The Lonely War

by Alan Chin

  A crushing hush blanketed the entire assembly, like an athlete holding his breath at the top of a high dive right before the plunge. Only Fowler smiled. Andrew stared, his eyes growing moist. He showed no anger or disappointment, only sorrow, as if he was sorry that Mitchell must endure this humiliation.

  “In light of these findings,” Mitchell said, “this court sentences the defendant to a bad-conduct discharge from the United States Navy. As of this moment, Andrew Waters, you are a civilian. You are entitled to all benefits and back pay up until today, but as of now you will no longer receive any salary from the United States government. Your duty to the American military, and to me, your commanding officer, is finished. That is all. These proceedings are concluded.”

  Moyer barked a joyous laugh as he jumped to his feet, rushed to Andrew, and crushed him in a bear hug.

  Tottori nodded at Mitchell. An understanding passed between them, along with a full measure of respect.

  Fowler leaped to his feet, screaming, “You’ve let him off scot-free, given him exactly what he wants!”

  “These proceedings are closed.” Mitchell’s voice was calm, with a hint of satisfaction at the edges. He snatched his sheet of paper and rose to his feet.

  “He’s a traitor. I caught him red-handed. I have witnesses. He deserves to be hung.”

  “Lieutenant Fowler, I said these proceedings are over. You’re dismissed.”

  Fowler’s temper snapped. “They’re not over, you sniveling little twit! I won’t let them be over until that queer bastard gets his due. He’s been eating like a king all these years we’ve been starving to death, and by God he must be punished!”

  Colonel Henman stepped from the crowd of stunned onlookers. “Hold your tongue, Fowler. No need for this dribble. This matter is closed.”

  “The hell it is. I have witnesses. The dirty bugger’s guilty and I want him rotting in my stockade, begging for mercy. He’ll crawl on his belly for scraps before I’m through with him.”

  “Fowler!” The colonel’s voice cut the air like a razor. “Get hold of yourself. You’re an officer in the Royal Army—act like one! Stand at attention. I said attention!”

  Fowler’s body went as rigid as a block of granite.

  “In light of your behavior, I am relieving you of your post as Provost Marshal until I can discuss this matter with the senior staff. And if I were you, I would keep my mouth shut and hold the dignity of your rank high. That is all. You are dismissed.”

  “Just a moment,” Tottori said as he pointed a finger at Fowler. “You would make my lover crawl on his belly for your entertainment?” He turned to his corporal and uttered a crisp sentence in Japanese.

  The four guards jumped to surround Fowler and grabbed him by both arms.

  “Lieutenant,” Tottori said to Fowler, “you’ll be taken to the transit stockade and shipped north to the railway gangs.”

  Fowler’s thin lips drooped. His stony eyes looked dazed.

  As the four guards carried Fowler away, Tottori stepped toward Mitchell. “I’m convinced that people in love are seldom happy for long. Love is the root of desire, and desire eventually brings unhappiness. It’s ironic that the person you most love is the person who can cause you the most torment, because one always ends up attempting to possess him, which is an impossible undertaking. Possession is such a vile concept. No wonder it causes such pain. I will take him now, and perhaps when my time is up, you will be there to take him again.”

  Tottori bowed low, and turned to walk away. He stopped. “By the way, Lieutenant. Had you issued a verdict that would have harmed Andrew in any way, you would have joined that sniveling twit at the work camps.” He turned again and wrapped his arm across Andrew’s shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

  With Tottori supporting Andrew, they marched out of the courtyard. Ten thousand pairs of eyes watched them go without a single blink. As they made their way through the huge open gate, Hudson sang in a loud, joyous voice, “For he’s a golly good fellow, for he’s a golly good fellow.” Clifford and Stokes joined in. Several others took up the tune. By the time Tottori had led him out of the high prison gate, hundreds of American, British, and Australian were singing, “fellow, and so say all of us!”

