The pain that followed my amputation was breathtakingly brutal. I fought a fever the first few days and the shock of losing a limb crushed me. Soaked head to toe in sweat, my skin felt as if it were being seared away from my bones. Through the severe fever and fighting off the infection, she stayed beside me. 

    Some mornings, I was incapable of speech, feeling as though I was losing my leg all over again. On those days, blood oozed profusely from the suture wounds. She’d take a rag and blot the sweat away from my hairline, face, and neck, humming to herself.  When the fever broke and the pain was tolerable, we sometimes sat in silence, other times we tried our hand at talking.

*** 

    “How did you fare when I was deployed?” The color was returning to his face and though his stump still bled, it was starting to lessen. The question made her look at him and away from the pair of trousers he was mending. 

    “How do you think I fared?” She answered, resuming her gaze on her hands. 

    “Bea,”

    “I fared fine! Takahashi and I went for long strolls in the evening and he took me to the countryside for picnics when he felt up for it. Is that what you want to hear?” Her sarcasm was rightfully deserved but he maintained his emotionless gaze. And silence. 

    “I learned a lot while you were off fighting my country.” She nipped and tucked the needle and thread. 

    “I learned that the Japanese love cutting people up and sticking them into jars of formalin. You even have collections as you call them.” Now, she stabbed the fabric. 

    “It was bad enough that they murdered Ruby and her child. What sense did it make to cut her corpse in half and display her mutilated body like an exhibit?”

    “I didn’t-”

    “I know you didn’t know. How could you know? You were off shooting and killing my countrymen.”

    “And they were shooting and killing mine.” He answered, voice rough. At that, her hands stopped stabbing the hemline. 

    “What would you have me do Beatrice? Lay my weapon down and surrender? Die at the hands of their bullets?” She took a shaky breath. 

    “Emotion serves no purpose on the battlefield. It’s kill or be killed. That’s the end of it.”

    “And what about the innocent people caught in the middle? What of the innocent children? What have they to do with this battlefield of yours?” He balled up his fists. 

    “If they happen to get caught in the crosshairs then there is nothing anyone can do about it.”

    “What if it’s intentional?”

    “What?”

    “Those inhumane beasts cut her child out of her. Sawed it in half and pickled its heart and brain. Is that being caught in the crosshairs?”

    “I have nothing to do with that.” Her nostrils flared. 

    “You’re a coward. A worthless, useless coward.” Anger sparked in his gaze and he reached for her but she evaded him, standing up. 

    “I’ve had enough for today. I can’t stand to look at you.” Throwing his hands on her chair, she left him in the hospital room alone. 

*** 

    Beatrice didn’t understand. Soldiers were humans too. Complex humans. We felt. Tried not to feel. Loved and hated. We too had opinions that we kept bitten underneath our tongues. It was just the way it was. There existed a daily struggle… the inward fight between right and wrong. The obligation to one’s country and…and to one’s own heart.

*** 

    When she came early in the morning, he was wide awake. His grunts of pain made her turn. 

    “Stop.” He grit out through his teeth. 

    “Don’t.” 

    “You’re in pain…you need morphine.” 

    “No….” Swallowing thickly, she turned to look at him. Wet with sweat, he breathed incredibly fast, nearly gasping in the breath. She bit the inside of her cheek and approached, even in her anger, she was concerned. 

    “Why are you torturing yourself like this? Just get some morphine.”

    “I said… no.” Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms and huffed, cutting her eyes at him. 

    “At least calm your breathing. You’re making me nervous.” He tried to inhale slower, wincing as a sharp slicing pain ripped through his stump. He squeezed his eyes shut now, barely able to lift his head. 

    “Slow breaths Ichiro.” Her voice was closer and he could feel the heat from her hand as it took his.

    “Slow breaths…” Her voice was calm and soothing, fingers lifting a rag to dab at the sweat on his forehead and temples. 

    “B-Beatrice-”

    “You’re not a coward. I’m… I’m sorry for calling you that.” He tried to speak once again but tightened up as another pain cut into him and he gripped the bedsheet for dear life, the veins in his neck popping out in strain. 

    “I haven’t stopped to think about you…what you…well…what you…feel…and don’t.” Though he couldn’t speak, his eyes opened and gazed up at her, giving her his undivided attention. 

    “I don’t know what it’s like… to be a soldier. I… I don’t know what it’s like being raised in a world like that.” Reaching over, she pried his hand from the sheet. 

