Peeta
Enraged, I fling the newspapers and maps strewn across my desk onto the floor of my room. Then I sink into the wobbly desk chair. My brother's words poured salt in deep wounds. Nobody who knows about Cai gives me any indication that she matters nearly as much as I think she should. They all think I should forget her and move on with Delly.
The gentle knock on my door isn't unexpected when I hear it. Everybody wants to "check on" me, but not truly help me.
My mother doesn't wait for permission to come inside. "Are you coming back downstairs?" she asks.
"Maybe in a few minutes," I say, rolling a pencil along the desktop. I don't look at her.
She shuts the door behind her and walks across the floor to sit on my bed.
I probably should have just said "yes" when she asked if I was going back downstairs.
"Your father said Michael upset you. Peter, you know Michael's opinions don't carry much weight."
I'm surprised by her candor and decide to match it.
"I'd say there are people who'd agree with him this time."
"Are you going to tell me what he said?" she asks.
I shake my head.
"Then we might as well go back downstairs." She places her hands just above her knees and starts to stand up.
"Mom, how do you feel about my marriage?"
She hesitates a moment before answering.
"I'm thankful for the girl. She allowed you to come back to me, and I pray every day for her safety."
"And the marriage part?" I ask.
Mom smiles.
"I don't know. It seems unusual, Peter. I hope she's alive and safe. You certainly act as though you miss her."
The pencil I've been rolling falls on the floor, and I reach down to retrieve it.
"I do," I admit. "The fact that we were together was unusual there as well, but we didn't encounter very many people. I know if Cai was here some people would talk about her the way Michael just did, and I don't like that."
My mother nods, but there's no real comprehension behind it. Part of that is my fault for being unwilling to reveal exactly what Michael's said. I move to a lighter approach, which is usually the best way to approach my mother anyway.
"Cai's an amazing woman, as strong as she is beautiful. I know you'd like her. Some people wouldn't even give her a chance though…they'd make so many assumptions."
I'm not surprised when Mom doesn't say she hopes she'll get the chance to meet Cai someday. Nobody's said that. Mom almost certainly does feel gratitude to Cai and prays for her well-being, but that doesn't mean she'd want Cai here in our small family's world all the time.
"Peter, what you know about her is more important than what others believe, but what others believe will affect your life in both good and bad ways. Right now very few people are aware of this girl's existence, but that will change if you find her."
I nod. She's not likely to admit much more than that, but I know where she'd going with this. People will gossip.
"But let's go get some cake and talk some more," my mother says "It's chocolate."
I wonder if Cai has ever tasted chocolate.
/
The gray metal chairs in the waiting room at the Red Cross office make loud screeching noises every time someone stands up or sits down. There's plenty of standing and sitting too as people of all ages are shuffled from one worker to another to have their questions answered or receive the services they've requested. Delly and I have been waiting for about an hour in this gray walled room that has only two small windows when I finally tell her I need to get some air
"Sure. I'll stay here, just in case they call your name," Delly says reassuringly.
For the past few weeks I've been pouring over newspaper articles and maps trying to gather any information I could before coming here, hoping to find some clues about Cai's whereabouts. I hadn't found much, and as I stand outside with a cool rain falling lightly against my face the frustration of the whole situation hits me all over again.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Delly asks me when I return from outside, my hair dripping a little onto my shoulders and my shirt dotted with raindrops. She twists a blonde curl at her shoulder nervously while she waits for an answer.
I was surprised when Delly offered to drive me here today. She still comes by my house most days but there is an air of acceptance about her now. Sometimes I think she comes to escape her own parents for a little while. I know they are still angry with me, but now that Delly understands we will never be together in the way we had once planned to be I am hopeful that someday she will be able to forgive me completely. I miss my best friend.
"Yes, I couldn't be surer," I answer her.
She shifts in her chair to look at me more directly. I shift in mine because the old fracture in my thigh is aching today. The rain's making it worse, I'm sure.
"You really love her."
