Fireflies (17 page)

He threw the pages in the air, and they fluttered incoherently to the floor. “Horseshit. Tell me, son. Were you ever in a battle against the Japs?”

“I was a lieutenant in Third Recon —”

“Well, I was a general at Bataan, Lieutenant!” he hollered, smashing his fist upon the table again. “You ever hear of something called the Death March? Does that mean anything to you? You ever hear of a place called Pearl Harbour?”

His eyes were blazing, consumed with fury as he flung a ferocious finger toward the door.

“Get the hell out of here!” His ruddy face had ripened to a deep maroon, his tongue lolling from his mouth like an overheated dog's. “Get out!”

I rotated swiftly and marched out the door, as tiny, ruffling feathers floated up from the corpses of the ducks.

~ ~ ~

Dutch stroked the ginger-blonde hair that he grew long below his pate, looking at me with watery eyes.

“There's no chance, Hal, I'm sorry. No chance at all.”

His face was grave, as if he were a doctor informing me of a terminal illness. “And there's trouble. It's gone all the way up. They've been asking me some pretty tough questions about you.”

“Such as?”

“Such as whether you're some kind of subversive. Whether you are a communist.”

“Am I, Dutch? In your opinion?”

He sighed. “Times change, Hal. They say there's another war coming soon.”

“What did you plead?”

He frowned. “I told them about your fine work in reconnaissance. I told them about your commendations. I told them that you may have been . . . disturbed by what you saw up there. That you may be feeling the need to make some kind of recompense.”

“So I'm a bleeding heart, Dutch, is that it? Or are we pleading insanity?”

“Hal, I'm putting my neck out for you here.”

“What's the verdict Dutch?”

He shook his head. “You're suspended, Hal, for the time being. Pending their decision on what to do with you.”

A long moment passed.

“What about my other pieces?” I said, sullenly. “‘The Touristic GI?'”

“I'm sorry, Hal,” he said, with more emphasis.

“And you've agreed to all this, Dutch? What kind of newsman are you? Whatever happened to the crucible of change?”

He laughed. “What do you want me to do, Hal? They're threatening to have you court-martialled for travelling to a prohibited area. How can I publish journalistic pieces from a military prison?” He looked down at the desk, guiltily. “And I've been asked to take back your press pass, Hal. I'm sorry.”

An unexpected lump rose in my throat as I slid the crumpled paper out of my wallet. I looked at the scrawl of MacArthur's signature as I placed the pass upon the desk.

“What's going to happen to me, Dutch?”

He leaned forward.
Sotto voce
he said: “Strictly between you, me, and the gatepost, Hal, I think you've been lucky. Believe it or not. I get the impression there's been some kind of falling out upstairs about what to do with you. There's a certain amount of . . . tension between Intelligence and the New Dealers.”

“So they're not slinging me out?”

“Not yet.”

“I can't write, but I can stay?”

He shrugged. “For now at least.”

Limbo
, I thought.
The realm of lost souls.

“Okay, Dutch. I'm going to go get my head down.”

A pained look came over his face. “That's something else I need to tell you, Hal. You're going to have to find another place to live. They're taking away your billeting rights.”

I let out a short laugh.

“I know, I know. They're a petty, vindictive bunch when they want to be. And you won't be able to draw rations either. You've got two weeks.”

“No more powdered eggs, Dutch?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“No more gratis Luckys?”

“No sir.”

“Alright. Thanks, Dutch.”

“Wait, Hal,” he said as I stood to leave.

“Don't tell me. I'm not invited to the Christmas party.”

His face was serious. His throat moved. He opened up his drawer and took out a slim envelope and slid it toward me.

I glanced at him in question. His brow rippled.

“It's very bad form for a photographer to leave his negatives in the enlarger head, Lynch.”

I tried to recall leaving the darkroom the night before, dizzy with fatigue.

I half opened the brim of the envelope. Inside was a cut spool of maybe twenty photographs, shots I recognized from the hospital. I felt my heart leap, and I leaned over to grasp Dutch by the shoulders, kissing his bald head.

“Alright, alright,” he spluttered.

“I won't forget this, Dutch. I mean it.”

He wiped his head with his handkerchief. “Merry Christmas, Hal. Enjoy it while you still can.”

I suddenly pictured Dutch in his paper Christmas hat, playing Santa amongst his horde of red-headed children. I couldn't help but smile.

