====================
||Chariots of Fire||
====================
Based on Rumiko Takahashi's Ranma 1/2
Certain characters, locations and references in this fanfiction are
copyrighted by their respective creators and/or owners. These characters
and other associated concepts thereof are presented in a way that may
conflict with their creators' original intentions.
The characters in this fanfiction are fictitious. Any similarities
between characters and (non)living persons are coincidental.
This fanfiction is the intellectual property of Myungsu Suh. Any usage,
storage and presentation of original characters and plot are prohibited
unless receiving the writer's consent.
My personal thanks to the prereaders, especially to WindDance, Gary Kleppe
and J. Austin Wilde. Without their help this fanfiction would have
withered into dust.
Myungsu Suh
wx721@netcom.com
==
This is a darkfic. That means: angst, depression, hate, racism, death,
curses, etc. Most especially, the reality of life.
#1: I'm not trying to stereotype Japan (or America).
#2: I'm trying to give two viewpoints of WWII -- from the Japanese and
American perspectives. Fact: both sides used A LOT of propaganda. In
crude terms: Brainwashing.
#3: Cliche warning. War is hell.
For authenticity, a great deal of time and effort were spent on research.
I gave my best effort to keep close to the FACTS; however, any portrayal
of the past, present or the future has its flaws. C&C will be VERY
appreciated.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
WARNING LABEL
If suffering from suicidal depression or any afflictions of mood after
reading this fanfiction, take some happy drugs, become cheerful like
Kasumi and hip-hop to theme of Barney.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
+++===+++
Chapter One: Crushing of Jewels
+++===+++
Umi yukaba, mizuku kabane,
Yama yukaba, kusamusu kabane,
Okimi no he ni koso shiname.
Kaerimi wa seji.
Across the sea, corpses soaking in the water,
Across the mountains, corpses heaped upon the grass,
We shall die by the side of our lord.
We shall never look back.
"Umi yukaba" Otomo Yakamochi
==
Gosunkugi looked at the ragged doll. It had taken days for him to make
the doll, a crude imitation of the American soldiers overrunning Saipan.
Gosunkugi had hoped to use it to kill Americans.
It did not work.
Nothing he tried with magic ever worked anyway. He glanced around the
dark, damp cave. The women and children were silent. Some stared at
nothing, while others fingered the grenades. Some women seemed eager to
join the dead after the soldiers forced them to silence the once howling
bundles. The bundles were beginning to smell.
Gosunkugi wished he had his cyanide pill, which had unfortunately melted
away from his sweat. Suicide by grenade was messy. Those who had cyanide
pills used them long ago, when the Americans swept across the island. Of
course, dying of asphyxiation was not entirely pleasant either, but he was
traumatized by the effects of the grenades, especially by that elderly
woman who remained painfully alive for hours. At least the cyanide
assured death within minutes, albeit an uncomfortable death.
Gosunkugi grabbed a stone and bashed the doll's head with it. One more
American demon dead. Bash the head. One more American demon dead. Bash
the head. One more American demon dead. Bash--
"Hikaru-kun, stop it."
Reiko. Her voice... toneless... devoid of hope... He was shy around her
in the past. Not now. She was dirty, injured and emaciated like everyone
else. Mud and blood matted her once silky raven hair.
Reiko's parents were killed in a barrage of shells. An image bubbled from
Gosunkugi's mind: Reiko as the beautiful, bubbly neighborhood girl when
he could eat three meals a day and sleep on a futon beside his family....
Gosunkugi's mouth watered, and his eyes stung with shame. Food. He cared
more for food than his family. They were probably dead anyway. The dead
were dead; they could not be helped, so Gosunkugi thought of food. It
seemed like years had passed the last he had tasted rice, even though the
Americans had invaded -- how many days? Gosunkugi could not remember.
"Hikaru-kun, are you alright?" A whisper.
"Yes, Reiko-san." Gosunkugi dropped the rock. No, he was NOT alright.
Reiko sat beside him. Gosunkugi and Reiko said nothing to each other.
Did hours pass? Or minutes? Or seconds? Waiting. Always waiting.
What was he waiting for? Gone was any hope of victory when the lone
soldier came into the cave during the day. The soldier relayed
information of an all out attack on the American devils during the night.
He said the attack would be gyokusai, the crushing of jewels. Gosunkugi
wondered why the army chose such a stupid euphemistic term for
'sacrificial battle.'
The silence broke as the four soldiers roused themselves. Only one was
equipped with a rifle. Each had three grenades. One of the soldiers
barked.
"Will any of you join us? We will meet in the Yasukuni shrine as kami!"
A soldier sobbed and quaked his shoulders. The others shot disgusted
looks at the sobbing soldier, then ignored him.
One of the women got up and listlessly joined them. She brought her
whimpering child. The woman tightly clutched a grenade.
"For the emperor," the woman croaked.
