Beside a Burning Sea

Beside a Burning Sea - John Shors


DAY ONE
Warm winds bear old scents.
I ask why I have fallen
And how I may rise.
Benevolence

SEPTEMBER 23, 1942
SOLOMON ISLANDS


Ten minutes before a torpedo sliced through the sea and slammed into steel, most everything was normal aboard the U.S. hospital ship Benevolence.
Parting the temperate waves of the South Pacific at a speed of twelve knots, Benevolence more closely resembled a transatlantic passenger liner than the handiwork of the U.S. Navy. The five-story vessel spanned four hundred feet and boasted engines that generated four thousand horsepower. The ship was coated in white paint, with giant red crosses dominating its sides and smokestack. From a distance, Benevolence looked far more majestic than a massive chunk of floating steel had any right to. The ship radiated comfort and security and solace.
Below deck, reality was far different. Benevolence held nearly five hundred hospital beds, which were filled with soldiers who suffered everything from chest wounds to lost appendages to malaria and psychiatric maladies. Attending to these patients were several dozen navy doctors and nurses. Though few of these healers had been on the front lines, during the course of the war most had been shot at by snipers, lifted off the ground by bomb blasts, and contracted a tropical illness. Moreover, the mental toll of trying to cure the often incurable had pushed many of the staff to and beyond the breaking point.
Benevolence was designed to linger on the outskirts of battle, to swiftly enter burning waters, and to provide aid to the men who’d been maimed by bombs and bullets. International law mandated that hospital ships save both friend and foe, and Benevolence was filled with torn American and Japanese soldiers. The ship stank of unwashed bodies and disinfectants and bleach. Much worse, depending on one’s location, the stench of burnt flesh could be as oppressive as the humid air that kept everything in an eternal state of dampness. Though the drone of Benevolence ’s engines drowned out the moans of the dying, the screams of the burn patients often pierced the air.
Ten minutes before his ship was split in two, Captain Joshua Collins absently studied the chart before him, wondering how his wife, Isabelle, was faring with the fresh batch of wounded. He knew that she’d be darting from soldier to soldier, creating order and sanity where no such havens should have existed. During this frenzied dance she’d act as a mother or lover or sister to the men who suffered and died before her. As far as he was concerned, she was able to almost magically transform into whoever these suffering men so desperately needed her to be.
Though Joshua and Isabelle had been together for almost a decade, and though he recognized that she wasn’t perfect, he still marveled at her. He hoped that the men she saved understood the extraordinary measures she took to save them—for to do so she’d left a trail of herself from North Africa to Midway. This trail was filled with her laughter and youth, her faith and strength. Painfully aware of her sacrifices, Joshua often prayed that she wouldn’t be an empty shell by the time the war ended. He’d seen too many such shells, and the fear of her becoming one was a burden that weighed heavily upon him. Unfortunately, despite this fear and his consequent longing to mend her as she mended others, he had his own demons, and such monsters rarely set him free.
Still absently gazing at the chart, Joshua reflected on what he worried was a growing chasm between Isabelle and him. For as much as he admired and loved her, over the past few months he hadn’t felt as compelled to spend time at her side. As he saw it, the two of them inhabited different realms. After all, his complete focus centered on the safe and effective operation of Benevolence, and her duty was to ensure the best possible medical care for her patients. Neither task left much room for anything else. And the less time they spent together, the less inclined they were to seek each other out. It was as if, having left the overwhelming demands of the helm or the patients, neither spouse had energy for the other. And so they drifted apart, like kites released into a storm.
Saddened by the recent unraveling of his marriage, Joshua turned from the chart and, looking through a window, studied the calm waters surrounding Benevolence. The nearby sea had already witnessed enormous conflicts between American and Japanese warships, and Joshua knew that more such battles were coming. The Japanese, as he’d been briefed many times, needed possession of the nearby islands to protect their recent conquests, and the allied forces were desperate to stop further Japanese expansion. Benevolence had been sent to these waters because of the looming battles that so often stole his sleep.
