Amazing Grace

by Mariko Hihara

  He was right, Kuji thought as he strained his ears. The neighborhood was quiet and not a sound could be heard.

  "Who knew the day would come when I'd be waiting to hear police sirens," he said. Although Nango had promised he was coming, Kuji wondered if he really would.

  "We only have a while to wait until dawn. Let's hang in there," Song said encouragingly. Kuji nodded again. The scraping ceased. It looked like the enemy had finished taking the obstacles outside. There was a rustling sound.

  "Keep your head low," Song said. Kuji got down on the floor. The pulpit was elevated from the floor, and although they had built a barricade around it, one could say that their position made them an easy target.

  Something whistled through the air.

  "What was that?"

  "Shh," Song hissed. Simultaneously, they were hit by an impact from three sides. A dull blast sounded as wood debris scattered through the air. The impacts came in succession. One of the piled benches blew apart.

  For the first time, Kuji felt fear well up inside him. This was something he had never experienced. This was a warzone.

  The shooting stopped and they heard footsteps clambering on the floor. The enemy was approaching.

  "Masatake, listen carefully," said Song's calm voice. "It'll be hard even for me to fend off an enemy that's coming at us from three sides. I'm going to lure their attention, and while they're distracted, I want you to take that side door to get outside. Run as far away as you can from the church."

  "No," Kuji shot back immediately. In the dark, he saw another flare burst from the barrel of the gun. The momentary glow illuminated Song's profile.

  "That's the only way for both of us to make it. There's a better chance of surviving than waiting for the police to come. And if you live, you'll be able to call for help. It'll increase my chances of making it out alive, too."

  As much as Kuji wanted to refuse, he had to admit that Song was right. It was easier to protect one person than two.

  "All right."

  "I'll count. On three, go through the side door." With that, Song disappeared from his side instantly. Kuji's palms broke out into sweat.

  "One, two, three!" Song rose up and opened fire. Kuji jumped back, crouched, and slipped through the side door. He emerged in the hallway of the first floor, and continued sprinting to the kitchen. He had never planned on abandoning Song in the first place. Kuji wasted no time in grabbing the metal tin of kerosene that was sitting beside the kerosene heater. He scrambled out the back door, hoisted the tin over his shoulder, and ran to the front of the church.

  This was the only way. He was certain. Sorry, God. I'm gonna have to burn your house down. But you'll forgive me, right? It's to help Song, after all. Song said you'd forgive anything.

  If he started a fire, it would draw out people from the neighborhood. These special unit guys, or assassins, or whoever they were, would have to give up on trying to kill them. Kuji splashed kerosene over the benches that had been dragged outside. He took a few steps back, took off his shirt, and poured kerosene over it, too. He then took a lighter out of his pants pocket. Just as he was about to set everything alight, he felt an impact jar him from behind.

  "What...the..." Kuji looked over his shoulder to see a man standing behind him, dressed head-to-toe in black. Kuji's eyes registered the gun in his hand. Before he could realize he had been shot, he took another bullet and fell to his knees. The ground slowly rose up to meet him.

  Kuji still managed to light his lighter and set his shirt on fire. Although he had no strength left to hurl the shirt at the debris, he grasped it tightly and crawled his way toward the church building. The flames crept to his hair and his pants.

  This is it, this is good enough, Kuji thought as he threw himself at the bench, doused in kerosene.

  * * * *

  "Holy shit, you fucking faggot."

  Kuji tried to open his eyes at the familiar voice, but lacking the strength, he soon gave up. He felt like he had something very important to say, but he couldn't remember. He heard many voices coming from far away. He heard the familiar sound of sirens. His body felt leaden, and he felt like the core of his brain had gone numb.

  "What? Can't hear me, idiot?"

  It's 　Nango Kuji thought. He simultaneously remembered the most important thing on his mind.

  "How's Song?"

  "Safe, you dumbass. We've rescued him."

