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niijuu-ni 


twenty-two 




Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


1947 

Chicago 

 

    Lifting a hand to wipe the sweat from her brow, she exhaled a sigh. It was nearing midday and the sun was at its highest. Already, toasty brown skin had perspired and flushed red. 

    “Bea, come on in the house.” Turning towards the voice, she stood. 

    “Yes, ma’am.” Wiping her hands on the smock, she removed her straw hat before entering the house. A woman nearly identical to her smiled as she came into the small foyer. 

    “What you doing out there baby?”

    “Pickin’ your weeds Momma.”

    “Sweet girl, you ain’t gotta do that. Here, come on and help me tenderize this meat.” 

    “Yes, ma’am.” The woman smoothed back her sweaty hair and pressed a kiss to her temple before leaving her to her new task. 

    It had been a whole year… a year and four months since she’d returned home. It had been difficult re-assimilating… and even after a year, she hadn’t completely got it. She found herself still bowing her head sometimes, replying in Japanese or Mandarin, and had to learn to stop walking around the house completely naked. It was all she’d known for so long and now… now she had to force herself to forge her own definition of what ‘normal’ meant. 

    Normal would have been returning home with Joe. Normal would have been being back in the swing clubs and bars, singing and performing. Normal wasn’t her normal anymore. 

    Taking the wooden tenderizer, she began to beat the meat, eyes in space. Her dreams were haunted, memories of what once was… what still lived in her mind and behind her eyes. 

    She hadn’t been able to grip reality as it was… a permanent stain on her psyche. It’ll take time baby. Give it time. The low comforting voice of her mother would always bring her back when she’d ventured too far out. She’d told her what she could manage of her experiences… much of it too hard to even utter. She couldn’t bare telling her she’d been raped. It would destroy her. She’d been destroyed enough… having to learn that her son had been murdered. It took Momma a while and she still think she cried about it. But, she was trying to be strong and sound for her.  

    “That’s enough Bea, it’s already dead.” 

    “What you say?” 

    “Look what you doing.”  Glancing down, she felt her cheeks grow warm. She’d flattened the poor slab until it was nearly in pieces. 

    “Sorry, Momma.”

    “That’s okay, we have flat steak instead of roast. It’s okay.” She smiled as her lips kissed her cheek and she removed the meat from her. 

    “I’ma go wash my hands.”

    “Okay, sugah.” Clearing her throat, she took her time as she went up the stairs. It had been a hell of a time but finally, she felt like she was returning to herself. She had lost herself for so long… Stepping into the bathroom, she turned on the water and washed the blood from her hands.  She had worked hard to reclaim herself… hold on to even a bit for herself. Watching the blood trickle down the drain, she swallowed thickly. Lately, her thoughts had been consumed with him. At night, her mind raced and he was well and alive in the recesses of her subconscious. Ichiro. Her eyes flickered closed. The sounds of his agony as those Russian soldiers beat him… it stayed with her. So strong and stoic, she’d never heard much other than a few small laughs or chuckles. It frightened her to think that even he, as unbreakable as he seemed to be could shatter like glass. Lathering her hands with the soap, she allowed another memory to surface. 

    The feeling of his fingers soaping her hair. He wore no cologne and yet to her, he always carried the scent of pine and bergamot… refreshing woodsy spice, and slight citrus. She wanted to press her face into the crook of his neck and just… breathe him in. His natural odor aroused her so much that it had brought that wet feeling between her thighs. Soft and calm, his short nails had scratched her scalp with the utmost care… his thick sinewy biceps closed around her in safety. Hard and unflinchingly male, his body had felt so good against her much smaller softer one. 

    Though neither one of them had acknowledged it, the stiff thing poking against the small of her back had startled her. Yet he hadn’t moved to rub, brush or assault her with it. He kept a respectful distance from her and carried on as if it had never happened. But strange yearnings and desires caused her womanhood to flutter and throb.

    Dropping her eyes, she took a shaky breath, lifting the soap back to its respective dish. Shameful. Washing the soap from her hands, she dried them and smoothed back her hair

    “Bea?”

    “Comin’ Momma.” 

 

*** 

 

 

    His eyes read the candid words and felt his cheeks blush. Clearing his throat, he sat up straighter in the chair. In his entries, Mr. Matsuda had said something so profound. There the war couldn’t get us…There, the word soldier didn’t exist. I could be a human. We could be one body. We could be Bea and Ichiro. 

