Beside a Burning Sea (29 page)

Bowing deeply, Akira replied, “It will be my great honor to do this.”

“Thank you.”

Akira pocketed the bamboo and bowed again. “You are a good man.”

“Maybe one day good men won’t have to fight each other.”

“I hope we each live long enough to see that day.”

“I do too.” Nathan eyed the coil of rope around Akira’s neck and shoulder. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I’ll return to the cave. I wouldn’t want you . . . to keep anyone waiting.”

Akira said good-bye and watched Nathan carefully descend the boulder. As Nathan vanished into the jungle below, Akira again began his search for the opening to the cave. He moved with some haste, for he didn’t want Annie to worry about his whereabouts. As he searched, he thought of Nathan, promising himself that he’d do his best to ensure that this lonely father got home safely to his family.

When Akira spied a rock overhang that protected the soil beneath it, he wasn’t surprised to discover the crack. His mind shifting to Annie, he began to move more quickly, a sudden urge to caress her face possessing him. He found a stout, healthy tree near the opening and tied one end of the rope around the bottom of the trunk. He was about to climb down through the crack when he stopped and began to tie knots in the rope so that it would be easier for people to ascend. He created simple knots at two-foot intervals. After dropping the coil through the crack, he placed branches over the exposed rope until it was well hidden.

Akira moved under the overhang, putting his feet within the crack. The area around him didn’t feel right for some reason, and he paused to study his surroundings. The opening was larger than he expected and didn’t appear to be a natural split in the earth. Perhaps once it had been, but the crack seemed to have been widened at some point. The edges had been smoothed out and didn’t look as if they’d once been joined together.

Wondering if the ancient painters had enlarged the crack to give them additional light, Akira began to descend. To ensure that he wouldn’t lose his grip, he twisted his left ankle around the wet rope so that it came up between his knees and he was able to apply pressure to it. His legs and torso passed through the crack, and suddenly he plunged into a world of darkness.

“I’m here!” Annie shouted from below.

Akira smiled, imagining her. She’d be moving restlessly, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. It was possible she had a finger in her mouth and was biting a nail. Her eyes were certainly upon him, and he hoped he didn’t look too small from so far below. Knot by knot, he descended. He glanced at the ships, though as inspiring as they were, he quickly dropped his gaze to her. The rich light of a fire below bathed her face in amber, and he felt an immediate sense of comfort upon seeing her familiar features.

The rope was about seven feet short of touching the ground, so Akira had to jump when he reached its end. He landed gracefully, bending his knees so that his muscles absorbed the impact instead of his back. Before he could even fully straighten, Annie stepped to him, wrapping her arms about him. She kissed him hungrily, pulling him tight against her. “You’ve consumed me,” she said, running her hands through his wet hair. “I haven’t been able to eat or sleep or even talk with Isabelle.”

Akira kissed her, stroked the soft line of her jaw, and then pressed his nose into the skin beneath her temple. He inhaled slowly and deeply. “You smell like . . . like you.”

She eased her hands into his dripping shirt. “Me?”

“Yes. You have your own smell. A wonderful smell. Something fresh . . . like the sea or perhaps the sun.”

She smiled. “It’s just me.”

He kissed her forehead, delighted to once again be alone with her. “May I . . . may I tell you something?”

“Please.”

“It is a little . . . odd.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

He nodded, enjoying the sight of her sapphire-colored eyes. “Aboard the ship, I always watched you. I always listened to you.”

“You did? But why?”

“Because you treated me well. Because I liked how your hands felt on my leg.”

“On your bullet wound?”

“You washed my face once, yes? When you thought I was sleeping?”

Annie searched her memory. She had always wiped the grime from her patients, believing that if they felt clean, they would feel better. “I did?” she asked.

He gently touched her face. “You took a warm cloth. You pressed it against my skin and you swept away . . . you swept away the mud that had covered me for two days.”

She smiled, pulling him closer. “I’m glad I did.”

“I had never . . . been touched like that. So gently.”

“Never?”

“And when the ship sank, I knew that I could not let you die. That would be like . . . allowing . . . a rare flower to be pulled from the ground.”

She kissed his lips softly. “Is that why you taught me about haikus? To give something back to me? To show me how you truly felt?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that I often create them? Even here, waiting for you.”