  "Good." That was all he needed to hear. He smiled. Nango's voice rained down on him from above again.

  "Open your eyes, damnit! You've still got work left to do for us as an S, you hear me? The ambulance is on its way."

  I wish I could open my eyes, but I can't, he wanted to say.

  "Mr. Nango, Masatake needs me. Please let me be by his side," he heard Song's quiet voice say.

  "Where are you?" Kuji asked. "It's so dark - I can't see."

  "I'm right here." Someone gripped his hand with large, warm, and familiar palms.

  "Masatake, I want you to listen carefully to what I'm going to say. And I want you to repeat after me. Got it?"

  What?

  "Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come..." Song was praying. Does that mean I'm going to die? Oh, well. I guess it's all good, since Song is safe. God must have saved him. Thanks, man. I don't believe in you, but if Song does, there's nothing I can do. I guess the least I can do is thank you.

  God, huh. I wonder what he looks like. If I die, would I get to meet him? Hey, I should ask.

  "Can I go to the kingdom of God?"

  "You can."

  "And so will you, right?"

  "Yes, perhaps."

  "Then, if I wait over there, I'll be able to see you again, right?" That was all he wanted to make sure. "Will you pray for me?"

  "I will." The hands clasped tightly around his own. A dazzling light appeared in the darkness that had surrounded him. He heard that song - the song he had so loved.

  Chapter 8

  He felt a presence in the darkness. His whole body ached, but Kuji took it as proof that he was alive. He suddenly felt someone's hand grasp his own. It wasn't the hand that he was expecting, but it was soft and warm.

  "Masatake, Masatake," a tearful voice reached his ear.

  "You must be kidding me...." Kuji muttered.

  "Big brother, don't die," followed his youngr sister's voice. He had not heard her voice in years.

  "Why? What are you doing here...?"

  There was no answer to Kuji's question. He descended again into the chaos of his consciousness. From time to time, he regained consciousness, and each time, his mother called his name. Gradually, he was able to linger in reality for a little longer.

  One day, Kuji felt his body being lifted up and moved by many nurses.

  "We're moving you from the ICU into a regular patient room," said a nurse cheerfully. It finally sunk in for Kuji that he had made it out alive. His face was still covered in bandages and he couldn't see a thing, but every day his mother's voice filled the room in which he had settled. One by one, the many tubes that had been inserted into his body were removed.

  He was given permission to eat, and his mother fed him rice porridge with a spoon like she would a baby. And the next day, Nango's voice boomed in his hospital room.

  "You sure had luck on your side, huh, faggot?"

  Kuji's sense of hearing was sharper now that he had lost his vision. He began to laugh at Nango's voice.

  "What? What's so funny, you fag?"

  "Nango, you're crying, aren't you? Your voice is shaking."

  He heard a click of the tongue, and felt a large, rugged hand grab his jaw.

  "Don't make me fuck you, you bastard."

  "I'd like to see you try," Kuji retorted, but his body tensed in anticipation of the violence to come. But the hand fell away from his jaw, and gently stroked his cheek instead.

  "Nango, were you the one that told my mom..."

  "Yeah."

  Kuji had alwa
ys assumed that even if his life was in danger, his family would not come to see him. After he regained consciousness, he expected them to treat him like a burden again once they found out that he had survived. But it was not so.

  "You were doing good things, weren't you," his mother had said while she cared for him. "I'm sorry. I thought you were off with bad friends again. I heard the whole story. You were putting your life on the line to work for the police. And all in secrecy, too."

  Being a spy was far from "doing good" in Kuji's opinion, but it was all good if it meant his mother had forgiven him.

  "Yuka?" he called his younger sister's name.

  "Big brother," a tearful voice piped up from a short distance away. "Big brother, Kazu and I, we'll give you our skin. As much as you need. You helped me. I don't know why I never thanked you for it."

  Kuji felt tears fall from his unseeing eyes.