“And your eggnog!” he called out plaintively, as I left the room.

19

CHILDREN OF THE EMPEROR

(HIROSHI TAKARA)

Tomoko and I were lying on the cold floor of Ueno Station, gazing up at constellations of fireflies. A moment later, we were standing on the concrete embankment of the Yoshiwara canal, the water strewn with fire as I kissed her and stroked her black hair.

A pulse went through me. I tried to stop the dream, but it was already too late. We were standing beneath the iron tracks, a train screaming overhead as I opened the fly of my khaki uniform, twisting her hair in my fist as I pulled her toward me —

I woke with a shout, repelled and ashamed. It was freezing cold. In the darkness next to me, Koji whimpered in his sleep.

Tomoko had become almost completely silent since her attack, just as she had after her mother had sent her away from Hiroshima. No one had spoken as we walked back home that night. After we'd reached the inn, I told the children to go straight to bed. They were aware that something awful had happened.

Tomoko shuffled to the bathhouse and slid the door shut behind her. After a while, there was a clang of pipes and the sound of water. I realized that the water would be icy cold and I told Aiko to go through and ask Tomoko if she would like us to light the boiler. After a moment, she came back and shook her head.

“Go upstairs then. Lay out her blankets,” I said.

She bowed and darted up the staircase, hardly daring to look at me.

As I gazed at the paper screen of the bathroom door, it was as if I could see right through the panels to the other side. Tomoko was sitting naked on a low cedar stool, strands of wet hair clinging to her face. Her monpe were crumpled in the corner, growing darker as the water soaked into them. I imagined the white skin of her rib cage, her head in her hands as she stared into the puddles of cold water . . .

To my horror, I realized that I'd become stiff.

~ ~ ~

There must be a demon inside me,
I thought, as I tramped along the Ginza. In the old Matsuzakaya department store, behind the steamed-up windows, crowds of GIs filled the aisles, and they streamed out carrying boxes tied with ribbon. Next door, Japanese whores stood at the entrance of a club, trying to coax them inside.

As I watched the soldiers I was filled with violent fantasies of revenge.
I'll find a pistol,
I thought,
a Nambu Type 14.
I'll find that bastard, I'll track him down. I'll wait outside that club until he comes out drunk into the street: fire right into his face
. . .
Bam! Bam! Bam!

Long after nightfall, I found myself walking past Hibiya Park toward the corner of the Imperial Plaza. Two huge pine trees stood erect and glittering in front of the Allied headquarters. As I squinted at the yellow windows of the building, I wondered about the men who worked up there. Probably all of them had slept with at least one American woman. Probably a Japanese one as well. Even the ugliest amongst them would know the great masculine secret that still lay beyond me.

I walked over to the palace moat. A full moon shone in the sky, the light rippling in the water. I remembered how my father had always told me to look for the rabbit in the moon when it was full. Something bobbed down in the darkness and I wondered if it were the swollen body of a dead rat. Another lump floated over, and then, in the moonlight, more and more came into view, bumping against the high stone wall of the bank.

A thin American in wire-rimmed spectacles stood beside me, his mouth open in a yawn. He fumbled for a second, and then pissed, a solid splash against the water. The sound slackened to a vague stream and he shivered like a dog. He gave a belch of satisfaction as he buttoned himself up and strode away. As I looked down, I slowly realized what the shapes were. Legions of abandoned prophylactics were bobbing about down in the moat.

As I crossed the avenue into the Imperial Plaza, there were faint sighs, regular grunts, and sounds of surprise. Against the wall of the gate, twisted shapes humped against each other, the moon lighting up the white buttocks of men encircled by pale coils of legs as vague moans of pleasure came softly, then sharply.

It was hopeless. A moment later, unable to stop myself, I ran over to the trees and thrust my hand into my underwear. I rubbed myself swiftly and furiously until, after just a few seconds, I felt a dark warmth rear inside my belly, overwhelming me, until I shuddered, gasping, hot and cold all at once, as if my stomach had melted out over my thighs. I stood there, breathless in the shadows, holding onto the tree, quivering with shame.

~ ~ ~

The eaves of the warped tenement houses were low and stank of fishguts and nightsoil. We were rummaging about in a set of garbage cans, and I was arm-deep in refuse, the sickly sweet smell of rot swamping my nostrils as the other children hunted a little distance away.

