The sunflower field turned into dirt roads. The trickle of rain and petals of sakura. Children laughing, running, playing. The drip of water as it dropped back into fresh cold harvest from the spring. Clear beads and rivulets. Startling blue, rich cerulean. Rich tawny skin. White of winter. Memories of fingers pulling obi apart in haste. Hair crushed in between them. Kimono sprawled across tatami as mere wrapping of a greater offering. Sound. Pain. Joy. Laughter. Pleasure. Tears thread liquid transcendence down until it soaked into the rush grass. 

    With everything in him, he wanted to return. The returning was all he asked for. And so, with a gentle hand, smile and lips, closer and closer. Otousan stood, face stern and kind. Okaasan sat quietly beside his standing form, patience and grace living in her eyes. Mitsuko dangled her bare feet over engawa, expression rambunctious. And then, she was radiant and breathtaking, her teeth smiling prettily. 

    “Tadaima,.”

    “Okaerinasai, Ikki.”  

*** 

    The sound of crying woke Meredith up and she jumped out of bed and hastily threw on a robe, prying open her door. As she grew closer to Mr. Matsuda’s room, the crying intensified. Stopping in her tracks, she felt her heart break as she watched Asami crumble into pieces. Her mother, two uncles and one aunt were all standing in the doorway, blocking her view. But Asami stayed in the hallway, hands and arms covering her face. 

    “Sami…”

    “He’s gone…..he’s gone Mere…” She felt her eyes well up with tears and before she knew it, she had begun to bawl. Sinking to her knees, she pulled her friend in close and hugged her tight. 

    “I’m sorry Sami… so sorry…” 

*** 

    She had called him and he wasted no time going to her. Eyes misty with tears, he blinked them back as he sped up on the freeway. His heart cracked into little tiny pieces, knowing that he was one of the last people to see or talk to him. 

*** 

    He stood by the door, heart pounding. The larger than life, uncouth and crass old man from weeks ago now seemed like a distant memory. Who looked up at him now was a human shell, a compilation of eyes, bones and skin. He weakly lifted a hand, beckoning him to come in.  He felt like he swallowed his whole stomach but did as he bade, carefully entering into the room. The hospice nurse sat by his bed, holding what looked like paper. 

    “Mr. Matsuda can no longer vocalize but he can express himself on paper. Please,” She instructed, getting up to allow him to sit. Sinking into the chair, he felt sick as he began to mouth words. Some of them he caught, others, he struggled to see. When the paper was given, he grew still. 

    I’m going to see my wife. 

    Clearing his throat, he replied. 

    “You are? That’s exciting.”

    He mimed more words that the nurse took down. 

    She says that she is pregnant again. I have to go to the store to buy her ice cream. 

    “Ah, she likes ice cream hm?”

    Yes. 

    “Congratulations.” 

    You won’t forget me, will you?  The question physically hurt him and he winced as the skeletal hand took ahold of his. 

    Take care of Asami. Love her well. The tears he’d tried holding back now began to slip past his closed eyelids. 

    “Yes, sir.” He let go of his hand and closed his eyes. 

    I’m going to see my wife. 

***

    It was at that moment that he decided that he had to do it. He had to make sure that no one forgot him. His own children had treated him like a burden and a nuisance. Perhaps they had found out too like he and Asami did. But even so… did it warrant dying alone? Getting off the exit ramp, he tightened his grip on the stirring wheel. It was now personal and while his assignment was over, his work and care done, he would give the man honor. He’d do his best to try to give him a human face and a human heart in a world where he had been told he was nothing but a cruel brutal animal. 

*** 

    Grief choked the house in the following weeks. Funeral preparations had been made and she’d turned off her phone from all the calls and texts. She just… just wanted to be in the comfort of silence… solitude. Her eyes were wet from crying and she’d laid on her bed, hugging herself. After a while, she lifted and wiped them away. Grabbing the journal that now housed his immortal words, she hastily opened it, quickly finding where she’d last left off.

***     

    It was over. Everything was over. It seemed fate’s judgement came upon us all. 