  "Don't be stupid," he growled. He sniffled as he remembered what had happened that day. "Nango, don't go telling them things they don't need to know."

  "Your voice is shaking too, idiot." The man's large hand moved to his head and gave it a pat.

  "Is, um..." Kuji began.

  "I know what you want to ask," Nango interrupted him. "But I can't tell you where he is."

  Song had never visited once. Even if Kuji had not heard his voice, he could still sense the man's existence. As long as Song was alive somewhere, Kuji was happy. Judging by the way Nango phrased his words, the man was, indeed, alive.

  "That's all right," Kuji said quietly, placing his bandaged hands over his chest.

  He lost track of the time that passed. Kuji's knees remained bent due to the contracted skin from his severe burns, but after going through grafting surgery several times, he was able to move a lot more freely. Rehabilitation began, which was much more arduous than his surgery. But Kuji diligently followed the physiotherapist's instructions without uttering a single complaint.

  His mother and younger sister visited almost every day. His younger brother could only visit once a month since he had graduated high school and found work in Osaka. But the time that the four of them spent together made him feel as if the warmth had returned to their family.

  Just once, his mother's second husband came to visit.

  "You must be Masatake," the man had said, offering his hand for a shake. Kuji felt the man's large and rugged hand. It felt different from his own hand, Nango's hand, and Song's hand. But he knew that this was the hand that had supported his mother and little sister.

  By some miracle, Kuji's fingers had been spared with just minor burns, and he eagerly awaited the day that he would be able to play the organ again. But unfortunately, his eyes only recovered enough to vaguely sense light. But Kuji had nothing to despair about.

  As long as he's alive, there's nothing more I could ask for. Even if he could not see the man, he would not mind. He only considered himself a by-product of his circumstances.

  I just happened to make it out alive.

  Despite the astonishing events he had gone through, he hadn't died. Perhaps that was the nature of human life. And that makes me super lucky to be here.

  He was alive, and so was his most cherished person. Not to mention his fingers were safe, so he could still play the organ. There was a piano in the rehabilitation room, so one day Kuji got his physiotherapist to give him permission to play it.

  Even if he could not see, his fingers still remembered where the keys were. With his index finger, Kuji pressed the C key on the C major scale, and from there his hands moved on their own and began to play that song.

  Song had been playing it when they first met. It had been the first song that the man had taught him. Kuji felt his senses become sharper as he played, and he could feel the presence of the people gathering around him in the rehabilitation room. When the song ended, there was a burst of applause. Kuji sensed someone stand up close to him, but it was not Song.

  "That was incredible, Kuji," said the voice of his doctor. "I suppose you want to play for a little more. Once you're done, there's something I want to discuss with you."

  Kuji turned away from the organ and looked up at his doctor.

  "What is it? I want to hear about it right away," he said.

  The doctor had wanted to discuss the possibility of undergoing a cornea transplant. "You can register with an eye bank and wait for your turn to come around. You're eligible for state redress, so you may be bumped up the line, too."

  For reasons that he still didn't know, Kuji had been awarded the qualification of a government official, and had been promoted two classes up on top of that. His medical fees would be waived, and he would also receive a disability pension. Kuji decided to accept the windfall gladly, considering all of the hardship he had endured until now. But the term "bumped up" bothered him.

  "You mean someone else is going to get pushed down the queue because of me, right?"

  "I didn't mean it like that, but I'm sorry if I made you feel that way," said the doctor.

  Kuji had harbored a vague sense that he would never see Song again. And if he wasn't going to see the man's face ever again, he didn't mind losing his vision forever. But one day he would have to be discharged from this hospital. That was why, in the end, Kuji decided to take the doctor's advice.

  His long days of rehabilitation began again. Nango came occasionally, had casual chats with him, and left. During these conversations, Nango let slip subtle pieces of information, and Kuji was able to deduce that Interpol was on the hunt for criminals involved in the organ trade. Song had been secretly gathering information about missing persons from Emmaus and other NPOs all over the world and reporting them to Interpol. He had been a very important informant.