The soldiers and the woman, dragging her child, exited the cave into the
night.
Gosunkugi crawled to the mouth of the cave. The night was clear and
hushed. Minutes passed. Hours. Then he heard it. A volley of rifles.
It was joined by a forceful orchestra of machine guns, artillery, mortars,
grenades and other rifle shots. He could see tracer fire.
Sometimes the American flares lit the entire sky, showing the countless
combatants in the distance moving like ants. Crimson orange explosions
spewed black fumes, blotting the star-lit sky. Amid the noise of the guns
and death, Gosunkugi heard faint cries of banzai and the two syllable
replies of the Americans.
Minutes passed. Hours. The noise of battle died. Gun shots dwindled. A
lone American artillery occasionally thundered, reminding Gosunkugi the
passing of a deadly storm. The soldiers, the woman, the child did not
return. Silence covered the night, only punctured by infrequent gun fire.
American guns. The sky was brightening. Twilight was near.
"Hikaru-kun."
Reiko.
She hoarsely whispered, "Hikaru-kun, the Americans won."
Gosunkugi's throat thickened. A wave of helplessness overwhelmed him as
his eyes watered. He did not want to die, but there was no choice.
Surrender was impossible. Suicide was better than torture or being run
over by American tanks.
A stretch of silence stifled their conversation.
Reiko spoke suddenly. "Lets go back. I saved three sugar canes. I'll
share with you."
Gosunkugi perked. "Thank you," he whispered.
They felt their way back to the heart of the cave and sat down on the cold
rock. Several of the women eyed the sugar canes as Reiko took them from a
hidden crevice. Reiko handed one to Gosunkugi. He greedily sucked on the
cane, savoring the sweet sugary liquid. For a moment, he was in heaven.
Soon the cane was dry. He dropped it. The cane only deepened his hunger.
Liquid was not filling.
Only conscious of his hunger, Gosunkugi had forgotten the children. They
clamored over the empty stalk. Guilt consumed him. He should have
shared.
Through the darkness Gosunkugi noticed one of the women had a sugar cane.
She slowly sucked on it. After one or two gulps, she passed the stalk to
others. Every woman got at least one swallow from it.
Gosunkugi looked at Reiko. She had to have given the last stalk to the
children, since they now had two sugar canes. Reiko's head was drooping.
Her weary eyes stared blindly to a corner of the cave. Her night
blindness was growing worse.
"Hikaru-kun, is there life after death?" Her voice was low and cracking.
Gosunkugi licked his dry lips. "Reiko-san... Maybe..."
He truly did not know, even though he firmly believed in Buddhism and
Shinto with a bit of voodoo. Gosunkugi could not know, because no one
came back alive after death.
Reiko produced a grenade and absently traced its outline. Her voice was a
festering wound stitched by the thread of sadness.
"I want to see my mother and father. But. I- I have to see the sun
before I die. I hate this cave. It's too dark. I hate the dark."
"..."
"When the sun is in the sky, lets die together, outside."
"I... I'll be with you." Gosunkugi's mind cleared. Just saying those
words seemed to lift the terrible burden off his chest. He felt light
headed and calm. At last he could escape from the Americans, the pain and
the hunger.
Reiko grasped his hand and squeezed it, startling Gosunkugi. Such contact
was unthinkable in public. Could she...
"I'm glad." Reiko sounded calm. Almost happy.
Gosunkugi and Reiko crawled back to the mouth of the cave. They waited
for the first rays of the sun. The horizon turned slowly from midnight
blue to purple. Bright red saturated the high cirrus clouds, hinting to
Gosunkugi of the blood spilt on Saipan. Sky blue slowly painted the
atmosphere. The sun was up.
Reiko stirred as if to go out of the cave. Gosunkugi stopped her.
"Wait a bit more. We have time. Lets see the sun when it is bright, not
when it's red like blood," he said. Reiko nodded.
They were in their own isolated world, separated from the oppressive cave,
the ragged women and children. The sky grew brighter until it was pale
blue.
The tranquillity was shattered when they heard sounds of approaching jeeps
and tanks. Americans. The Americans spoke in awkward Japanese.
"Come out. You will be treated fairly. We have food and water. Cease of
arms for ten minutes. Come out. You will be treated fairly..."
The women and children, far behind Gosunkugi and Reiko, broke into
wrenching moans and fearful mutterings. They knew the American devils
were lying. If they surrendered the Americans would strip them of their
clothes and perform unmentionable things. It was better to die than taint
their tattered honor. As they resolved their minds they grew silent and
carefully gathered their grenades.
"I want to see the sun, Hikaru-kun," said Reiko. Her voice was calm, but
her body trembled.
"But the Ameri--!"
"It doesn't matter." Reiko reverently held her grenade. Gosunkugi
wordlessly acquiesced.