“Please tell it to me.”

She kissed him again, longing to touch him as she had before. “Let me feel you first.”

Annie, who had known nothing but fast and awkward lovemaking during her time with Ted, began to slowly unbutton Akira’s shirt. Her hands renewed their exploration of his flesh. Her mouth moved over his skin in small circles. She felt his naked chest against her breasts, and her body tingled with anticipation. “I’m going to . . . I’m going to write a poem right now . . . with you,” she said, somewhat breathlessly, her fingers and lips gliding about him.

After having always had the course of lovemaking dictated to her, Annie felt empowered to be creating the unfolding scene. Knowing that Akira liked the way she’d once touched him aboard
Benevolence
, she touched him again in the same manner. And he responded to her as she hoped he would—his movements graceful and without thought of time.

The ships loomed above them as they began to make love. And as Annie was carried into a magical world that seemed divine in nature, it suddenly occurred to her that Jake had been right. The people aboard the ships did look happy. They did look free.

ROGER PEERED THROUGH the darkness toward the cave. The entrance glowed from the presence of the fire within. The odor of roasting fish filled the wet air. Though hungry, Roger wasn’t yet ready to enter the cave. He hated being within its confines, hated having his every movement witnessed by a group of people who seemed sickeningly in love with one another. How foreign he felt within the group. How troubled and clumsy and trapped. A sense of claustrophobia almost overwhelmed him when people gathered within the cave, when their laughter echoed off the damp walls. It was as if they were laughing at him, mocking his entire existence. He’d experienced such mockery before, and having to go through it again was more than he wanted to bear. How much better it would be to kill them all and have the cave to himself. Or at least to himself and Annie. He still craved her, his longing as powerful as his desire to draw smoke into his lungs. And now that he suspected his foe was touching her, this craving was even more acute and wrenching.

Roger blinked the rain away and turned toward the sea, briefly massaging the back of his aching head. From his pocket he removed a smooth, amber-colored snail shell that Ratu had found earlier. “Stupid little runt,” Roger muttered, remembering how the boy had excitedly shown the shell to everyone in camp, how he’d told them that his sister would love his discovery. “It sure is beautiful,” he said, shaking his head. “But not for much longer.” He threw the shell against a barnacle-encrusted rock, smiling when it shattered.

While distant thunder rumbled, Roger remained pleased by the theft and destruction of the shell. Because his parents hadn’t been able to afford gifts of any sort, throughout most of his childhood Roger had stolen what he desired. Though he’d secretly filled his pockets in stores and outdoor markets, he’d most enjoyed stealing from other children—taking their treasures and making them his. At first he’d covertly captured what he sought. But as the years passed and his strength and reputation grew, he’d simply hurt or threatened his classmates until they gave him whatever he wanted.

As the storm continued to subject the sky to its groans, memories of plundered toys and treasures kept Roger’s headache at bay. But gradually the pain crept forward, expanding once again now that his hands were empty. He cursed the pain, the world, and his empty hands. He ought to hold a cigarette or a woman or a gun. Or, better yet, all three. Instead he sat in the rain and imagined how those in the cave were talking about him, laughing at him.

Forcing himself to think about the future and the good it would bring, Roger wondered when the destroyer would return. Edo should arrive in several days, unless, of course, the storm delayed him. Again massaging his throbbing head, Roger resigned himself to the fact that for the immediate future, he’d have to listen to the bitch’s endless musings, the runt’s shrill laughter, the captain’s infuriating commands. He’d have to endure.

But soon Edo would land and everything would change. The runt and the captain and the Nip would be dead. There would be no more laughter to assault his ears, no more hand-holding to offend his eyes. Yes, once Edo landed, Roger would awaken, sneak into the jungle, and cut the rope that the Jap had dropped into the cave. He’d then meet Edo and lead handpicked men straight to the hiding place. And there would be no escape for his tormentors.

The thought of this future kept Roger somewhat at ease, despite the cold, the other survivors, and the maddening ache within his skull. Drumming his fingers against his thigh, he continued to look out over the sea, continued to wonder where the ships were. They would arrive in force; he knew that much. The Japs always liked to do things in groups, and claiming an island was no different. They’d send five hundred men ashore, and within a week a landing strip, gun emplacements, and living quarters would be erected. The island would be theirs.