Downwind from where Joshua stood and stared, a young officer hid in the shadows of the stern. Eyeing a distant island—which was bathed in amber by the dropping sun—he flicked a cigarette into the sea and checked his wristwatch. Knowing that a plane would arrive soon and release its torpedo, he stayed hidden. Though unafraid of bullets and soldiers, he didn’t like the thought of plunging thirty feet into the water below, of being sucked deeply under that water, of having to swim a half mile to an empty island. He consoled himself with the knowledge that if he lived, he’d spend the rest of his life enjoying the vast wealth that a series of betrayals had brought him. He’d have his fill of women and possessions and power, and, best of all, he would never have to obey orders again.
The officer cared nothing for those he had killed or for those aboard Benevolence—the men and women whom he’d soon send to death. Occasionally, ruined faces haunted his dreams, but such torments weren’t tangible enough to change his actions. People died in war, he reasoned, and if they died at his hand, so be it. He had ample cause to hate both Americans and Japanese, and over the past nine months, he’d happily killed people on each side of the conflict. Killing had become his greatest joy.
Though his past deeds had led to the deaths of many, tonight his betrayal would destroy an entire ship. He eagerly awaited watching Benevolence burn, for he despised those who operated the vessel, and the thought of its commanding officers being forever silenced made him clench his fists with anticipation. Of course, he’d miss watching the nurses—miss the sights and scents and fantasies that they brought into his world. But the money and influence that his treachery would produce far outweighed anything that the opposite sex could offer.
He’d been told there would be no survivors, and worried for his own safety, he fidgeted and quietly swore. He increasingly felt as if he were entombed within his own casket. Continuing to curse, he looked skyward, wishing that the bomber would come. He knew it would, for the belly of Benevolence had been secretly filled with aviation fuel, antiaircraft guns, and stockpiles of ammunition. Once he’d discovered this development and alerted the Japanese to its presence, they couldn’t have been more intent on sinking the ship.
As far as he knew, only one other person aboard Benevolence was aware of this cargo. Like everyone else, the navy intelligence officer would perish in a few minutes. He’d die with the doctors, the nurses, the sailors, the patients. They’d die in flames or in the sea, and their deaths would not be short of suffering.
When the officer heard the distant drone of an aircraft engine, he removed a life jacket from beneath a bench and quickly secured it about his torso. He then pulled a wooden box into the retreating light. The waterproof box contained a radio, a pistol, rations, cigarettes, and everything else he’d need to survive for several weeks on the island. With a grunt, he heaved it overboard. An ever-increasing hum filled his ears, and knowing that the plane would soon drop its torpedo, he inhaled deeply and vaulted over the railing. Just before he hit the water, his vision passed through an open hatch and he glimpsed a pair of nurses bent over a patient. Then the sea rose up to strike him, and his world went black.
The nurses heard the splash and paused in their work. One of them—whose eyes mirrored a clear sky and whose teak-colored hair had been cut short by her own hand—turned from the three-day-old wound before her, glancing at the hatch. “Did you hear that?” she asked her older sister, Isabelle.
“The splash?”
“It sounded louder than a wave.”
“So?”
“I wonder what it could have been. Maybe a jumping dolphin?”
“You wonder about a lot of things, Annie.”
“Well, I . . . I think it’s good to ask questions,” the younger sibling replied, returning to the wound. “It keeps everything fresh.”
The Japanese soldier watched Annie study the stitches in his thigh. Though most of the Japanese patients were uncomfortable in her presence, this soldier took interest in her work. In fact, the sight of her diminutive frame and soft, almost girlish face intrigued him greatly. To him, her features and movements resembled those of a young deer—a gentle forest creature that was more intent on its immediate surroundings than the world around it. Her wide eyes, unblemished skin, and full lips seemed ill suited for the harsh, artificial light of the cramped room.
Annie started to tenderly clean the soldier’s wound, surprised that a passing bullet could tear out so much flesh. This man may always limp, she thought, redressing the wound. Of course, a limp was a much better outcome than could be expected for most of the men she saw.
“When is Joshua off duty?” Annie asked, finishing up with her patient. She thought the foreigner might have nodded in appreciation but wasn’t sure, as Benevolence incessantly swayed.