Gosunkugi and Reiko crawled out of the cave and blinked their eyes to
adjust to the warm sunlight. For a moment they stared at the yellow sun
and ignored the Americans' shouting and gestures.
A cry of joy escaped from Reiko. "I can see clearly again," she breathed.
With trembling fingers, she held her grenade and glanced expectantly at
Gosunkugi. He nodded. It was time to die. Death... Nothingness...
Eternal calm...
Her eyes closed, Reiko pulled the pin and armed it. Gosunkugi shut his
eyes.
Nothing happened.
The grenade was a dud.
Gosunkugi opened his eyes. The Americans had their guns drawn on him and
Reiko. One of them, a wary man, seemingly in his forties, stuttered out
Japanese.
"Drop grenade! Drop grenade! Drop grenade!"
The grenade dropped from Reiko's nerveless fingers and rolled away.
Despair etching her face, Reiko paled as her breath became labored.
Gosunkugi was numb. The American demons had them.
Two of the American soldiers rushed to them and efficiently frisked their
dirty clothes for weapons. Reiko flinched at their touch. The other men
held their ground, aiming at them and the cave mouth with their guns.
The soldiers nudged Gosunkugi and Reiko toward a jeep with their rifles.
They obeyed and sat on the rear seats. They were too dazed to think.
Gosunkugi feverishly wondered why the grenade failed to detonate. Karma?
The old American who spoke Japanese came over with two bottles in his
hands.
"Water. Schoolboy, schoolgirl. No poison." The American mimicked
drinking with a bottle. Gosunkugi took a bottle from him. His bodily
thirst overrode his mind.
Gosunkugi unscrewed the cap and stared obliquely at Reiko. Her eyes were
vacant; a statue would have been more expressive than her thin face.
Maybe the American was lying. His homeroom teacher, Fujiwara-sensei, had
always said the Anglo-Saxons were dangerous snakes, ready to strike down
the innocent at the most opportune time. What if Fujiwara-sensei had been
wrong?
Shots echoed through the air.
Suddenly, the bottle was gone in a blast of liquid and glass shards.
Gosunkugi saw blood on his arm. Not his blood. Gosunkugi looked at
Reiko. Blood trickled down from the flesh that was once her left ear.
She still sat upright in the seat, unmoving, unresponsive. Her flickering
eyes and heavy breathing assured Gosunkugi that she was alive. Groaning
and grunting, the American was down with a wound in his shoulder. A word
bubbled from his mouth.
"Sniper!"
The other American soldiers were on the ground and firing their guns
wildly into a cave hidden by the bushes. Gosunkugi had never realized
another existed so close to the cave from which he emerged. A yellow
haired American supporting a strange piece of equipment on his back
cautiously stepped toward the cave entrance as the other soldiers covered
him. He looked nervous.
A few paces away from the entrance the blonde used his equipment.
Gosunkugi gasped. Flame thrower.
A thick stream of flame entered the cave and coated the surrounding brush
in blazing fire. Immediately, a thin ear piercing scream issued forth
from the cave mouth. As the scream continued, Gosunkugi noticed the
glass-specked goosebumps on his arms. He trembled in fear.
The blonde kept firing for several seconds and quickly backed away when
two human torches holding rifles emerged from the cave.
"BANZAI!"
The two Japanese soldiers crumpled under the heavy rain of bullets. The
reeking odor of burning flesh soon saturated the cool morning air.
Gosunkugi sniffed the disturbing yet... enticing aroma. To his horror,
Gosunkugi noticed his watering mouth and grumbling stomach had betrayed
his better senses.
Several soldiers rushed to the old American and promptly helped him into
the front passenger seat of the jeep while fiercely conversing in English.
The soldiers dispersed when a medic started examining the old American's
shoulder.
The medic produced a small vial and a syringe. After tapping the vial
with his forefinger, the medic swiftly broke off its neck and drew the
clear liquid contents into the syringe. The American's taut, grizzled
face relaxed as the medic administered the shot. He seemed to be in less
pain. To Gosunkugi, the medic seemed to instruct him to keep a hand over
his wound.
The medic next attended to Reiko. He flashed a friendly smile which Reiko
did not acknowledge.
"Hi schoolgirl," he said in Japanese.
Reiko remained mute.
"You very pretty."
Silence.
Shrugging his shoulders, the medic cleaned her wound and deftly bandaged
Reiko's head, covering one eye with cloth while leaving the other exposed
to the carnage. He took another vial, tapped it and administered a small
dose to Reiko.
"Pretty girl," the medic breathed into her remaining ear.
Reiko tensed and whimpered when he deliberately stroked her inner thighs.
Reiko was ready to scream just when the old American barked harshly in
English at the medic.
The medic quickly removed his hands from Reiko and moved next to
Gosunkugi. The medic, whose eyes lost their warmth as they gazed at
Gosunkugi, performed a superficial examination of him, roughly patted his
head and walked away.