“But not the cave,” Roger whispered. “The cave will be mine, and if that little bitch so much as looks at me wrong, she’ll watch as I paint a ship with her blood.”

DAY THIRTEEN

I thought I knew much,
Until I saw a new world.
Songbirds announce dawn.

A Sanctuary No Longer

He saw through the eyes of his father. He recognized his father’s hands, which were torn and thick knuckled after years of farming and fishing. Though the hands felt rough, he knew they could also be gentle. They could stroke his brow when needed. They could pull a splinter from his toe. He loved those hands.

In the world in front of his father, the sugarcane field was the only thing that seemed to move. The tall stalks swayed softly in the breeze. The sugarcane was so dense that passing through it was like trying to move while being tied down. Still, a step was taken, a booted foot falling softly on red soil. Somewhere ahead, a bird rose on uncertain winds.

His father lifted his rifle and peered down its barrel, looking for whatever had startled the bird. Only sugarcane filled his vision, however, and though the rifle swept back and forth, he saw nothing. He whistled in three short bursts, each as quiet as the crashes of a very distant surf. This message signified danger. Behind him he heard men who made much more noise than he preparing for a possible confrontation.

His legs trembling, he moved forward into the sugarcane. Squinting so that he could see better, he tried to look for a glint of metal or a shape that should not be in a sugarcane field. He sought anything out of the ordinary. A sound trickled into his ears, and he wondered if the air had stirred, if someone ahead had whispered, or if his mind was playing tricks on him. The sugarcane was slightly taller than his head, and he kept moving forward somewhat blindly. He had tied reeds to his helmet, his rifle, his clothes, and was almost impossible to distinguish from his surroundings. But so, he knew all too well, was the enemy.

The land radiated heat, and sweat rolled down his neck and face like rain on glass. He’d have liked to scratch his back, to pour water from his canteen on his head. But instead he continued to creep forward. A metallic click broke the silence before him and he paused. Someone was hiding; he now knew that for certain. But where? The sugarcane blocked out everything except a cluttered few feet of space ahead.

He managed to repress an almost overpowering urge to step backward, away from the danger. Abruptly, he longed to be home. To sing in church with his wife beside him. To watch her braid their daughters’ hair. He wanted to suck on sugarcane with his son instead of creep through it with quivering limbs. He wanted to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this.

He saw a section of the grass move, and his finger squeezed the trigger. He tried to drop to his belly, but before he could do so, a popping noise erupted and he felt as if he’d stepped on a giant nest of hornets. His arms and belly stung fiercely and he fell on his back, his hands clutching at his flesh. The hornets continued to sting his insides, and he found the holes they’d made and desperately tried to pull them out before they bit him again. He screamed at the overwhelming agony. Suddenly, all that mattered was fleeing this place and the hornets that continued to descend upon him. With great effort he rose. He took a step forward. Then a hornet leapt into his head, and suddenly he was looking at a blue sky. A man seemingly made of grass stood above him. Something long and sharp pressed against his throat.

As the bayonet was thrust downward, Ratu finally awoke screaming. He stood up unsteadily and almost ran into the nearby fire. He stumbled past the flames and through the cave’s entrance. The vision of the bayonet against his father’s throat still fresh in his mind, he fell to his knees on the sand. Weeping, he began to crawl, as if he could somehow find his father, as if he could flee a cruel world that was not of his making.

Ratu hadn’t gone far when Jake dropped to the sand beside him. Picking up Ratu as if he were a toddler, Jake gently set him on his lap and rocked him back and forth. Ratu was besieged with fear, and Jake could do little more than hold him tight and tell him that everything would be fine. Ratu shuddered as he sobbed, clinging to Jake as if terrified of being yanked away from him.

“He’s dead!” Ratu wailed miserably, pressing his face against Jake’s chest.

“It was just a little old dream, Ratu. Nothing more.”

“I saw him die! I tell you, I saw—”

“He ain’t dead,” Jake said, stroking Ratu’s head. “I promise you, he ain’t—”

“But I saw him! I saw him! They killed him, and he didn’t even get to run.”

“Shhh, Ratu. You’ll see your daddy again. I promise.”

“You can’t promise a bloody thing! No, no, you can’t!”

