Part 33 (1/2)
Joshua stared at Scarlet's bruise, reeling at the possibility of Roger being responsible for the sinking of Benevolence Benevolence. Forcing himself to start digging once more, he glanced up at the approaching figures of Isabelle and Annie. ”Where did you go?” he asked in an unsteady voice as Isabelle emerged from behind a bush.
She gave him an odd look and then pointed behind her to Annie, who carried several beautiful bird feathers. ”She loved birds,” Annie said softly, her face wet with tears and sweat. ”So it seemed . . . like they should travel with her.”
Akira nodded, proud of her for thinking such thoughts, and disappointed in himself for not properly honoring Scarlet. Pus.h.i.+ng his conversation with Joshua from his mind, he bowed slightly to Annie. She sat beside him, and for the first time she openly held his hand in the presence of others. He looked into her bloodshot eyes and felt a sudden urge to pull her against him. Instead he squeezed her hand, which caused tears to tumble down her face.
Joshua carefully lifted Scarlet's body into the hole. Annie leaned forward and placed two feathers in each of Scarlet's hands. The feathers were green and red, likely from one of the many parrots that inhabited the island. ”She just wanted to go home,” Annie said. ”To go home to her family.”
”Let us hope that she still will,” Akira replied.
The four of them knelt on the damp earth and prayed. The Christians prayed that Scarlet was in heaven, and that her family would find the strength to handle her death. The Buddhist prayed that she was being reborn and that her path toward Nirvana was growing short.
After everyone had opened their eyes and it appeared as if each was no longer praying, Joshua said quietly, ”I'll bury her.” Looking from Isabelle to Annie, he added, ”I know that you're her friends, but friends don't . . . they don't need to see everything. So please go back to camp and wait for me.”
Akira bowed to Joshua and then rose. Wordlessly, Annie and Isabelle followed him as he stepped away from the old tree, from the spot that would cradle Scarlet forever. Joshua sadly watched his wife depart, wis.h.i.+ng that tomorrow he could take her to the house she wanted by the sea. Scooping up handfuls of soil, he began to bury Scarlet. He buried her from the feet upward, because he knew that it would be most difficult to place the dirt on her face. And he was right. When the soil covered her mouth, he knew that at least upon Earth, she would never taste again. When it covered her nose, he knew that whatever scents she held dearest were forever gone to her. And when it covered her eyes, he shook his head in profound sadness, for she'd never again look upon her brothers or her birds, and from what little he knew of her, it seemed that she'd miss these sights the most.
THAT NIGHT THE FIRE burned lower than usual, as if flames were by nature jovial and they too were in mourning. No one bothered to add additional branches or to stir up hot coals. The remnants of dinner sat idle on a large leaf-unusual because such leftovers were always immediately tossed into the sea. Conversation, which had been rare, tended to focus on either Scarlet or a desire to go home. Ratu had taken her death hard and now sat almost motionless on a log, his fingers wrapped around the shark-tooth necklace.
Joshua, who wore the binoculars, occasionally left the cave and searched the moonlit seas for s.h.i.+ps. A formation of Zeros had flown over the island not long after he'd buried Scarlet. They'd proceeded due east, several trailing smoke and one flying erratically.
A year earlier, Joshua would have felt guilty about having his duty supersede his desire to quietly reflect upon and pray for a fallen comrade. But he'd since learned that if he didn't adhere to his duty, he'd end up watching others die. And so he alternated between talking quietly with Isabelle and inspecting the seas.
Akira sat away from the fire, near the entrance of the cave. Annie was close by, and though they conversed, she was much less talkative than usual. Not surprised by her desire for silence, and not wanting to intrude upon it, Akira surrept.i.tiously watched Roger and formulated a plan. Though uncertain whether Roger could speak j.a.panese, Akira's instincts told him that Roger was hiding something.
Akira's plan was almost complete when Annie found his eyes. ”Can we go for a walk?” she asked quietly.