The patting snapped Gosunkugi out of his deep shock. Who hit his head?
Who? He was only aware of the old American for the last few minutes,
concentrating on his helmeted head and his peculiar English mutterings.
Gosunkugi shook his head violently. In a stupefied daze he surveyed the
scene around him. Reiko was still a statue, though her hands twitched.
The bodies and shrubbery were still burning; the Americans wisely avoided
them. A tank and some soldiers were massed near the cave from which he
had emerged moments before. An argument was taking place.
Wildly waving his arms and jabbing the air with a finger to emphasize his
shouts, the flame thrower soldier argued with his fellow Americans, who
seemed angry at him. After several minutes of bickering, the flame
thrower threw off his equipment, shoved his way through his comrades and
ran toward a vacant jeep. With the angry squealing of tires and a cloud
of dust, he was gone.
At that instant, the old American shouted something in English. A soldier
ran up to the jeep, sat on the driver seat and started the engine.
Gosunkugi glanced back toward the cave. The tank opened up its machine
gun, pouring lead into the cave opening. An American crawled close to the
cave, hurled in a satchel and hurriedly scrambled back to the safety of
the tank.
The jeep jerked and started moving, but Gosunkugi kept his gaze on the
cave mouth as it grew smaller and smaller...
A muffled explosion emanated from the cave; a cloud of smoke and dust shot
out from it.
Gosunkugi gave a silent prayer for the women and children. Their spirits
were now free from torment.
Gosunkugi kept gazing at the diminishing cave and the dissipating cloud of
dust as the jeep sped toward its unknown destination. When the blackened
trees and hills blocked his view, Gosunkugi turned his head toward the
front and found himself staring eye to eye with the old American.
The American slowly uttered words one by one. "We go to camp. We have
food and water. No killing. Others like you are there. You will be
treated fairly."
The heat of anger crept up from the recesses of Gosunkugi's mind.
Sadistic rapists who revel in suffering! Killers of helpless women and
children! The men of lies! Spawns of the evil spirits!
Gosunkugi wracked his brains for a suitable reply. Something that would
tell this devil that he would die resisting to the bitter end. It was
pointless to use magic now...
Gosunkugi remembered. A dirty, hysterical soldier taught him some words
days ago, saying that it angered the American devils.
"Bay-bu Ru-thee ee-tu sheet! Bay-bu Ru-thee ee-tu sheet!" screamed
Gosunkugi.
The old American devil blinked and silently mouthed Gosunkugi's words.
The driver shot several puzzled glances at Gosunkugi.
Wry amusement replaced the old American's confusion when he finally
understood. A bitter chuckle escaped from his bloodied mouth. Turning
back toward the front, he talked rapidly in English to the driver, who
guffawed and almost lost control of the speeding jeep. They talked with
each other for several minutes, pointedly ignoring Gosunkugi and Reiko.
Gosunkugi sweated. Maybe insulting the American was rash. He seemed not
even angry at all.
The American turned toward Gosunkugi with exaggerated slowness. He
clenched his fists and spoke clearly and coldly to Gosunkugi.
"Tojo. Tojo eat shit! We Americans good. Japanese insane! We kill
crazy suicide Japanese soldiers. We not kill or torture prisoners, stupid
schoolboy!"
With this retort, he spat a glob of red spittle onto the passing roadside.
Gosunkugi's head swam through a mass of jellyfish. It felt like pinpricks
nipping all over his brain noodles. Americans are good? Japanese are
insane? Kami! That's just wrong! Maybe, maybe... Damn, his head hurt.
He heard an unearthly voice over the din of the jeep.
"They shot at us."
Reiko.
"They shot at us."
Reiko accusing the Imperial Army? Unthinkable! Reiko was a patriotic
girl! Gosunkugi swallowed his astonishment and tried to correct Reiko's
mistake. "Reiko-san, our soldiers were shooting the American devils!"
Reiko looked at him with her nebulous eye. She continued in her strange
detached tone.
"They shot at us, and they forced the mothers to kill their babies. The
American helped me then touched me. I don't know. I don't know if anyone
is good or bad anymore."
Gosunkugi wanted to scream out that the baby howls were making everyone
nervous, that they had to be silenced since the Americans were so close.
He wanted to say how the babies made him fearful, and angry at such
annoyance, that Reiko, too, was afraid because of their screams. However,
the words were caught inside Gosunkugi's throat. She spoke the facts.
Gosunkugi's headache increased. Sparks of electricity stabbed into his
head.
The old American gazed at Reiko with his pitiless eyes. The rest of his
face was drawn up tight again, tense and fatigued at the same time.
"How old, schoolgirl?"
"Seventeen."
"Mothers, children in cave?"
"Yes."
The old American sighed and dug into his seat. He and the driver
conversed in subdued English. After several minutes, silence dominated
the drive.
