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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fourteen
juugo
The pain that followed my amputation was breathtakingly brutal. I fought a fever the first few days and the shock of losing a limb crushed me. Soaked head to toe in sweat, my skin felt as if it were being seared away from my bones. Through the severe fever and fighting off the infection, she stayed beside me.
Some mornings, I was incapable of speech, feeling as though I was losing my leg all over again. On those days, blood oozed profusely from the suture wounds. She'd take a rag and blot the sweat away from my hairline, face, and neck, humming to herself. When the fever broke and the pain was tolerable, we sometimes sat in silence, other times we tried our hand at talking.
***
"How did you fare when I was deployed?" The color was returning to his face and though his stump still bled, it was starting to lessen. The question made her look at him and away from the pair of trousers she was mending.
"How do you think I fared?" She answered, resuming her gaze on her hands.
"Bea,"
"I fared fine! Takahashi and I went for long strolls in the evening and he took me to the countryside for picnics when he felt up for it. Is that what you want to hear?" Her sarcasm was rightfully deserved but he maintained his emotionless gaze. And silence.
"I learned a lot while you were off fighting my country." She nipped and tucked the needle and thread.
"I learned that the Japanese love cutting people up and sticking them into jars of formalin. You even have collections as you call them." Now, she stabbed the fabric.
"It was bad enough that they murdered Ruby and her child. What sense did it make to cut her corpse in half and display her mutilated body like an exhibit?"
"I didn't-"
"I know you didn't know. How could you know? You were off shooting and killing my countrymen."
"And they were shooting and killing mine." He answered, voice rough. At that, her hands stopped stabbing the hemline.
"What would you have me do Beatrice? Lay my weapon down and surrender? Die at the hands of their bullets?" She took a shaky breath.
"Emotion serves no purpose on the battlefield. It's kill or be killed. That's the end of it."
"And what about the innocent people caught in the middle? What of the innocent children? What have they to do with this battlefield of yours?" He balled up his fists.