“Is he ever off duty?” Isabelle replied, methodically scanning a series of charts before her.
“I’d say that’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
“You would?”
“How many patients, Izzy, have you seen today? Forty? Fifty?”
“Oh, not that many. I should have seen more.”
“Really? Did you eat lunch?”
“No, but I—”
“Will you eat dinner? Or faint like you did last week?”
“Enough,” Isabelle replied. “You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like Mother.”
Annie paused from tidying the patient’s bedding. “Don’t say that,” she replied, rolling her eyes.
“Well, it’s true.”
“Well, maybe she’s right.”
The patient heard the noise first. Annie saw him cock his head toward the hatch. He squinted, as if improved eyesight could somehow help his ears. Annie soon recognized the hum as the distant drone of an airplane. She was used to such noises and didn’t think anything of it. “You never answered my question,” she said.
“About what?”
“About Joshua.”
“I don’t know when he’s off duty,” Isabelle replied, making rapid notations on the charts. “For all we see each other, we might as well be on different continents.”
“I’m not sure about that. At least you know where to find him.”
Isabelle started to respond, but stopped herself and nodded. She understood that Annie was thinking of her fiancé—who fought Germans somewhere in Europe—and she put her hand on Annie’s slender shoulder. “He’ll make it through this,” she said. “We all will.”
Annie shifted on her aching feet, wondering where Ted was, why she didn’t miss him more, why she hadn’t called his name when the delirium of malaria had recently gripped her. Shouldn’t she be writing him love letters and gazing longingly at his photo each night? Weren’t such things what lovers did? What was wrong with her?
As the silence between the sisters lingered, the drone of the airplane strengthened. It soon grew from the hum of a motorboat to a metallic, violent roar that assaulted their ears. Annie was about to speak again when the Japanese soldier abruptly sat up, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Nakajima . . . Nakajima bomber,” he said, his English surprising both nurses.
Isabelle was the first to comprehend his words. “It’s . . . a Japanese bomber?”
The plane must have passed very low over the ship, for the deafening wail of its engine seemed to penetrate their skulls. For a heartbeat or two, the wail diminished. Then an incomprehensibly loud and powerful explosion knocked Annie and Isabelle off their feet. Both nurses were hurled so high that they struck the ceiling. Along with charts and instruments and patients, Annie and Isabelle fell to the floor. Landing awkwardly on bedding and steel, they were too stunned to cry out. They simply grunted with the impact and tried to draw breath into their throbbing lungs. Somehow time froze and rushed forward all at once.
Annie thought she saw Izzy’s mouth move, but the younger sister couldn’t hear anything. Her ears hummed as if they housed scores of mosquitoes. Her mind didn’t work properly. She felt as if she’d drunk a bottle of wine, and found it impossible to comprehend what had happened. The world spun and tilted and swayed. It groaned and boomed. The lights had gone out. Water covered the floor. Where was she? Why did fires rage and why were so many bodies unmoving about her?
Annie spat through her bloodied lips as Isabelle reached for her hand. The strength of Isabelle’s grip slowly shook such questions from her mind. She smelled smoke, heard distant screams, and saw that the room was slanting and filling with water. She still didn’t fully understand the scene before her, but Isabelle seemed unhurt, and Annie could make enough sense of the situation to take solace in that fact. She started to hug her sister, but Isabelle turned and crawled toward the bodies around them. Annie did likewise, instinctively checking pulses as she had ten thousand times before. She felt the beat of several hearts, but seeing the gaping wounds before her, knew these hearts would soon quiet.
Suddenly, the Japanese soldier with the leg wound gripped her arm and tried to pull her to her feet. Failing to do that, he shouted something and dragged her toward the hatch. Annie screamed—certain he was bent on harming her. However, the soldier let go of her arm and pointed at her waist. Though the water was almost to her stomach, Annie’s mind still reeled and she didn’t realize that Benevolence was sinking. She desperately pushed her patient away and started to attend to the injured again, wading to where Isabelle tried to save a dying doctor.
