The Lonely War (46 page)

The idea of living as a monk, sharing a life with this courageous soul, was a tantalizing idea.
And being this close to Ayoshi,
he thought,
I’ll help her raise little Andrew, be an uncle to him.
But thinking of trying to live up to Tottori as a father figure caused a shadow of doubt to cross his mind, and doubt turned to despair.

Andrew looked into Kenji’s eyes and said, “I wish it were that simple.”

“Life is simple if you don’t get tangled in the web of past and future. You can take pleasure in this moment, this simple, perfect moment.”

“I’m not really needed. I mean, life will march on with or without my pitiful contribution. Tottori’s son will grow up. You’ll become a priest. Mitchell will raise his family. The Americans will go home. When you think about it, it has already happened. Life has already marched on and left me behind. I’m not needed.”

“I need you.” Kenji’s irises attained an immense depth. Again the man’s beauty revealed itself.

“You’re kind,” Andrew whispered. “Very kind, but I would only fail you as I’ve failed the others. That’s it. I’m a failure. I’ve failed to give lasting happiness to any of the men I’ve loved.”

Andrew wanted to stop, to talk about something else, anything else. But Kenji’s fingers touched his jaw, gently turning his face until they looked eye to eye. He leaned closer until Andrew caught the pungent scent of sake on his breath. His arm wrapped around Andrew, pulling him closer in spite of Andrew’s resistance. Their embrace was warm and oddly comforting.

“What demons do you fight? Do you know? I think you fight your own pride. Yes, pride. I think your pride will not accept that these men you love have abandoned you. You cannot defeat pride. It is indestructible. The more you fight it, the more you smother it with opium, the more powerful it becomes. To win this battle, you must ignore it. Lose your pride and feel your pain. It can not survive without you feeding it.”

The cold December night wrapped itself about Andrew and burned his cheeks while his heart oscillated with the tolling bell. He shivered, rubbing himself to stimulate his circulation. 

“I will never abandon you,” Kenji said, “in this lifetime or the lives to come. Never!”

The sky was perfectly clear. The moon was a sharply defined crescent, bathing the garden in silver light that seemed to dance among the shadows. Andrew tilted his head upward to stare at the sky, through the firmament, beyond the myriad of bright, familiar shapes, beyond even the dim specks from the most distant stars, into the darkest spot of the vast unknown. He found himself within that vastness looking back down to earth, seeing his tiny pinpoint of suffering acted out on this grand scale of enormity, and he realized that his agony, that he, was nothing more than a finger snap. He suddenly felt sheepish that he had made such a drama of it.

His mind returned to earth when he felt the arm around his waist pull tighter and heard Kenji’s voice murmur in his ear.

“Stay with me until the spring. Live at the temple and become a monk with me. I’ll show you the Spring Festival, the first blossoms of the plum trees, and the cherry blossoms. All Japanese go to the gardens to admire the trees.”

Kenji took Jah-Jai from his shoulder bag and pressed it into Andrew’s hands.

Andrew took the flute, looking down at the simple bamboo stick that had given him so much pleasure over the years.

Kenji touched Andrew’s cheek again, turning Andrew’s head until they were face to face. He kissed Andrew on the lips, a fragile kiss.

Kenji’s lips felt alive, thrillingly human, loving. Andrew seemed to pour himself into the kiss, feeling giddy.

Kenji leaned his forehead against Andrew’s, as if wearied, and the corners of his mouth rose. “Stay with me until April. I will show you how life buds in the spring. A monk’s life is a hard one, but that is no matter. As for your pain, we will conquer it together.”

The moon’s liquid light seemed to intensify, pouring silver radiance on the temple, an early promise of hope for the coming year. Andrew glanced up, startled. The night sky with a crescent moon as its focal point was the most perfect sky imaginable. Kenji’s firm breath on his cheek accentuated that perfection, the way a single flute carries a different melody above the string and brass harmony within a symphony, highlighting the submerged symmetry of the entire composition.

“Okay. I’ll stay with you until spring.”

Andrew felt a spark of intensity flare up within his being, and he desperately wanted the winter to stretch on forever.

