Beside a Burning Sea (8 page)

Akira held up a thin sliver of bamboo. A small hole had been carved into its thick end. “He presented it to me soon after you left,” he said, handing it to her. “He told me that you asked him to make it.”

She inspected the needle, which was strong and sharp and would serve her purposes nicely. “What a great little boy,” she said softly.

“I think so.”

“What about a spool of dental floss? Have you seen anything like that at camp?”

He shook his head. “Cleaning string for your teeth? So sorry, but no. However, I was thinking. May I tell you my idea?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly. “I am pleased that you want to hear my suggestion.”

“What is it?”

“So sorry. Well, as you say . . . to cut a long story short, when I was seven or eight years old, I visited a castle. In this castle existed a special glass case, which held a thick rope of hair. I asked my mother about the hair and she told me that the castle . . . beams were too heavy to lift with a normal rope. This was a terrible problem as war was coming and the castle needed to be completed. So women cut off their long hair and . . . weaved it into a rope. This rope was strong enough that men could raise the heavy beams. And so the women saved everyone. And you can still see the rope made of their hair.”

Her pulse quickening, Annie rose and hurried to Isabelle. Without a word she plucked several hairs from her sister’s head. As Isabelle protested, Annie tested the strength of the strands. Akira was right—hair was surprisingly strong. Better yet, it wouldn’t rot. “I think it will work!” she said excitedly. “I see no reason why it won’t!”

“For thread?” Isabelle asked.

“Yes, yes!”

Annie started to reach for Isabelle’s head again, and her sister backed away. “For heaven’s sake, Annie, I can pull out my own hair.”

“Oh, sorry. Mine’s too short.”

Isabelle ran her hands through her hair, plucking individual strands. She handed several to Annie and studied one herself. “How many hairs thick should the thread be?” she wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Annie replied as she held the hairs together and twisted them around each other until they became one. “Maybe five or six?”

Isabelle created a similar strand and wrapped it about her fingers. She pulled until the tips of her fingers whitened. Finally, the strand broke. “I’d say maybe use a few more. Maybe eight.”

“Isn’t that a lucky number?”

“Is Scarlet’s hair longer than mine?”

Annie thought. “Hers might be a bit longer. But hers is curly and yours is as straight as a post. Let’s use yours.”

Isabelle walked to where Akira sat watching them. He’d heard their conversation and bowed politely to Isabelle. “Thank you for your . . . ” He paused, smiling. “Thank you for sharing your hair.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she replied, pulling more hairs from her head. “Sorry, but I never properly thanked you for saving me. If you hadn’t pushed Annie out of that room, we’d have both died in there.”

“You were trying to save the doctor, yes?” Akira said softly and slowly. “Even then, as your ship sank, you tried to help him.”

“I wish I could have,” Isabelle replied, remembering the doctor’s hearty laugh. Earlier that day he’d happily told her about his granddaughter—a four-year-old in whom he took great pride, but who would now grow up without him.

Annie stepped close to Akira. After studying the wound, she poured an entire canteen of fresh water onto the injury in an effort to rid it of sand and dirt. She’d found a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide, with which she dampened a cloth and prepared to further clean his wound. “This will hurt,” she said. “But it will also kill most any germ.” Annie poured some of the liquid onto her hands, and then dabbed at his wound with the cloth. Akira grimaced but was silent. “Izzy,” Annie said, “can you thread—”

Isabelle handed her the bamboo needle with hair threaded through it. She’d used four hairs but had looped them through the needle’s eye, tying them together at one end. Isabelle even had a second strand of woven hair ready.

“Perfect,” Annie said, inspecting the needle and then dousing it with hydrogen peroxide. Isabelle didn’t respond, nor did Annie talk further. Instead she examined the wound once more, determining where she’d place each stitch.

As Annie started to work, Akira watched her face, her hands. He noticed how she pierced his flesh swiftly so as to minimize his pain. Still, he grunted, and when he did, he saw her jaw tighten. Annie drew the needle through the other side of the wound. Akira was no medical man, but he realized that she was highly skilled. Her small fingers were confident and precise. Her hands were as steady as stone. When he bit his bottom lip in pain and held his breath as she pulled his flesh together, she leaned even closer to him, so close that her shoulder rested against his arm. Her touch didn’t drive his agony away, but instead of focusing on his suffering, he was acutely aware of the sensation of her against him. A sense of warmth grew between them, and though he’d been touched by several women before, he didn’t recall feeling warmth such as this. He realized to his amazement that Annie was trying to protect him with her touch, sheltering him as she pierced and pulled his inflamed flesh.