***

    Reading had given her solace, the words of her grandfather now like a warm hug. In his absence, she needed something tangible to grasp, hold, cherish. 

*** 

1945

August 

    Takahashi was dead. That was the exact message I’d received August 2nd from my Captain. He’d died in action as the last man standing in his platoon. Rather than surrender, he’d fought and chosen death valiantly. The news had made me proud. To know that the annoying flabbermouthed bastard had finished what he’d started made me for once respect him. I couldn’t help, though, but feel a deep unsettling in my stomach. The conversations now between my Captain and I were… charged with different energy. 

    Perhaps he had begun to see me as a confidant of some sort, secrets and information he’d never breathe to the others, enlisted or officer he said to me in utmost confidence. He'd chosen, from conviction or guilt I don’t know, to drop the guise of deceit. Giving it to me straight, he shared the real reality of where we stood in this war. 

*** 

    Smoke curled upwards toward the ceiling and the man buried his head in between his hands. It was a position he’d never before seen him in and it unnerved him. Greatly. He appeared as though he had a lot on his mind, too many things shifting and calling his focus. In the month that followed the Battle of Okinawa, his hair now appeared more salt than pepper and visible signs of stress began to tell in his forehead and under his eyes. 

    “I told you about Takahashi, yes?” He sat straight in the adjacent chair. 

    “Yes, sir.”

    “He was a good soldier. He believed in our great nation and fought to his last breath.”

    “Yes, sir.” He felt himself salivate at the cigarette Captain Onada lifted to his mouth. 

    “Germany has surrendered to the enemy.” The realization of that dug into his belly and he felt hot on his neck. 

    “If Germany has surrendered, what is next for us?” 

    “We are not a people to give up, sir.” Onada grunted and blew out nicotine filled smoke. 

    “Honorable of you, Matsuda. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” The two men sat in anxiety-filled silence for a while and he watched Onada’s fingers tremble and shake. 

    “I asked you about your plans after the war. Have you reflected on them?” 

    “I wish to return to our homeland.” 

    “To your family?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Kurashiki, yes?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Good people. Good town.” He began to tap his nails nervously on his desk. 

    “We have to begin to prepare, Matsuda.”

    “For what, sir?” 

    “Our final stand.” With one last puff of smoke, the conversation ended and he was instructed to depart. 

*** 

    What happened in the following days served to leave me in a crippling state of pain and misery. As if I hadn’t been through enough in this war, as if I hadn’t suffered enough…life threw the biggest pile of shit towards me and I hadn’t been prepared to do anything but let it hit me. 

*** 

    July 27th

    Showa 20 

    My dearest Ikki, 

    My son… my sweet child. I received your letter with much joy. These days, memories of Otousan comfort me and I can see in my mind’s eye you playing as a little boy. You brought such joy to him. I know with a renewed sense of confidence that he would be extremely proud of you. I am proud of you. Baa-chan is proud of you and so is everyone else in the village. I know you did not know him well but after hearing that the both of you were enlisted and serving together, Mitsuhide Takahashi’s parents and I have formed a cordial relationship. It is nice to sit with fellow women and reflect on our sons and grandsons. How you both are giving great honor to our country… defending our nation and the inhabitants within. Sometimes, it brings tears to my eyes. 

    Ikki, at the end of this year you will turn twenty-six. My goodness, my only son is growing too big for me. I can no longer chase you or play on tatami. I trust that when you return home, you will marry and assume responsibility for our family. It is a mother’s only wish to see her child happy, flourishing and fruitful. 

    Your Baa-chan and I will go to Hiroshima soon. The healing hot springs will soothe and loosen her aching bones. I have friends there and if I am not mistaken, I believe they have a daughter that I think will suit you. While on our trip, I will begin to make preparations. I hope you are ever so well. I think about you every night and pray to God to keep you safe always. 

I shall write to you again soon. 

