Suddenly, pale light was streaming through the window, so I must’ve escaped into sleep. Memories of the island returned whether I was dreaming or awake, so I often felt disoriented upon awakening. This time, however, the fresh light and early morning chill offered the promise of a new day.
But then it dawned on me that the fellows were probably preparing for their departure. My feelings of shame and anger returned. I didn’t want to lose that rare early-morning sense of invigoration, but I instantly became depressed. I didn’t want to be sent home like this. I’m sure some guys in my outfit were calling me a coward behind my back. And I wasn’t sure what Henry and Kinser were saying either. I pictured them laughing and joking with their friends. He couldn’t even get it up at first! one would say. At first? the other would reply. I bet he was faking all the way to the end! The blood rushed to my head, and my face burned. But then I loathed myself for suspecting them, and the blood subsided. I remembered the look on McCrory’s face when he warned me on the beach. Don’t try to run away! he had said. Yet wasn’t that precisely what I was doing by not going with them? My mind was starting to go in circles again. Unable to stop the unpleasant thoughts, I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. Just then, I heard a consoling voice:
—So how are you feeling?
McCrory, in combat fatigues and with his helmet under his arm, was standing next to my bed. He had a gentle smile on his face.
—Sorry, I answered.
My reply puzzled him at first, but then the meaning sunk in.
—Oh, you were just unlucky.
If someone else had said that, I might’ve objected, but with McCrory, I just nodded meekly.
—I was busy yesterday, he said, so I couldn’t come with the fellows. Still, I wanted to see you before we shoved off.
—Thanks, I said.
He smiled in embarrassment, and for a moment, we stared at each other in silence.
—Uh, I made this, he said.
From his breast pocket, he pulled out a black lump attached to a chain. Then he dangled before my eyes a pendant made from a harpoon tip.
—That’s not what I think it is, is it? I asked.
McCrory nodded and said:
—My dad told me soldiers should keep any bullet or shrapnel that hits them. ‘Cause they make great charms. When I fought in Saipan, several fellows made pendants out of bullets. But needless to say, nobody made one from a harpoon. Sorry for the poor job, but I hope you like it.
McCrory handed me the pendant. He had filled the hollow part of the tip with lead and passed a chain through a tiny iron loop attached at the top. The lead made it heavier than it looked.
—How’d you get this? I asked.
—When the guy attacked, McCrory proudly explained, the harpoon was attached to his ankle with a string, and he still had it with him when he was in that cave. It was confiscated as evidence, but, uh... well, let’s just keep that a secret. Actually, that’s why I couldn’t come yesterday. I was taking care of this.
McCrory flashed a mischievous grin and glanced at his watch. Then he became serious and said:
—Well, I better be shoving off.
We shook hands and promised to meet again.
After McCrory left, I stared at the handmade pendant. As I listened to the medics and wounded stirring in the sunlit room, I suppressed the sentimental feelings welling up in me. I squeezed the pendant in my hand, and the tip and barbs cut into my flesh. To punish myself, I squeezed harder, closed my eyes, and embraced the pain.
I don’t know how long I tormented myself, but suddenly the room was quiet. When I opened my eyes again, the room was dark, and the light filtering in through the window had changed to pale moonlight. Had a full day passed already? I thought I’d just said goodbye to McCrory, but maybe it was all a dream. But it couldn’t have been; I could feel the pendant in the palm of my hand. I was going to lift my hand to check, but I couldn’t move. Thinking I was paralyzed, I took a deep breath to release the tension.
Just then, I noticed the red fruit hanging from the beam over my bed. A cold sweat broke out over my whole body, and I tensed up even more. The fruit was quivering and squirming. Peering through the darkness, I noticed it was covered with large red hornets. I tried to call for help, but I couldn’t speak. When I tried to twist away, a sharp pain shot through my side, and my body went stiff. The more frantically I tried to speak, the more difficult it became to breathe. The large hornets, about half the size of my little finger, were jostling against one another. Suddenly, one dropped off and came flying straight toward me. A scream froze in my throat, followed by the sensation of a pebble striking me in the chest. Something slimy spread out over my skin. Then I realized that the hair on my chest was covered in gore. The fruit had transformed into a gooey clump of blood, and large drops were dripping down onto me. Flowing down my neck, along my sides, and over my belly, the blood slithered over me like a red snake pinning me to the bed.
At the foot of my bed, a girl with long hair was staring at me. I immediately knew it was her. Her eyes turned to the ceiling. The clump of blood glistened garishly in the darkness—and then fell. The blow to my chest knocked the breath out of me. As blood splattered across my face, I blinked and looked