Postscript

M
ITCHELL
hired a taxi to take him and his family from the Kyoto train station to the famous
Kinkaku-ji
, The Golden Pavilion, northwest of the city. As they rode along the busy streets, Mitchell leaned his head out the open window to watch the shops and people stream by.

The city was littered with pink cherry blossoms and a sweet scent drenched the air. Mitchell felt glad that he decided to stay in Kyoto after the wedding, to enjoy the Spring Festival. It had been over a year since he and Kate had had a vacation together.

The taxi pulled up to the curb in front of the temple. They piled onto the sidewalk. Mitchell sparkled in his dress whites; Kate and the children also wore white.

“Hey, old buddy,” Fisher said. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

Mitchell saw Lieutenant Fisher rush toward them. Fisher looked the same as he had on the deck of the
Pilgrim
—strong, handsome— and his hat tilted back on his head, showing his forehead.

They shook hands. Two years had passed since they had last seen each other.

“I wouldn’t have missed your wedding for the world. I had to see the woman who finally lassoed you. She must be very special.”

“I think so,” Fisher said, turning to Kate. He held out his hand. “You must be Kate.”

Mitchell made the introductions and said, “I can’t believe you stayed in the Navy. I thought you went home to run for Congress or some other important post.”

“I gave up all hopes of public life when I decided to marry Uiko. Voters wouldn’t take to her.”

“I’ll be damned. I sure had you figured wrong.”

“How so?”

“I figured you wouldn’t let anything stand in your way of becoming a bigwig politician.”

“You had me pegged perfectly. What you didn’t count on was how Changi would change me. I learned there that being a bigwig can let you help some people, but you end up destroying others. Guess I lost my taste for that kind of responsibility.”

“With a Japanese wife, you won’t have an easy time in the service either, but hopefully that will change.”

“Say, what about you, why are you still in uniform?” Fisher asked.

“I get my discharge in two months. After that, I’m not sure what we’ll do. We’ll most likely return to the ranch, but I’ll sure hate to leave Japan.”

“Same here. Say, I’ve got to get back to the wedding party. We’re about to start. Let’s talk more at the reception banquet.”

Fisher turned to leave, but he stopped and turned. “Thanks, Nathan. You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re here.”

M
ITCHELL
herded his family through the immaculate gardens toward the temple where the ceremony would take place. The Golden Pavilion consisted of several buildings—the Hall of the Sacred Fire, the Hall of the Lords, the Assembly Hall, Tenkyo Tower, and the monk’s residential apartments. The main temple, the Golden Temple, was a three-storied tower named for the gold leaf covering it. The building’s elegant lines showcased its pure Zen architecture. The temple was supported on pillars and extended over the Kyoko Pond, and its fine-grained wooden roof was crowned with a golden phoenix statue.

As the pond and temple came into view, both Mitchell and Kate stopped under a plum tree. Pink blossoms drifted down to land on their hair and shoulders as they stared open-mouthed at the sight before them.

The temple shimmered in the spring sunlight, and the building was reflected perfectly on the mirrorlike surface of the pond. The image reached across the water to touch Mitchell’s soul. He focused on the brilliant golden statue of the phoenix. Its wings spread as if it were taking flight, and its golden-speckled eyes gazed at him. It seemed to bravely pull itself out of the ashes, and the bird’s pose reminded Mitchell of Andrew performing tai chi. At the thought of Andrew, his hand unconsciously rose to his neck and fingered the string of beads he still wore, the prayer beads Andrew had given him on the deck of the
Pilgrim
.

“My God,” he said.

“Do you think that’s pure gold?” Kate asked.

“Sure looks like it, honey.”

Drums began to beat. Over by a crowd of people, a procession of priests, followed by the wedding party, marched beside the pond on its way to the Golden Temple.

Mitchell hurried his family along. They joined the crowd of onlookers.