Mother 

*** 

August 6 

Showa 20 

Early Evening

    It was time for his face to be shaved. She didn’t think she’d ever met a man whose hair grew as fast as his but in her own way she supposed she liked it. Eying the five o’clock shadow, she washed her hands in the nearby basin. He hadn’t requested it shaved this morning and while she liked the scruffy look of the stubble, it was very uncharacteristic of him. He sat in the chair facing the window. Swallowing, she began to grab the shaving cream, razor and towel. He’d been quiet all day, only giving short clipped replies here and there in passing and it bothered her. Something was wrong. 

    Licking her lips, she approached him. 

    “You’ve been too quiet and I don’t like it.” She started, lifting hands to to cream applicator. 

    “I’ve had a shitty day.” Is all he said, leading his head back, waiting. 

    “I see that.”

    “The infirmary. How was it?” 

    “What is there to say? Margie and I helped more patients.”

    “Soldier?”

    “Soldier and prisoner.”

    “Hm.” He was quiet. Just as she went to apply the cream, her hand paused. Though he sat still, his lashed appeared wet. Blinking, she watched in shock as tears began to travel down his face. At once she put down the small brush. 

    “Ichiro?” He took a deep shuddery sigh and sat up in the chair, back straight. She felt her heart break as the sound of sniffling soon arose to her bewilderment. Slowly, she walked around the chair to face him and reached out her hand to touch his shoulder. He grabbed it before it could make contact and he lifted his head, tears now blinding the vision in his red watery eyes. She grew rigid as he pulled her closer, burying his face against her chest. The sniffles of before now were full fledged cries and his entire body shook with them. 

    Hearing his anguish and grief shattered the last of her heart into pieces and she felt herself tear up at his weeping. He’d freed her hand, lifting his arms to hug her, his fingers clawing and grasping at her dress. She lifted her own slow and careful and enclosed his shoulders, her tough light and gentle. The action seemed to cause more tears, half spoken words swallowed up and released once more, exploding in emotional hysteria. 

    “Okaasan….” He sobbed, voice full of deep sorrow. Okaasan. Mother. He tripped over himself, deep ragged breaths, tears in his throat causing him to gasp for air. At a loss for words, she could do nothing but hold him, hug him tight in the hopes that her touch provided whatever it was that he needed. It was jarring hearing him cry…the icy well composed man now a crumbling bawling manifestation of grief and pain. Mother. What…what happened to her? 

    Questions tickled her tongue but she bit them back, hands slowly rubbing circles into his back. Pressing her cheek against the top of his head, she kept still and quiet until the sobbing ever-so-slowly calmed down back to sniffles. 

*** 

    I felt not an ounce of shame as I wept, her presence a blanket of comfort to my body. In that moment, I’d laid down everything. All of my titles. First Liuetenant. Officer. Soldier. Even Ichiro Matsuda. I’d laid them all down except one. Ikki. My mother’s son. It took me a while to speak and even as she drew a bath and encouraged me into it, I wept still. 

*** 

    She’d dressed in her bed clothes first. A simple slip that he’d purchased to wear underneath her dresses. Patting dry her braids, she sniffed and turned to see him still naked on his bed, a towel covering his genitals. He hadn’t moved, water still dripping from his hair, face, feet all over the floor. His eyes were staring into space, his chin trembling. 

    “Ichiro,” Gingerly, she brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek, making him finally come out of his stupor. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with deep torment. 

    “You’re makin’ a mess on the floor.” He opened his mouth to reply but he closed it, lips and eyebrows trembling. Taking the initiative, she reached over for his towel and placed it over his head. As she dried his hair, she stopped momentarily as his hands came to take hold of her hips. His palms laid against them lightly and his fingers rested calmly against her. 

    “Bea,” His voice was raspy and rough, distant. 

    “Yes, sugar?” 

    “Sing for me. Please.” Wetting her lips, she completed the request, the notes came easy and soulful from her throat. 

    “Summertime, and the livin’ is easy,” Taking the towel, she dabbed at the water trickling down his neck and around to his throat. 

    “Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high,” Now to his chest. 

    “Oh…your daddy's rich and your ma' is good lookin’.” Leaning down, she reached for his undershirt. Helping him into it, she continued her song, her voice soft and sweet. 

    “So hush, little baby…don’t you cry.” Sighing, he bowed his head now, tears dripping now on his thighs. 