The thought of her protecting him caused her warmth to spread like hot sake throughout his body. He watched her shoulder as it touched his arm, deciding that her skin was the color of a late-afternoon sun. Tiny blond hairs emerged from her skin to lean against him. To his immense surprise, Akira felt a sudden urge to lean down and press his lips on her shoulder, to see if it was as soft as he imagined.

“Do you mind if I ask your age?” Annie said, drawing a section of his torn flesh together.

“I . . . I am thirty-four years old.”

“Really? Your skin looks younger. It feels younger.”

“And may I ask your age?”

“Twenty-four. Though soon I’ll be twenty-five.”

He nodded absently, still watching her shoulder. “So new to the world.”

“There,” she said, moving away from him. “It’s done.”

Akira looked at his wound, which was now closed. Annie’s stitches were tidy and organized, like a row of tiles on a temple’s roof. With her shoulder no longer against him, he was aware of the burning in his thigh. She gently dabbed at her work with the disinfectant, and his pain increased.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I need to make sure it’s clean.”

“You are very skilled,” he replied, wishing that her shoulder was still against him.

“Yes, you certainly are,” Isabelle added, somewhat taken aback at how Akira had looked at her sister. Isabelle had seen hundreds of patients gaze at nurses with hope or longing or desperation in their eyes. And she’d come to expect such looks from the young men she aided. But still, Akira’s gaze had seemed to contain something different. What it was, she couldn’t discern. In any case, after glancing again at Akira, Isabelle walked toward Nathan, who’d been watching them from afar.

Annie tightly wrapped a fresh bandage around Akira’s thigh. “If you’re careful, the stitches should hold.”

“I am honored to have you as my doctor,” he said, bowing to her.

“Oh, no. I’m just a nurse.”

He nodded toward the sea. “Is that just water?”

Smiling, Annie stood. She started to move toward her sister, but thinking of Akira’s words, she walked down the beach toward the less tranquil side of the harbor. There she washed her hands in the waves that lapped at her feet. They were warm and welcoming and she moved deeper into the water. Impulsively, she sat down and let the waves roll against her. The sound of their tumbles was rhythmic and comforting. And though Annie did not have the courage to go deeper into the sea, she found solace in the gentle waves and the hope that Akira was right.

AS THE DAY AGED, the wind gathered force, rushing past the island as if late to reach the other side of the world. The jungle that dominated much of the island swayed like sea grass. Coconuts fell with large gusts, thudding into soil or sand. Though the water of the harbor remained fairly smooth, beyond its protective shoreline, whitecaps rolled into the island. The sky was, surprisingly, almost free of clouds. No storm was imminent. No squall from which to flee. The wind was merely showing its strength to the island, which, aside from the unhappy trees, seemed rather unimpressed.

Dusk was near, and the survivors were busy improving the wall they’d built around their fire. Its flames danced wildly in the wind, and if anybody was going to cook the two dozen crabs that Ratu, Jake, and Scarlet had killed, the fire would need to be corralled. No one had eaten meat for two days, and each was excited about enjoying the crabs. Ratu and Jake had cut several saplings and would place a web of green wood above the fire so that the crabs could be properly cooked.

Roger and Joshua had returned from surveying the island. Joshua had reported the discovery of a nearby stream and a variety of fruit-bearing trees. Several more steel canteens had washed up on the beach, and these had been filled with fresh water. The finding of water and food had been welcome news, because with plenty of resources available, no one was in danger of dying from hunger or thirst.

When the fire was contained, Jake and Ratu hurried to the sea. They had laid the saplings underwater beneath some rocks and now pulled the wood from the sand. Once back at the fire, they carefully placed the saplings across the flames. Scarlet then used the machete as a spatula, depositing the crabs on the makeshift grill. “I think we found our hunters,” Joshua said, watching the crabs sizzle over the fire, trying to be upbeat for the sake of the group. “If we were at sea, I’d grant you each three days of shore leave.”