The jeep frequently passed by shell craters, blasted trees and moving
clouds of fat flies feasting on maggot-covered things.
They entered a camp surrounded by small hills with sentry posts. Soldiers
were moving about, carrying supplies on their shoulders or casually
talking with each other. At one corner of the camp were huddles of
dejected Japanese prisoners.
Halting the jeep, the driver jumped out and helped the old American off
his seat. The old American turned to Reiko and Gosunkugi.
Reiko returned his look and suddenly spoke, startling Gosunkugi and the
soldiers.
"How old are you?"
The American, who seemed aged enough to be Reiko's father replied, "I am
twenty-four years old."
He spoke in English to the driver, who saluted and ran toward a row of
tents.
The weary soldier motioned with his good arm. "Follow me. Give
medicines, food and water. You clean, kill lice, fleas."
Gosunkugi and Reiko obeyed.
==
The wind speeding over the rooftops was unseasonably cool and strong, a
possible indicator of a cold winter ahead. Autumn heralded bright yellows
and fiery red puffs that occasionally dotted the space between the tiled
rooftops of individual homes. Beyond the sea of tiles, electrical lines
and colorful withering leaves, Ranma could see dull grayish specks, the
buildings of central Tokyo.
Tokyo, the heart of Japan. Location of the Imperial Palace. Headquarters
of the military. Home for the millions who toiled for victory.
Ranma turned toward the west. Somewhere in the distant horizon, concealed
by the perennial clouds, were the snow-capped slopes of Mount Fuji.
Victory.
Ranma's head drooped.
Victory...
A vicious gust of cold wind mercilessly whipped her body. Ranma jerked
and tightly wrapped her well worn coat around her to keep in the warmth.
She curled her legs into a fetal position and became irritated when she
felt her chest on her thighs.
Ranma brooded. This curse. This water curse that robbed her of her true
identity as the athletic boy she was. She hated the curse. Ranma wished
she had never gone on the training mission with Genma to the remote Bayan
Har Shan in western China. It nearly got them killed, and all she got
out of it was a curse. However... The curse had its uses, especially in
disguise. It was perfect. The tokko would never suspect a cute,
pigtailed country girl as the 'dangerous Chinese-loving traitor
terrorizing Nerima.'
When Ranma was young she had often childishly asked Genma about the tokko,
those uniformed policemen who frequently gazed at her and her father with
hard, questioning looks.
(Pop, who are those mean looking people carrying the big sticks?)
(Don't ask, my boy. Don't bother them, and they won't bother you. Stay
clear of them.)
It wasn't long when she found out the other name of the tokko. The
Thought Police.
Ranma wasn't afraid of them. They were a mere annoyance, a common fact of
life like the droning mosquitoes thriving in the muggy heat of summer.
Ranma sniffed. She could think whatever she felt like thinking and
express her thoughts freely, thank you very much. Though some claimed to
be experts of judo and kendo, Ranma could knock out any of them within
seconds. The tokko were too stiff, too rigid to effectively counter the
flowing style of the Anything Goes Martial Arts School.
Kuno Tatewaki was the exception.
Ranma's face twisted into a grimace as she angrily twirled her pigtail
with her fingers. Kuno Tatewaki. That amateur tokko bastard had been
responsible for all of the trouble she had endured during the past months.
Tatewaki was nowhere near Ranma's level of skill, but he was still a
threat, a minor threat. That made Tatewaki the king among the midget
mosquitoes of the tokko.
Leaving that thought behind, Ranma dwelled on his other enemy, Hibiki
Ryoga. I wonder where the Lost Boy went to this time, thought Ranma. He
hadn't shown up to pester her lately. Well, he'd show up sooner or later.
She wanted to practice some new moves on Ryoga.
With schools closed and students pressed into factory work, Ranma had
plenty of time to practice her katas and develop several forms of her own.
Though Ranma could have worked in a factory like Akane, she shuddered at
the thought. She did not want blood indirectly on her hands.
Ranma had seen the effects of war in China and Korea.
(Ai--ya! Jih-pen kuei-tzu! Jih-pen kuei-tzu!)
(The Chinese are not worth even a single bullet! We must kill all, take
all and burn all for the glory of the Empire!)
(Illbon sangnomduel! Hangook manse--! >crack< )
(Why of course little girl, we must capture these guerrillas. Humanity?
Hahahah! We make them drink water until their bellies burst to make them
talk. That always works on these Chosenjin.)
Ranma shuddered. She wanted her homeland to win but...
Shaking off the bad memories, Ranma turned her thoughts back to her two
enemies, Hibiki Ryoga and Kuno Tatewaki. At least Ryoga amused her with
his stupid antics. Ranma would not, could not, endure an extra second
next to Kuno Tatewaki, the proud leader of the Thought Police in
Nerima-ku.
That Tatewaki. Loud mouthed, idiotic, brainless son of a... He doesn't
know anything, thought Ranma. He doesn't know the truth.