    “One of these mornings, you’re gonna rise up singing. Yes, you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take to the sky…” He let go of her and took the bed trousers, sniffling, he pulled them on, tying them closed. 

    “But 'til that mornin’, there’s nothin’ can harm you,” He took a small breath and moved to lay back. Sitting on the side of his bed, she slipped fingers through his short damp strands. 

    “So hush, little baby… don’t you cry.” The last few notes of her song sounded like honey. She accepted his reach and pull of her into bed and wrapped arms around him as he snuggled up against her. Her lips pressed soft little kisses against his forehead and temple and his crying ushered him into a restful sleep, sleep accompanied by her pleasant humming. 

*** 

    I was completely overcome by grief.  Because it was her, I felt secure… I felt safe in letting the wall down. Beatrice was showing me something I’d never experienced before. It was strange… uncomfortable… addicting. This thing called emotional intimacy. Raw and real vulnerability. I’d only known how to be selfish, take, crush and abuse. My own father never much showed any outward emotion as it just wasn’t something a man did. But, there was something so pure and free about allowing yourself to feel… opening yourself to the pain, hurt, sadness… knowing that you wouldn’t be judged, ridiculed or castrated for it. When I awoke the next morning, I was pleased to find that she was still beside me. 

*** 

    Lifting his toothbrush, he began to brush his teeth. Turning, he gazed upon her slumbering body, relaxed and at peace as she slept in his bed. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. She belongs there. Resuming his gaze on himself in the small rounded mirror, he dipped his head to spit out the paste. Sliding wet fingers through his hair, he quietly began to shave in the pale morning light. Never in a million years did he think that he’d ever feel so deeply for a woman. 

    It still puzzled him as to the nature of it. The thing called love. He wasn’t at all comfortable with the emotions that threaded through his veins. He knew that the situation between them was dangerous. He’d known it long ago and still his heart had been selfish. Loving someone it wasn’t supposed to. Breezing the razor across the last of the stubble, he cupped his palms with cold water. It put them both at risk. Yet, as he pat himself dry and his quiet footfalls brought him closer to her, he sighed. He could no longer stop himself and truth be told he didn’t want to. Existing in the moment thrilled and exhilarated him. Taking her in, he watched her chest rise and fall. The silent warm little breaths that fanned against his forearm. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against the swell of one of her breasts, thinly covered by her slip. His fingers crushed the pillow underneath her. 

    The desire to have her had grown quite literally every day. In the early mornings, when he’d leave her to rest, he’d exercise until he couldn’t stand it any longer. It had become a ritual of sorts. In the shower he’d stand, stroking and teasing his elongated length to the point of orgasm before stopping. Chills danced up and down his spine and his flesh would grow warm with sweat. Taking the aching bastard in his hands, he’d start again, pushing himself to the brink. It sounded insane to deny himself of orgasm. Over and over and over again. 

    Gently, he pressed a kiss against her, leaning up to lay another just underneath her chin. In this world they’d found themselves in, he needed control. He needed to have something he could manipulate to his liking. Since the woman underneath him prevented him access to her body, he had to decrease the urges… the desires building in him. He knew he could take her anyway… if he wanted. He could rip the slip apart at the chest and kiss and suckle those perfect breasts of hers if he wanted. He could pry open her legs and taste the Heaven he’d yearned for for months.

    Lifting his face away from her chest, his lips kissed her forehead before he pulled away completely. He didn’t want to use sex as a weapon… Not with her. He didn’t want to be an evil son of a bitch…Not to her. He wanted to know… he wanted to learn all the ways he could make her feel good. He wanted to fuck her hard and rough and lick the tears from her eyes as she cried. He’d never fucked slow before but for her he’d try. Slow and steady until she felt every goddamn inch of him.  

    Breathing deeply through his nostrils, he sat nearby in a chair and began to fasten the belt to his prosthesis around his waist. He hated the thought of going to the Ianfu barracks…all the dirty, unwashed and festering holes but fuck him, he needed to release this tension. Dressing in the quiet, he turned on his boot and left her, locking the door behind him.