The soldier, whose name was Akira but who hadn’t been called that name for several years, glanced at the hatch, which was already halfway underwater. Whoever stayed any longer in the room would die. Grabbing the small, brown-haired nurse, Akira dragged her toward the hatch. She tried to fight him, but she wasn’t strong and he hurriedly pushed her through the opening. The older and larger nurse must have heard her sister’s screams, for abruptly she left the doctor and struggled through the now chest-deep water toward the hatch. She shouted something at Akira, but secondary explosions ripped through the ship, obscuring her words. He gestured frantically toward the hatch. Water poured through it, and he had to use his shoulder to push the nurse beyond the opening. It took all of his strength to drag himself through the violent water and into the emptiness beyond the steel.
Outside, the two nurses shrieked and held onto the ship’s side. Above them, Benevolence burned and boomed as additional explosions gutted her innards. The center of the ship was unrecognizable. Fire billowed from an immense fissure that was partly underwater. “Swim!” Akira shouted at them in English. “Swim or you will drown!”
Remembering Joshua, Isabelle frantically spun in the water, looking for him, repeatedly screaming his name. Benevolence was quickly dying beside her, and she felt the sea try to suck her down with the ship. Despite her overwhelming fear for her husband, she didn’t want to get yanked into the blackness below, didn’t want to drown in that blackness. And so she kicked away from the steel.
“Good!” Akira shouted. “You both follow me! You understand, yes? Now please follow me!”
Isabelle wept as she swam after the soldier. Though the nearby fires dominated much of her world, she saw the brilliance of the stars and, prompted by this sight, she began to pray for her beloved. She begged God as she had never begged him—for she knew Joshua well and understood that he’d be the last to leave his ship.

WITHIN THE BURNING INFERNO that had once been Benevolence, the assistant engineer struggled up the tilting deck. By pressing his bare feet against either side of the narrow passageway, he was able to propel himself upward. Though he heard many screams and many voices needed saving, he ignored these pleas for help—for he desperately needed to rescue the boy.
Though Jake had only known the young Fijian for two weeks, he treated Ratu almost as if he were the son he’d never had. Jake had found the stowaway hidden deep within the engine room. And Jake had listened to his pleas, seen him holding back his tears, and decided that the boy should be looked after. Why Jake had subsequently related so powerfully to Ratu was somewhat of a mystery to the big engineer. Perhaps this attachment initially formed because Ratu’s face was almost the same color as Jake’s—a shade of mahogany that seemed so out of place aboard a ship where almost everything and everyone was white. Moreover, Ratu had left Fiji to search for his father, who led American forces as they battled Japanese from island to island across the South Pacific. And seeing how Ratu so yearned for his father, Jake had decided to help and comfort him during his ill-conceived journey.
As Jake propelled himself up the passageway, he shouted Ratu’s name. The boy liked to watch sunsets from the bow, and if Ratu had been on the bow when the torpedo struck, he’d likely be alive. Jake knew that the ship would float only for another minute or two. He could tell by the ever-increasing angle of his climb that Benevolence would soon go under. Most of her already had.
Shouts emerged from far below him, and Jake saw that people were struggling to climb up the passageway. He looked for a rope to throw to them but, seeing nothing, screamed at them to climb as he was. They pleaded with him to help, but the rising sea quickly silenced them. Jake cursed, redoubling his efforts to reach the bow. Finally arriving at a door that led to the deck, he pulled himself through the opening. Objects of every sort slid down the deck toward where he clung. “Ratu!” he shouted. “Ratu, where you at?”
A stranger’s voice answered, and Jake yelled at the man to leave the ship. He then tried to climb higher, but Benevolence was almost vertical in the water. “If you hear me, Ratu, slide down to me!” he yelled, his voice smooth and deep and possessing a slight drawl. “There ain’t time for nothing else!”
A wooden crate tumbled down the deck and struck a steel girder not far from Jake, splintering into scores of jagged pieces. He grabbed a long plank as it slid past. Screaming with effort, he threw the plank into the nearby water. “Come, Ratu! Come!” he shouted frantically.
