In the Woods of Memory

along the beaches of this island. Instead of straight trunks, however, these trees have twisted ones that crawl along the ground with their skinny, thorny leaves. A girl lying on her back in the sand was staring up at the red fruit. Her lower body was sticky and disgusting. Wafting up from her was the stink of crushed plants and bodily fluids, including sweat and blood.

—Shut up and stop crying! one of my buddies yelled from behind.

But the terrified girl’s crying only intensified.

The red fruit looked like a huge snake eye glowing in the dark. The first time I saw one was just after we’d landed on the main island. Jumping off the landing craft, I had lost my footing in the surf. As I stumbled forward, I held my gun over my head so it wouldn’t get wet. Choking on seawater, I regained my balance and rushed to shore. If I didn’t keep moving, I’d get a bullet in the head. Screaming, Run! Son of a bitch! Run! I dashed up the sandy beach to a thicket, where those fruit were lying in wait. Just like now, the repulsive objects looked like the eyes of snakes ready to strike.

The girl’s face was battered and swollen; her lips, mangled and oozing blood. Her vacant eyes avoided mine and stared blankly at the red fruit dangling behind my head—as if I didn’t even exist. I grabbed her jaw, turned her face toward mine, and screamed:

—Look at me, goddamn it!

As I violently moved my hips, a chunk of the fruit separated along the grenade-like notches and came flying toward me. I felt a spear rip into my body, and then saw blood gushing from my side. As I frantically pressed down to stop the bleeding, I woke up. The intense pain in my side, however, wasn’t a dream.

I was so drenched in sweat that even my cot was wet. Two other rows of beds were visible by the moonlight coming through the window. Some of the wounded were awake, due to the heat or their own private pain, and I could hear them moaning and cursing. I looked at my watch. It was ten o’clock in the evening. I was tired of the long waits until morning. Sleeping during the day meant you paid for it at night, alone with the agony of your wounds and the torment of your memories.

I hated the medic on night duty. When I was in pain and asked for sleeping pills, he condescendingly said that priority went to those wounded in actual combat. Normally, I would’ve floored the bastard, but even sitting up was an excruciating ordeal, so I couldn’t even complain. A gecko was on a crossbeam of the ceiling, directly above me. I was worried he might fall. We were in a school building, which had been requisitioned for use as a hospital. My bed was near the hallway in a classroom filled with wounded GIs. The gecko mocked us with its cries. I reached down and touched the bandages on my side. The wound was warmer than I’d expected. Fuckin’ Jap! I muttered to myself, triggering a memory of a conversation between a couple of fellows in my outfit:

—Originally, this wasn’t part of Japan, said McCrory. So the natives weren’t Japanese.

—So what were they? asked Kinser. Chinese?

—No, replied McCrory, it was an independent country called Ryukyu.

Kinser gave a slight nod, but he didn’t show any further interest. I wasn’t interested either.

After lying in bed for several days, I started recalling conversations and various incidents that had occurred on the island.

The island across the gulf was clearly visible under the afternoon sun. We’d finished unloading supplies from the cargo boats and were resting in the shade of a pile of crates next to the warehouse. Until three in the afternoon, we’d been conducting mop-up operations in search of Japanese soldiers hiding in the mountains, but we hadn’t found any of them. After we came down from the mountains and were about to get some rest, we were sent to help unload supplies at the port. It wasn’t a lot of work, but my three buddies and I were annoyed about being ordered to do extra chores. When we finished, we moved away from the others and sat chatting on the pier, while looking out at the sea.

—How about racing to that island and back? suggested Kinser.

Everybody agreed immediately, partly because we were feeling a bit rebellious. Even though we’d brought the island under US control, we knew it’d be dangerous to swim across without weapons. But at that point, we didn’t care if we ended up being reprimanded. We threw off our sweaty fatigues and kicked off our boots. Then we dashed across the pier and dove into the ocean.

It was about three hundred yards to the island. Though calm, the current was moving out to sea, but not so fast as to make it difficult to swim. Besides, we weren’t all that serious about racing; we’d just wanted an excuse to get in the water. Henry took the lead. He was a quiet fellow whom I could never read. Even after joining the same outfit, we’d never had a heart-to-heart talk. Until now, I never knew he was such a good swimmer.

The island had coral reefs along the coast on the opposite side, but nothing blocked our approach from the gulf. Though we hadn’t decided on any particular destination, the four of us naturally swam toward the beach. When I caught up with the last swimmer, I checked my position. There were only about a hundred yards left, so I started swimming all out. I passed McCrory and Kinser right away, but Henry was in a comfortable lead and reached the shallows about twenty yards ahead of me. As he was walking toward the beach, I saw a girl splashing through the water ahead of him. She looked about ten years old.

From the opposite shore, we had already noticed the