All We Left Behind

by Danielle R. Graham

  She placed her palm on my forearm and then ran her hand across my coat sleeve in a tender touch. ‘Both.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  She stretched to place the cookie basket on the tractor seat and slid her hand into the pocket of her overcoat. ‘This came for me in the post.’ She passed me an opened envelope from the University of British Columbia. ‘It’s from the dean.’

  I unfolded the paper and read the letter. He had written to express his disappointment that she had not responded to the offer for admission. She was the top student who had applied and he was eager to have such a strong scholar study with them. He asked her to reconsider for the following fall term, and he offered a scholarship to pay her tuition for every year of her entire degree. ‘Holy smokes. Congratulations. This is something to be very proud of.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you going to take the offer?’

  She hesitated before she said, ‘We will have to wait and see what happens with the war first.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be over by next year. The scholarship is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’

  ‘If I accept, won’t you miss me while school is in session?’

  ‘I could find a job and move to Vancouver too.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to uproot everything for me.’

  ‘Why not? Mayne Island will always be here to come back to.’

  She kicked at the dirt with her toe as she considered it. ‘I don’t want to tear you away from home. Maybe we could visit each other on weekends. And I’ll be home for holidays and the summer break.’

  ‘I am happy to do whatever works. We’ll figure it out.’ I pointed over her shoulder at the portion of my family’s property that overlooked the valley. ‘You see that ridge?’

  She nodded.

  ‘My father plans to give me the property my grandfather’s old homestead cabin is on for my birthday. I’ve been saving all my pay-cheques from the mill to build a house that has at least five bedrooms. It will probably take me three or four years to finish it, same amount of time it would take you to finish your university degree.’

  ‘That’s a large house for one person.’

  ‘Well, yes, but I’m hoping I’ll be married by then to a fine, intelligent woman who has a career as a teacher or a lawyer or an astronomer or something. Then maybe she and I will fill all those rooms with little ones. She’ll teach them all about music and literature. I’ll teach them about sports – that’s all I’ll teach them because my wife will be better than me at everything else.’

  Chidori laughed. ‘I guarantee your wife will be better at sports than you too.’

  ‘Ha ha. You’re comical. You know I’m an ace on the baseball diamond.’ I moved to whisper in her ear, ‘I have a dream that this fine woman and I – and Patch – will live in that house happily ever after. What do you think of my dreams for the future?’

  She snorted, amused. ‘Five bedrooms? Your future wife would be pregnant for years!’

  Her tone made me chuckle. ‘How many children do you want to have?’

  ‘Two. One boy and one girl.’ She turned to face me, clutching my coat pockets to draw me closer. ‘Would the house you’re building have a crystal chandelier in the dining room perchance?’

  ‘If that’s what my love wants.’

  ‘And a music solarium?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She sighed peacefully as she took a moment to enjoy the vision of my dream home in her imagination. ‘That sounds wonderful.’

  The late afternoon sun glowed on her skin and the splendour of it took my breath away.

  She studied my love-struck expression and then her eyes lit up from a thought that crossed her mind. ‘Do you remember when you asked me if I write about a handsome young man in my diary?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, the truth is, I do. I’ve been writing about him in my diary ever since I learned how to print. At first he was just a sweet little boy who made me laugh and went on adventures with me. But then I became quite smitten with him when we were about twelve years old. At that time he was mainly interested in me because I pitched well enough to help him practise his batting, and I had memorized our science textbooks and could help him identify all of the different species of reptiles he had dug out of a ditch somewhere. But then one day we grew up and it became clear that he felt as lovingly towards me as I did towards him. Unfortunately, I did something very foolish. I was terrified of losing him, and I told him I didn’t want to write about him in my diary any more. It was the worst mistake I had ever made in my entire life. Fortunately, he gave me the chance to take that decision back. Well, to be more accurate, he was relentless in his mission to convince me to take it back.’

  I laughed.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘Anyway, I thought you might be interested to know how happy I am that, even though we are living against the distressing backdrop of a war, the young man is still creating special moments for me to write about in my diary every day, sometimes several times a day. And although our future is frighteningly uncertain, as I listen to him talk about his vision of a life together, my affections for him grow even deeper, which I honestly wouldn’t have guessed was possible.’ She paused to take a breath and wrung her hands in anticipation of my response. ‘What do you think of that?’

  ‘I think …’ I removed my cap and stuffed it in my pocket, then laced my fingers with hers. ‘Would it be all right if I kissed you, Miss Setoguchi?’

  ‘Oh.’ Her cheeks blushed and she reached up to hide it with the palm of her hand.

  She hesitated for an awkwardly long time, which made me nervous. ‘Was that too forward?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just that I don’t know how to kiss.’

  I laughed, which made her entire face turn pink.

  ‘It’s not kind to laugh, Hayden.’

  ‘I’m not laughing at you. It’s just funny because kissing’s not something you need to know how to do. You just do it.’

  ‘How do you know? Have you kissed many girls?’

  ‘Well, no. I haven’t kissed anyone, but if Joey and Donna Mae figured it out, I’m sure we’ll be able to muddle our way through.’