    It pierced his heart reading it and for a while, he sat in the glow of his revelation. Ichiro Matsuda was just as much a victim as the prisoners he held in captivity. It was hard to even think, imagine or entertain. But.. there was something so telling about his word choice… his repetitive sayings. The war couldn’t get him. Soldier didn’t exist. Until the end, he had to maintain being a soldier. Ichiro. Ikki. 

    It was something one didn’t think about in relation to the Japanese side of the war… the soldiers being victims… it was easy to generalize them all… claim that they were blood-thirsty samurai-obsessed savages who desired world domination. In reality… many of these young men… boys really… they experienced the same trauma as they gave it out. It was powerful. It added a layer to the man he’d feared for so long. As he read, the fear was starting to be brought down and in its place began to live understanding. 

    “Perhaps this was what Mrs. Matsuda began to realize. You were just as much a victim as she was. Just… in a different way.” Running fingers through his hair, he sighed into his palms. The old man wasn’t as much of a bastard as he’d thought. Slowly getting up, he grabbed his wallet and keys. He think he had enough now… just enough to start. 

 

 

*** 

 

    The barge pulled in and he lifted his head from the spot where he lay. Rain was in the air, the moist droplets covering his face in a thin mist. The air smelled different. It smelled like… 

    “Welcome home, gentlemen.” At that, many more heads began to pop up and soon they all began to stand. Turning to look at the blessed soil, and waters he felt his heart grow ache. Home. He was home. A flash of light made him tense up and he turned toward it. A lone man who appeared to be a reporter stood with a large camera. Another flash blinded them and like that he was finished. Clearing the way, he bowed as they all began to step closer and closer to their homeland. Throat so tight it hurt, he stepped onto the pier, his eyes growing watery. 

    “Matsuda.” Looking at the voice, his eyes grew wide. 

    “M-Major Onada…s-sir,” The man no longer wore his uniform and his eyes appeared tired and weary. 

    “Welcome home Matsuda.” Emotion filled him and he simply hung his head.

    “Let’s get you out of those filthy clothes.” 

    “Yes, sir.” Silent tears slipped down his cheeks and he lifted dirty soot-covered hands to wipe them away. Home. Home…. He was home.

 

    *** 

 

 

    It felt good to be back on Japanese soil. But, I had long since gotten used to thick jungles and beaches of white and black sand. I’d gotten used to the streets of Shanghai and the rolling hills of Manchuria. Home had been so many places. And yet, here I was… trying not to weep in front of my superior. 

    I felt out of place. I followed behind him aimlessly, as though I was a lost child following one’s father… hoping his guidance would lead me to clarity. We went to an awaiting car. The early morning routine of the fishermen comforted me, a sight I never thought I’d see again. The ride was silent between us and I watched every little thing pass by, the familiar signs that I was still alive… still a part of this nation.

    Caught up in the excitement, I hadn’t been aware that I’d fallen asleep. The journey had exhausted all of my energy and my body begged for rest. Major Onada shook me awake too soon and I found myself looking at the outskirts of Kurashiki. 

 

*** 

 

    “I will give you my direct number. When you are settled and have reunited with your family, I will invite you to my home.” Tired confused eyes turned to him. 

    “Sir…”

    “I will make good on my promise. Wait by the phone.” Taking a breath, he bowed his head  as he pressed a piece of paper into his hand. Getting out of the car, he watched it turn around and drive away from him. Turning, he faced the town he’d called home…the land that had raised him. Already, eyes of curious and confused people stared at him as he walked past them. 

    “Are you out of town?” One such individual asked, bag and rod told him that the man was planning to go fishing. 

    “Ah…no. I…I was in the Army.” The man’s eyes grew wide. 

    “Bless the gods for your safe return. You honor us with your service.” Accepting his praise, he knelt his head before the old man allowing him to pat his head. 

    “We have done well.” Now, he spoke to himself as he traveled down the road. Swallowing thickly, he continued on his own way, his feet leading him past the familiar structures, homes and stores that he’d ran past as a child. The sun was just starting to come up across the horizon and the roads were empty. 

    Without warning, a tear slid down his cheek and he kept moving, memories of receiving a sweet from Ms. Minoki’s sweet shop fresh in his mind. Step. Step…One. Two. Three tears followed and before he knew it he was crying. A deep dark sadness swept over him and in the stillness of morning, he wept. When you are settled and have reunited with your family, I will invite you to my home. What family? WHAT FAMILY? Now, wretched wails of anguish and crippling grief choked his breath and he released the sound openly…revealing the rips and tears of his heart. 

