swiftness, but there was no shortage of sincerity and love in her words.

  As to where this letter was going, she knew nothing – that was only for the military to know. The address was merely to Katsuhiro's regiment. Whether it was to China, Indonesia, Burma, Malaya, Singapore, Thailand, The Philippines, Formosa, or any of the other places now under Japanese rule, she could only wonder. All she knew was that this piece of paper was to go on a voyage to some distant land and hopefully, wherever Katsuhiro would be, the letter would find him and make her thoughts, feelings and actions in this time and place come to life for him.

  Her sisterly duties complete, Setsu's attention turned to her even greater affair of the heart and she made determined strides for the chashitsu. On reaching the door and sliding it open, Setsu slowed her pace and breathing, easing herself in to the room on her knees and slowly, silently, sliding along the tatami mats.

  On reaching the opening in the floor in which the iron kama kettle usually sat, she stopped and from within the pocket of her jinbei shorts produced her father's old six inch metal type scale ruler, which she then place on the floor in front of her. With deftness, she rolled back the tatami mat on her right, exposing the bare wooden floorboards, then picked up the ruler and carefully prised back the wood. Two pieces came away neatly and she placed the ruler on the floor in front of her. There was now room for her to reach in with her right hand, which she did, her arm going in to the gap beyond her elbow.

  She reached down under the fire box and found her treasure, which she slowly and dotingly removed through the gap in the floorboards, making sure that it emerged silently and without blemish.

  It was a large tealeaf tin, about ten inches long by six inches wide. Smiling, Setsu held it before her for a moment in both hands, and then placed it on the tatami mat in front of her knees, next to the ruler, which she then took up again and used to help place the floorboards back in position and leave no sign of disturbance.

  The ruler was placed back in her pocket and she picked up the tin, rose mindfully and made her exit, sliding the door to the chashitsu closed and returning the room to its usual hushed state.

  Setsu strode with restrained urgency in to her father's study, sat down at the writing desk and placed the box before her. She prised the tin open and removed a bundle wrapped in cloth, then she peeled back the folds of cotton to expose the contents. The topmost item was also wrapped in cotton – she unwrapped this and held it up before her: it was the blue and black marbled Conway-Stewart fountain pen. Then her gaze turned to the rest of the contents and her heart quickened for a moment as she picked up the precious bundle of Ben's letters.

  She laid the bundle gently at the top left corner of the desk, picking up the most recent one and opening it out so that its words could speak out and smile at her whilst she wrote her reply.

  Writing paper was put in place at the centre of the desk's leather panel. The pen was cleaned and filled with ink, then accurately placed to the right of the paper. There was, however, still more protocol to be observed before the perfect letter could be written. Setsu rose from her chair, turned gracefully and exited the study, returning moments later with a flower from the garden, which she placed with precision beside the fountain pen.

  Still standing, Setsu reached back behind her head and removed her hairgrip. Her long, coal-black hair began to fall loose and she momentarily eschewed her Japanese decorum and replaced it with Vero's bohemian Latin flair, shaking her locks until it became a ruffled mane that tumbled over her shoulders. With the desired look and feel now achieved, the Zen attitude returned and Setsu picked up the flower, placing it in her hair, just behind her right ear.

  Everything was now in place. She was ready to be with Ben. Setsu sat down at the desk, picked up the pen and began to write.

   

  My Darling B,
>
  It means so much to receive each letter from you. Saying goodbye to you was one of the most difficult things that I have ever done. I miss you so terribly and every letter that you send is now precious to me.

  I see each letter as more than just a piece of paper and writing – it is both from you and a part of you. In fact, the very process of writing is a social interaction with you – I hope that you feel as I do, in that when I read your letters, I hear your voice and I feel as though your are truly in the room with me. To know that you held that paper, that the words you wrote were shaped by your hand and came from your heart, makes every page come alive for me.

  I know that we might be apart for quite some time, but until we are together again, our letters must become us – it is the closest we can be to true togetherness.