Ranma bit off her frustrations. There had to be a reasonable explanation.
How could a high school student become a tokko, especially him? Ranma
glowered. It had to be his government or military connections through his
family zaibatsu, Kuno Industries. Tatewaki didn't want to be a lowly
factory worker. He wanted to crack open the heads of 'ultra-liberals' and
'communists' who threatened the state. I'll crack open HIS head, Ranma
thought.
She gritted her teeth then slowly relaxed as her anger drained away to
reveal her sullen mood. How had this mess begun in the first place?
Clothes.
Ranma's cheeks colored. So what if she liked to wear Chinese clothes?
Seeing Ranma in her male form with the usual red Chinese shirt and black
pants, that inflated 'little Tojo' with the ego the size of Suruga Bay
denounced him as a traitor unfit to live in the Land of the Gods. For
calling him a traitor Ranma gave Tatewaki and his goons a beating that
left them limping for days.
After seeing Ranma in female form on another occasion, Tatewaki had named
her 'my goddess the pigtailed girl' and improperly touched her, to the
shock of the other policemen. To show her gratitude, Ranma taught Kuno
Tatewaki a painful lesson in stretching his leg muscles till he could do
the splits perfectly. Even some of the tokko approved.
Later, when Tatewaki and his tokko squad learned the male Ranma was the
fiancee of the 'beauteous' Tendo Akane, they ambushed him daily in his
outings and fought with renewed vigor. Tatewaki had nearly died of rage
at the thought of a 'chink lover' as the husband of the 'precious,
feminine flower that blooms in hardship as a sign of hope and ultimate
victory.'
Ranma snorted in disgust. Precious, feminine flower? Hah! The
blabber-mouth! The uncute, unfeminine, violent, psychopathic tomboy was
anything but THAT.
But...
Akane did look cute when she smiled. Too bad that Akane didn't smile much
anymore. Akane never hid her smile with her hands and never giggled
moronically like other girls. Akane's smile was sincere, genuine. That
coy and yet sensual curve of her lips, slightly revealing a row of white
pearls. Her beaming, glowing eyes inviting something more than...
Ranma's face heated. The faint blush of Akane's cheeks, warm, yet hot
enough to melt the coldest, the hardest of hearts...
Ranma got up and jumped off the roof, landing on the grass with a slight
thud. She was burning up. Having those kinds of emotions as a girl
embarrassed Ranma. It made her stomach do somersaults and heated her
groin.
"I'm a man. I'm a man," she muttered.
After taking off her sandals, she stepped into the house. Ranma saw the
two elders of the Tendo and Saotome families in drunken stupor sprawled on
the floor amid shogi pieces and empty flasks. Ranma crinkled her nose at
the sharp smell. Soun and Genma reeked of sweet potato liquor, a rather
poor substitute for sake. In the corner, a brazier gave off its dying
warmth to the surrounding air.
Ranma's eyes hardened. Soun and Genma were so desperate for alcohol that
they set up strange contraptions in Soun's room to distill devilish
concoctions from methanol, paint thinner or shoe varnish. Pop is always a
sucker for miracles, she thought. At least they weren't poisoning
themselves anymore. The pair had probably filched the sweet potato
alcohol from Nabiki's hidden stash of goods. Its drawback was the high
alcohol content. One shot of it was potent as a bombshell.
Ranma walked around the drunk pair when she nearly slipped on a small
slick pool of liquid. Soun was drooling.
"Ewww."
Disgusted, Ranma moved away from the snoring, intoxicated men and
hurriedly wiped her foot on the wooden floor. How many times had they
missed work now? Not that it mattered. Their wages were too small to
help anyway. Nabiki's black market operations provided the bulk of the
household expenses.
Hushing her voice to just above a whisper, Ranma called out, "Kasumi?"
Ranma peeked inside the kitchen and found it empty. She furtively sneaked
inside and searched the premises for coal or firewood. The neighborhood
gas had been cut off by the government long before Ranma had arrived. It
didn't take long until she found a mass of old newspapers and a small pile
of rentan, the brick-shaped mixture of coal, sawdust and charcoal used in
braziers. On top of the pile was a tiny box filled with precious matches.
Ranma hesitated slightly before pocketing two matches and carefully
breaking several of the rentan into chunks. She arranged the chunks into
a round heap on top of a newspaper and securely folded it. Next, she
pumped water from the well head into a kettle.
A faint trickle of guilt bothered her.
(Ranma-kun, some of the coal Nabiki brought was missing this morning...)
"Kasumi, I'm sorry," she whispered.
Ranma knew she was technically stealing the scarce fuel, but she was a
man. Her true nature was male. She had to turn back.
"Never a girl. Never a girl."
Firming her wavering resolve, Ranma carried the bulging newspaper pack and
the kettle to a secluded corner behind the dojo.