It's a statement, not a question. For that, I'm grateful. Delly finally sees me as more than just foolishly loyal.
"Yes," I reply softly. "I really do. I miss her. I think about her all the time. How can I not? I don't even know if she's still alive, or if she's safe. Can you imagine what that feels like? "
Delly looks down to her lap, then back to me. Her face seems to turn pale before my eyes.
"Yes, Peter. I can."
And then I realize what I've said. Me. Delly didn't know if I was safe. She thought I might be dead. Though neither of us wants to dwell too much on our feelings for each other right now, Delly loved me through all of that.
"I'm sorry, Del. I shouldn't have said that." I'm ashamed of my thoughtless words. The last thing I want to do is cause this sweet girl any more pain.
"Maybe what you shouldn't be is sorry. You couldn't prevent the crash or being missing in action." Delly says quietly.
I watch her carefully. I know it's unfair of me to ask, but Delly is the only person who has experienced anything like what I'm going through, and I so desperately need someone who understands.
"What if I never find her?" I whisper, hoping Delly will have an answer for me because right now I can't see a life beyond my quest to find Cai. It consumes me, yet I know that Delly managed to keep going while I was missing, even after she believed I was probably dead. Plus, she's managing losing me to another woman now. And managing quite well, it seems.
"You should keep trying to find her," she says. Then she pats my hand. "And if you discover you've lost her then you'll have to take it one minute at a time for a little while. You'll pray. You'll love anyway, even though it hurts so much. Most of all, you won't close yourself off to life. And eventually, you'll feel alive again. That's my advice, anyway.
"But you couldn't manage it all like this when you first found out that I was MIA and presumed dead, could you?"
"Oh, no. Definitely not. It takes time, Peter. Hopefully you won't have to find out how to grieve like I grieved for you when you were missing. Some might say I gave up on you at one point, but I think I was just protecting myself by preparing for the worst. I'm not sure if I'd recommend that to anyone, though. The closure I hoped for never came that way.
A woman steps into the room where we've been waiting and calls my name. I stand.
"I think I should go alone," I tell Delly, figuring it will look better to the agency if I do.
Delly nods and gives me a small smile. "I understand. I'll wait here."
The woman leads me to a smaller office marked "International Services," and I sit down at the desk.
"How can I help you today?" The woman behind the desk asks. She readies a pencil to write down the information I'm about to share and adjusts her reading glasses.
"I'm looking for my wife," I began. The woman nods reassuringly. "We were separated during the spring of last year."
I pause. The possibility of becoming emotional here while I'm asking for help frustrates me. I can't control anything anymore.
"I was a US airman flying a mission with eight other crew members. Our plane went down, and I was injured. Everyone else died," my voice cracks for the first time. "I nearly died." I have to stop and swallow the lump forming in my throat before I can continue. "A woman, who later become my wife, saved my life. She hid me on the family's farm, nursed me back to health, made sure I didn't starve to death." I take a deep breath. The woman writes furiously on the paper in front of her, her pencil making small squeaking noises as she does, so loud and clear.
The woman looks up expectantly, waiting for me to continue, so I do.
"Eventually I was captured and became a prisoner of war," the woman's lips press together tightly. I can see she understands or at least acknowledges the flash of pain I feel. People in positions like hers sometimes have that response, but most others ignore what it might mean to have been imprisoned by an enemy army in a time of war. They want to gloss over painful memories and focus on victories. My hands start to shake as I continue. She looks at them, and I quickly place them against the wooden seat of the chair just under my knees.
"Take a moment if you need to," the woman says.
Taking a moment might render me unable to continue at all, so I keep going. "I was released in September, and I've been trying to find out what happened to my wife." At this point all I can do is whisper. "I don't know if they killed her for what she did for me or if she survived. I have to know. Don't you see? I have to know."
The woman stops writing. She takes off her reading glasses and sets them aside on the desk. "Of course," she says.
"I know the Red Cross has set up some kind service to help people find relatives they lost contact with during the war. Do you think you could help me?"
The woman folds her hands.