    “I learned many things while you were away… like I said. Things about you.” The pain had subsided momentarily and he took the opportunity to speak. 

    “What kind of things?” 

    “Your upbringing. How you were raised.”    
    “Takahashi…” He spit out venomously. 

    “Yeah, he can’t keep his mouth shut for nothing.” She agreed, letting go of his hands. All but one. 

    “He was talking about how great your father was… how you admired and looked up to him.” His jaw grew tight. 

    “Now, I understand why you got upset when I talked about him. I’m… sorry about that too. I didn’t kn-”

    “You wouldn’t have.” Taking a shaky breath, she began to pinch at the skin on his hand absent-mindedly. He had observed that the behavior was a nervous tic. 

    “At any moment… should you have desired to… you could have dragged me to Unit 100…. could have offered me up as a sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered. I could have suffered the same fate…as Ruby…” Her voice now had tears. 

    “But you didn’t… you haven’t. No matter how much I fight you. Disrespect you. Make you want to kill me. And yet you don’t. Why? Why don’t you just end it all?” He was silent for a long time, breathing hard through his nostrils as another wave of pain came over him. When it had passed, he attempted to answer her. 

    “I don’t know why.” He sounded genuinely conflicted as if he too had pondered and wondered the same thing. 

    “Admit it Ichiro. Admit it.”

    “Admit what?”

    “Stop it. Just… say it. Say what you have been trying to avoid.”

    “What would come of that? Would it cause our countries to stop fighting? Would we miraculously stop killing each other if I admit it?” 

    “No. It wouldn’t. But…at the very least… in all the fighting you have to do, that would be one less thing you’d have to struggle with.” He swallowed hard, so hard she heard it go down. 

    “I love you.” He said so quietly, that she barely heard anything but a breath.

    “What?”

    “I said…. I said I love you goddammit.” He grit out now through his teeth as one last wave of pain rippled through him. Turning towards her, he lifted their conjoined hands and brought them to rest against his forehead. Standing, she leaned down and pressed her face against his. As his haggard breath started to return to normal, she pressed one small kiss against his temple before letting go of him. 

*** 

    The admission felt foreign. It felt strange. Hearing what my heart knew out loud was nerve-wracking and I felt… I felt embarrassed. Truth be told, I’d fallen in love with Beatrice back in ’43. I’d fallen for her soft smooth lifting voice, the gentle way she caressed the music. I’d fallen for the way she smiled, her entire face glowing as she glanced over the crowd. Her laughter. 

    The woman had reached inside my chest and taken possession of my heart. A heart that was now pitifully laid in the palm of her hand. I hated the influence she had over me… hated that she made me soft. Weakness was still out of question and I tried so damn hard to reassert my ground. Gather familiar territories and boundaries. But, in the end, what good had it done me to fight her? She, made my enemy by war, was the healing balm that calmed and quieted my restless heart.

*** 

Post-op

Four weeks later 

    “How are you doing?” She stood oft by the nearest corner, by the door. Out of the way. His Captain had visited today and he saluted him immediately, making the move to sit at the edge of the bed. 

    “At ease, First Lt. Don’t strain yourself.” 

    “Sir.” The older man came to sit in the chair directly adjacent to him and removed his cap. His salt and pepper hair was combed back from his face and he looked quite stern as he glanced down at his stump, now healed enough to have started rehabilitation. 

    “How is it?” It. As if what he possessed was an infected eyesore. He maintained composure and answered calmly. 

    “It fares better, sir. I am honored you have visited me.”

    “You’re one of the best of the best I have. It’s a real pity that you cannot get back out there.” That reality too had been eating away at him and it had taken a long time to process it. 

    “How fare the men, sir?” The question that weighed on his mind night and day. At this question, the older man tightened his jaw and was reluctant to answer. 

    “Remove the woman.” He ordered, turning to glance at her. She grew stiff but kept her eyes down as the door opened for her to step outside. With her gone, he resumed his position in his seat. 

    “Of the 20,000 warriors sent to defend our homeland, all but 200 chose to honor us with their deaths.” He felt as though he had been punched in the gut and he inhaled shakily. 200 survived. Were captured. That’s what he wasn’t saying. 

    “The remaining soldiers who survived the battle are bravely hiding out until our reinforcements are able to retrieve them.” Taking in the lie, he bowed his head. 

    “What of my service, sir? How may I serve moving forward?” The man looked like he had thought about it too, labored and wrestled with it.     