  Chidori laughed and then bounced back and forth between the heels and toes of her saddle shoes – partly keen, partly anxious. ‘Okay.’

  She tilted her chin up to look into my eyes. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers. After a slight hesitation, she moved her mouth to kiss me back. It was tender and sweet at first but intensified when I rested my hand on her hip and drew her closer to my body. I slid my other hand to rest my palm beneath her ear and then caressed her cheek with my thumb. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of my coat lapels and she rose onto her tiptoes to kiss me more ardently. My breath became rapid, along with my heart rate, as she ran her hand under my coat and across my chest. Kissing her was the most pleasant sensation I’d ever felt. I could have done it all afternoon, but she eventually leaned back to catch her breath.

  She clutched her chest in exhilaration and said, ‘Golly. No wonder Joey and Donna Mae spend all their time doing that.’

  I chuckled with a sliver of pride for impressing her as I grabbed the cookie basket, then stretched my arm across her shoulder. ‘Is it all right if I walk you home and sneak another kiss before we say goodbye?’

  She snuggled in next to my side as we started to walk. ‘That would be fine with me. Very fine indeed.’

  Chapter 15

  I was transferred from the horse stable lockup to Budapest and thrown on a boxcar train with hundreds of other POWs from all over. It was strangely reassuring – despite the terrible circumstance – to be among other men like me, but the boxcar was so crowded we couldn’t even lie down. We sat back to back, with our knees tucked into our chests, just so there would be enough room for everyone to sit down. The stench from all the sweaty bodies mixed with the soaked-in urine of the livestock normally transported in the car was almost more than I
could bear. I tried to recall Chidori’s blossom scent to block out the putridness, but I couldn’t remember it. I could somewhat remember Inga’s talcum-powder scent, so I used that to get me through as the cramped train bumped and rolled along the countryside.

  The train stopped twice a day to let us out to relieve our bladders. We were only given something to eat once a day, usually a bun with a slice of mouldy cheese. My throat was parched because we drank from a stream only once during the entire four-day trip. That’s all the guards got too. I almost felt sorry for them.

  One British pilot fell ill during the journey and was so weak that he went into convulsions during one of the train stops. He vomited uncontrollably and soiled himself, so the guards shot him. We rolled away with him still lying next to the railroad tracks, and oddly, the thought that crossed my mind was that he was lucky to be out free in the fresh air and sunshine.

  As night fell outside on the third night, I sat with my back up against an American pilot. The French-Canadian fellow next to me slumped over in his sleep and leaned against my shoulder while I nodded off to the rhythm of the rocking train. Out of the darkness of the boxcar, the dead British soldier appeared and stood in front of me. His eyes were missing and when he opened his mouth vomit spewed out. Then he collapsed in a heap onto my shoulder. I violently pushed his disgusting soiled and bloody weight off me.

  Then the body punched me back, waking me up.

  ‘Sorry.’ I held up my hands in surrender once I was fully alert to the fact that I had acted out my nightmare on the poor airman beside me. I repeated, ‘Sorry, I was dreaming. I had a nightmare. Sorry.’

  He did not appreciate the assault, nor accept the apology.

  The entire boxcar woke from the ruckus, and the French-Canadian continued to shove me until someone said, ‘Cauchemar,’ to translate. His demeanour softened slightly once he understood, but he elbowed me once more for good measure.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.

  Although still furious with me, he stood down. Everyone else settled and propped their backs against each other. Fortunately for me, nobody had a lot of extra energy to waste on fighting. It quieted quickly and snoring filled the thick air a short time later. I struggled to keep myself awake so it wouldn’t happen again, but the sway of the train made it hard to stay alert. I drifted off and my head bobbed.

  The wheels screeched to a halt at the break of day. My morale was so low I could barely drag myself off the train to get our one meal. The airman standing next to me could tell I was struggling, so he snatched my piece of bread from my hand and stuffed it in his mouth. I swung my arm and landed a weak slap across his jaw that made him spit it out onto the ground. Three other prisoners scrambled on their hands and knees to pick it up. They tore it apart in the frenzy like a pack of wild dogs, each ending up with only a few crumbs.

  While the guards were distracted by the scrum, I scanned our surroundings for an escape. A densely forested area, not too steep terrain. My foot edged back. The other one followed. I inched away from the group, waiting for the opportunity to turn and make a run for it. One of the guards shot his Gewehr rifle in the air to get the attention of the prisoners squabbling over the food and then shoved them one at a time to load them back on the train. Nobody noticed me. It was my chance.

  My inching widened into full steps backwards. As I reached the perimeter of the forest, bushes rustled and a voice behind me said in accented English. ‘You make run. I make dead.’

  My eyes clenched shut, waiting for the crack of his gun and the blast to my back. The branches swished as he stepped out and approached me. The barrel of his gun stabbed into my back, but to my mixed relief he didn’t pull the trigger. He prodded me back into the train, then slammed the door closed.

  We arrived at our destination in German-occupied Poland that afternoon and marched for two hours to a POW Stalag Luft camp.

  Hell.