He nodded and rose to his feet. Outside, the thick air was warmer than it had been for several days. The night was clear, and the light from the moon and stars faintly illuminated the island and sea. Akira thought about how this part of the world now lay within an infinite shadow, and how in North Africa and in the Soviet Union and in the swells of the Atlantic, men were fighting beneath the bright sun.
”I don't think I'll ever get used to death,” Annie said, her voice barely above a whisper. ”I've seen hundreds die, but . . . but they all seem to hit me.”
He helped her circ.u.mvent a tide pool. ”That is good.”
”Good?”
”That means you are still alive. I have seen men who are used to death, and they are as dead as the people who lay lifeless before them.”
She continued to hold his hand after they had rounded the pool. ”Nanking, it didn't . . . do that to you? It didn't harden you?”
An image of the little girl flashed before him. ”Nanking will always, always be a wound within me. But even though that wound almost killed me, I still live.”
She sighed, intertwining her fingers with his. ”No one should have such wounds. It's not right. To fight two world wars in twenty years isn't right.”
”There cannot be a third.”
”With men ruling the world? That seems wishful thinking.”
They walked in silence, their feet moving from stone to sand to stone. Akira still wasn't used to holding a woman's hand in the open, as he had never done such a thing; it was frowned upon in his country. But the feel of her palm against his greatly warmed him. ”May I tell you something?” he asked, wanting to share his feelings with her, hoping that they might give her solace in her time of need.
”If you want to.”
”I would like to tell you that you are . . . my greatest discovery.”
”What? What do you mean?”
He glanced at her eyes, which seemed almost too full for her somewhat girlish face. ”As a boy, I discovered small worlds within mountains. As a young man, I discovered words. And now I have discovered you. And that discovery has . . . it has made me complete.”
Annie sighed, suddenly disbelieving that much good existed in the world. ”But, Akira, you've never been around women. Maybe . . . it's like you're on a s.h.i.+p, looking for new land. Maybe I'm just the first land that you've encountered. But beyond me there's probably a much greater place.”
He smiled. ”I enjoy it when you speak like that.”
”Like what?”
”Like you are painting something.”
”But how do you know your feelings for me are real when you've never had such feelings before? Maybe you're not experienced enough to know the difference between what's fantasy and what's real.”
He spied a sand dollar and handed it to her. ”Perhaps I do not want to continue looking for other lands. Perhaps I have found a home that inspires me. Why would I look for something new when I have discovered something beautiful? Something magical?”
”I can be naive and shortsighted and foolish, and there's really nothing magical about me.”
”But that is my choice, yes?”
”What do you mean?”
”To understand my own contentment, and to stay on that land rather than looking for something else.”
”Maybe,” she answered, stroking the sand dollar. ”But my country fights yours, and we don't know what the future will bring. And that frightens me. Scarlet just went to look for some birds, and now she's dead. How do we know what's going to happen tomorrow? I know that I love you. But is that enough? How can that be enough when it can be taken from us?”
Akira continued to walk, searching for the right words. ”I am new to love, yes? So I know very little. But a coin, a house, an arm . . . these are things. And things can be taken. But love is a feeling, and how can someone take a feeling?”
”A bullet can take all sorts of things, Akira. I've seen it happen too many times.”
He sighed, unsure of how to respond, unsure of how he felt. ”A bullet can take a life,” he finally said. ”It can pull a daughter from a mother or a husband from a wife. And that . . . thievery can cause more pain than we were built to endure. But Buddhists believe . . . I believe that people who find each other in this life will find each other again in the next.”
”And love makes that possible?”
”Yes.”
”How can you have such faith in a time of such madness?”
”Because I saw her. The little girl. I was dying, and I saw her. And she was happy. She was at peace. And if I am to die, you must think of me as being in this same place.”
A tear tumbled down Annie's face. ”But I haven't seen this place, Akira. It's not fair for you to expect that of me. You can't . . . leave me and expect that.”
He stopped, turning to her, watching a tear drop from her chin, gently tracing the tear's trail with his forefinger. ”You are right,” he said softly, understanding and sharing her fear. ”And I am so sorry.”