Spending most of my time lying on the ground doing nothing what little life I may have slipping away from me without much meaning. My fingers slide down the rough wooden wall of our cell, and for a moment the world feels real. This building is little more than a temporary structure. The cell has no windows, just some cracks. Though escape might be possible, I wouldn't get far. Being caught would mean a certain and painful death. That's one way out, I suppose. Certainly not the one I want. I want to go home, and I want to see Cai.
I think about Cai. Her hair. Her eyes. The way she looked at me. The intoxication of being near her. Remembering the best times sometimes hurts too much, but even recalling the winter when we nearly starved is better than thinking about the present. At least we had each other as we huddled together in our attempt to survive. I wouldn't want Cai to be in this terrible place, but that doesn't mean I don't long to be near her. The thought that she's dead creeps in once in a while, but I push it out of my mind. It doesn't feel as though she's dead, so I believe she's alive.
A whisper comes from behind me, and I turn over. I doubt it's the Russian talking. He's been very quiet lately, but that may be because the only other fellow who spoke Russian died a week after I got here. I know it was a week because I make a mark on the wall every day using a small rock. How cliché…like something out of a comic strip from a paper back home…but now I know why it's cliché…because you do lose track of time looking at four plain walls constantly.
There are two Australians and two other Americans in this cell as well as the Russian. There was another Aussie, but he died in his sleep two nights ago. His death proved much more peaceful than some of the others who went before him. A translator named Toshiya provides our main source of communication with our captors. He's told me that although he is a Japanese citizen he'd been studying in the US before the war. When he went home to visit his parents the Imperial Army drafted him, and Toshiya never acts very happy about that fact. Sometimes I get the impression that he thinks he's on the wrong side, or that he should have no side at all.
We think Toshiya's role is to interrogate the English speaking prisoners, but whenever he interrogates me we spend about half the time talking about baseball. Toshiya determined quickly that I knew nothing about current operations as a plane crash survivor who had been living so long with a Chinese peasant family. I asked him about what they do with Chinese prisoners once without revealing how important certain Chinese prisoners are to me personally. He said how they are handled depends on the commanding officer. Then he went back to talking about baseball.
We're definitely in Japan, and I don't know why they bothered to bring me into their homeland. The trip was wrought with threats to my safety: the elements, forced marches, several beatings, people screaming orders at me in a language I didn't understand, and the moment by moment fear that my captors might kill me. Several men who joined our traveling party as prisoners were killed, mostly because they were too tired or ill to keep up. I'd never seen a bayonet used, certainly not against an unarmed person. I don't ever want to see it again.
Since I arrived in Japan neglect has been my biggest problem. Well, neglect and disease. Everybody's sick. All the time. It's only a matter of how one is sick and the degree to which one is sick. We're given a small ball of rice every day as our food ration, never anything but the rice. Our captors often don't provide much water either. We ask for more sometimes, but we are careful about which guards to ask as some guards are more merciful and some become enraged at any request from a prisoner.
One of the Australians, Daniel, believes the Japanese are running out of food for themselves. That might be true, but water seems plentiful. Restricting water is inexcusable to me, especially when the diseases that kill so many prisoners do so by depleting their bodies of water. I don't know what kind of toilets are common in places like this, but ours is just a hole in the ground. We all have some degree of illness that requires us to use it much too frequently, but we try to be sensitive to the fact that none of us can help that. The worst times are when a man is too weak to move. Usually he doesn't survive much longer after that, though. I've learned to see death coming in the way a man's eyes look.
The whispering I heard earlier grows a little louder and can't truly be described as whispering anymore. Sadly, I've come to the point that normally I wouldn't care, but if the guards get angry at us for making noise in the middle of the night something bad might happen. As my fears overcome my apathy I crawl over to the man who's talking and shake his shoulder. His eyes open, eyes that have had that look of a dying man for a day or so now. Last night I noticed that he didn't eat all of the small rice ball designated for him. One of the Australians gave him some extra water though.