Jake wanted to remain on board longer, but such inaction would swiftly bring his death. Dragging himself to the railing, he managed to leap a few feet into the swirling water. He was immediately sucked under, twisting and spinning in the blackness. The fires above painted the surface orange, and Jake kicked and clawed toward this glow. His shirt snagged on a railing, and for a terrifying moment he was yanked deeper as Benevolence sank. Mercifully, his shirt ripped and once again he swam upward, desperate to exhale.
When Jake finally met the surface he burst through it as if he were leaping for the stars. He breathed in the night with vast shudders, trying to swim from Benevolence. “Ratu!” he shouted. “I’m here!”
Just as Jake began to lose hope, two men and a boy leapt off the side of Benevolence. They were sucked under as well. Jake filled his lungs and dove toward where Ratu had disappeared. He saw him tumbling in the darkness, and he wrapped his arm around Ratu’s slender waist and kicked upward with all his might. The pressure to breathe soon became unbearable, and Jake sucked in seawater just before they reached the surface. He choked on the water, fighting to draw in air. He coughed and retched until his aching lungs finally emptied of the sea.
“Can you . . . can you breathe?” Ratu asked, his faint British accent obscured by nearby explosions. He shuddered as sobs wracked his small frame. “Please breathe, Big Jake! Please!”
Before Jake could nod, a man broke the water’s surface. His uniform bore stripes, and Jake reached for him. “Cap-Captain?” he sputtered, somewhat incredulously.
Joshua didn’t reply. “Isabelle!” he screamed, spinning in the water, peering into the flames and darkness. “Where are you? Please tell me where you are!”
When Joshua started to swim toward what remained of Benevolence, Jake was forced to grab his leg. “We gotta swim away, Captain!”
“No!” Joshua shouted, kicking fiercely.
“We—”
“Isabelle!”
“There ain’t time!”
“Let go of me, damn you! Let go—”
“I spied two nurses! Swimming!”
Joshua stopped trying to free his leg and turned to Jake. “My wife?”
“I don’t rightly know, Captain. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Captain, we gotta leave here. If we don’t, we’ll be sucked under like apples in a river. And then you ain’t ever gonna know if she lived.”
Joshua turned toward Benevolence, which burned like a funeral pyre and swiftly dropped under the surface. “God help anyone aboard her,” he said miserably, making the sign of the cross. “God help us all.”
Jake put his face into the water, looking for the other man who’d leapt alongside Ratu. Peering into the gloom and twisting all the way around, he saw no one. After wiping the sea from his eyes, he spied the plank that he’d thrown overboard and swam toward it. Ratu and Joshua followed his lead.
Soon the three survivors held the plank against their chests and swam backward, toward an island, their eyes still searching Benevolence for signs of life. Each survivor mourned the night in his own way. Jake often looked above to spare himself from the hideous sight before him. Ratu wept and shuddered, moving as close to his big friend as possible. And Joshua continued to scream Isabelle’s name. He was besieged with grief and terror, for he was responsible for everyone aboard Benevolence. He had failed them. He had failed his wife. And the thought of her in pain or dying at that very moment caused him to tumble within himself. He plunged into a black abyss the likes of which he’d never known. Its walls closed around him, drowning him as he envisioned the horrors that she could be enduring. The suffocating blackness engulfed him, and even when he opened his eyes and saw the figures beside him, he was still entombed within this abyss. Sobs wracked him. “Isabelle!” he screamed, his world spinning, his lungs struggling to draw in air. “Where are you? Tell me where you are and I’ll come to you! Please!”
After Benevolence disappeared, only the sound of Joshua weeping permeated the night.

A QUARTER MILE FROM JOSHUA, a trio of other survivors swam toward the same island. Knowing that they still had a long way to go, Akira worriedly watched the two women beside him. Though she cried and often shouted a man’s name, the older nurse seemed to be doing as well as could be expected. Akira had seen enough strength and weakness to know that she was strong. She would make it to the island. Unfortunately, he wasn’t so sure about the younger nurse. Her breaths were too quick and desperate, her pace too slow, her movements too erratic.
