The screen went dark for a second or two, and then Matsumoto reappeared. I stopped the video and got another can of beer from the refrigerator. After returning to the sofa, I picked up the pendant on the table and slowly looked it over. The point that had stabbed Jay’s grandfather was so worn down, either from the passing of sixty years or from having been filed down, that it couldn’t even pierce the skin. The barbs on the sides, however, were sharp enough to hurt when I pushed them against my finger. From Matsumoto’s explanation, I didn’t know where Jay’s grandfather had been stabbed, but I remembered Matsumoto saying that he was swimming at the time. I pictured a young man hiding in the coral as he waited for the US soldiers.
The man in my imagination was waiting with his harpoon for hours. Suddenly, ripples appeared on the silvery surface, followed by the silhouette of a long-limbed American, crawling through the water. The man pushed off from the coral and sped toward the surface. Like a marlin, he sliced through the water with his harpoon. When he plunged it into the soldier’s abdomen, plumes of blood spread out across the glittering surface.
My grandmother once told me that during the war, men and women, young and old alike, trained with bamboo spears. Using a harpoon must’ve seemed equally futile. And yet, that young man managed to wound one of their soldiers. His action probably didn’t have any impact on the war. In fact, his act of defiance might’ve caused the islanders to suffer some sort of retaliation. Still, I couldn’t help feeling deeply moved. With a single harpoon, a solitary islander had struck a blow against the US military. And the wounded American considered him courageous.
The video resumed on what appeared to be a different day. Matsumoto was wearing a dark blue T-shirt, and his face looked brighter. Having watched this far, I’d noticed that Matsumoto had been growing more lethargic as he continued. I’d assumed that would happen again. This time, however, Matsumoto spoke with strength and conviction. There was an urgency in his voice, as if he were saying something that must be said.
—Just one last thing. Jay’s death was regrettable, but I can’t completely dismiss what happened on 9/11. Sure, indiscriminate terrorism is wrong, and we shouldn’t accept the chain of violence. But saying that won’t get us anywhere. Those of us in Japan, who enjoy the peace we rely on America to provide, can say whatever we like. But, you know, our words have no meaning to people planning second or third 9/11’s all round the world. I don’t know, but if there’s anyone in Japan who can understand the meaning of 9/11, wouldn’t it be that guy who stabbed that American sixty years ago? I mean, if he’s still alive. Because you know what? And I know it’s just my own wild imagination. But as I was staring at the pendant and thinking about that guy, the shape of the harpoon point began to look like one of those planes that flew into the towers. Yeah, I know. I can hear you laughing at my deluded idea. But I’m telling you, for a split second, that’s exactly what it looked like. So not just for Jay and Kate, or for Jay’s father and grandfather, but also for that guy from the island. Throw that harpoon head into the ocean. Throw it right where Jay’s grandfather and that man fought. I know my request sounds sentimental. And I don’t want you to feel unpleasant. But please, please go to the island when it’s convenient. I don’t have the strength, and I don’t have much time left. So I’m asking you, as my one final dying request. Sorry for ending like this, but I’m counting on you....
After a slight nod, Matsumoto stared straight at me from the other side of the screen. And just like that, the video ended. I rewound the tape and finished off my beer. I knew I’d fulfill Matsumoto’s request, but I hadn’t processed everything yet. I picked up the pendant on the table and draped the chain over my fingers, so that the harpoon head dangled before my eyes. If you viewed the barbs of the V-shaped head as the main wings, you could see a slight resemblance to a plane. Still, I had to admit Matsumoto’s comparison was a strained one.
I put the pendant back in the envelope, took the video out of the player, and placed them both on the table. Then I glanced over at the calendar on the wall to consider when I’d be able to go to the island. It’d be June in another week. At this time sixty years ago, I muttered to myself, Okinawa was a battlefield. My heart stirred. A dark red stain spread out on the envelope. I pulled out the pendant, and a smell of blood wafted up from the shiny, black harpoon tip. I thought I heard the sound of waves in the distance, so I glanced around the room. The furniture and various items under the fluorescent lights were still lifeless objects in their regular places. The harpoon tip smelled and looked like an organ plucked from the body of a living organism. For the first time in a long while, I wanted to return to my hometown. But the ache that filled my heart puzzled me. The sound of waves drew nearer. This time, I was sure that’s what I heard.
JAY’S GRANDFATHER [1945]
The red lump floating in the darkness wriggled and divided into cells again. It was the fruit of some kind of palm tree that grows