"That depends. We can certainly try. The system is well-developed in some areas and almost non-existent in others. Where did all this happen to you?"
I brace myself for what is almost certainly going to be a moment of disappointment for me. As soon as she said "almost non-existent," I knew China had to be one of those places where the "system" was just that.
"China," I answer.
Her eyes flit to the wall behind me, and then back to the paper in front of her.
"And this marriage?" she asks. "Was it a legal marriage?"
She chooses this moment to ask me that? Really? I think.
"As legal as we could make it. I'm sure you can understand why we couldn't ask for official recognition," I say, shaking all over now. If she doesn't believe me, she might not even try to help me. "Seeking official recognition would have revealed me to the Japanese controlled government. We followed the customs of my wife's country and tried to follow those of mine as much as possible."
The woman interrupts my ramblings.
"So your wife is Chinese?" She asks.
"Yes."
"What does your family think about all this, young man?" She asks me with an obvious note of condescension.
I want to run for the door, but for Cai's sake and mine I won't.
"They are supportive of me," I tell her.
Though that is not completely true I feel justified in my answer because I'm 23 years old, and it shouldn't matter what my family thinks. This woman certainly has no right to ask what they think anyway. My family is supportive of me, they just aren't that supportive of me trying to find Cai.
The woman sighs.
"China is in the midst of profound social and political turmoil right now, even more so than many other places. I'm sure you are aware of that. There really hasn't been an end to the state of war there, just a change in the two sides," she explains with more compassion than I imagined she would convey in her answer. "I can submit your official request for information about your wife to the British Red Cross. They have a presence in Hong Kong. There are no guarantees, and this will be a very difficult case to resolve. You may never find the answers you want."
"I understand. I just want to do everything I possibly can."
The woman nods and slides a paper across her desktop.
It's a form with spaces for writing more information about Cai.
"Fill this out and give as much detail as you can," she says.
I take a deep breath and with a shaky hand, I begin to write.
Delly's startled when I return to the waiting area and quickly pushes a piece of paper into her purse as she asks me, "how did it go?"
"They don't think they can help me, but they are going to try."
/
I've visited every relief agency I can imagine would have anything to do with China or displaced people. Delly helps me often, but the time I don't spend trying to find Cai is mostly spent in my bedroom. I don't sleep much and pace the floors at night but try to avoid waking my parents. One night right before my father would normally go to bed he knocks softly on my bedroom door. I'd been resting my eyes, but not sleeping. He takes the opportunity to talk to me.
"You and Delly are spending more time together lately, Peter. Does that mean you are getting along better?" my Dad asks as he sits down on the bed beside me. I sit up.
"There was never a long time when we weren't getting along," I clarify. "I just had to tell her what happened in China. We've worked on being comfortable around each other again."
"So Delly forgave you?"
I stare at him for a moment, not breathing.
"For what happened in China?" he adds. "She forgave you for that?"
"I guess you could say that," I say exhaling in exasperation.
"Are you back together then?" he asks.
Here we go again.
"We're friends," I answer with a shrug. "I'll always care about Delly."
I see my father's shoulders slump.
"She's so good for you, Peter," he says with a clear longing in his voice. He so badly wants me to be with Delly. "She cares about you. She's willing to help you with all of this pain. You don't have to explain everything to her because you've already told her so much. Plus, she knows as much as we do about what happened to you in prison. And now you tell me she's forgiven you for what happened in China," Dad pats my arm. Then he goes on, "that shows compassion and loyalty. I don't know if you realize how valuable those characteristics are in a person, especially a spouse. They are virtually priceless."
"I kissed her," I blurt out. I'm not even sure why I say it, but as soon as I do my eyes fill with tears. I look down to try to hide them.
"Well, she kissed me first, and I let her. But I kissed her back."
"You did?"
I can tell my father is smiling by the sound of his voice.
"Yeah. It felt wrong, Dad. So wrong."
"Son, you kissed your fiancée. There's nothing wrong with that."