    Feet seemed never to forget and they led him to the gate of the place he once called home. Fresh pain sliced through him as he stood on the stony pathway leading to the entrance. The trees had started to change, touched with the colors of autumn. Startling reds, golds and apricot kissed the leaves, decorated God’s sacred beauty upon the earth. The sight overwhelmed him and he slowly knelt. 

    Letting his hands drift down, he reached up underneath his pant leg. Unfastening the limb, he let it drop onto the ground. He removed the fur hat and threw it down. Hair past his shoulders, the strands were messy and tangled. They picked up on the cool morning wind. Tears now blinding his vision, he lowered himself to the ground in a sitting position, the holy stones graced with divine light. 

    “Otousan…” Sucking in a breath, he spoke again. 

    “Okaasan….B-Baa-chan…”  Leaning forward in a deep saikeirei, his tears dripped and splashed onto the backs of his hands. 

    “Tadaima…” 

 

*** 

 

    Her feet ached and she couldn’t wait to soak them. Holding her books closer, she came up the small pathway to the house’s stairs. Removing her nurse’s cap, she gave a soft knock before entering. The smell of pineapple filled the foyer. 

    “Momma?”

    “In the kitchen.” Following the sweet smell, she came into the kitchen to see her mother whipping what looked like cake filling in a bowl. 

    “You done with school, Bea baby?” 

    “Yes ma’am.” 

    “You done came back home and wanna be a nurse huh?” She smiled as her momma stooped to pull out fresh sweet sheet cakes. 

    “I’m almost done with the classes. I should be getting a certificate soon.”

    “Beatrice Grace Jones, graduate of Provident Hospital and Training School for Nurses.” Laughing as her momma shook her tail feather a little bit, she pulled her close in a hug. 

    “Ya lil’ girl smart and pretty huh?” 

    “A whole bunch smart and extra on the pretty, Bea baby.” Her mother said, smoothing back her hair. Giving her a kiss, she wiggled her eyebrows as she began to spread that scrumptious filling on the cake. 

    “Let me go freshen up. I’ll help you.”

    “I’m done. Don’t worry bout a thang.” 

    “Mmkay then, I go pick some fresh greens then.” 

    “Gotta deal.” On her way upstairs, she paused. There on the flat top of the staircase rested a letter. 

    “Ma, what’s this letter?” 

    “Don’t know. It got yo name on it so I ain’t bother with it.” Lifting it to her face, she blinked. Ms. Beatrice Jones. It didn’t have a return name or anything. Just an address that looked real funny and hard to pronounce. Huh. 

    Opening it, she grew still. Her heart began to beat faster as she read…

 

    小百合さく 小草がなかに 君まてば  野末にほいて 虹あらはれぬ.

    

I wait for you. In the grassland. Where small lilies bloom. On the corners of the field, the rainbow shows up.

 

There at the bottom a simple initial. 

 

 

    Fingers shaky now, she slowly ascended the stairs, her thoughts jumbled. M. Matsuda. That… this…dear God. An ache that she thought she’d laid to rest stabbed her, the knife twisted painfully, taking her breath. Lifting a hand to her chest, she couldn’t stop the tears that bubbled up from her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Oh God… Ichiro…it… it had to be him. There was no one else she knew…. he was alive. he had survived the war. Pressing the letter against her heart, she blew out a breath and sniffed, wiping her tears. He was alive. 

 






Chapter End Notes:

 

A/N: This episode was... man. Ichiro returning home... the weight of his family being destroyed and he being alone... can you imagine the grief you would feel if you fought only to come to a home that was empty and devoid of life? To come home knowing that every member of your family was gone? What legit made me tear up was when he bowed at the gate/entrance and began to cry. That did me in. 

I imagine that that was the narrative of some soldiers should they have been fortunate to survive and live through the war. 

You bet your darn skippy I took author liberties here with Beatrice receiving Ichiro's letter LOL. Research showed that the Russians did not allow the POWs to write many letters (if any) so, there's that. I think if you were a higher ranking officer and up, they allowed a couple letters a month. And that was definitely being generous. 

Ichi-bo's letter is a real love poem from 825 AD LOL. I thought it was romantic and fit hehe. ANDDDD SHOUT OUT TO Provident Hospital and Training School for Nurses FOR BEING A REAL SCHOOL/HOSPITAL FOR BLACK NURSES/BLACK PEOPLE WAYYY BACK DURING RECONSTRUCTION. YUH. 

kay, more update? SUREEEE <3 :D 

DL~

 

Here's Bea's Momma 

Ruth Jones 

 







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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.