The first to pass were the dozen white-robed priests. They had white stockings covering their feet and their sandals were five-inch platforms. They wore very tall, clam-shaped hats that were coal black with a white cord looped around the top of the hat and tied under their chins to keep the hat in place. Behind the priests were two bridesmaids wearing beautiful white blouses draped over flowing pink dresses. Following the maids, and walking under a gigantic red umbrella, were the bride and groom. They both wore white. Her kimono was thick, quilted satin, making her look as though she were emerging from a magnificent cocoon. The bride’s family followed. The men wore Western-style tuxedoes and the women wore colorful kimonos. The procession snaked through the garden to the Golden Temple, where the vows would be exchanged.

As the couple passed, Mitchell’s eyes followed them until he noticed one priest in the crowd of onlookers who was staring at him. Mitchell was not at all surprised. Many Japanese stared at him. He had become accustomed to being an oddity in this land. He nodded at the priest, and turned to watch the procession make its way into the temple. He looked back at the priest a minute later with the nagging feeling that there was something faintly familiar about the man.

The priest stood with another priest, a woman, and a child. He whispered to the priest next to him, and they all strolled toward the front gate. It all came together in Mitchell’s mind: that amber face, the graceful movement. Mitchell began to walk, then ran toward them. He grabbed the priest.

Andrew, his face fully restored to fleshy beauty, smiled.

Mitchell crushed him in a bear hug.

Kate and the children came running. “Honey, for God sake, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, sweetheart. You remember Andrew Waters?”

“Oh my,” she said. “Honey, let go of him. People are staring.”

Andrew introduced his adopted family: Kenji, Ayoshi, and little Andrew. Mitchell introduced his family, and everyone bowed several times, all the time smiling.

When little Andrew Tottori heard that Mitchell’s toddler also was named Andy, he screamed, “Hey, we have the same name!”

The adults laughed, gazing down at the children as they giggled at each other.

Little Andrew Tottori took Helen Mitchell by the hand. They ran after the wedding procession, dashing along the stone path that led into the Golden Temple.

Kate and Ayoshi laughed at each other and hurried after their children.

Mitchell stared at Andrew’s restored face. “You look wonderful. You must be happy now?”

Andrew nodded with a comforting muteness. He lifted his head and the sunlight made the golden specks in his weary eyes shine, the ends of his lips lifted into a smile. His laughter shimmered like a jewel on the morning air.

The soft timbre of Andrew’s voice reassured Mitchell that they would continue to see each other in some capacity, and joy mixed with pride swelled in his chest until he felt intoxicated, woozy. He struggled to keep his breath steady. He turned to watch Kate and Ayoshi chase after their children as he said, “This is such a beautiful wedding. I’m sorry that Kate and I didn’t have our wedding here in Japan. Are you coming to the reception banquet? If you are, then you must sit at our table. If not, no matter. Kate and I are staying in Kyoto for seven days. We can have lunch tomorrow, and perhaps dinner. Are you free tomorrow?”

When no response came, Mitchell turned to see that Andrew and Kenji had disappeared. He scanned the crowd but didn’t see them anywhere. He waited for Andrew to reappear, but his hopes grew faint as the minutes passed. He swallowed, moistened his lips, lowered his head, and slowly turned toward the wedding procession. He took a firm, calming breath, and followed after his family.

T
HAT
was the last time he saw or spoke to Andrew, and well into old age, Mitchell was never sure of the exact instant of Andrew’s departure. On his deathbed, grasping a string of prayer beads, with Kate once again reading
Henry V
aloud to him, he realized that instant had never occurred.

About the Author

A
LAN
C
HIN
enjoyed a twenty-year career working his way from computer programmer to Director of Software Engineering, but he lost interest in computer science when he began writing fiction. He walked away from corporate America in 1999 and never looked back. Since then he has traveled to over forty countries, scuba dived the Great Barrier Reef, tracked black rhino in the Serengeti, and dined in most of the capitals of Europe. Oh yes, and he’s published four gay-themed novels and two screenplays.

In addition to writing, Alan is making a name for himself as a literary critic for several online publications which include: Examiner.com GLBT Literature column,
Queer Magazine Online
, and the Lambda Literary web site. In 2007,
QBliss
magazine awarded their Pride In Literature award to Alan for his debut novel. In 2010, Alan’s novel,
The Lonely War
, swept the Rainbow Literary Awards, taking top honors in four categories: Best Fiction, Best Historical, Best Characters, and Best Setting.