The Lonely War (40 page)

The Malays went silent, no doubt wondering whether or not to trust Tottori’s boy. Andrew listened to the village sounds. Dogs continued to bark and pigs grunted. Behind him, in the hut, women’s voices chattered in soft tones. Singing rang from a nearby hut. Men on the beach prepared the nets.

“If Allah wills it so,” Andrew replied.

“Thou, my grandson, were kind to us once. Perhaps there is a way.” The old one bowed to his guest while the others traded fearful glances. The men filled their pipes, but Andrew pulled a pack of Kooas from his shoulder bag. The elders smiled as Andrew passed out the tailor-made cigarettes. They lit up with a burning brand brought from a cooking fire and finished their coffee in silence.

“Is this man in the prison?”

“No Grandfather. He and a friend wait beyond those trees,” Andrew said, pointing.

Wang San drew on his cigarette and called out a name. Moments later, a middle-aged man climbed the ladder and stepped onto the veranda. Wang San told Andrew that this man would lead them to the guerrillas, but they must not return. They must join the rebels against the Japanese. 

Andrew bowed. “I thank thee,” he said, using his best Malay. “Thou are brave indeed.”

“I do a foolish thing. I place the safety of my village in thy hands.”

“Fear not, Grandfather. I will guard this secret with my life.”

The old man waved a hand. “Go with Allah, my grandson.”

“We are all in his hands, may his name be praised.”

The evening sky turned dark even though the clouds had scattered and the stars bit through the firmament. Andrew led the guide to the officers and explained that the man would lead them to the rebel camp, and that they must join the rebels or somehow make their way to the allies. They must never return to the prison or the village.

“But you’re coming with us,” Mitchell said.

Andrew shook his head. “If I don’t return, he’ll send troops to scour the jungle. You can trust this man.”

“We’re square,” Hurlburt said. He held out his hand. Andrew gave it a firm shake. He turned to Mitchell and signaled to move out.

“Be right with you.”

Hurlburt and the guide moved twenty yards toward the beach and waited.

Mitchell took Andrew in his arms.

Andrew whispered, “Everything I’ve done was for you.”

Mitchell held him tighter. “After the war, I’ll find you. We’ll start fresh. Stay alive until then.” They gazed into each other’s eyes, but it was too dark to see anything.

Mitchell turned and hurried to where Hurlburt waited. They disappeared into the jungle, leaving Andrew alone in the night.

A
NDREW
made his way to the prison. The eastern sky grew pale as he made his way up the steps to the veranda and tiptoed into Tottori’s bedroom. The room was lit with a nearly depleted candle. Even in the dim light, Andrew saw that Tottori was not in the bed, as he expected. There was a slight noise in the shadows behind him. He turned. Tottori moved and Andrew jumped in surprise. He tripped and stumbled to the floor. He crawled to the bed and lay on the cool linen, staring up at the commandant, not bothering to deny the accusation that was so clearly written on the commandant’s face.

Without uttering a word, Tottori knelt beside Andrew. His finger caressed Andrew’s cheek. He pulled Andrew’s sarong from his hips. For the first time in months, Tottori was sexually aroused.

They kissed, hungry kisses, while at the same time Tottori maneuvered himself between Andrew’s thighs. Andrew absorbed his passion with quiet gratitude. He had betrayed his lover and now submitted to the mixture of tenderness and excitement as Tottori unleashed his pent-up desire.

Tottori entered him with one deep thrust, uttering a tigerlike growl. Pain ripped through Andrew. He welcomed it. Wrapped himself around it. Waves of pain mixed with relief washed through him as Tottori’s hips ground him deeper into the bedding. With Mitchell safely away and Tottori able to make love again, this pain seemed a pitiful price to pay for such treasures.

Tottori’s passion incinerated every other thought and emotion in Andrew’s consciousness until nothing existed beyond their lovemaking, ending with gentle kisses and soft caresses. For a few precious hours, as the morning light bled through the open shutters, the outside world was forgotten—no war, no prison, no betrayal, and no future. There was only sumptuous flesh, their binding love, and the dawn’s carmine rays.