==
Dressed in her loose fitting trousers and a old cotton blouse, Kasumi
entered her spartan room.
Kasumi shivered. Her room was freezing cold. Concern for her father and
Saotome-san seeped into her mental defenses. I should have covered them
with a blanket, she thought. They will catch a cold wh--
No! Kasumi supressed her worries. This was the only chance; the only
time for privacy was when they were dead drunk like silly fish.
"Oh my," she whispered. Kasumi daintily covered her mouth in shock.
How could she think of her father and his dear friend in such terms? It
was not nice. Maybe it was because she was tired. Yes, she felt tired
all the time after doing the chores, keeping the house clean after Akane
and Ranma's fights, waiting on her father and Saotome-san, cooking the
meager meals three times a day, keeping watch over the cache of food and
stuffs for Nabiki, attending the pointless and tiring tonarigumi
[neighborhood association] drills carrying buckets of water to practice
fire prevention in the middle of the night while listening to the shouts
of that good-for-noth--
Kasumi stopped her rambling thoughts. How could she complain when all the
others suffered? They endured and did not express... but...
She refocused on her original purpose. Rubbing her hands to keep warm,
Kasumi crossed her room and faced her Western-style dresser.
(ahh! heheh! k-k-kasumi-san! why hello! thank you for the cookies!)
Deliberately steadying her fingers, Kasumi opened the top drawer and took
out her sole secret possession.
(say hello to kasumi-san, betty-chan! she says hello. returning the book
you borrowed? you want to borrow more? of course, kasumi-san! please,
take whatever you wish.)
Kasumi held in her hand a discolored envelope. Strange, far-away names
such as Rabaul and Manilla were stamped on it, hinting at its long and
weary journey.
"Tofu-sensei..."
(flashback)
"Tofu-sensei?"
"Yes, Kasumi-san."
"I really enjoyed the book on human anatomy you lent me. Is it alright if
I ask a question?"
"Why... Of course, I'll be glad to answer any of your questions."
"Betty-chan is a female name in English, isn't it?"
"... Yes."
"I'm just curious, sensei. If Betty-chan is female, why does she have the
pelvis of a ma--"
"Heheheheh! K-K-Kasumi... Uh... Heheheheh!"
"T-Tofu-sensei?"
"Please Kasumi. Will you GET OUT, NOW?"
"C-Certainly."
=
"T-Tofu-sensei?"
"Kasumi-san, I am sorry to disturb you at this late hour. May I..."
"Please, come inside."
"Can we talk in private?"
"My father and my sisters are sleeping at the moment..."
"This is... important, Kasumi-san."
"We can talk in the dojo, Tofu-sensei."
"Kasumi-san, the other day..."
"I-I am sorry that my question bothered you, sensei. Please forgive me."
"N-No, Kasumi-san. I have to ask forgiveness. I was very rude to you
that day."
A stretch of silence.
Tofu blurted out in a muted tone.
"Kasumi-san, do you remember when I received my red draft card, four years
ago?"
"Y-Yes."
"I-- I still have the thousand-stitch belt you gave me. I think... It
did protect me from bullets. I used to wonder how many days you had to
stand on the streets, waiting for the passerbys to stitch one by one. My
mother argued with me. Accepting it from such a young girl of age
fourteen. Heheh..."
Stillness.
"K-Kasumi-san. Four years ago... It seems like ages have passed."
Hushed. Except the calm, controlled breathing of one and the rushed gasps
of the other.
"Kasumi-san. Though I'm a traditional acupuncturist and pressure point
expert, the Army assigned me to the-- To the medical corps. I was sent to
China and assigned to a hospital to be trained as a field doctor."
"Tofu-sensei, why--"
"Wait, Kasumi. I have to say... I was assigned to a hospital to receive
training. You see, as a field doctor you can't treat bullet wounds by
just jabbing at a pressure point."
A peal of nervous laughter.
"..."
"W-Well, I didn't know anything of the inner anatomy of the human body. I
knew muscles, nerve points and the basics of first aid, not the organs,
their structure and specific functions. I had to start learning from
scratch. We-- We needed to..."
"Tofu-sensei? A-Are you feeling alright?"
"..."
"Sensei?"
"Needed to. Heheheh... Yes, needed to. Heheh."
"T-Tofu-sensei?"
"Yes? Yes. No. I-- I am sorry for intruding on you at this late hour.
I'll be leaving now."
(end flashback)
Kasumi's shoulders shook as she lost her composure. With trembling
fingers, she carefully opened the envelope and took out two folded sheets
of paper. One was covered in neat writing, while the other was blank.
They were Tofu's. He was drafted again the year before and sent somewhere
into the vast expanse of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.
Though Kasumi had nearly memorized Tofu's formal letter, she read it
again.
The characters were written in a forced style, clearly visible from the
deep rents on the paper.
