In the Woods of Memory

park over ten kilometers away. . . . Her mother was nearly eighty years old, and even though she was healthy, she was completely incapable of looking after her daughter. Even so, she insisted on taking care of her. However, the brothers decided to put their sister in a hospital anyway, against their mother’s wishes.... She’s been living there for over ten years now. Her mother died recently, but she doesn’t know it. Of course, she’s much older now. Since she’s on medication, she doesn’t get violent like she used to, but she doesn’t have anyone to talk to, and it’s not clear whether she even recognizes her brothers. She spends her days drawing pictures by herself, or going outside when the weather’s fine and staring at the ocean.... You know, sometimes I wonder, if war hadn’t come to Okinawa, she wouldn’t have been raped by those soldiers, and she would’ve led a completely different life.... In war, you see, it’s not just that many lives are lost. The lives of the survivors are often ruined, too. For that girl and her family, the war still isn’t over.... I’m sorry I’m such a poor speaker, but thank you for listening to the end. I hope we never have go to war again, and that none of you has to suffer such agony. I sincerely wish that all of you can be happy. And I want you to know that’s how I feel.

After the lady had finished, she bowed, and the audience applauded. Then she smiled awkwardly and stepped down from the platform.

I hugged myself under my blanket and pictured that teenage girl, cringing inside a dark closet. As she waited in terror for the Americans to break down her door and drag her away, she covered her ears and curled herself into a ball—in a pathetic attempt to disappear. Just like me! I thought. Always scared, never able to relax. And just like her, I’ll go crazy and end up spending the rest of my days inside the house. Tears streamed down my cheeks. You’re being overly optimistic! Do you actually think you’ll make it to adulthood? Junior high lasts a long time, you know! Instead of worrying about the future, you’d better worry about the present! The voices inside my head chilled my body, and the last remnants of warmth fell away with my tears. If only I’d get colder and colder, and freeze to death.

With my finger, I traced the scars on my wrist. Even though I’d cut deeply enough to cause some bleeding, I didn’t have the courage to slash the veins. Does that older girl living in a hospital and staring at the sea enjoy her life? When her baby was taken away, and she was locked up in her house, sitting in front of a sewing machine every day, was that fun? Wasn’t life unbearable? I bet she wanted to die, but just couldn’t manage to kill herself. But I wanted to ask the lady who gave the talk to make sure. Why is it necessary to endure so much pain? I pictured the lady’s troubled expression. And then I heard everyone laughing. If you don’t want to live, kill yourself. Nobody will care. And nobody will cry. But we’ll put flowers on your grave. How about some white chrysanthemums? And a can of orange juice containing our friendship! Everyone started laughing and jeering. I covered my ears and struggled, struggled, struggled to shut out the voices.

The chime for the end of the period sounded. A few minutes later, my homeroom teacher came to check on me. After drawing open the curtain, she called my name and tapped me lightly on the shoulder. I pulled down the blanket and feigned a smile.

—You got sick in class, huh? How are you feeling now?

I nodded and answered in my cheeriest voice:

—I’m okay! Don’t worry!

I was used to fooling teachers. Most of them hated trouble and were more than happy to go along, so it wasn’t all that difficult.

—Do you think you can attend the next class?

Instead of answering her, I directed a question to the school nurse, standing behind her:

—Excuse me, but would you mind if I rested a little longer?

—Sure, said my homeroom teacher with a nod.

—Yes, I think that would be best, too, said the nurse.

—Well, I’ll notify your teacher for next period, said my homeroom teacher. I have class, too, so I guess I’d better get going.

As she started to walk away, I called her. For a split second, a look of annoyance crossed her face, but she quickly managed to hide it.

—Yes? she asked, feigning concern.

—Could you tell Mina that I said thanks? I said. Thanks for bringing me here.

—Sure, of course, she said with a nod and a smile.

Then she closed the curtain and left. Before long, several other students arrived, and the nurse became too busy to worry about me. I spent another hour in bed. By then, the final period and homeroom were over, but my teacher hadn’t shown up again. I got out of bed and opened the curtain. The nurse, who was writing at the desk, turned toward me.

—How are you feeling? she asked.

—Oh, I’m fine now, I replied.

—Have a seat, she said, waving me over.

She put her hand on my forehead and nodded. Then she took my hand in hers and said:

—I won’t tell anyone, so tell me the truth. You’re being bullied, aren’t you?

—No, I’m not! I said, breaking free. My classmates are very nice!

I stood up and flashed my biggest smile.

—Can I go home now? I have cram school.

For what seemed like a full minute, she stared directly in my face and looked me up and down.

—Okay, I believe you, she finally said, but if anything’s going on, please let me know.

She handed me the paper bag on her desk. I opened it and saw that my uniform had been folded neatly.

—Take this, too.

She handed me a slip of paper with an e-mail address written