Chapter Thirty-Four

August 13, 1945—0800 hours

M
ORNING
showers. Dawn’s hush broke with cocks trumpeting the muted sunrise. As Andrew’s consciousness rose from slumber, he heard the muffled patter of raindrops drumming the thatched roof. Blades of dull light bled through the window slats, turning the bedroom walls gray.

Even before Andrew opened his eyes, he felt Tottori holding him snugly under the linen sheets. Arms locked him to Tottori’s chest. Lying perfectly still, Andrew absorbed the man’s warmth.

“Are you hungry?” Tottori whispered.

“Famished.”

Tottori ran his fingers through Andrew’s blue-black hair and caressed the nape of his neck.

Andrew turned to him. “You look tired. Were you up all night?”

“Wide awake. Did you find the rebels? Were they able to radio the message?”

Andrew stared into Tottori’s eyes. “You knew?”

“While you were gone, I ordered a muster and found that two American officers were missing. Just because you are not my camp spy doesn’t mean that I don’t have one. Tell me, did they find the rebels?”

“I think they will. You know what was in that message?”

Tottori said, “I can assume. Let’s pray the Americans liberate the camps before they invade the mainland. Now, go to sleep. I want to hold you for a few more hours.”

Andrew closed his eyes, overjoyed that his faith in his lover was not misplaced, and his breathing deepened as he gratefully drifted into slumber.

Coming awake to the harsh sound of tires skidding on gravel, Andrew reached for Tottori only to find he was alone. He sat up and listened to voices echoing from Tottori’s office. Brisk, tense voices. Tottori barked orders.

The morning air washed through the open windows, merging with the sounds of the prison stirring for breakfast. Andrew felt hungry after the night’s adventure, and the sweet anticipation of an egg over rice had his stomach growling.

Do-Han hurried through the door, carrying a cup of coffee and a rice bowl. He smiled a greeting as he bowed, placing the food on the floor. Andrew yawned happily. “Breakfast in bed?”

Do-Han said, “Colonel say, you eat now, pretty damn quick.”

Andrew nodded, hearing Tottori’s terse voice in the next room. He wondered what was up.

He downed his rice with coffee, lifted himself out of bed, pulled on his sarong, and strolled onto the terrace. Heavy drizzle grayed the landscape. To Andrew’s surprise, Kenji stood under the roof overhang, wearing a native sarong and sandals, and he was not wearing his wire-rimmed glasses. It was the first time Andrew had seen the secretary out of uniform.

Andrew admired the man’s attractive black eyes and his finely sculpted chest until Kenji blushed to the color of a ripe peach.

Tottori appeared at the door in full dress uniform. Andrew stared at the officer but didn’t recognize him. Behind that familiar face was someone who was not Tottori, someone unfamiliar. His blank stare studied the prisoners inside the wire. Neither Kenji nor Do-Han seemed to notice the substitution, but it was too real for Andrew.

Scrutinizing this man, Andrew found him beautiful.
Yes,
Andrew thought,
this new Tottori is youthful and handsome. It’s as if the cares of a lifetime have lifted off his shoulders and his spirit soars across the sky.
Andrew cried out, a faint helpless cry. This change could only mean one of two things—either Tottori had received his transfer or the war was over.

“Lingtse, come to my office.”

Andrew followed Tottori.

Lying on the desk were two swords in their scabbards and a leather-bound book. Tottori touched the book. “In high-ranking Japanese families, the patriarch keeps an ongoing diary. This book holds the lives of my father, his father and his, as far back as three hundred years. My family is samurai. A samurai’s entire history is documented in his family diary and his soul is captured within the steel of his swords.” Tottori’s right hand moved to grasp the longer of the two swords. “You, being an outsider, can never understand the utmost importance of these cherished things to a Japanese family. It is more important than our lives.”

Andrew nodded.

“The Americans have a bomb that can obliterate an entire city in an instant. They’ve dropped two of these bombs on Japan. Two hundred thousand civilians were incinerated.” Tottori halted to take a deep breath. “Now Russia has also declared war on Japan.” His eyes gazed at his sword. “Japan will surrender within days. My superior has already surrendered Singapore to Lord Mountbatten. All is lost.” 

“Hikaru, I’m so sorry.” He stopped, because his words sounded pitifully inadequate. There was nothing to say, no way to console such horror.