    “You will still hold your rank as First Lieutenant. I shall still be your commanding officer. We shall commence forth.”

    “Sir?”

    “I’ll assign you to prepare our battalions in hand-to-hand combat as well as with guns and bayonets.” 

    “It would be an honor, sir.”  He salute him as he stood, jaw tightly locked. 

    “You will start as soon as your rehabilitation is finalized. Clear?”

    “Clear, sir.”

    “Long live the Emperor for ten thousand years!”

    “Long live the Emperor for ten thousand years!” With the parting finished, the door opened and she was allowed back inside, keeping her head low as the man glanced across her with a look of disgust. 

*** 

    Rehabilitation started soon after orders were cleared and it was one of the most painful experiences of my life. Having to force my muscles to bend in their new form was excruciating. I pushed myself to the limit… past what I could bare and only then was I satisfied, torrents of sweat soaking the sheets. It was an arduous and slow process, but every step of the way, Beatrice was right there… silently motivating me to continue…to push harder… 

*** 

    After a month and a half in the hospital wing, he was finally discharged. The doctor had ordered consistent exercises to continue to build up his muscle strength. By now, he was able to lift his stump a few inches from the bed and bend and flex his knee. The recovery rate more than pleased his Captain and he sent his good wishes. Beatrice wheeled him out and to the left, towards his barracks. 

    Those same eyes who had watched them as they had walked to his car now stared at him as she drifted by them. Their pupils cut tiny holes into him, stabbing into his flesh. Keeping his eyes front and emotionless, he ignored the whispering from his fellow comrades. The prisoners of war kept quiet, eyes on the ground. The walk seemed like it took forever and at last, they were able to wheel right in. Unlocking the door to their shared space, both of them grew silent. It was as if they had never left. She cleared her throat and stepped past the threshold, pausing to lock the door. Turning, she saw him trying to stand. 

    “Wait… let me help you.” Coming around him, she held the wheelchair steady as slowly, he lifted up with his arms. Breathing in through his nostrils, he gripped the sides of the chair tightly, his body wobbling slightly. 

    “Here… your cane…” Grabbing onto it, he tried to take a step forward but couldn’t, his gait far too unsteady. 

    “Take your time Ichiro…” She said softly, outstretching her hand. She could tell he was frustrated…beyond irritated that he couldn’t move his body the way he once had. Where it had been easy for him to simply walk, now with half a limb it now seemed impossible. When he was ready, he took hold of her hand and put all his weight on the cane, moving to lift his sound leg forward. He succeeded for a moment, losing his balance thereafter. She yelped as he fell forward, jolting suddenly to catch him. They collided abruptly and nearly toppled over to the ground, save for her leg that had extended backward to give her some support. Breathless, the two of them tried to gain footing and she pushed him back up to stand upright. 

    “Why…why don’t we use the chair for now?” He didn’t say a word as he lowered himself back down into the chair. Wheeling him closer to his bed, she positioned the chair so that he could attempt to pivot. 

    “Give it a try.” She encouraged in front of him. With a sharp inhale through his nose, he lifted up with his biceps and grabbed hold of her. She held him for a moment and when he gave the okay, helped him turn a bit to pivot. Going down a bit unsteady, he took her down with him as he came in contact with the bed. She fell on top of him, splayed across his chest. He made a sound of frustration, a hard little grunt and let the cane leave his hand. 

    “We’ll keep trying.” She said breath winded. Lifting up onto her forearms, she slowly got off of him. He too had begun to sit up and with a hand on her waist stopped her from moving. Lifting the hand now, he gently grabbed hold of her jaw. In the quiet of the afternoon, he brought her lips to his in an assertive kiss, the force taking her breath. She tried to pry his hand away with stiff fingers but it was to no avail and they surrendered against his wrist. Separating, he breathed against her mouth, his eyes now growing dark with tell tale signs of desire. 

    A fervent second kiss happened just as quickly as the first and this time, an enthusiastic tongue drifted up against her lips, asking for entrance. A third one delighted her senses, as she allowed his tongue in, the intentional slow strokes of it against hers setting her skin on fire. She could taste their shared breath; feel the pounding thud of their combined heartbeat against her palm as it flattened against his chest.

     His hand now had slid up the small of her back and she felt herself drift further and further from reason. Separating all of a sudden, her breath was rapid and shallow and she pushed him back with that same hand, now firm against him. He made no move to grab or hold onto her, instead let his hand fall away from her completely. Without a word, she pulled away from him and went to fold up the wheelchair.