My rotating assortment of cellmates see me as some kind of expert on what's happening to our health, which is laughable to me. The only reason I know the things I do know is because of my grandparents occasionally cared for victims of epidemics during their years in China and told me about their experiences. Most of the fellows here are used to death on the battlefield, close up and personal. What they aren't accustomed to are the slow, wasting deaths that happen in prison. Both are tragic, but the second kind are easier for me to stomach. I've learned to talk to the men I think are dying, to listen to their stories, to respect them in this place where every second of our lives is an exercise in degradation. It distracts me from the truth about myself: that I am just a tiny piece in a world bent on destroying itself, that loving Cai brought me back from despair, and that I've lost her. The man beside me repositions himself a bit and tries to lift his head without much success.
"What do you want?" I ask him as quietly as I can.
"Nothing," he whispers back. "Just for them to leave me alone." His chest rises and falls unevenly, and if it were a little brighter in our cell I'd be able to see the bruises inflicted by a beating he received a day or so ago. Apparently his most recent visit with Toshiya and the officers wasn't at all like most of mine with Toshiya have been.
"Maybe they will now," I answer hopefully.
He sighs lightly and slowly falls back to sleep. I sit beside him for a few minutes to make sure he stays quiet, but soon I find I'm too tired to crawl back to the place I usually sleep.
As the morning sun begins casting stripes across the ground two soldiers call for me to come out of the cell. I'm not worried at first because they've separated us for no apparent reason several times. They lead me to a room I've never seen before, a large room with several banners on the wall including one of their flags. Toshiya steps up beside me as I arrive. He has an unusually business-like demeanor about him, standing up straighter and formally addressing some men who are standing on the other side of the room. I assume these officers have a higher rank than his usual superiors. He glances at me once, dread flashing across his face.
The officers say something in Japanese. Toshiya turns to me.
"What do you know about a single bomb that can destroy a city?" He asks, sounding angry. His eyes don't match his voice, though.
"Answer me!" He yells when I say nothing.
"One bomb? Destroy a city?" I ask him, astonished at the question.
"Yes."
"There is no bomb like that," I tell him.
Toshiya turns back to the officers, speaking to them in Japanese but saying much more than I imagine it would take to explain my answer.
The officers talk heatedly among themselves and then one speaks to Toshiya again.
Toshiya turns to me to translate, this time less formally. Maybe he told them he knows me.
"They say they know there is a bomb like that. They also know you're a bomber pilot. Tell them what you know about this kind of bomb. They want to know how it works and how many there are. ."
"How many? I've never heard of a bomb that can do anything close to that kind of damage."
"Tell the truth!" Toshiya says, his voice rising again.
"We don't have anything like that. I swear," I tell him.
Toshiya shakes his head, almost imperceptivity. He must think I'm lying. Could that mean there really is a bomb that can destroy a city? Because that's just not possible. A shiver suddenly runs down my spine.
Toshiya translates my answer for the officers, one of whom motions to the soldiers behind me, saying something in Japanese. They pull me back and with little effort toss me to my knees on the floor.
Toshiya pulls my arms up.
"Hold this," he says as he puts some kind of stick in my hands. He lifts the stick high over my head, my bony arms rising with it. I know what's coming, and I'm determined to stay upright if only to prove I can. Maybe that's crazy, but letting them break me is humiliating. Out of the corner of my eye I see one of the guards pull out a club-like stick, probably one made of bamboo, a surprisingly useful material for making effective weapons. Toshiya asks me one more time about this bomb he's been talking about, and I shake my head.
"I don't know," I tell him.
Even if I tell them I know something about this non-existent bomb, they'll only want more information. When I can't give it they'll beat me anyway. There's no way out. Still, I can't guarantee that I won't say anything they want me to say if the torture becomes too unbearable. I've seen it happen to men stronger than me. I close my eyes as I try to prepare, stiffening my back and ribs, tightening my withered muscles.
The next few minutes are a blur of strikes, pain, and groans. The first blow causes me to sway back and forth and bite my lip to avoid a gasp, but I stay upright as planned. The second makes me lean forward and lower the stick I'm holding a bit. It knocks the wind out of me, so I avoid making a sound. The third is accompanied by some angry yells in Japanese and hits much harder than the first two. It throws me forward, and I'm never able to regain a completely upright position again. I'm allowed to catch my breath for a moment, but my tormentors are angrier now. The fourth blow smashes hard against my side, where the skin is thin over my ribs. I feel something wet trickling down, no doubt blood. I groan softly but don't give them the satisfaction of hearing the bulk of my suffering. My resolve is quickly weakening.