Jake kissed the top of Ratu’s head, hating to see him distraught. Jake was so accustomed to his jokes and laughter that at times he forgot Ratu was so far from his family. “You’ve had bad dreams before, right?” Jake asked, stroking Ratu’s shoulder. In the distance, Jake saw Isabelle and Annie approach. He thought about asking them to help, but decided to politely wave them away. “Ratu, ain’t you had bad dreams before?”

“Yes.”

“Did people die? People you loved?”

“Yes.”

“And when you woke up, were them people really dead?”

“But this dream was different,” Ratu replied, continuing to shudder and weep. “I saw him die.”

“I saw myself die in a dream once. A darn bus ran me over, and my head popped open like a dropped watermelon. But I ain’t dead yet. And sure as sunshine, I ain’t been splattered by some old bus.”

Ratu shifted against Jake, drawing himself even closer. “I want to go home, Jake.”

“Tell me about that home of yours. What’s it like?”

“I really want to go home.”

“Well, tell me about it. Maybe telling me about it will get you closer to it.”

“How?”

“How don’t matter. Just tell me and see what happens.”

Ratu rubbed his eyes. “It’s . . . it’s up on stilts, Big Jake. It’s wood. There’s one . . . big room and we all sleep on the floor.”

“It sure sounds nice.”

“It is, Big Jake. It is.”

Jake squeezed Ratu tightly, then wiped sand from his chin. “Can I tell you something, Ratu?”

“What?”

“If I had a son, if I was so darn lucky to have a son, I’d want him to be just like you.”

“You would? But why? I’m not strong or smart. I can’t . . . I can’t do what other boys can.”

“Why, you can tell a good yarn. You can make me laugh. And you taught me to spear big-eyed fish. Whatever else would a daddy need?”

Ratu’s tears began again, and Jake continued to cradle him. “I miss them, Jake,” Ratu said. “I miss them so bloody much.”

“I know.”

“Do you really think my father is safe?”

Jake nodded. “A few months ago, I dreamt that I kissed my sister. That don’t mean that I did, or that I’m gonna. At least I hope it don’t.”

“That’s disgusting, Big Jake.”

“I reckon so. But there I was, kissing her.”

A faint smile rose on Ratu’s face. “Maybe you should keep that a secret, Big Jake. I tell you, if that was my dream, it would be a secret.”

“Well, I trust you.”

Ratu shifted his body so that his head rested more comfortably against Jake’s chest. For the first time since his dream, he glanced at his surroundings and noticed that it had stopped raining. Though clouds still dominated the sky, like him, they seemed to have shed their tears. “Will you . . . will you sleep next to me tonight?” Ratu asked. “Right next to me, Jake?”

“Ever seen a pair of salamanders sleep?”

“Salamanders?”

“They’re like lizards, except they live in the mud.”

“No, I haven’t seen them.”

“Well, them salamanders sleep so close together that their tails get all twisted up. And I reckon that’s just how I’ll sleep with you.”

Ratu wiped his eyes, then leaned back against Jake. “You’re my best mate, Jake.”

Jake smiled, his thick hands rubbing Ratu’s back. “You ain’t gonna tell anyone about my sister, are you?”

“I’d be too embarrassed for you, Big Jake, to say such a thing.”

Jake chuckled, noting how the sky had lightened. “Let’s sit here a spell and wait for first light,” he said. “A couple of salamanders on a beach.”

THE SEA FELT GOOD against his feet. Akira sat at the edge of a tide pool, his toes creating patterns in the sand beneath them. Dawn had come and gone, and a slate-gray sky hung listlessly above. After two days of wind, rain, and surf, the day was still. The only movement, in fact, seemed to rise from the creatures within the pool at Akira’s feet. Black mollusks opened and closed. A pair of trapped fish darted about. Miniature crabs gathered atop a dead starfish, their claws constantly bringing bits of flesh to their mouths.

Akira watched the creatures with interest. He found each to be beautiful in its own way, and he wondered if his appreciation stemmed from the rapture he felt about his relationship with Annie. After all, the thought of her provoked what almost seemed to be a new life within him. Even during his best years, when he’d been a professor and helped guide wonderful minds, he hadn’t felt such an abundance of energy and zeal. He’d never realized that the experience of sharing thoughts and feelings with another human being could have such a profound effect upon him. Even in Annie’s absence, his mood was buoyant; for he anticipated seeing her the way a child awaits the opening of a special present.

