publications very convincing-namely that as individuals each of us is extremely isolated, while at the same time we are all linked by a prototypical memory. There have been times in my own life that I felt exactly this way. From afar, then, I pray for your continued success.
After that incident I continued to teach at the same elementary school. A few years ago, however, I unexpectedly fell ill, was hospitalized for a long spell in Kofu General Hospital, and, after some time, submitted my resignation. For a year I was in and out of the hospital, but eventually I recovered, was discharged, and opened a small tutorial school in our town. My students were the children of my former pupils. It's a trite observation, perhaps, but it is true what they say-that time does fly-and I've found the passage of time to be incredibly swift.
During the war I lost both my husband and my father, then my mother as well in the confused period following the surrender. With my husband off to war soon after we married, we never had any children, so I've been all alone in the world. I wouldn't say my life has been happy, but it has been a great blessing to have been able to teach for so long and have the chance to work with so many children over the years. I thank God for this opportunity. If it hadn't been for teaching I don't think I'd have been able to survive.
I summoned up my courage today to write to you, Professor, because I've never been able to forget that incident in the woods in the fall of 1944. Twenty-eight years have passed, but to me it's as fresh in my mind as if it took place yesterday. Those memories are always with me, shadowing my every waking moment. I've spent countless sleepless nights pondering it all, and it's even haunted my dreams.
It's as if the aftershocks of that incident affect every aspect of my life. To give you an example, whenever I run across any of the children involved in the incident (half of whom still live here in town and are now in their mid- thirties) I always wonder what effects the incident had on them, and on myself. Something as traumatic as that you'd think would have to have some lingering physical or psychological impact on all of us. I can't believe otherwise. But when it comes to pinpointing what sort of effects these were, and how great an impact it all had, I'm at a loss.
As you're well aware, Professor, the military kept news of this incident from reaching the public. During the Occupation the American military conducted their own investigation behind closed doors. The military's always the same, whether Japanese or American. Even when censorship was lifted after the Occupation, no articles about the incident appeared in newspapers or magazines. Which I suppose is understandable, since it had taken place years before and no one had died.
Because of this, most people are unaware that such an incident ever took place. During the war there were so many horrific events, and millions of people lost their lives, so I don't suppose people would be very shocked by what happened in our little town. Even here not many people remember what happened, and those who do don't appear willing to talk about it. I'd say most people who recall the incident find it an unpleasant memory they'd prefer not to touch on.
Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through, is now like something from the distant past. We're so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past, like ancient stars that have burned out, are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. New styles, new information, new technology, new terminology… But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone. And for me, what happened in the woods that day is one of these.
I realize there's nothing I can do about it now, and I would certainly understand if you are puzzled about why I'm bringing this up at this late date. But while I'm still alive there's something I have to get off my chest.
During the war, of course, we lived under strict censorship, and there were things we couldn't easily talk about. When I met you, Professor, there were military officers with us and I couldn't speak freely. Also, I didn't know anything about you then, or about your work, so I certainly didn't feel-as a young woman talking to a man she didn't know-I could be candid about any private matter. Thus I kept several facts to myself. In other words, in the official investigation I intentionally changed some of the facts about the incident. And when, after the war, the American military interviewed me, I stuck to my story. Out of fear and to keep up appearances, perhaps, I repeated the same lies I'd told you. This may well have made it more difficult for you to investigate the incident, and may have somewhat skewed your conclusions. No, I know it did. This has bothered me for years, and I'm ashamed of what I did.
I hope this explains why I've written this long letter to you. I realize you're a busy man and may not have time for this. If so, please feel free to treat it all as the ramblings of an old woman and toss the letter away. The thing is, I feel the need, while I'm still able, to confess all that really took place then, write it down, and pass it along to someone who should know. I recovered from my illness, but you never know when there might be a relapse. I hope you will take this into consideration.
The night before I took the children up into the hills, I had a dream about my husband, just before dawn. He had been drafted and was off at war. The dream was extremely realistic and sexually charged-one of those dreams that's so vivid it's hard to distinguish between dream and reality.
In the dream we were lying on a large flat rock having sex. It was a light gray rock near the top of a mountain. The whole thing was about the size of two tatami mats, the surface smooth and damp. It was cloudy and looked like it was about to storm, but there wasn't any wind. It seemed near twilight, and birds were hurrying off to their nests. So there the two of us were, under that cloudy sky, silently having intercourse. We hadn't been married long at this time, and the war had separated us. My body was burning for my husband.
I felt an indescribable pleasure. We tried all sorts of positions and did it over and over, climaxing again and again. It's strange, now that I think of it, for in real life the two of us were quiet, rather introverted people. We'd never given in to our passions like this or experienced such soaring pleasure. But in the dream, for the first time in our lives, we'd thrown away all restraints and were going at it like animals.
When I opened my eyes it was still dim outside and I felt very odd. My body felt heavy, and I could still feel my husband deep inside me. My heart was pounding and I found it hard to breathe. My vagina was wet, just like after intercourse. It felt as if I'd really made love and not just dreamed it. I'm embarrassed to say it, but I masturbated at this point. I was burning with lust and had to do something to calm down.
Afterward I rode my bike to school as usual and escorted the children on our field trip to Owan yama. As we walked up the mountain path I could still feel the lingering effects of sex. All I had to do was close my eyes and I could feel my husband coming inside me, his semen shooting against the wall of my womb. I'd clung to him for all I was worth, my legs spread as wide as possible, my ankles entangled with his thighs. I was, frankly, in a daze as I took the children up the hill. I felt like I was still in the middle of that realistic, erotic dream.
We climbed up the mountain, reached the spot we were aiming at, and just as the children were getting ready to fan out to hunt for mushrooms, my period suddenly started. It wasn't time for it. My last one had stopped only ten days before, and my periods were always regular. Perhaps this erotic dream had stirred something up inside me and set it off. Naturally I hadn't come prepared, and here we were in the hills far from town.
I instructed the children to take a short break, then I went off alone far into the woods and took care of myself as best I could with a couple of towels I'd brought along. There was a great deal of blood, and it made quite a mess, but I was sure I'd be able to manage until we made it back to school. My head was a complete blank, and I couldn't focus at all. I had a guilty conscience, I imagine-about that uninhibited dream, about masturbating, and about having sexual fantasies in front of the children. I was usually the type who suppressed those kinds of thoughts.
I had the children go off to gather their mushrooms, and was thinking we'd better make it a short trip and go back as soon as we could. Back at school I'd be able to clean up better. I sat down and watched the children as they hunted for mushrooms. I kept a head count, and made sure none of them were out of my sight.
After a while, though, I noticed one little boy walking toward me with something in his hands. It was the boy named Nakata-the same boy who didn't regain consciousness and was hospitalized. He was holding the bloody towels I'd used. I gasped and couldn't believe my eyes. I'd hidden them far away, out of sight, where the children wouldn't go. You have to understand that this is the most embarrassing thing for a woman, something you don't want anybody else to see. How he was able to unearth them I have no idea.
Before I realized what I was doing, I was slapping him. I grabbed him by the shoulders and was slapping him hard on the cheeks. I might have been yelling something, I don't recall. I was out of control, no longer in my right mind. I think the embarrassment must have been so great I was in shock. I'd never, ever struck one of the children