Toshiya grabs one of my wrists and leans over me as I sway back and forth weakly while still holding the stick.
"Peter," he says.
I'm stunned that he remembers my name.
"Peter, if you know about this bomb you need to tell them. They won't stop. This is too important." His voice is even, almost sad, about my predicament. Whether he's manipulating me or not I can't tell, but he's the only person here who can communicate with us, which puts him in a very strange position.
I shake my dizzy head again. "There's no bomb," I breathe out. "If there was, they wouldn't tell us."
Toshiya speaks to his superiors again. Then he steps back. I stiffen and close my eyes in response. Something taps the inside of my arm to remind me to hold the stick higher over my head. The next blow hits s so hard that I fall forward almost completely, and the next is followed by a tearing feeling along the skin of my back that makes me wonder if they've changed weapons to something unknown to me. My neck tilts back, alleviating the pain just slightly. As the assault continues my head starts to feel so fuzzy that I don't hurt quite as much. Every time I hit the ground Toshiya orders me to get up and yanks at my upper arm to remind me to raise the stick over my head again. The stick begins to feel like the heaviest thing I've ever held, and I'm punished with a deeper blow every time it begins to drop. They never hit my head, probably so I won't be knocked out. Instead, they simply keep hitting, kicking, and slashing at my upper body. Finally, having fallen to my side, I turn on my back. I can feel the stickiness of the blood seeping beneath me. Oddly, the warmth is comforting. Or perhaps it's simply the reprieve. The damn stick still lies between my hands over my chest.
For a moment I believe they'll stop, but then one of the guards unsheathes his sword.
"One more time, Peter. Tell me about the bomb," Toshiya says, his perfect English both a blessing and curse.
"I don't know about any bomb like that," I mutter, but in my heart I wish a thousand bombs like that on them. I can't help it.
Thoughts of my family and of Cai flash in my mind. Fearing these are my final thoughts, I'm grateful they are happy ones and not hateful ones about bombs and war. The guard orders me through Toshiya to rise to my knees. I do my best to comply, resigned now that the guard has his sword readied. But I'm unable to remain still, swaying and becoming a moving target.
Toshiya lays his hand on my shoulder for a moment, steadying me. It wouldn't normally seem merciful, but it is. Less chance of mistakes.
Cai's words echo in my mind, "just be sure that in your acceptance you don't stop trying to live."
And I know I didn't let her down. I have tried. So hard. And now, acceptance is all I have.
The guard with the sword moves forward and Toshiya steps away.
God, I just want it to be over.
Please be with my family.
Protect Cai. Thank you for Cai.
Always.
If I can't stay with them, I want to be with you.
Please forgive me.
I want to be with you.
The guard stops moving just as I realize I've been mumbling most of my desperate prayer out loud.
"What did you say, Peter?" Toshiya asks me.
"Praying," I whisper, my voice catching in a humiliating way. I lower my head in shame, then raising it again when I realize lowering my head might make my death more painful. My heart races with the fear of what it will feel like, even if I only feel a moment of it. Oddly, Toshiya is the closest thing to an advocate I have in this room.
"Open your eyes," he orders.
I do, cautiously looking over at him.
He turns his head, skeptically.
"That's all you said?" He asks.
"About my family. My wife," I stammer. Why can't I at least talk properly! Suddenly I'm trembling.
Toshiya sighs.
Then he turns to the officers and rattles off something in Japanese. One officer barks orders at the guard standing over me in response, and the guard re-sheathes his sword. For a few minutes I continue to tremble and pray silently, wondering if they'll kill me some other way.
I'm only half aware as the guards carry me to a new, smaller cell by my arms and legs. I notice Toshiya is with us when the guards drop me and order me through Toshiya to crawl the rest of the way. Now free of the constant blows and the fear of being killed immediately, the most injured areas of my upper body begin to throb. I'm not sure what is hardest to bear, but at least this duller pain doesn't cause new injuries. Toshiya's the last to leave the front of the new cell, and I mouth the words "thank you" to him before he goes.
He scoffs, I'm not sure I did you a favor, Peter. "