  I have found work! I am to begin work as a schoolteacher, soon. I am a little nervous about this, even though I have plenty of experience of it, because I have never actually taught in Japan. However, here is such a shortage of people to do this job and I want to help the children learn, so I will do my best. Please wish me luck.

  Mother is well and is devoting herself to the Neighbourhood Association, whilst my brother is away with the army, now. Much the same as with you, I do not know exactly where he is. I worry for him as much as for you and pray that both he and you will return to me soon.

  Keep yourself safe and write to me as soon as you can.

   

  All my love,

  S.

   

  It hurt to end the letter. Sealing the envelope felt like saying goodbye all over again. There was so much more to write, but time only allowed for fleeting pleasantries and vague suggestions of what one really wanted to say at greater length, now it was time to make sure that all trace of this illicit communication was removed. There would surely be another time to come in which so much more could be said.

  Steps were re-traced and all evidence hidden. Setsu had just completed re-grooming her hair when she heard the sound of Masako returning with the unshakeable Japanese punctuality that puts all other nations to shame It was, indeed, eight o'clock, precisely.

   

   

  Chapter Twenty-seven - The Empire Builder

  Kunio Sanu took another mouthful of sake and gazed about his office. It was a simple and basic affair, but then it had to be, as his last one had burned down in an air raid and he lacked the means and resources to furnish a new one. The desk and chair had been salvaged from a nearby office that had also been bombed, and besides that, the walls and floor were bare, save for two items.

  From the ruins of his own home, he had managed to save two prized photographs and they hung on the wall to his left.

  The first one was of his father, Yuudai, proudly wearing the uniform of the Japanese Imperial Navy. It had been taken in 1905, just before he was to sail with the fleet to engage the Russians at what would become the famous Battle of the Tsushima Strait. Kunio still clearly remembered standing on the quayside as an excited infant, holding his mother's hand, as the two of them stood with so many others and waved the departing warships farewell.

  Shortly after this bombastic and emotional departure, a freak wave washed Yuudai overboard and he was lost, presumed drowned, before any sight was made of the Tsar's battleships.

  A few days later, with the news that the Russian fleet lay at the bottom of the Sea of Japan, a nation rejoiced. Little Kunio was told by his mother that his father had given his life in the defence of Japan and that he should be the proudest little boy in the land. From that day, he vowed to follow in his father's footsteps. He would fight for Japan and show the western bullies that his country was strong. They could build their own empire, too.

  Sure enough, the young Kunio joined the navy as soon as he was old enough, training as a gunner, and he waited eagerly for the call to arms. The prayer was answered in the best possible manner in 1918, when the Allied Powers of Europe and America asked Japan to help them occupy parts of Russia in the wake of the Bolshevik Revolution. This could not have been better for Kunio, who itched for the chance to avenge his family against the Russians.

  His warship docked in Vladivostok in the autumn of that year, having escorted troop ships and supply vessels for what promised to be a major campaign.

  Given some much-needed shore leave, Kunio was encouraged to go ashore with some of his older crewmates and they ventured in to the seaport in search of a bar.

  They found a quiet bistro and settled in, fully aware that they were strangers in town and had a responsibility to behave and not disgrace their ship or their country. A couple of the older sea dogs amongst the group regaled the younger ones with their first-hand tales of the great victories of 1905 and so entranced were those in attendance that they barely noticed the steady arrival of more and more American Marines whose numbers eventually brought the place to capacity.

  Some of the Marines were already a little the worse for drink and began to eye the Japanese sailors with contempt, hurling quips and insults in their direction. The older sailors told Kunio and his friends to take no heed, but a group of the Marines seemed to have a problem with them and began gesturing and posturing towards them, becoming more and more aggressive, until the Japanese sailors decided that they really ought to leave.

  There was much pushing and shoving from the taller Americans, but before the door could be reached, a particularly drunken Marine grabbed the diminutive Kunio, picking him up bodily and declaring, “Look at this little Jap! Ain't he cute? I think I'll take him home and keep him as a pet!”