"But I'm married to someone else. In my heart I'm a married man. I kissed Delly out of pure loneliness, so I told her I couldn't do it again. "
I look up at my Dad and catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, frustration maybe. Possibly anger.
"Why would you do that, Peter? Delly loves you. Even if kissing her confused you, everything confuses you right now. Don't drive her away because of that."
"You have to help me, Dad," I tell him. "I'm not going to marry Delly or even date her. You and grandfather must still know of someone in China or near there that would help me find Cai. Please. I've heard nothing from the Red Cross or anyone else I've tried so far."
"Peter. You have to forget about this Chinese girl. I hate to see you torturing yourself over her."
I wait, not wanting to start a debate about what I should and should not do with my feelings toward Cai or about the definition of "torture." The filthy space where I was kept in prison comes to mind, and I tremble. Purposefully, I pull my attention back to memories of Cai. Aren't those memories a big part of what got me through my time in that dark place that couldn't honestly be termed a "cell?"
"I can't forget about her, Dad. I love her. Cai is my wife. I could never forget about her." I say with newfound determination in my tone.
Surprisingly, Dad's frustration seems to dissipate. He puts his arm across the back of my shoulders as l hug my knees to my chest awkwardly, feeling very young suddenly. I'm talking about my marriage and remembering my experiences in a war while I'm surrounded by model airplanes and old schoolbooks. The sheets on my bed are decorated with cowboy hats and lassos.
My father's fingers press painfully into my shoulder blades. The scars from the beatings feel strange against my clothing and I wonder if they'll be constant reminders of torture for the rest of my life. I haven't gained much weight since I've been home, which worries my mother. She has a new recipe for milk shakes that she hopes will fatten me up. They're made of peanut butter, ice cream, milk and honey. I find stomaching the milkshakes too much most nights even though I like all of the ingredients. Often I flush them down the toilet and pretend I drank them by bringing the empty glass to the kitchen. I wish I could share my abundance of food with my possibly starving wife and her family. The tears well up again. I'm embarrassed, but know I can't stop them.
My mother insists that I eat downstairs, but even that requires effort. Being around other people used to make me so happy, but sometimes I can't be around them at all now. I startle easily and can't even think about being in a crowd without utterly losing my nerve. I overheard by parents talking about "shellshock" one night through the bedroom walls. They can call what's happened to me whatever they want. I just want it to stop.
Dad pulls me in a little closer, and I rest my head on his shoulder. When I was a kid my father was always teaching me. Every moment was a life lesson. Every story, a gentle sermon on life's complexities. He cared. I always knew that, but I never felt this warmth. Since I've been home he seems to have found a whole new ability to love me openly. That ability could not have come at a better time. Without him I don't know where I would be. Worse than I am now, that's for sure. But Dad doesn't understand what happened with Cai. I'm starting to believe that he never will.
"I can't forget her," I repeat in a whisper.
"Listen, Peter, I know this girl meant something to you; but you'll move on. Life will go on," he says as he squeezes his arm around my back and shoulders tighter. Then he suddenly loosens his arm as if remembering that he's not supposed to do that. "You are still very young. You found yourself in a place far away from home for a long time with no idea how long you'd be there. Loneliness and despair set in," He pauses. I pull away from his shoulder to look him in the eyes. His voice is starting to transform from his "father" tone to his "pastor" one. "People make mistakes, but it's never too late to turn things around."
"Cai was not a mistake!" I snap at him angrily. "And stop calling Cai 'this girl.' She has a name." My voice becomes low and a little angry, but I don't have the energy to maintain that for long. So I choose to let my face fall forward, burying it between the knobby bones of my knees to hide the fact that the tears continue to flow. They come from a place so deep inside me that I have trouble identifying it. Perhaps they come from what my father tells me is my soul. I want him to understand so much because there's nobody I respect more than my father, and what do I have left but a desire to be understood?
"She's not your wife," Dad whispers. "She's a girl you cared for deeply. I can understand why you cared for her so deeply, but she's not your wife."
