by Mark Tiro
A glint of understanding passed into my mind. Boys! Other boys.
Aaahhh! In my sadness at being married off to a woman—even though sensei was right: the girl was a very good match, from a well-respected family—I had not stopped to think of the possibilities. Kyoto was a big city, and there would be other boys—lots and lots of other boys—at university there to study with. I’m sure my studies themselves would be fine. Pleasant enough—after all, I’d always done just fine in all my studies up until then, and I could see no reason that university would be any different.
And in a few years, once my studies were done, I would come back here, to work with my father in the prefecture’s government. Either there, or in his company if the prefecture didn’t have a position open when I returned. Either way, everything would be open to me. The world would be open to me.
None of this had occurred to me before, but in that instant, all of it did. It was like one final gift sensei had given me.
“Thank you,” I said, looking up and throwing my arms around him, thinking of the freedom that now lay in front of me—freedom that he had given his blessing to.
Now that I’m thinking back on it, I’m not sure that’s what he meant, and I don’t think this was entirely accurate. That’s what I heard though, and I was immensely grateful to my sensei for giving me his blessing to go to Kyoto and fuck other boys.
We lingered there a while, sensei and I. One last time. I held him tight until I started to feel a wet spot growing on my shirt, just where his eyes were resting up against my shoulder.
Unlike him, I instinctively pulled away so my shirt wouldn’t get wet.
That’s when our eyes met. One look into his tear-soaked face just wiped all those thoughts from my mind. At least temporarily. Now I began to cry too. I cried, because at last, I was finally realizing that this might be the last time I’d ever be with sensei. I cried. And then I cried some more.
But unlike his, mine were tears of joy. Just a little bit longer, and I would be in Kyoto, with my whole life about to open up ahead of me.
Something inside me did open up. I let go and tumbled through its open space. I tumbled through, out to university in the big city, out of my hometown—and into the rest of my life.
2
Two
“Do you need me to do anything for you?”
“No, I think I have it. The baby fell asleep early tonight. Thank you for asking. I appreciate that Yoshio-san. I’ll see you when you get back from the baths.”
“Thank you,” I said without looking up. My topcoat was already pulled tight around my shoulders. As I got to the door, I stopped, and felt a deep gratitude come over me. I looked back, and saw my wife kneeling next to our baby who had fallen asleep on the tatami in front of the stove that kept our living room warm. I felt an overwhelming need to say something to her. Anything. Mostly ‘thank you’. For letting me walk out the door tonight. For letting me walk out the door most every night, and not asking questions that would force us to talk about what we both knew. Tonight, she was kneeling, admiring our baby as he slept, and I was happy to let her enjoy her reverie.
I slipped into my shoes and walked out into the snow, gently pulling the door closed behind me.
We had never talked about it, never said a word. But she knew. My wife was very smart like that. And I had never tried to hide it. I had felt bad, of course, when we were first engaged, but she had studied in school with me, and seemed to know. And so I promised her a baby, and I had forced myself to do it, too. I gave her one—a baby—and not more than a year after we were married. Quite a feat, I thought, for someone who had never been with a woman until after we were married.
I realized full well she was the one making the sacrifice by our marriage. She knew I would never love her more than as a friend, for no other reason than that she had been born a woman. And I could not love any woman more than as a friend. And yet, I felt her understanding in this, her support even. Little by little, I came to love that woman. Not like that, of course; not love like a good wife deserves from her husband. But it was the best I could do under the circumstances.
Our town was very small, but as luck would have it, there were three different hot spring baths at various places around and just outside the town. It had stopped snowing earlier, and I cringed as I walked. It wouldn’t matter—it never did. But still, I would rather not leave footprints from my house. Because, of course—I never once made it to any of those hot spring baths. My wife knew this—of that I am sure. But the few hours, a few times a week that it would—in theory at least—take me to walk out to the baths and back was my chance to be me.
These were the times I would see my old sensei still. There were a few other men in the town too, who I had found shared my… sensibilities…
Now that I’d finished my studies and returned to this place, to work here with my father in his company, these forays into the arms of these men were my great stress-reliever.
“Hiroshi-san, hello there,” I said, lowering my head as the town mail delivery man passed.
“It is an honor Yoshio-sama. I have a telegram for you.”
“Can you leave it with my wife? I’m headed out to the baths just now.”
“Uh, uh…” He hesitated, and I looked straight at him, and gave him a big smile, and a small wink.
“Uh, of course I can Yoshio-sama. The general directive is to make every attempt to deliver it personally. It’s from the military. But Yoshio-sama, you and your father are well-respected, important men here. I am sorry to have bothered you. I will give this to your wife.”
“Thank you Hiroshi-san.” I lowered my head once more, just a little, and then I turned to keep walking. My footsteps were headed out, away from my house. Hiroshi followed them straight to it.