  It was enough for the other sailors, who waded in to the throng to rescue their frightened young comrade. As they strove to extrapolate him, things descended in to a dirty brawl, punches were sloppily thrown, wrestling broke out and men tried to restrain their compatriots to try and diffuse the pathetic scene.

  Somehow, Kunio was dragged free and the sailors ran for the door. Bursting out on to the street, they ran for the docks, followed by a rag-tag detachment of Marines, still yet to have their due pound of flesh.

  The light was fading and the locals looked on as the hapless Japanese ran like foxes on the run, pursued by their much larger hounds. With one more corner to turn, it looked as if Kunio and his crew-mates would reach safety, but as they reached the corner, the men were thrown to the four winds by a speeding car full of American Military Policemen who were on their way to try and stop the commotion in the city.

  Kunio was too busy running for his life and looking over his shoulder to see the car coming. Despite swerving to try and miss him, the side of the Americans' car thumped in to the young man, who was thrown to the cobbled road and knocked unconscious. The car continued to skid, going over Kunio's prone body, whilst the trailing wheel dragged itself over his left leg.

  All those in attendance gasped and winced at the sight and sound of the accident. The chasing Marines stopped in their tracks, sobered by what they saw.

  The ship's surgeon worked a minor miracle in saving Kunio's leg, but his days in the navy were over and he would always walk with a limp.

  There was a knock on his office door, which transported him back from his lamentation of a quarter of a century ago. He faltered back to his chair, quickly placed his sake bottle and glass back in their draw, mopped his moist brow and gathered his thoughts.

  “Enter!”

  The door opened silently and a young lady stepped in to the room, bowing to her superior.

  “You sent for me, Sanu Sensei.”

  “Yes, Kimura San, come forward.”

  Setsu dutifully stood before the desk.

  “You have been working here for a few weeks, now, and I am mostly pleased with your work at the school.”

  “Thank you, Sanu Sensei,” said Setsu with another bow.

  “But I must inform you that you need to make a greater effort in your teaching of military drill. It is of the uttermost importance that the children are conducted in this with the strongest of discip
line. Without it, they will be ill prepared for military service! In future, you must show more assertiveness and firmness – you will find that the children will respect you all the more for it.”

  Setsu bit her tongue for a moment.

  “I will try my best to carry out my duties, Sanu Sensei.”

  “You will do more than try!” snapped Kunio, “You will carry out your duty to the letter! These young people will need to fight for their country, soon, and if you cannot give them the skill and discipline that they need for the coming battle, then I shall do it myself!”

  That was the last thing that Setsu wanted. In her short time at the school, she had seen how Kunio meted out his discipline: by the rod. Students stood bolt upright when he walked by and for some of the younger ones it was all that they could do not to tremble in his presence. She sometimes felt that same dis-ease when he spoke to her in the school corridor – oh so often leaning close enough that she could smell the drink on his breath.

  “You see,” he continued, “I think that your time abroad with those white devils has made you a little weak at heart. Although, to be fair, Kimura San, I find your ability to teach mathematics and literature perfectly adequate, but you seem to have too much of that Western, feminine softness about you. One wonders what occupies your thoughts, sometimes.”

  His eyes dwelt on her hips and bosom.

  “You need to either lose that, or hide it well, if you are to do your job effectively. I have decided that I must observe your teaching of today's final class. Please feel assured that, should you need further guidance from me, I am always available, Kimura San.”

  There was a pause.

  “That is all. You may go.”

  Setsu bowed again and felt his gaze follow her out of the room.

   

  ***

   

  “Forward march! Forward march! Soldiers, forward march!” chorused the students, quoting the opening line of their textbooks.

  Kunio nodded his approval toward Setsu. She looked at the class before her – seventeen children of ages from seven to fourteen years old. All the girls wore traditional looking kimono dresses with their hair tied back, whilst all of the boys were in military uniform, their heads closely shorn.

  The majority of children had been evacuated from Tokyo in the preceding months, but now that fuel and food were in such short supply, there were scarce few takers in the countryside for those that remained.