WHERE DOES THE NIGHT HIDE ITS SHADOW?

STORIES, AFTER EIGHT

II 1945

Kaigun Daisa, Tagashi Nakashima took a slow drink of his whiskey, paused for a moment as he reconsidered, added a splash of water from the small crystal water jug to his left — then sat watching the setting sun play with the jug by throwing tiny prisms of light against the wall and along the desk he was seated at. The room was small, compact, and served as his office during the day. He was writing the last of his log entries for the day.

Date: Nov 19 1944; Time: 1600 HRS: Temp. 32.8 c: Wind, SSE @ 15 knots; Visibility: excellent; Weather: hot, sun intense, light haze inland; Note: Patrol moved inland toward watch tower.

He sat up straight — he always sat up straight — his back a rigid line. He could feel a line of sweat running down his ribcage, as he slowly turned his head, looking at the tiny prism on his desk, moving with the slow dance of the sun. It reminded him of his childhood and the first time he’d seen a rainbow. His mother had been patient and told him a story that went along with it; he wished he could remember the story. Why remember the rainbow and not the story? He took another drink and put the glass down, in the same spot so that it caught the last of the light and refracted it through the whiskey.

He picked up the fountain pen — a gift from his mother — a keepsake, he liked to think. Life had not been easy after his father’s death. The only inheritance he’d left behind was a naval commission for his new born son. He’d served on his first ship when he was a young boy of twelve, and saw battle during the Russo-Japanese war as a messenger — a runner — running between the Bridge and the Gunnery Officer.

He couldn’t remember the Gunnery Officer’s name anymore, and it bothered him. He’d always thought it was a name he’d never forget. It’s not something you should forget when you see a man die like that, he reminded himself. And that’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? The memory was more than the recollection of seeing a man die, but seeing the realization of death staring out from the man’s eyes. It was a simple death, he’d learned over the years. Easy. That’s because it was immediate, he reminded himself.

Like a bullet to the back of the head.

It was a poetic thought, and he picked up his fountain pen again, thinking maybe he should write a poem down in honour of the man. He’d never been very good with haiku; it was more for people like his father, he told himself. The last of the Samurai. He would’ve composed a poem for himself if he knew he was going to die.

Gunnery Officer, Kaigun-shōsa Whatever-His-Name, didn’t have time to think of a poem.

His father would’ve composed a poem the moment he first awoke. Takashi knew that much about him. He once wrote a poem a day, for a year — as a penance his father gave him. Takashi put the pen down again and picked up his drink. He pushed the chair back and stood up suddenly, feeling the sun’s glare through his thin lids, as he slowly opened his eyes again. He made a silent toast to the Gunnery Officer whose name he couldn’t remember. While it wasn’t the haiku he’d almost promised the dead man’s memory, he told himself it would have to do. It wasn’t as if the man was a relative.

He saw the woman walking on the dusty pathway, making the long walk from the comfort house with a load of laundry in her arms. Folded and neatly pressed. She came every Friday at five o’clock to pick up his soiled uniform, and dropped it off for him every Tuesday. She never spoke, never looked at him, and he sometimes wondered why she hadn’t tried to kill herself.

Takashi retied the hempen sash on the yukata he was wearing. An informal kimono, it was made of light linen. He took a last swallow of his whiskey and put it on his desk as he moved to the far side of the room where he had a small tatami mat, a mosquito net, a low table for tea and sake, as well as an unopened letter resting on the edge of the tea table. He sat down and adjusted his robe again, looking at the letter and reaching to straighten it out, wondering when he’d brushed up against it.

He’d thought many times about opening it over the last two and a half years, and just as many times came up with an excuse. It was a reply to the last letter he’d sent Hiriko before being shipped out to the middle of nowhere. He told her he was being promoted to the rank of Kaigun Daisa — Captain — and had been given command of an air field called Tsubaki-tō — although since arriving he’d heard the Natives referred to it by a different: Moanavai. He wondered what it meant.

She knocked on the door just as she always did, and he called out in his gruff, guttural voice, waiting for her to enter. She stood straight and tall; bowed to him, low and respectful, as he bowed in return.

Takashi spoke to her as he always did, and knowing full well she didn’t understand him, pointed to the place in front of him, instead. He was smiling at her, guiding her to a spot in front of the small table. She looked nervous, and he told himself he understood her reasoning for that. He crossed to his side of the table and sat back down as she kneeled in front of him.

“You look very lovely today,” he said, smiling and bowing his head. “I mean, you always do. It’s just, it’s the sun, I guess, the way it sets, I mean. It does something to the sky, I mean your skin. It does something to your skin. Did you know that? No…I guess you wouldn’t. Oh where is that damned man when I need him?” he asked, looking at the door.

He looked at the floor and then looked at her again. He forced a smile and she nodded softly, undoing the buttons of the shirt she was wearing as he reached for the tea pot and opened the lid. He put the lid back and looked up her, stunned as she undid the buttons and opened her shirt.

“What are you doing? No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not what this is about. I didn’t want you to — I don’t want you to think that’s what this is about,” he smiled as he reached over and poured her a cup of the tea, and one for himself. He was shaking his head as he looked at her and she knit her brows, tilting her head. He motioned for her to do the buttons up.

“I’m supposed to say: Thank you for honouring me with your presence. I hope you will accept this humble tea,” he added, picking it up and holding it out for her. She took it, slowly, and bowed her head.

“It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. My mother would have been very disappointed in me, though. She used to make it for me every weekend. The whole thing, from beginning to end. She told me she used to do it for my father. He was samurai. Did I tell you that? I was young when he died. I don’t even remember him.”

There was a disturbance at the door and as it opened Emilio fell through and landed on the floor, the soldier behind him pushing him and throwing a kick at him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Takashi screamed out at the soldier.

“We caught him again,” the soldier said, looking at Emilio on the floor, tending to a cut lip.

“Caught him doing what?” Takashi asked, seeing the soldier staring at the woman, and then looking at Takashi and trying not to smile.

“And you find something amusing here, Jōtō Heisō? Perhaps you’d like to lose your rank? From Jōtō Heisō to Ittō Heisō or Nitō Heiso? You come barging in here? Into my private quarters!”

“Sir!” the sergeant said, bowing.

“Get out! Now!” Takashi screamed.

“Sir!” And the sergeant bowed again, and then reached down to grab Emilio and drag him outside.

“Leave him!”

Takashi waited until the man was gone and then turned to look at the woman, shrugging as he made his way back to the tea ceremony. He sat down, retied his hempen sash and tried to collect himself as Emilio struggled to his feet.

“Offer her my apologies,” Takashi said softly.

“Hai,” Emilio said with an effort as he tried to bow.

“Were you trying to run again?” he asked. “Two years, and you still haven’t realized that you’re stuck on an island?”

“That’s not it at all. I was trying to get the supplies for the Comfort girls,” Emilio replied.

“Is it not enough that I have them brought to you?”

“Things have a way of disappearing when you do that.”

“Please, take her with you before the sun goes down,” Takashi said, standing up and looking at her. He bowed slowly and waited as she stood up, facing him and bowing in return. She said something and both of them looked at Emilio, expecting him to translate. When he did, Takashi smiled at Emilio and said, “Thank you.”