The light snow was falling again now. It was just light enough to dust the houses and the trees, and the top of my head as I walked.
I was comfortable here. I knew everyone, and everyone knew and respected me. I lingered an instant in my mind on that telegram, but I was having a hard time focusing. The snow was falling just hard enough that I had to pay attention to my steps now. Watch your step Yoshio, I thought. Watch your step.
“Sorry.”
Watch your step Yoshio! I thought, silently berating myself as I lay there, sprawled out in the snow on the ground.
“No, I am the one who is sorry,” I said. “It’s entirely my fault.”
I had been turning around, straining to see the door as everyone streamed out. It was basic English class now, and at least half the other students had been sent here by the military to learn English. They were all, without exception as far as I could tell, unflinchingly serious in their studies. These were young, strong officers-to-be, and most of them were quite good looking. Also, it could have been the age. It’s a well-known fact that there is no twenty year-old boy who can put on an officer’s uniform and not be good looking.
Anyway, this was before the war, before the military started taking everyone, even the ones who weren’t so young and even the ones who actually didn’t look so good.
I looked up from where I had fallen. The boy I had bumped into was not one of the soldiers. We both found ourselves sprawled out, dusted by the fresh falling of snow that covered what in warmer times would be the grassy area just outside the large university building.
“I’m Kazuo,” he said with an easy smile. Despite the circumstances of our first meeting, I felt immediately comfortable with him.
I struggled to my feet, and then reached out my hand towards him. He took it, and that made me smile too. I helped him up, and, taking a chance, I reached over and dusted some snow off his shoulder, and apologized once more. As I put my arm on his jacket, he smiled sweetly at me.
“And I’m Yoshio,” I answered.
That is how I came to meet Kazuo.
It was not too far into my second year at university, I think. We became friends first. Friends, and then, well… not only the soldiers sen
t there to study English were young. Or good looking. Kazuo was young, and I was too.
Soon enough, we began spending our evenings together. Evenings first, and then nights. We studied together, slept together, drank together—we did all of that together, or some undefinable mixture of that, with a little extra on the side for good measure.
At school, we were together. On breaks, I would go home to my wife, my baby, and my sensei, and to a few other random boys in my home town as well. Kazuo knew about these other boys. I told him as much. We were always honest with each other in things like that. Anyway, what use was it not to be? He was in a situation not all that different than mine, although I have thought many times that his wife could not have been nearly as understanding as mine had been.
3
Three
“What will you do honeybee, once we graduate?” Kazuo asked as we sipped tea one night before dinner that spring.
We did a lot of sipping tea together that year. Not so much sleeping together, and when we did, it was, well—boring.
Other men would come and go. But I couldn’t help myself, I never did leave Kazuo. Not really, not like the way I had made—or at least I’d tried to make, until I couldn’t resist on my first break back from university—an almost clean break with sensei. And even if it wasn’t hot and passionate or anything like that with Kazuo, there was something comfortable about him. I couldn’t picture life without him, even if at times, the thought did occur to me that he might just end my life by boring me to death.
“I’m going to help run my father’s business for now. Then, depending on what happens, I may take some role in the government in our prefecture. For now, though, it will just be the business for me. What about you Kazuo-kun? What are you going to do when you go back home?”
“I’m not sure yet. Does it matter?”
“It’s like you have the weight of the world on you, always serious, always sad Kazuo-kun. What happened to you? Why can’t you just let it go?”
“My wife’s not pregnant, and she’s not nearly as understanding as yours.”
“It’ll happen soon enough. She’ll probably be pregnant by the end of June, and then you’ll be done with the whole baby business. You won’t have to worry about it anymore. She’ll move on, and focus on the baby. No more pressure—that’ll be that.”
“That won’t be that!” he snapped back. “It’s not just that.”
“What then?”
“Not everyone has no cares in life like you. Some people have real things to worry about. Yoshio-sama!” He drew out the last word part, to emphasize it.
“Oh, that’s not fair! You know that’s not. Please take that back.”
“You’re right Yoshio-kun, it’s not fair. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, honeybee. It’s just, my father—he’s not in business. I have no business to go to after school. He’s in government.”
“Mine is too! He’s head of our prefecture!” I blurted out.
“Oh, head of the prefecture! Do you mean he’s in charge of setting fishing production schedules on some back water pond where nothing ever happens?”
“Hey! That’s not fair either! Are you angry at me?” I shot back. But I had to at least try to defend the honor of my prefecture.
“Pond! It’s the biggest lake in the entire country,” I started into him. “And I hope you enjoy that funazuishi you can’t seem to get enough of! You know, the fish you wash down with that imported European wine your dad brings back by the crate-load each time he returns for ‘consultation’ from his embassy in Berlin! You do know just where that funazuishi you love so much comes from, right?”
“Please, don’t. Not now. I can’t now. Please Yoshio-kun. Please stop.”