  "I remember hearing something like that," Kuji said. "When we were heading over to Asylum Net."

  　　　"Yeah," Nango said. "The organization that Interpol was after was based out of Southeast Asia. The Japanese yakuza were also involved, too. They've sent people from "Fourth Division* over there, too."

  And what about Song? Kuji seemed to say as he lifted his face. Nango wore a reluctant look as he turned to the window.

  "...I can't tell you that right now."

  Kuji took that as a sign that Nango would tell him someday. He also turned his face to the window and felt the gentle rays of the sun on his face. I'll wait, he thought.

  That night, he was met with an unexpected visit.

  It was after lights-out. Kuji opened his eyes, sensing a man's presence in the dark room. It was Song. But Kuji's vision was only good enough to sense strong light. He reached out and felt for the light switch of his bed head lamp. A warm hand stopped him. It was the familiar touch from long ago.

  "S-Song, it's you!" Kuji exclaimed as he felt along the hand that clasped his. He ran his hands up the man's wrist and arm, grabbed a handful of the crisp fabric of his shirt and tried to draw him close. But the man stood like a stone and did not budge.

  "Song! Song!" Kuji continued to cry until Song's palm covered his mouth.

  "Masatake, please. Quiet down," said Song's voice at his ear. Kuji felt tears well up and stream from his eyes. As he sobbed, a sturdy arm wound around his head.

  "I'm sorry. I wanted to visit you sooner, but there were a lot of things I had to sort out."

  "It's okay," Kuji said as he pressed his face into the man's chest. "I thought I'd only get to see you in God's kingdom."

  A large palm stroked his head. "Thank you for saving my life," Song said.

  "It's no big deal. It's what I wanted to do. And I'm happy I did."

  "But look at what you've sustained because of me. I'm sorry," Song said quietly as he cupped Kuji's face with his hands.

  "It's nothing to be sorry about," Kuji said. He felt the other man's warm breath on his face.

  "I've already given my body and soul to the priest who saved me at the border," said Song. "There's nothing left that I can give to you to make up for it, Masatake. I'm sorry."
<
br />   "I told you it's okay," Kuji insisted. "I've already gotten lots from you already."

  "Masatake," he heard the man murmur. The next moment, he felt something soft press against his lips. Startled, he shrank back. The soft sensation quickly drew away, and the man's presence left him. Abandoned in the darkness, Kuji wept silently.

  I'll probably never see him again.

  It wasn't a vague premonition; Kuji was certain that it was true.

  　Fourth Division　　The Fourth Division of the Japanese police presides over organized crime (including gangs, trading of weapons and drugs, and foreign criminals).

  Chapter 9

  Shortly after that, Kuji was informed by his doctor that the eye bank had been in touch. He underwent a cornea transplant, recovered from his operation as scheduled, and before long the day came when he could take off his bandages.

  "Open your eyes slowly. It might be a little bright, but it'll be all right."

  The low voice was accompanied by a blinding light that filled his vision. He had unconsciously been gripping his eye mask. He blinked several times, and stared at the blurry figure in front of him. His vision came into focus and he could distinguish the person's face. There was a man in a lab coat in front of him, and someone else standing at his side.

  "I suppose I should apologize for being the first thing you see," said Nango. Although his tone was brusque, his face was solemn. "Your mother, she's with your sister because she's at risk for miscarriage. Your brother's busy at the factory and says he can't come into town unless it's on the weekends."

  "That's fine," Kuji said. "It helps more to see someone who's familiar." He blinked a few times before turning to his doctor and bowing his head. "Thanks, doctor."

  For the first time, he could see the doctor who had supported him throughout the long journey of his recovery. He was a kind-looking middle-aged gentleman. Kuji wondered how happy he would have been if the man had been his father.

  Nango approached and placed a hand on his head. "Good job for making it this far," he murmured.