I raise my head, trying to seem indignant but probably failing.
Slowly I begin to say words I never thought I'd say, "Who are you to tell me who she is to me?"
Dad sighs. He probably never thought I'd say that either. I try to breathe in and out evenly.
"She isn't your wife according to your government or your church," Dad explains.
"Or my family?" I mutter under my breath. Dad is silent. "You didn't perform the ceremony yourself, so it is not a real marriage? Is that it?" I ask him sadly. "I couldn't go to a courthouse and get a proper marriage license so Cai doesn't matter?"
Dad's lips twitch.
"That's not it," he tells me. He watches me, looking as if he's not sure if he should continue. "I just think you believe that you owe her something."
"I owe her my life. I've told you that a hundred times," I stammer. Dad doesn't miss a beat.
"That's not all I mean. I believe that you made a commitment to her out of some form of obligation and feel bound to honor that commitment, but your commitment is not necessarily a binding one." he pauses and looks down at his feet. He blows out a breath before continuing, "And I think that because you had relations with her you feel that you have to consider her your wife. In fact, it's certainly possible you tried to marry her primarily to have that opportunity or to legitimize something that had already happened between you."
His accusations sting, and I am at a loss for words. I shake my head slowly. "So you think this whole thing was about lust. That's a terrible thing to say about us."
"But I also said that maybe you wanted to do the right thing by this girl. I said that maybe you wanted to try to make something right that you thought was wrong."
"I didn't marry her to legitimize anything!"
"I just want you to understand that you can marry someone else, son. You probably think it would be immoral for you to do that, but I disagree. Men do things to cope in war, Peter. They do them for a million different reasons. It's not an excuse for their behavior, but it does explain it. You can certainly be forgiven for your indiscretions. You were lonely, weren't you? You wanted companionship, didn't you? You wanted love… "
I lie back down, bewildered by how a conversation could take so much out of me. "No," I choke out. "I didn't want love. I experienced love. Nothing I did was immoral. What would be immoral is failing to do everything in my power to look for my wife now that I can. Selfishly ignoring my promises to her when there's a chance we could be together would be immoral."
Dad's blue eyes soften. Even if he doesn't agree with me, he loves me. The opportunity arises to bear my soul a little more. Why not? What do I have to lose?
"I worry about her constantly. In some of my nightmares Cai's hunted down and killed because of me. Soldiers punish everyone she knows and loves because of me. She might really be dead, and if she's dead it's because of me. That's all I'll say, but the nightmares…the ways she dies and the people in her family die…it's all very disturbing."
My family knows about my nightmares, but I don't talk about them often. They hear me at night when I wake up from them and go downstairs to sit on the porch in an attempt to calm down. The fresh air helps. I have to sleep with the window open. During my first few nights at home Dad got up and tried to help, but he quickly realized that his presence embarrassed me. So now I simply hear my parents stirring in their room when I've woken them, but they don't intervene.
"I sit here in my childhood home with my mother doting over me and bringing me milkshakes while my wife is still living in a war zone, if she survived at all. I have to find out what happened to her, Dad. You have to help me. You didn't raise me to make real commitments and then find some way out of them or to turn the truth into whatever I want it to be when that's convenient."
"Of course not." Dad leans back, looking wounded. "I'm proud of who you are and that you care."
"I just want her to be good enough?" I tell him, "If Grandmother and Grandfather felt called to dedicate their lives to working in her country then why isn't Cai good enough to look for? To be their grandson's wife?"
Dad takes a deep breath.
We talk a little more, but not much. Mom arrives with my milkshake which I'm not even able to take from her hands. I just nod toward the desk and tell her "thank you." Later I hear my parents talking through the walls. Though unable to make out every word I'm certain that I hear Dad say, "I think that's the only way he'll ever find any peace." If Dad's talking about finding Cai, then he's right.
AN: I hope you are still enjoying the story. Special thanks to Loueze who continues to provide such valuable support, proof-reading and "plot advising." Without her I doubt I would ever continue with this endeavor.