Though he had killed many during the war, and though parts of him were hardened to sorrow, Akira didn’t want this woman to drown. For three days she’d treated him with kindness, and for three days he’d listened to her chatter with her sister. During the past five years, Akira had seen very little kindness and had listened to almost no such friendly banter. He’d fought from country to country, island to island, and he’d heard little but explosions and screams and misery, and was weary of such sounds.
“Are you tired?” he asked the nurse in English. When she made no response, he swam closer to her. “So sorry, but, Annie, are you tired?”
Isabelle stopped calling Joshua’s name and moved protectively to her sister’s side. “How do you . . . how do you know her name?” she asked, a wave rolling into her mouth as she spoke.
Akira turned toward the older sister. “I can speak English. And I listened to you.”
“But how . . . how can you speak English?”
Akira glanced toward the island, worried that they weren’t swimming directly toward it. He adjusted his course, lifting his head above the sea so that he could speak. “A long, long time ago, I was a university professor,” he replied, even though that man was dead. “I taught advanced English and Western history.”
“Western history?”
He spat out a mouthful of water. “Yes. It is true.”
An unusually large wave lifted and dropped them fast enough that they went underwater. “It’s so . . . so far,” Annie said miserably after resurfacing. “It’s too far. I can’t . . . I just won’t make it!”
“You’ll make it, Annie,” Isabelle replied, trying to stay calm for her sister’s sake.
“I won’t!”
“You will! I promise that you will.”
“I’m so tired.”
“You’ve always been tested, Annie, and you’ve always made it. Tonight won’t be any different.”
“But I’m still weak. I feel so weak!”
Reeling with worry over her loved ones, Isabelle prayed for Joshua and Annie, all too aware that her sister hadn’t completely recovered from her bout with malaria. The island was still far away, and despite her best efforts to stay calm, Isabelle felt a mounting sense of panic grip her. “Look for some kind of debris!” she said desperately. “There must be . . . something has to be floating out here,” she added between gulps of air. “Please, dear God, let there be something floating out here!”
Akira moved farther away from them. “You should take off your dress,” he said, turning his back to them. “It will be easier, yes, to swim in your . . . undergarments?”
Isabelle started to protest but quickly changed her mind. “He’s right, Annie. Let’s get that off you.” Before Annie could say anything, Isabelle helped unbutton and remove her long and cumbersome outfit. Isabelle undressed as well, immediately feeling more buoyant in her undergarments. “Don’t you hurt my sister,” she said, glaring at Akira. “When we’re ashore, you will not touch my sister. You hear me? You won’t touch her. You won’t so much as look at her. Not if you want help with your leg.”
Akira nodded, not blaming her for the hostility. He was sure that the nurses had heard rumors—stories of atrocities against women by Japanese soldiers. To his profound shame, Akira knew that many of the rumors were true. In fact, he’d been in Nanking, and for six weeks witnessed sights that he wouldn’t have thought possible. How many Chinese girls and women had he seen raped and killed? A hundred? A thousand?
Akira had done his best to stop the madness. He’d moved his unit to the outskirts of the city and made his men dig trenches until they were too weak to stand. He’d warned them that if anyone hurt a civilian he’d kill that man on the spot. He’d been tested twice, he’d killed twice, and after the second death his men had dug trenches and done little else. But the rest of the Japanese army had mutated into some monstrous being—some fire-breathing dragon of the past. This dragon had raped and tortured and killed until few of the victims even bothered to scream.
As he swam in the warm water, Akira relived those terrible days as he had so many times before. He’d wanted to save the women, but everyone he saved was soon killed by someone else. He himself had almost been shot when he’d tried to intervene one time too many, stepping between a group of murderous soldiers and a young girl. If Akira had been brave and noble like his father, he’d have helped the girl to her feet and he’d have died holding her hand. He’d have never seen his mother again, never watched cherry blossoms tumble down the tile roof of his home. Yet how infinitely better that death would have been to the alternative he chose—turning his back on the girl to save himself.
Her face haunted him now as it often did. He tried to watch the stars, tried to remember that something of solace remained before him. But the stars were only beautiful when they illuminated a beautiful world. And Akira’s world was hideous, and the stars only reminded him of that ugliness. To him they were the tears of those he’d seen murdered.