Below my fingertips, I felt a soft, smooth sphere, tender and forgiving. I clutched hold and tugged it out. My heart suddenly quivered. It was exactly what I'd thought! A whole bean jam bun, untouched except for a tiny solar system of silver-blue mould on its surface. An intense pang of hunger knotted my stomach as I held it to my face and breathed in the smell of the bean jam.

Tomoko was hunched over ten paces away, delving through a heap of old peelings. Her tunic sleeves were rolled up, her arms as brittle as sticks.

The dough of the bun was sticky in my fingers. I urged myself to go over and give it to her. Here it was, I thought. The magical token that might somehow break the awful spell upon her, that might give her back the ability to speak again . . .

From nowhere, an image came into my mind. Bodies writhing behind the gate of the Imperial Plaza; my hand wet and sticky in my pants.

Aiko stood beside me, her eyes wide.

“Look what you've found, Hiroshi,” she cried. “Will you give it to Tomoko?”

Tomoko glanced up as she heard her name spoken. The welts on my cheeks throbbed. I gave a short laugh.

“Tomoko?” I said. “Why should I?”

“But you always save bean jam for Tomoko,” insisted Aiko.

Tomoko stared at me. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and there was an impossible drop between us. I laughed again, the sound shrill in my ears. Without knowing why, I stuffed the bun into my mouth and took a big, wolfish bite, chewing with my mouth open like a peasant as Aiko watched me in fascinated horror.

The dough was so dry that it made me gag. I almost choked, and spat out what was left. Aiko stared at the remains, as if she was about to cry. Tomoko turned and bent over, her arms by her side. My eyes filled with sudden tears. There was a shout. Koji appeared from the alleyway and held up his little fists in triumph.

“Come and look at what I've found,” he hollered. “I've found a real feast!”

I paused for a second, then rushed after him down the alley. There was a gap beneath a wooden fence and we climbed through into the yard of what must have once been a teahouse. Crates of rubbish and empty bottles lay on the ground and a stench came from an old latrine shed.

“Look!” Koji crowed. He pointed at the empty bottles and crates. There were piles of obvious morsels between them: apple cores, fish bones and mouldering pumpkins. The children scrambled toward them and I was just about to follow when suddenly I saw something from the corner of my eye.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Stop right now.”

As my eyes adjusted, I saw the sleek corpse of a rat, twitching between the crates. Another appeared, then another, both dead, unmoving — their mouths open, their wiry tails coiled, tiny sharp teeth bared in pain. I poked one with my foot but it didn't move. I tipped it over.

Its puffy flesh was writhing with maggots. I gagged.

“Get away!” I hollered. Don't touch anything.”

Koji's face fell and his frail chest heaved up and down.

“Get away now!”

The children stood there, as if unable to believe that we would be leaving all of this food behind.

“Now!” I shouted. One by one, they slid back under the fence. As we gathered in the darkness of the alley a terrible tiredness came over me. It would be best just to go home, I thought. It really had been the most ominous night.

“Right,” I muttered. “Back to camp. No dawdling.”

The children whinged in frustration.

“Be quiet!” I yelled. “I can't stand it!”

Icicles hung from the eaves of the tenements as we crept through the back streets like a clan of goblins. We had just reached the wasteground at the back of Ueno station when I heard a commotion behind me. I spun around, my fists raised in fury.

My heart stopped.

Tomoko lay on the ground as the other children stood above her and tried to pull her up. She shivered uncontrollably, as if she was having a fit. Aiko started to scream as I rushed over and knelt down in the earth beside Tomoko. Her hand was gripping onto something tightly and I tried to prise open her stiff fingers. She started to choke.

I thrust my fingers into her mouth and tried to wrench out whatever it was she had eaten. But she writhed violently from side to side, vomit seeping from her mouth. She suddenly retched and half-eaten fragments of fruit emerged. There, in the moonlight, were the black teardrops of apple pips on her glistening chin.

She gave an awful bark and her back arched and her limbs thrust out. She stared straight up at me and gripped onto my hand. Her eyes were filled with tears. She seemed to shake her head, and then started to gasp. She froze, and then her whole body rose up, as if a terrible pain were passing along her spine. She shuddered and sank back down again. She stared at me as a fine, white froth leaked from her lips.

Her fingers slowly released their grip on my own. She slumped to the ground. A strange gargling sound emerged from deep within her body, and I fell backward.

Her features seemed to soften. She was gazing up at an uncertain point high above, as if toward some distant star, far away in the sky.