Jake chuckled at the joke. “Why, thank you, Captain.”

“Big Jake told me you could be a funny bloke,” Ratu added. “But I didn’t believe him.”

The crabs were turning red, and the delightful smell of their dinner prompted Scarlet to hand everyone a thick leaf. “Use these as plates,” she said, swatting repeatedly at a mosquito. As the sun began its desent toward the horizon, she used the machete to scoop up the crabs. She gave everyone a crab before placing a second batch above the fire.

Though Roger took his crab and settled within distant shadows, everyone else stayed near the fire. “What’s the island like, my captain?” Ratu asked, unsure if he’d rather fish or explore.

Joshua saw that Isabelle’s crab was smaller than his, and took her leaf and gave her his own. “Roger and I climbed high,” he replied. “My legs—”

“What did you see?”

“Hold them horses, Ratu,” Jake interjected. “The captain will tell you.”

With a pair of smooth stones, Joshua smashed the claw of his crab, then used the stones on Isabelle’s crab. “The island is shaped like . . . oh, kind of like a giant fishing hook, I’d say. Where we are here in the harbor is where the curve of the hook is. We’re on the inside part. The rest of the island is long and skinny. And though there are plenty of other beaches, they aren’t nearly as protected as ours.”

“And the middle?” Ratu asked.

“The middle has most of the high ground,” Joshua replied, liking the boy. “Very tough terrain there. We climbed hills that were a few hundred feet high, and could see some other islands to the west and east of us. Maybe eight or ten miles away.”

As Scarlet gave her a second crab, Isabelle asked, “Did you find anywhere for us to hide in case the Japanese land?”

Joshua shook his head. “Not yet. But she’s a big, wild island. And I bet we’ll find some caves.”

“Look by the shore,” Ratu suggested. “At home, the best caves are where the water hits the land.”

“Good idea, Ratu.”

“Thank you, my captain. I’m glad you think so.”

The fire popped, sparks exploding into the darkening night. An ember landed near Akira, and he used a stick to cover it in soil. When Scarlet brought him another crab, he thanked her. He broke into his crab and then watched Annie and her sister talking, leaning close together as they conversed through words and gestures and animated expressions. Suddenly, Akira thought of Nanking, for he’d seen many sisters die together. Memories of such heinousness invaded him the way oil from a dying battleship fouls the sea’s surface. “May I say something, Captain?” he asked quietly, feeling compelled to speak, to protect the woman who’d so tenderly stitched his leg.

Joshua started to reply but stopped, weighing the pros and cons of letting an enemy soldier participate in the discussion. After all, the Japanese couldn’t be trusted. Like most American naval officers, Joshua would never forget that while Japanese diplomats were negotiating a treaty in Washington, their carrier fleet was secretly heading toward Hawaii. However, he didn’t perceive Akira to be a threat. And so he nodded.

“Thank you,” Akira replied somewhat uncomfortably.

“What would you like to say?” Joshua asked.

“Captain, I am certain that Tokyo wants these islands.”

“And why is that?”

“For the reason that after Midway, with most of our aircraft carriers destroyed, it is . . . imperative that we have airbases here to control the South Pacific.”

“Yes,” Joshua replied, “I think Uncle Sam believes as much.”

“And if my countrymen come to this island, they will land on this beach. This harbor is perfect, yes?”

“It’s not bad.”

“So sorry for stating what you already know, but you must leave this place at once, Captain. Please find another camp immediately.”

Joshua nodded and thanked Akira for his words. Though he still wasn’t ready to trust the foreigner, he appreciated his concern. Normally, he might have questioned the legitimacy of such concern, but Joshua had seen Akira drag himself through the shallows with Annie on his back. The man had almost died saving a woman he hardly knew. And Joshua’s instincts told him that Akira had just spoken because he didn’t want any harm to befall Annie and Isabelle.

Setting down the last of his crab, Joshua rose from the fire and stared at the harbor. The responsibility of the group’s well-being suddenly weighing upon him, he walked closer to the water. Away from the fire and the smoke it was easier for him to think. He knew that Annie’s patient was right. The sooner they moved, the better. But where to move? The Japanese would survey the entire island. Relocating to another beach would buy the survivors a day or two, but nothing more. No, they’d have to find someplace secret, someplace where they could hide for weeks.