You stare through the plastic window at the tape still turning and get the feeling that the words racing through your mind have been recorded. Flustered, you hold back the words about to gush out of your mouth and reach out for your cup of tea.
The woman waits for you to put down your cup and then pours you some more.
—Are you tired? she asks.
—No, not at all. As they say, old folks living on their own go senile faster if they don’t have anyone to talk to. So I appreciate your coming.
—Is that right? Well, I appreciate being able to listen to you. Since you say it’s okay, let’s continue. But let me know if you start to feel tired.
You nod and smile, and wonder how long it’s been since you’ve been able to smile like this. Ever since Nae, your wife of over fifty years, passed away, you’ve been living alone. Recently, you haven’t been playing croquet or going to other events for seniors. You’ve been spending all your time locked up in the house without anyone to talk to. If your only son hadn’t died of malaria after the war, you’d probably have grandchildren about this woman’s age. As you look at her, tears begin to well up in your eyes. Pretending to blow your nose, you surreptitiously wipe away the tears.
—Maybe you’re the one that’s tired. You must be tired of hearing war stories from an old guy like me.
—No, not at all. I enjoy your stories. And your accounts of the war are quite valuable.
From her words and expression, she seems to be telling the truth. She wrote her graduation thesis about the Battle of Okinawa. Since last year, she’s been working at the Board of Education in a temporary position. She visited you for the first time about two months ago. Initially, you were a bit suspicious and acted rather unsociably. But after a while—partly because she reminded you of Hatsu, and partly because you were happy to have someone sincerely interested in what you had to say—you invited her inside to talk. After living alone and sometimes going a week or longer without exchanging a single word with anyone, you started looking forward to her visits. So what did she say her name was again? You feel sorry for having forgotten, but you can’t very well ask again. You just hope that by some chance she’ll mention it once more.
—Did you think the Americans wanted to capture Seiji alive?
—I’m sure they did. If they didn’t, they would’ve thrown in a grenade. But they threw in a tear-gas canister instead.
—Oh? It was tear gas? Not poison gas?
—I might’ve said poison before, but I remembered later it was tear gas. Their aim was to smoke him out. Even though he might’ve suffocated if he’d stayed in too long.
She gives a little nod and scribbles something in her notebook.
When one of the Americans threw in the gas canister, shrieks rose up from the crowd of villagers, who were watching from about thirty meters away. The interpreter told you it was tear gas and that Seiji wouldn’t die right away.
—It’s not poison gas, so don’t worry, you told the villagers.
But the wailing of the women didn’t let up. You got nervous thinking that if something happened to Seiji, you’d be accused of treachery after the Americans left. To avoid the glaring stares of Seikō and the other men, you moved away from the interpreter. Everyone watched the gas rising up from the cave, which seemed connected to the very heart of the island. When you shrank back from the gas irritating your nose and eyes, the interpreter and several soldiers with guns also edged back a few steps. A dozen or so soldiers were positioned in a semicircle surrounding the cave. Behind them, there must’ve been over a hundred villagers. The partly cloudy sky made it difficult to determine whether it would clear up or rain. The sunlight wasn’t particularly bright, but the villagers, gathered in the woods with its lingering stench of burnt trees, were drenched with sweat. The interpreter talked with the commander. Once your role was finished, you were ignored. But your fate was far from sealed. Goddammit! Come out, you idiot! Cursing to yourself, you began to worry that Seiji might not actually be in there.
You found out where Seiji was hiding from Buntoku Ōshiro. After returning home from the search and washing off, you were enjoying the whiskey you’d traded with an American acquaintance for a Japanese sword. Just then, you heard someone calling from outside. You opened the door, and Buntoku was standing there. He was the one who’d brought you the sword, which cost you more canned goods than usual. But you could see by the moonlight that this time he was empty-handed. When you told him you weren’t giving away anything for free, he whispered that he knew where Seiji was hiding. You signaled for Nae to hide the whiskey, checked outside to make sure no one was watching, and invited him inside.
Buntoku explained that earlier in the day he’d been searching for mushrooms while collecting firewood. All of a sudden, Seiji came running naked through the woods carrying his harpoon and clothes. It didn’t seem wise to call out, so Buntoku hid and watched—and saw Seiji enter the cave. He suspected that something unusual had happened, and sure enough, when he returned to the village, everyone was in an uproar. If he’d spoken carelessly, the Americans would’ve suspected him, so he remained silent.
—But you’ve got Americans you can trust, he said with a smile. You can keep it secret that I told you, and pass on the information yourself. In exchange, I’d appreciate if you’d give me some of those spoils of war of yours. You know what I mean: those food supplies you somehow got from the Americans.
—Are you telling the truth? you asked to