  AS THE lovers climbed the steps to Tottori’s quarters, Andrew noticed that the tortoise Tottori kept tied to the stone lantern was missing. One end of the cord was still tied to the lantern, but the end had been cut or bitten off. Andrew searched the length of the terrace and spotted the rock-like shell at the far end, resting in the cool afternoon shade.

  Tottori made a beeline to the bedroom and returned with his opium pipe. He sat at the dining table across from Andrew and held a flame to the bowl. It was the first time he had smoked during the day. He usually waited until after making love. He took another hit and passed the pipe to Andrew.

  “Smoke,” he said. “It helps.” His fingertips caressed Andrew’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful it is agonizing.”

  Andrew took Tottori’s hand and said, before inhaling the drug, “Thank you, although I would rather he had never found out.”

  “Every night I consume you, your flesh, your spirit, and I relish every mouthful. But this love has turned into torture because it must end soon. There is no prolonging this joy.”

  “I don’t understand,” Andrew said.

  “I release you from your debt. You gave me much more than that serum was worth.”

  “Hikaru, what’s happened? Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “My superior has disclosed a report from Admiral Shimada, an analysis of massive air and shipping losses. American forces will soon be poised to launch an assault on Japan itself. Japan will assuredly lose this war. There is talk of negotiating a peace offensive and settling for any conditions that would let Japan retain her honor. All is lost.”

  “Hikaru, I’m so sorry. What will happen if the Americans invade your homeland?”

  A visible, terrifying apparition revealed itself behind Tottori’s dull eyes. Andrew sensed that every moment now was a countdown to some future mourning. The realization of this approaching sorrow would overshadow any attempt at normalcy.

  “I will make arrangements to smuggle you across the border before that happens. You can make your way to Saigon. As for me, I’ve requested another transfer to a fighting unit. I’ve been turned down, but I’m not giving up. I implored my superior for a transfer. He must understand, my honor must be allowed the fitting end of defending the homeland.”

  “What will happen to the prisoners?”

  Darkness veiled Tottori’s face. “It’s useless to speak of it.”

  Andrew moved into that hollow space between Tottori’s arms, embracing the man’s immense and appalling pain while the opium carried his mind across the universe and into a new dimension.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  May 28, 1945—1000 hours

  AS THE scorching days passed, a new pattern emerged. The hours spent together seemed grueling; every minute was an ordeal. Andrew and Tottori drifted on an ocean of sorrow that stretched into infinity, but at the same time had a rapidly approaching end. Only the opium could dull the pain. They both spent the long days in a drug-induced fog.

  Silence pervaded Tottori’s quarters. Andrew often asked him why he remained so silent. Tottori always answered with a taciturn stare that said: all is lost, what’s the point of talking? Tottori’s entire being exuded this maddening silence.

  Andrew occasionally lifted himself above the opium-induced mist to initiate a conversation about routine topics, but every subject twisted its way into the minefield of their onrushing end. Andrew had the bizarre feeling that he was living with a dead man, that the life force within Tottori’s body was merely a sad hoax.

  As the days bled on, Tottori was plagued by migraines. He lay limp on his bed, ghostly white, motionless, with a wet cloth over his eyes. During these attacks, Andrew realized that Tottori was mortal, that the possibility of losing him was real.

  Tottori
no longer made love. Desire, like every other emotional response, had been sucked away by the opium. He had no potency. Sometimes, he tried to behave as before, taking baths, eating a scrumptious dinner, carrying Andrew to the bed. But once there, he simply hugged Andrew and gave an apologetic smile. The sorrow in his eyes was all too visible. His pain, Andrew thought, he’s in love with it. He makes love to it instead of to me.

  At night under snow-white mosquito netting, Andrew embraced the officer, but Tottori was unable to respond. As the fibers of blackness wove a shroud around them, Tottori sucked his life out of the opium pipe. He clung to the pipe as desperately as Andrew clung to him.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  August 12, 1945—1600 hours

  THREE weeks of continuous torrent, gushing drains, mud, and the echo of rain battering the roof. Andrew had grown sick of the sound of it, and of the constantly damp sheets, blankets, and clothing.

