He found her in the backyard, sitting alongside the trail that led up to Mount Mansfield. Clearing his throat, he gathered her attention. She’d been crying and her pretty brown cheeks were flushed red. 

    “Takeru…” 

    “I thought you’d be out here.” Sniffling, she schooched over, allowing him to sit. 

    “I can’t believe he’s really gone.” She lifted hands up to wipe away fresh tears. 

    “I had every warning. I knew what would happen. But still…”

    “It doesn’t lessen the pain, Sami.” Nodding, more tears wet her cheeks. 

    “I spent time in Mr. Matsuda’s office yesterday.” 

    “You did?” 

    “Mmhm.” 

    “I’m surprised you even went in there.” 

    “I needed to conquer my fear of the space.” His words made her look at him. 

    “I spent hours in there. Looking through all the pictures and newspaper clippings.” She was quiet now as she listened, 

    “I was transported into hell for a long time. And I didn’t sleep all that well. I’ll admit that. But…in order for me to do this right…I have to see with his eyes.” 

    “What is it you’re trying to see Take?” At that, he grew quiet. 

    “I told Mere to take the week and recoup. She’s pretty shaken up by Grandpa’s passing.” Sniffing, she stood. 

    “If you’re hungry, I can make us some gyoza.” She turned to walk away but he reached out to grab her hand. Growing still, she slowly closed her eyes, a tear of two slipping down her cheeks. Neither one of them said anything and in the silence, their fingers entwined. 

***

 USSR 

1947 

    Black smoke obstructed the light and the air. Eyes watery, he continued to crawl, strategic stones placed  in the dirt to guide him to the opening. Sweat threatened to burn him alive but he kept going, feeling the air disappearing less and less. With haste, he pulled himself along the narrow dirt path and reached outwards, glad to feel the pulley in front of him. Giving it a firm tug, at once it began to be lifted. Hanging on, he dangled dangerously in mid air and the threat of falling to his death increased with every tug upward.

His thick corded biceps trembled from fatigue but he forced himself to push out what air he could and grip tighter, breathing in the heavy black soot. Soon, the chasm grew wider and he began to see the beginning of day’s light. Instantly, the air began to rush down into the space, forcing the black clouds away from his face and body. Gasping it in greedily, he drew in deep breaths as the light grew closer. He could hear the sounds of the men as they hoisted him up. 

    At long last, he made it up enough that he could see black soot stained clothes and bare flesh. Hands reached in and pulled him up and out. Wheezing, he turned to cough and spit, black saliva shooting onto the ground. 

    “Volkov.” Turning callous eyes upward, he found the commandant of the camp staring down at him. 

    “It’s your lucky day. Make yourself presentable and follow me.” He barked in harsh Russian. Leaving them, he watched the big beefy man head into his tent. 

    “What do you think he wants?” 

    “I don’t know.” He replied, his Russian rough. Coming to get on all fours, he slowly balanced the makeshift prosthesis and stood. He stood tall and proud as the vicious winter air stabbed him through. Taking a step, he began to head towards the tent of Boris Morozov, nicknamed ‘the oni’ by those who like him were Japanese. Not bothering to lift the flap open, he came inside and stood by the entrance, posture straight and rigid. 

    “I told you to make yourself presentable. Apparently, your ears aren’t too good for a dog.” He remained quiet, eyes focused behind him. 

    “I must say, Volkov, that I am deeply impressed with you. I didn’t think a cripple could work so hard.” Grinning, the icy blue eyes of his traveled down him. 

    “How long have you been in our service?” 

    “One year and four months, sir.”

    “Ah. Has it been that long?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Impressive. Even your memory supersedes that of your animal friends.” His jaw tightened. 

    “You’ve survived our brutal winter. Though you tremble before me, you have pride. I like this.” It was so cold that he was starting to lose feeling in his toes and fingers. 

    “How many of your friends have you buried?”

    “Too many to name, sir.”

    “And you’ve miraculously survived. Through malnourishment, dysentery and hard physical labor. Ha, if all Japanese were like you we’d have invaded you several times over.” Lifting a pipe to his lips, the man’s smirk fell off his face. 

    “Today is your lucky day Volkov. You’re being repatriated to your savage homeland.” The news at first didn’t register and he kept staring at the wall behind him. He’d lived through many deceptions of the Russian military. Leading those eager to go home into fields and shooting them. 

    “Are you not happy?” 

    “Overjoyed, sir.” 

    “Good then. Here,” Tossing a pack at him, the man sat back in his chair and the smoke from his pipe drifted up into the air. 

    “Get dressed and meet the others by the west gate.”

    “Sir.” Exiting the same way he came, he gripped the pack tightly, glancing down at it. He tightened his jaw and began to rip it open. A warm parka, hat, shirt and pants looked back up at him. Boots beckoned his feet, the inside of them thickly lined with rabbit fur. Disbelief clogged his throat and at once, he felt his heart began to thump against his chest. 

    “Going to the firing line, Volkov?” Glancing up at several of the captured inmates who eyed him jealously, he didn’t reply with words. He began to cough up the bitter and sour taste of the soot that lied at the back of his throat. Quite loud and obnoxious, he cleared his throat of enough of it and spit, a thick slimy glob of black phlegm in the direction of the motherfucker, lifting hard eyes to his disgusted and enraged ones. Fuck you. Taking the clear message, the thin white man came towards him. 

