1943. Shanghai. A soldier of the Japanese Army happens by a club one night purely out of boredom. What he expects to find are uncouth drunks. He actually meets a beautiful African-American performer by the name of Beatrice. Throughout the next three...
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juuichi
eleven
They'd left while it was still daylight and all the while the eyes of soldier and prisoner alike stuck to them as they watched him help her into the passenger seat of his new shiny black Buick, a gift complementary from his Captain. Those eyes watched them drive away, exiting the barbed wire iron-wrought gates. The swirling green pastures and hills of the countryside had drawn her attention and he glanced at her once more before focusing entirely on the road. If only for a couple of hours, he wanted to stop wrestling with himself. He wanted for a moment just to forget, drink, and have a good time with a pretty girl.
He'd gotten his orders. He would be deployed to the island of Iwo Jima within two weeks' time. Of victory, he was confident but nonetheless, the pre-battle nerves had him jittery. He'd taken her out once last week to be measured at a tailor and unbeknownst to her, had commissioned the making of a dress for her. A dress that she now wore. A pretty canary yellow, it popped brilliantly against her skin tone, bringing a sunny warm glow to her.
Small green, red and yellow polka dots made up the fabric. She wore small dusty pink heels, giving him an inward sigh of relief at the sight of her legs and ankles once again in them. To match the color on her feet, he'd had short gloves of the same color made as well and purchased a straw hat adorned with pink flowers. All the colors a the suggestion of the tailor upon seeing her that day.
Coming to a stop, he couldn't help but steal another glance at her. She was simply radiant. She clutched her delicately gloved hands in her lap as she continued to look out of the window. Reaching for her hand, he forced her gaze away from the window finally and their eyes met. She didn't say anything but her fingers slowly tightened on his as the car once again began to move.
***
Don't trust him, Bea. Don't do it. By now, it was a never-ending mantra spin wash and repeating in her mind but damn her heart how fast it beat when he looked at her. He had this way of looking at her that made her feel like she was the only woman in the world... like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. What frustrated her was the mixed feelings... the mixed emotions. It angered her. Confused her. Why did it have to be him? Of all people her heart could have chosen why did it have to be a soldier of the Imperial Japanese Army?
Biting down into her lip, her teeth stabbed the flesh, pain making the small cut burn. This was the same man who two weeks ago pulled out a gun and aimed it at her. It made no sense... no sense why she couldn't bring herself to kill him... kill herself...put herself out of this misery. The ride was silent as the familiar views of Shanghai met her and her heart twisted painfully in her chest. Memories of marquee lights, booze, cigarette smoke, and Joe's laughter played out before her. The sweet sound of Jazz and Big Band...Blues and even Gospel. The sounds of her people now... no more. Passing armored military trucks and personnel, they stopped at a checkpoint. The driver rolled down his window.