  He sat on Tottori’s veranda with his body folded into the lotus position. His chi expanded until he felt boundless. His essence soared up on wings above the gray cloud cover. Wind brushed his face and the sun’s golden glare penetrated his eyes. The clarity of the light was stunning. The mass of clouds below him swirled like a boiling soup, but up there the day was warm and buttery.

  In that wondrous flight, the world washed away unnoticed until, through the whisper of wind, he heard the faint shouts of angry men. He resisted the urge to descend, but curiosity won him over. Sitting on the terrace, he opened his eyes.

  Shouts erupted from Japanese guards herding a new batch of prisoners up the muddy path that led into the prison. They passed a dozen yards away from Tottori’s hut. Through the rain, Andrew saw that the prisoners were American marines. About forty of them sloshed by before something caught his eye, something familiar. It took him several seconds to realize that what he saw was Lieutenant Hurlburt, the marine he had threatened to kill on Guadalcanal.

  Andrew smiled, thankful that the officer was still alive. He picked up the opium pipe at his side, but realized that the contents were completely charred. He needed to refill the bowl, but his stash was inside the hut. The thought of standing seemed too great an effort. He picked up Jah-Jai and brought it to his lips. Notes of a Chinese folk tune rippled through the damp air.

  The rain turned into a fine drizzle at dusk. The camp sounds weaved together with the darkening night sky to form an intense gray mask. Clifford trudged down the muddy path to Tottori’s headquarters. Andrew met him on the terrace and they embraced. He had come for a bath and dinner.

  They wasted no time pulling off their sarongs and soaping each other down. A quick rinse and they slipped into the tub. They embraced again before Andrew asked about Mitchell.

  “H-h-h-he’s fine, happy, really. The whole camp is celebrating. Those new prisoners brought wonderful news. The war will soon be over. We won in Europe, the Americans and Russians are in Berlin. Hitler is dead. The Americans have taken Okinawa. That’s only three hundred miles from the Japanese mainland.”

  “If it ends the war, then it can’t be bad,” Andrew said, but a note of doubt seeped into his voice.

  “B-b-but there’s a problem. Maybe you can help. You see, a marine officer has vital information about the invasion of Japan. He must get to the island rebels so he can radio that information to the Allied Forces. You’ve been to the village.”

  “This officer wouldn’t happen to be Lieutenant Hurlburt?”

  “Ca-ca-ca-captain Hurlburt. How did you know?”

  “Unlucky guess. What about old Darby? He knows the village elders.”

  “H-h-he died two weeks ago.”

  “Who died?” Tottori stood at the doorway.

  “Nobody you know,” Andrew said. He smiled. “Join us. It feels great.”

  Tottori shook his head and walked to his office.

  “How about Hud? He’s been to the village.”

  “H-h-h-he said he never met the villagers. He hid in the jungle while Darby did the negotiating. T-t-t-there’s something else. The guards are taking work details into the jungle to dig pits. The rumor is that they’re for mass graves and they’ll kill us all if America attacks the Japanese mainland.”

  Andrew was not convinced. Rumormongering was a favorite pastime in the camp. Rumors were the only thing that spread faster than disease. It often seemed as though half the prisoners were pathological liars and the other half were willing to believe anything. It was all a harmless game to pass the time, and Andrew had learned to believe nothing until it was proven.

  “Hikaru wouldn’t do that.”

  “Ho-ho-hope you’re right.”

  After their bath they joined Tottori for dinner—bowls of noodle soup accompanied by golden bits of tempura. The tempura was superb, with eel, squid, octopus, and shrimp.

  Tottori ate in silence while Andrew and Clifford made attempts at small talk. Clifford supplied scraps of gossip about the Americans. Tottori became woozy on Suntory, a strong Japanese liquor. He could no longer procure the bottles of Haig & Haig Scotch Whiskey that he preferred, but the Suntory anesthetized his pain equally as well, and when he needed something stronger, there was always the opium pipe.

  After dinner Tottori knelt before his Shinto shrine, focusing all of his energy into willing a transfer to a fighting unit. Andrew knew the officer would sit there like a stone for hours.