    “I hope they pump you full of lead, you tiny Japanese asshole.” He smirked, turning to him. Maintaining eye contact with the fucker, he dropped his pants, causing the workers around them to suddenly pause.

    “Get one last good look at it.” His face grew red and he backed up. 

    “The fuck’s your problem?” 

    “Just gracing you with all six inches of my tiny Japanese cock before I leave this shit hole.” At his laugh, he was shoved and fell back against the earth. 

    “I hope they cut it off and shove it up your ass.” Grinning, he lifted up and began to dress, the thick wool and fur instantly providing warmth to his nearly frostbitten body. He hurried and put on the matching hat. Without another word to anyone and face now stony and emotionless, he tied the now empty knapsack around his torso and headed towards the west gate. 

    The comrades he’d worked with just a second ago gawked at him, some in shock, others envy, some gladness. He lifted his hand in salute as he passed them. 

    “DON’T FORGET US. SURVIVE AND LET THEM KNOW WHAT THEY’VE DONE TO US.” With a firm nod, he turned his eyes straight ahead, a mixture of uneasiness and jubilation in his stomach. It left him queasy and he felt like at any moment, he would vomit. What if it’s a trap? What if they’re lying? He kept his eyes straight, face empty. Should the bastards kill him then he’d go with honor and dignity. 

    He came to meet a handful of men, all dressed the same as him. They too looked uneasy, some afraid. At his approach, they turned. 

    “First Lt. Matsuda…” Giving them a nod, he swallowed tightly. 

    “Do you think it’s a trap, sir?” 

    “I don’t know.” He answered, gripping the strap of the sack at his shoulder. 

    “We surrendered peaceably… and look what happened. What if they kill us?” 

    “That makes us cowards. How are we to dare return home as traitors?” They all looked at a bitter faced youth, signs of dehydration and malnourishment in his face. His eyes blazed with fire but his body appeared incredibly weak. 

    “I’m tired Totomi. If it wasn’t the Americans, it would have been them. Do you really think we would have stood a chance against both of them?” The boy spat on the ground.      

    “Better to die than to accept defeat.” 

    “Totomi,” He looked at him. 

    “You have your beliefs and I at one point shared them. But, now… after everything is said and done…is it truly better to die or better to live?” 

    “To live is to surrender.” 

    “To live is to survive. Survival is empowerment.” Unreceptive to his words, he turned away. 

    “They want us to die like filthy animals. Should we survive, do we then not have the real victory?” 

    “Listen up you Japanese dogs. We’ll depart in a half hour. Move from this spot and you will not make it on the boat alive.” They all turned to see a commander standing at the front of them. 

    “Is that clear?”

    “Yes, sir!” And so the torturous wait commenced. He wouldn’t believe it… wouldn’t believe that they were going home…not until he was in the middle of the ocean. 

*** 

    One year and four months. That’s how long I’d been in hell. It seemed like it would be my life for the rest of my life. When the ship disembarked, I felt a numbing cold take over my body. All the faces of the men I’d worked beside, ate beside, watched die beside me… those large black eyes of nothing, hope, despair and hatred. Skeletal bodies stood in the daylight and began to fade away little by little. It was then that I allowed tears to be released. In them said so much. 

    Grief. Anger. Remorse. We were no better than the Russians. We were more alike than some wanted to admit. For their cause… for our cause… we became the monsters we feared so they did not get us. We became the thing we hate… desensitized ourselves in order to achieve the mission. 

    Killing. Sliced heads, hearts, frail frozen bodies lay wasted in thick snow. Raping. Taking hold of young feminine flesh and gorging on it over and over and over until it became lifeless and dead. On to the next. Watching the life fade slowly from the eyes, death in hands, bullets and bayonets. Blood, thick and never-ending covered the earth and our hands. 

    We finally got what we deserved. Hell. I wiped away my tears. Now that I’d lived there, I wanted freedom. I never wanted to step foot back into it again. I wanted heaven… I wanted breath, life, a chance to make right all the wrongs I’d committed. I wanted… I wanted Beatrice. 

*** 

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***

Thinking about you,

Over and over behind my eyes I found myself back at the bar, smoke and cigars plenty and the sound of her voice brought me one step closer. Vodka in hand, I’d watch her serenade me, her body enticing and beckoning mine.

I slept and saw you

    As the vodka soaked the table, spilling over so she would wash over me, lips, teeth, tongue. A never ending cycle of breath, heat, ripped dresses and warm soft breasts. 

In the dream.

    Breasts that I could finally capture, mold and caress in my palms… those pretty umber nipples I could nibble and pinch, tease and lick with my tongue. Lust. Insanity. We found each other in booze, song and jazz. Her fingers gripping the edge of the bar so tightly, soiled with the dew between her legs, dirtied with remnants of my cum and wet wasted alcohol. Animals. Wild hard fucking. Insatiable. Love. I couldn’t stop. I wanted her to take every piece and part of me, devour it and become it. 

If I had known it’d have been dream,

    Lost. I wanted to be lost. Found. I wanted to find myself…embrace myself… know myself inside of her. 

I wouldn’t have wake up.

     There the war couldn’t get us… there my hands weren’t dripping with the blood of babies fresh from the womb, my knuckles weren’t wet from tears and saliva from beating yet another young female face. My arms weren’t stiff and shaky, the whole of my bayonet cutting through muscle, sinew and heart. There, the word soldier didn’t exist. There, I could be a human and she could too. We could be one body, one being, one entity. We could be Bea and Ichiro.