We arrived at the village in the early evening. Purplish light had begun to spread through the slightly cloudy sky. The open space was quiet, without the usual shouts of children playing under the banyan tree. The villagers were undoubtedly staying in their homes, as the lieutenant had ordered.
I asked the ward chief to repeat the lieutenant’s instructions, and he reeled off what he’d memorized without the slightest hesitation. This obvious talent of his only made me feel all the more unpleasant.
After dropping him off at his home, I decided, after a moment’s hesitation, to visit the girl and her family. I walked up to the gate and looked at the house. The shutters were closed. I pictured the parents, younger sister, and younger brothers huddled around the girl, clinging to them in the dark. The image prevented me from proceeding through the gate. I recalled the girl’s piercing stare and the horrific scream that issued from the depths of her soul. The vivid memories chased me back to the jeep.
As I rattled along on my way back to base, the girl’s intense stare and blood-curdling scream never left my mind. They were still with me after lights out. Though I hadn’t done anything wrong, a feeling of guilt kept me awake. Was there anything I could do? Even if there were, I wasn’t free to act on my own. The only thing I could come up with was to have some extra food sent to her family through the ward chief.
As expected, the lieutenant pursued the investigation in secret. I wasn’t present during the questioning of the four soldiers. Nor did I ever receive details about how the case was handled. Rumors never surfaced in our unit about what the four had done. Even if they had, it wouldn’t have been all that unusual. I often heard such stories. Soldiers who’d harmed civilians were sometimes warned or punished by their superiors, but the rank and file hardly took notice.
One day, Lieutenant Williams informed me that the wounded soldier had been sent home and that the other three had been sent to the front lines. That wasn’t a disciplinary action. Most units had been relocated to the south, and that included mine. Anyone who knows about the Battle of Okinawa would agree that the stabbed soldier who’d been sent home early was lucky.
There was one last job I was given before being transferred: escorting Seiji back home to his village. After finding out the truth, I deeply regretted how we had treated Seiji during our interrogations. Our medical team provided only minimal treatment for civilians who’d harmed Americans. I wanted to explain so they’d treat Seiji better, but I could only look on in silence. Surgery and antibiotics helped him recover from the gunshot wounds to his shoulder and leg, but his eyes were a problem. No doubt, this was due to the long exposure to the tear gas and the poor treatment that followed. There might’ve been other causes, but even after the swelling subsided, he never recovered his eyesight. Whenever I went to see him, he was always lying in bed muttering deliriously. I never did understand what he was saying.
I took Seiji home the day before I was transferred. He could now walk with the help of a cane, but since he was blind, I had to help him get in and out of the jeep. As we were driving to the village, Seiji muttered as incoherently as always. I drove into the village, passed through the open area, and parked in front of Seiji’s house. His mother and father came running up and bowed many times while expressing words of appreciation. The ward chief had informed them of the day and time of Seiji’s return.
I had planned to leave immediately, so that I could avoid any crowd that might form. However, I was worried about the family next door, so I walked over and looked through the gate. The shutters were open, and I could see into the front room, but no one was there. The girl might’ve been in the back room, and if she noticed me, there would’ve been another scene. I took off my hat, gave a slight bow, and started to head back to the jeep.
Just then, Seiji came up with his mother leading him by the hand. When I stepped aside, he stood in front of the gate and murmured something. Unlike his previous utterances, his words were spoken calmly. For the first time, I could understand him.
“I’ve come home, Sayoko.”
From the side, I watched him take a deep breath as if inhaling some kind of fragrance. He had a gallantness I’d never seen in him. I now realized that the ward chief, the villagers, and I myself, had completely underestimated him. As Seiji stood straight and tall, tears ran down from his closed eyes.
I put my hat back on, saluted, and got in the jeep. That was the last time I ever saw Seiji, and I never visited the village again.
I’ve spoken with you many times about what I did in the south, so I won’t repeat that here. To be sure, I helped to rescue hundreds of Okinawans hiding in caves. That’s something I’m still proud of. But at the same time, I can’t forget Sayoko, the girl Seiji tried to protect. When I recall how