  Andrew whispered in Clifford’s ear that they should go visit Mitchell. They slogged into the prison. It was the first time Andrew had been inside the wire since the court-martial. He was thankful for night’s cloak to hide him.

  He waited at Hut Twenty-nine while Clifford went to find Mitchell and Hurlburt. While waiting, Hudson told him how profitable the bug business had become since they’d stepped up production, which was great considering that there were now forty-five new mouths to feed. They talked about the work parties digging enormous pits, which could only be for mass graves.

  “That Captain Hurlburt said we’re kicking holy shit out of the Japs,” Hudson said. “We’ll invade their mainland any day now. Soon as that happens, they’ll butcher us. Might even happen before then. They’ll kill us all so they can move these troops to defend the homeland.”

  Andrew swallowed. “Tottori is incapable of murder.”

  “What’s a few thousand prisoners to the Jappo big shots? The idea of our troops landing on their beaches will drive them mad. They’re capable of anything.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “They’ll machine-gun us in those pits,” Stokes said. “I’ll never see Chew-Gin again.”

  “The only thing to do is live until that happens,” Andrew said.

  “Here, here,” Moyer said, climbing the steps to stand inside the doorway. Mitchell and Hurlburt followed him. Fisher, now an outcast among the Americans, was not with them.

  Mitchell smiled as his eyes found Andrew’s face. They both lit up, a faint luminous glow in the dim that surrounded them. They stared at one another until Mitchell said, “Good to see you. What’s this about you wanting to help us?”

  Andrew nodded. “You have information that must get to the allies. I don’t know the guerrillas, but I have met the village elders. At one time they had a radio. I can take you to them and act as an interpreter.”

  Hurlburt scoffed, “You’re the commandant’s whore. I wouldn’t trust a traitor like you as far as I could throw you.”

  “If you’ve got a better option, then take it. I’m offering my help as a way to thank Nathan.”

  “Nathan, not Lieutenant Mitchell?” Hurlburt said.

  “I’m a civilian now. I’ll call him any damned thing I want, and whatever I do call him is none of your business. If you’re too good for my help, fine. I’ll leave you in peace and best of luck.”

  “You’re both acting like schoolboys,” Mitchell said. “He’s right, Captain. He’s our best chance.”

  “A traitor is no chance.”

  Andrew said, “Suppose I take you both, Nathan and you. Surely you und
erstand that I wouldn’t do anything to harm him. So I’ll lead you both to the guerrillas and you both get away.”

  “You’re trying to save his skin from the mass graves?”

  “What do you care as long as you get your information to the allies? Besides, there won’t be any mass graves.”

  “I’d like to show you something,” Hurlburt said, “so you understand how critical it is for the allies to get this information.” He looked at Mitchell, who nodded.

  Hurlburt carefully removed a folded slip of paper from the cuff of his shirtsleeve and handed it to Andrew. “In August of last year, the Jap War Ministry issued a directive to all POW camp commandants. That’s what the allies need to know before they invade the Japanese homeland.”

  Andrew unfolded the paper and, holding it toward the nearest naked bulb, read:

  When the battle situation becomes urgent, the POWs will be concentrated and confined in their location and kept under heavy guard until preparations for the final disposition will be made. Although the basic aim is to act under superior orders, individual disposition may be made in certain circumstances. Whether they are destroyed individually or in groups, and whether it is accomplished by means of mass bombing, poisonous smoke, poisons, drowning, or decapitation, dispose of them as the situation dictates. It is the aim to not allow the escape of a single one, to annihilate them all, and not to leave any traces.

  A tense silence hung in the air as Hurlburt took the note and replaced it in his sleeve. “You, me, and Mitchell are the only ones who have seen that. No one else needs to know yet. Okay? How soon can we move out?”

  Indecision spread over Mitchell’s face, but he nodded at Andrew.

  Andrew was stunned. He managed to say, “I’m ready now. I know the roving guard’s schedule and the way to the village. Get whatever you need and let’s go.”