“Sorrow. Yes. The whole of Japan weeps. So many precious lives lost, an entire generation.” He paused and took a ragged breath. “Lingtse. I require one more service from you. After that, our bargain is complete.”

“I have no wish to be free of you.”

“You will carry my diary, my swords, and these two scrolls to Kyoto and deliver them to my wife. Kenji and Do-Han will smuggle you out of Singapore. You and Kenji will travel through Malaysia, Siam, Indochina, and on to Japan. By the time you reach China, you should be able to enter my homeland.”

“You must keep them with you.”

“Please understand how important it is that you deliver these articles to my son. He must have them. Kenji has sworn to do everything possible to deliver you to Kyoto, but don’t put all your trust in him. These swords are priceless. He may think to steal them. He could buy a sizable farm for what these would bring.”

“You should be the one to hand them to your son.”

“There is no telling what will happen when the English come. I will not have my swords hanging on some English officer’s wall as a war trophy. That shame would dishonor my ancestors. Lingtse, you must do this. I’m begging you.”

Tottori suddenly sounded weary and his voice was tinged with despair. He insisted that it was his moral obligation to insure his sword and diary be preserved for the generations to come. It was clear that he attached supreme importance to his lineage. “My son is the end of the branch. He must have my swords and diary.”

Tottori had ancestors stretching back through centuries, and also the possibility of descendants stretching an equally long time into the future. Andrew had nothing. He knew little of his grandparents or aunts and uncles. He hardly knew his father. He had no history and was certain that he would never create any descendants.
Who will remember me?
he wondered.

As if reading his thoughts, Tottori said, “I have given a full accounting of our time together in this diary. You are now part of my family history. My descendants will read about you and tell their children about us for generations to come. They will tell poetic tales of how you inflamed my heart. You have become immortal.”

Andrew bowed low. “I’ll do what you ask on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“That you will do everything in your power to protect these prisoners. There will be no executions. You must promise me. If I hear about mass killings, I’ll throw these into the sea.”

“You think me capable of murder?”

“I think you will honor the orders of your emperor.”

Tottori stood and, taking a black cloth shoulder bag, wrapped the swords and diary within the bag. “These prisoners will remain unharmed. You have my word. Come, there is no time to lose.”

Kenji and Do-Han waited on the veranda. Dressed in native garb, they would blend in with the locals. They shouldered their bags and prepared to leave. Andrew had only enough time to snatch his flute.

Tottori took Andrew in his arms. They melded into one. Tottori whispered, “My happiest moments were spent in your arms. You, above all things, showed me true joy.”

“I’ll wait for you in Kyoto.”

“Once you have delivered these, you are free to go home.”

“My home is here,” Andrew said, tapping Tottori’s chest with one finger. “I look out of your heart’s window and view the world through you.”

“I will hold you in my mind until my last breath.”

Kenji, Do-Han, and Andrew set out from the prison at a brisk pace. Kenji wanted to be well away by nightfall. They would slow their pace once the rainforest to the north had swallowed them. Do-Han would guide them as far as Siam and then return to Singapore.

They were a half mile away when a gunshot, loud and hideous, echoed from the prison. Andrew froze, thinking that Tottori had gone back on his word and was executing the prisoners. He turned toward the camp, waiting for the next shot and the next, but there was only silence. Even the birds fell silent.

Andrew glanced at Kenji, whose eyes were brimming with tears.

As comprehension set in, Andrew tried to voice something between a wail and a grisly scream, but no sound escaped his open mouth. His body howled a hideous wail, but the sound was caught in the gravitational pull of the sudden black hole in his heart. He stood, shrieking in utter silence.

He tried to run, but Kenji grabbed and held him. Struggling, Andrew fought like a tiger, but Kenji was strong. Andrew spent his strength and sobbed into Kenji’s shoulder.

“No choice,” Kenji whispered. “Too many honor.”

Pain came from every direction, crushing Andrew under a suffocating weight. At first, he was not sure whether this was new pain or somehow combined with the pain of losing Mitchell, but then he thought there must be some mistake, a momentary error. This outrage couldn’t be. Tottori was indestructible, immortal, a god. If Tottori was indeed dead, then everything was dead; life was merely a sad hoax.