  30 October 1941

  Dear Diary,

  There is such astounding beauty in the world – the sound of a wren calling to its mate, the aroma of cedar logs in the fire, and the geometric pattern the autumn chill paints on the metal of the tractor. Admittedly, I am particularly enchanted with descriptions of the minute exquisiteness of the world right now because I have just completed a collection of Robert Frost poems that I signed out of the library. I have always loved words but Mr Frost’s poetry has made me even more infatuated. He captures all of the wonderment and innocence in very simple elements of rural life, along with the isolation and desperation of grander universal sentiments. Wisdom and naivety in equal measures. Nature kissed with golden hues, roads not travelled, fences mended, being acquainted with the night, the brief overcast moment on an otherwise sunny day, and what to make of a diminished thing. I am entirely beguiled and aspire to write that well one day. More importantly, training myself to observe both the simple and extraordinary splendours around me helps bolster my hope and faith in God and the good in humanity, despite the evils that continue to occur.

  Why would anyone would want to destroy the living artistry of nature? Why do men fight in wars? Why do they willingly commit murder of innocent people? Why do they revel in atrocities that reduce once-glorious places to rubble? I don’t understand the hunger for power that drives war. I could never hate something so much as to want it killed, especially not something pure of virtue.

  To my absolute dismay, Tosh volunteered to join the Canadian Forces to prove his patriotism to the country. To my great relief, he was turned away with no explanation. I imagine, although Japanese Canadians fought for Canada in the last war, the Canadian military is no longer overly keen to train young men of Japanese descent to be soldiers. I am extremely grateful for that particular prejudice. Tosh is only angrier now because his loyalties have been prejudged and the government refuses to give him a chance to prove himself.

  I should go now. Hayden is coming over for a visit later this afternoon and I have a few finishing touches to complete on the surprise I made for him. Well, truthfully, the surprise is more for me. He will likely not be as amused by it as I am, but he will be a good sport, especially now that it has become so very important to carry on with our lives with as much normalcy as possible.

  For the record, I should note that a kiss from Hayden is worthy of a Robert Frost poem.

  Chi

  Chapter 16

  Halloween fell on a Friday night and the Mayne Island school had planned a community dance at the old Miller barn to lift war-weary spirits. It was slated to be fun for all ages with apple bobbing, a Jack-O-Lantern carving competition, a costume contest and dancing. Chidori was keen on attending and invited me over to her house on Thursday after my shift at the sawmill to show me the costume she had made. Unfortunately, I was running late because I had to stay at the mill to finish an order. There wasn’t as much construction going on in general, with so many men overseas and less pocket money to go around. And rumour in the company was that the mill might need to shut down if the war didn’t end soon and production didn’t return to normal, so when an order did come in we hopped to it to get it filled and sent off on the barge. I hadn’t stacked the hay bales into our barn for my pop yet but, as luck would have it, Donna Mae’s kid brother had the good timing to ride down the road past my house on his dandy Schwinn bike, whistling and dragging a stick behind him in the dirt. I paid him a quarter to finish my chores for me so I could clock out early. My father wouldn’t have approved of my priorities, but he was out fishing with Massey anyway so was none the wiser.

  Chidori sat on the steps of their porch, bursting with excitement as I jogged up their driveway in my work coveralls. I dropped down breathless on the step beside her and kissed her cheek. ‘All right, let’s see this costume you can’t wait to show me.’

  She reached into a canvas duffel bag and gleefully pulled out a tangle of red yarn.

  ‘You’re going as a mop head?’

  ‘It’s not a mop head. It’s a Raggedy Ann wig.’ She stretched it over
her own hair. ‘See.’ After a pause to wait for my reaction she said, ‘You would be well advised to gush over how much you love it since it took me hours to make it.’ She rummaged through the duffel again and pulled out a blue dress, white apron with red bows, and red and white striped stockings. ‘I repurposed some of my childhood dresses and a tablecloth for the fabric. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re probably going to win the contest.’

  ‘Wait.’ She clapped excitedly. ‘You haven’t even seen the best part yet.’ She bit her lip with nervous anticipation as she dug into the duffel and pulled out another, shorter, red yarn wig, a red and white chequered man’s shirt, blue short pants, and another pair of red and white stockings. ‘Would you like to be my Andy?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. I’m not wearing that.’

  Her lower lip pouted out. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s humiliating. I’ll be the laughing stock of all my friends and probably most of the island too.’

  ‘Pleeeeease. It will be so delightful if we go as Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy. We would surely win first prize.’ She shook the yarn of the wig in an attempt to entice me. ‘You wouldn’t want to make me sad, would you? I worked really hard on it.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you have worked really hard on a Babe Ruth costume, or something swell like that?’

  She laughed. ‘I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll dance with you as many times as you like if you go as Andy.’

  ‘That’s bribery.’

  ‘It certainly is. Try the wig on. I want to see how it looks.’

  ‘Fine. But the only reason I’m agreeing is because a six-foot Andy doing a Lindy Hop will be a sight to behold and not soon forgotten.’

  She giggled when I tugged the wig on, but her hands flew up to quickly hide her expression so I wouldn’t change my mind based on the mockery. ‘It looks wonderful.’