Willing himself to focus on the present, Akira kicked harder and lifted his head from the water. The island was closer, but not close enough. He knew that Annie wouldn’t make it. She was sobbing—aware that death was coming for her and that she could do nothing to stop it. Her weeping sister tried to drag her through the waves, which often rose and then buried them. Annie started to beg Isabelle to let her drown so that they both wouldn’t die. “One of us . . . has to live,” she muttered, “for Mother . . . and Father.”
“Swim, Annie! For the love of God, please swim! You can’t . . . you just can’t leave me.”
“Don’t . . . tell them . . . about this. I didn’t die . . . like this.”
“No! Please, God. Oh, please help us.”
Annie dropped beneath the surface. When she reappeared, she glanced toward Isabelle. “I love you,” she said weakly, her lips trembling.
“No! No, Annie, no! You need to fight!”
“It’s . . . too . . . far.”
“Oh, God, please don’t let this happen! Please, please, please! Please don’t take my sister!”
Akira kicked to them. “I am a strong swimmer. Very strong. Please put your arms around my neck and lie on my back.” Annie hesitated only for a heartbeat, and Akira felt her weight press him into the water. “We will swim now, yes?” he said. “No more talking.”
And so they swam. At first it wasn’t hard for Akira to carry Annie. At first she tried to kick with him and he felt the strength of her kicks. But then she had nothing left to offer and the weight of her nearly naked body bore him down. Akira had spent his childhood near a mountain-fed river and knew how to swim with tired legs, knew how to conserve his energy and air. Alone, he could have swum in this sea all night. But with the nurse atop him, he wasn’t sure if he could reach the island.
As time slowed and then seemed to stop, Akira continued to weaken. He tried to remember the little girl he had failed. Her face filled him with sorrow and misery and rage, and the rage prompted him to kick harder. How he wanted to run back into time and save her. He’d gladly give his life to again be offered the chance to lift her up into his arms and let the bullet take them both. She’d have felt no pain. She’d have known that he was there to protect her. And her terror would have fled and her death would have been merciful.
Thinking of her precious face—which had been battered and swollen and tormented with her sufferings—Akira began to cry. The sea mixed with his tears and stung his eyes, though he didn’t bother to wipe them. Instead, he asked the little girl for forgiveness. He’d never asked for her mercy before, because he knew his cowardice was unforgivable. Yet at that moment, with the nurse pressing him deeper into the water and his wounded and weakening leg bleeding his life away into the sea, he begged for the girl’s forgiveness. As his stitches ripped from his flesh and all warmth drained from him, he beseeched her to listen to him say that he was sorry.
And a miracle happened then—for he saw her. And she was not in torn and disheveled rags, but in a lovely white dress. Her hair, long and sinuous, bore several flowers above her ear. She stood next to a stone bridge, picking flowers and carefully positioning them within her tresses. She smiled and spoke with someone he could not see. Was she speaking to him? Was she saying his name? Though he failed to understand her words, the way in which her mouth moved comforted him. She was happy. She was happy and safe and her face was at peace.
The little girl’s eyes met his and she reached out to him—and in her hand was one of the flowers she had found. Weeping like a child, Akira opened his palm and let her place the flower in it. She smiled when he took her gift, nodding to him. He told her that he was so terribly sorry, and she placed a small finger to her lips. She then pointed behind her and he saw a land of immense, enchanting beauty. He wanted to follow her into this lush land, and so he kicked harder as she drew back. He did not want her to leave him. And she did not leave him.
When his feet struck sand, he started to sob. The little girl moved closer to him, and as his body convulsed, he reached for her. And then there were others. Women were suddenly shouting and three figures rushed through the shallows to drag him toward a beach. The figures were embracing and crying and Akira wondered if they saw the little girl too. Had she saved them as well? Had she told them that she was safe and sheltered and that she did not fear?
Akira crawled toward her, wanting to hold her against his heart, wanting to feel the warmth and joy and hope of her. He felt her for a moment, felt all of those things he so longed to feel. And when she told him of her forgiveness, he went limp in her arms and for the first time in years he was at peace.