He seemed to be slowing down, pleading almost. As he said the last word, he buried his head on my pillow. He wasn’t crying—I knew that from being around him enough. It was more like he was trying to feel something, some emotion however sad, trying to break him out of the overwhelming melancholy that had begun to envelope him over the past few months.
“I’m sorry baby,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think it really matters either way.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters.”
“My father has been commissioned into the military now. ‘The Emperor does not need diplomats now,’ they told him. They told all the diplomats in his section of the ministry the same thing. ‘The Emperor needs soldiers now, and you will be leaders among his soldiers.’”
“So no more European wine then?” I asked, trying to make light of the situation.
“Only if he can capture it on the battlefield.”
“I see. I’m sorry Kazuo-kun.” I brushed his hair back and saw that he was crying now.
“I was to start in the foreign ministry as soon as I graduated. That’s not going to happen now. Obviously. I have nowhere to go but home.”
“What are you going to do then? When we graduate?”
“Go home first, I guess. Then, I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters Kazuo-chan,” I said, laying my hand on his. “Don’t give up. Something will work out for you. You’re smart. I know it will. Everything always works out.”
“My father says we’re all going to be soldiers—just like happened to him—soon enough.”
“Ha!” I blurted out, trying a little too late to suppress my laugh. “Soldier? You? I cannot ever picture… I’m sorry, I mean, well it’s just that I can’t picture you—or me for that matter—as a soldier.”
I was feeling more than a little uncomfortable now. His dad had worked for the ministry for most of his life, and was highly placed now. If someone as well-respected as Kazuo’s father was forced into the military, it could happen to any of us.
I shuddered at the thought.
“I…” he said, hesitating an uncomfortably long time, “I—and you too—we’re likely to receive commissions as officers sooner rather than later. My father has told me he’s seen that happening everywhere he’s been.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I said. “What else did your father tell you?”
“He expects the military to wait until we finish university in the spring and get our degrees. But he doesn’t think it will be long after that. By the winter at the latest, he thinks.”
I could see that Kazuo’s eyes were dry now. And I saw something else too. What was it? An understanding maybe? No, not that. Something else, but what? Acceptance. That’s it. He had a look of acceptance now.
Acceptance, and I think for the first time I can remember in him, resolve.
“At least that,” he continued. “If I have to go fight a war, it might be better to be an officer.”
“What do you mean ‘I’? If they commission you, then the rest of us will be called too. And I don’t want to go. But you’ll see, if it happens, it’ll be fine. This war will be over soon enough, and everything will be back to normal in no time.”
“For you—Yoshio-kun, of course you’re not worried. For you, everything has always been fine.”
“Aawww, don’t say that. That’s not true,” I said defensively. I tried to think of an example to tell him, of something in my life that hadn’t ended up just fine, but I couldn’t think of one. When nothing really came to mind, I changed gears and tried to sound upbeat.
“Hey, maybe if we have to go, you and I can both serve together? What do you think? You know, we could be officers together, with our cute little outfits.”
“You mean uniforms Yoshio-san?” he said. “They’re called uniforms, and they’re not cute. They’re serious.”
Kazuo’s words didn’t come out with anger, necessarily. It was more like something an older brother would say to a younger one, to try to get the younger brother to start taking things more seriously.
“Listen,” he said. “I’ll ask my father. I don’t think there’s any hope for… well,
those cute little soldier outfits of yours.”
“Well, that’s no good,” I said, trying to be cheerful. He ignored me.
“I would bet, though,” he went on, “that there’s a chance he may be able to get our commissions together, maybe even serve out our time together until the war finishes up. What do you say Yoshio-kun?”
“If we have to go, okay. I’d always rather go with you. In the meantime, if you want to find me, you know what I’ll be doing.”
“And what’s that?”
“At Lake Biwa, arranging fishing schedules and funazuishi shipments.”
He burst out laughing, and for just a moment, I think the weight might have lifted from my friend Kazuo’s shoulders.
4
Four
When I came back to my house, my wife greeted me at the door. Normally, she would have been long asleep. As usual, the baby was asleep on the tatami in front of the wood stove.
The baby was long asleep, of course, but my wife was sitting up, drinking tea from a giant pot we usually only used when the whole family was coming over. If she were a man, she would have been outside; instead of drinking cup after cup of tea, she would have been smoking cigarette after cigarette.
She was holding the telegram. The look in her eyes said everything. It was a look I had only ever seen when people died.
The telegram was my commission.
The military was taking me. And I’m guessing they were going to take Kazuo as well. I had hoped to protect my wife by not telling her that I expected to be commissioned into the Emperor’s army. I thought to let her enjoy as much of a normal life as possible before I was called up.
But the look on her face—while I had known this day was coming, her eyes confirmed that this was nothing less than a shock to her entire system. A million things looked etched on her face, running through her mind all at once.