+++
Kasumi-san,
Are you well? Has Nabiki-san's condition improved lately? I am sorry for
not sending you any letters. My duties have kept me from writing.
Now that I'm in the war again, I wish I had spent more time in your
presence. My foolishness had the best of me back then. I still have the
thousand-stitch belt you gave me nearly five years ago.
I regret not having learned more about religion before joining the Army.
Belief in such a thing might aid me now, but I doubt it. Everything I
learned is of no use.
Through my effort and sacrifice, I hope to preserve our nation and our
people from the enemy.
Okuni no tame ni... [for the country's sake]
Ono Tofu of the Twentieth Division
+++
Kasumi turned over to the back of the letter. She wiped her cheeks with
her hand. It was wet.
Kasumi reined her writhing emotions, then scanned the paper. A small
paragraph was at the bottom, written in a hasty style with different ink
than the front of the letter.
+++
I sent a piece of paper for you. Think of it as me in spirit, and hold it
close to the fire of your heart knowing that I am with you. I will know
when you do.
+++
Kasumi put the sheets and the envelope on top of the dresser. She
ransacked the lower drawer in haste for the candle she had saved. Kasumi
found it underneath her old high school uniform. All she had to do was
light the wick and--
Kasumi nearly dropped the candle.
She had forgotten the matches! She berated herself. How foolish could
she be!
Her mind in turmoil, Kasumi quickly exited her room and went down the
stairs. She heard Saotome-san's snorts and mumbles resonating from the
living room.
"Byakko... >snort< Katana... Tourouken... >snort< Katana... >snort<
Shi shi..."
Having bad dreams, she wondered.
Kasumi entered the kitchen. To her dismay, the rentan and newspapers were
out of the concealed niche. Kasumi's cheeks flushed as a white-hot flare
of anger burst and faded within her. How could Ranma betray her? How
many times did she mention nicely and politely to him the lack of fuel?
Kasumi shelved her frustrations. It was almost lunchtime. Nabiki and
Kuro-san would arrive any moment. She snatched the matchbox and
practically ran upstairs into her room.
She still had enough time. Enough time to read the secret--
Where was the candle? In her haste she had forgotten where the candle
was. Kasumi was about to go through the dresser again when she noticed
her hands clutching the candle and the matchbox. She had it all along.
Calming herself, Kasumi set the candle in a holder and lit the wick. She
set it on top of the dresser and unfolded the blank sheet of paper.
Kasumi held the sheet in front of the weak flame, allowing the yellowish
glow to illuminate the paper.
Writing magically appeared on it.
The small characters were scrawled in a fashion that made it almost
illegible. Kasumi had to squint and read character by character.
+++
If you understood my message, Kasumi, I am glad. I knew you were sharp
when you figured out Betty-chan's secret with the pelvic bone. I hope
this passes through the censors. I've seen a man nearly beaten to death
for complaining in his letter about the conditions in the training camp
back home.
I digress. Time is short.
I am in New Guinea. It is a green, rainy hell. Supplies are infrequent,
and we are reduced to eating bugs. Some others eat the dead within the
dark depths of the jungles.
It was by a miracle a plane arrived at the bombed out airstrip-hospital
where I'm currently stationed. I begged the pilot, an old high school
friend, to send the formal letter and this paper to Japan. He's waiting
for them now. I hope it makes it.
The field hospital is a joke. Instead of saving lives, we kill our own
soldiers. Too few medicines and trained men to keep them alive. I feel
less guilt each time I give a frightened soldier a shot of opium, then the
solution of corrosive sublimate into his vein. They die in seconds. If
I had to die, I would like to die like that. Fast. Not slow. Fast.
The enemy. I haven't even seen the enemy, but his presence is felt. For
months we hacked through the jungles in a 'fighting retreat,' following
the bodies from the regiments ahead of us.
Amoebic dysentery is common. I have it too. It makes me weak, tired all
the time. Too weak. Injuries, wounds you wouldn't believe. Maggots and
flies are our constant companions. Ghastly diseases. Beriberi, dengue,
malaria, gangrene, starvation -- the scourge of the Earth!
Starvation. It makes people do strange things. Death too. Staring into
the face of death have polarized the men. As different as north, south,
east and west. Maybe we're all a bit insane.
Even without the injections, the men die everyday one by one, while the
flies grow fatter. When they die, they don't call out 'May the Emperor
live ten thousand years' as depicted in the theaters back home. They give
a slight shudder or moan on and on and on until strength finally leaves
them. Many of them call out for their mothers or loved ones.
The bloated corpses call out to the living. They seem to say, 'Follow me.
Follow me. Follow me to safety.'
At this rate, I think I'll join them soon. Betty-chan-- No. The skeleton
of the Chinese communist I vivisected will still be laughing at me.
Laughing. Laughing and muttering 'Jih-pen kuei-tzu.' Japanese devils.
Japanese devils...
I'm sorry.
Tofu
+++