For much of his life, Akira had studied poetry. And poets, especially Western ones, often spoke of love. But until now, Akira had only been able to guess at what such an emotion might actually feel like. And this lack of a real experience had always troubled him, for he knew that guessing about the taste of sugar was entirely different from actually savoring its flavor on his tongue.

As he’d told her, Annie had captured a part of him when she’d wiped his face clean aboard
Benevolence
. He had thought about her for hours afterward, imagining what she might be like. But he’d never fathomed that she could creep deeper and deeper into his heart until it seemed that she belonged there. He’d known her only a short time, and yet, to his amazement, he felt he knew how to make her happy. And she certainly pleased him in ways almost beyond his comprehension.

Though a part of him worried about what would befall them once they left the island, he tried not to think about Annie returning to her fiancé. The hole this event would create in him would be so overwhelming that he forced himself to ignore its eventual possibility. Comprehending his world without her in it was like imagining the sky with no sun. He simply couldn’t and wouldn’t do it.

Musing over what kind of beauty she saw within him, Akira continued to dangle his feet in the water. So oblivious was he to the realm beyond his thoughts that he didn’t sense Roger walk up behind him. Suddenly, Roger’s reflection materialized in the tide pool. Though Akira’s heart skipped, he turned around slowly. Roger carried a spear in his right hand and was shirtless. Akira quickly noted his muscles, surprised that such a big man could move so quietly.

“How did you do it?” Roger asked, standing just a few feet away.

“Do what?”

“How does a monkey bastard like you get a skirt like her?”

“A skirt?”

“A woman, you stupid Nip. A woman like that little nurse.”

Aware of the spear and the precariousness of his position in the tide pool, Akira said, “I did not do anything.”

Roger shook his aching head, his fingers whitening upon the spear. “You Japs are such good liars. If you only fought as well as you lied, you’d win the war.”

“Why are you—”

“But you won’t win the war. You and your stinking kind will be driven back to that piss pot you call a country.”

Akira said nothing, keeping his eyes not on Roger’s face, but on the spear. Though he didn’t think that Roger would attempt to kill him so openly, he wasn’t about to take unnecessary risks.

“What’s wrong with that little bitch?” Roger asked, leaning forward. “Is she in heat? Does she like to take it like a dog? Isn’t that how you Japs do it?”

At these words, Akira’s mood began to change. He could ignore taunts against him and even his country. But to hear Annie insulted was more than he was willing to endure. Maintaining his eyes on the spear, he rose slowly. He stood and faced Roger, who was a full head taller than he. “Do you know what five years of war have taught me?” he asked quietly.

“That monkeys can’t fight?”

“They taught me that it is men like you, men who pretend to be strong, who always die with the least honor. They are the ones who soil themselves when the fighting becomes fierce.”

“What did you say?”

“You understood me.”

Roger moved closer to Akira, desperately wanting to kill him but knowing that now wasn’t the time. “Do you see your death, monkey man?” he asked, his face inches from Akira’s. “Do you look at me and see your death? Because I’m going to kill you. And I’ll do it with my own hands. No gun. No knife. I’m going to beat you, you Jap bastard, to death with my own fists. And how do you think that’s going to feel?”

Akira’s eyes didn’t leave Roger’s. “I have already died once in this war. Nothing you can do to me would be worse than that. Nothing, so sorry.”

“I can do plenty worse.”

“You can talk, yes? You can insult a woman who is ten thousand times your better. But you cannot frighten me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Akira noticed Jake and Joshua approaching. Switching to Japanese, Akira said, “A coward is all you are, and all you will ever be.”

Though Roger understood perfectly well what Akira had said, he managed to somewhat subdue his sudden rage. “What did you say?”

Akira smiled. “Only that it is a beautiful day. And I think that I will take a walk now.”

Roger’s hand fell upon Akira’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “I asked what you said.”

For a brief moment, Akira thought about slamming the side of his hand into Roger’s throat, about watching him die in the tide pool. But he realized that if he killed Roger in such a manner, Joshua would have no choice but to lock him up, and his days with Annie would be over. And so he said, “I am leaving. If you wish to try to beat me with your fists, please do so now.”