Some days were better than others. Most times than not the pain felt like a knife being shoved down into his throat. Some days were better to talk. Others he found himself completely incapable. Too many damn cigarettes. At least, that is what the doctor told him. Pain slicing through him at a simple swallow, he leaned back into his chair. 

    “Mr. Matsuda?” Turning his head slightly, he lifted a hand to wave, beckoning the voice to approach. The caregiver Meredith came forward, leaning forward in a slight bow. Lifting his eyes to her, he sighed again. Her presence meant that it was time to do either one of two things. Eat. Or see his dementia specialist. 

    “Mr. Ito is here for your appointment.” The latter. Pursing his lips, he gave a curt nod and allowed her to help him up. Silent, the girl helped him enter the house. The kind young man stood at the entrance and upon seeing him bowed low. 

    “Mr. Matsuda.”

    “Where are we to talk today?” He asked in Japanese, lips in a firm line. 

    “Wherever you like.” He gave another nod and headed for his office. He hadn’t been there in years. The past tormented him in dreams and night sweats. Since Beatrice’s passing, the nightmares had all but suffocated him and he could not stomach going there. But, this day…he wanted to show the young Ito who he really was. Opening the door, he stepped inside leaving the door ajar. The poor man looked like a deer in headlights and the urge to pick at him licked his conscious. He said nothing as he stepped into the room, allowing the door to be closed. 

    “I thought here would be a good place.” He began, letting his eyes roam the mess on the large oak desk. 

    “You’ve never gotten to know me in detail. Should you want to know more about my dementia, here is the start.” His throat grew tight almost as if it was trying to close up on itself and he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths through his nostrils. Today was a day it nearly killed him to speak. The pain was unbearable.

    “Mr. Matsuda…your file says that you were in the military.” Tightening his grip on his cane, he took a few unsteady steps towards the desk, dust covering what was on top like a thick film. Lowering his hand, he fished through the mess before he found it. Lifting the aged sepia photograph, he handed it to the younger man. 

    “I was 18 years old in this picture. I was extremely green and all too eager.”  Taking the photo, he watched as he looked at it. A gruff little laugh disturbed his gaze and they lifted to the sour-faced old man. 

    “Like everyone else at the time, I wanted to be a ‘good Japanese citizen’. I wanted to be the pride of my family.” Ito swallowed thickly, looking down from his aged wrinkled face to his much smoother, fuller, and child-like face in the picture. 

*** 

1936 

Kurashiki Prefecture 

Okayama 

    Hands still so graceful and light lifted the cup from the bowl of freshly prepared rice. Lips smiled sweetly and tender eyes watered. Slowly, her knees lowered to the tatami and those watery orbs watched as he ate. 

    “You look just like your father.” He didn’t reply but his chest filled with pride at the compliment. 

    “My handsome Ikki-chan.” Lifting those delicate fingers, she brushed back his short hair, freshly cut. He put down his hashi and smiled at her in return. 

    “I want to make Father’s memory proud. You too Mother.” 

    “You already have. I feel safe knowing that you will be protecting me from afar.” Her touch left his hair and she watched as he took his time, eating breakfast until it was all gone. They both knew that it would be a long time before he tasted it again. 

    “When do you leave?”

    “As soon as I’m finished.” She nodded and the waft of her sweet fragrance wafted across his nose as she got up. In the time it took her to come back, he was already finished, hashi neat and plates clean. He stood by the door, kneeling to put on his boots, fresh from the shoemaker. Leaning up, he turned to find his mother, holding something wrapped in pretty fabric. 

    “I want you to have this, Ikki. When you get homesick, please remember it well.” Outstretching his hands, he grabbed it and quietly opened it. A small vignette of the three of them as a family looked back at him and he felt his heart flutter. 

    “Father would be very proud of you. Please know that.” Bowing his head, he pressed it against him tightly. 

    “Write me when you can Ikki. I look forward to your letters of our victories.” 

    “Yes, Mother.” Standing, he carefully tucked the small package into his uniform pocket and saluted her. Giving him a firm nod, she bowed in return, until his footsteps faded from the door’s pathway. 

*** 

    “Soon after leaving my mother, I was met with other soldiers like me. Some were younger than we were. I believe a few were 13 or 14.” Ito handed him back the photo which he accepted.  

    “We were greeted by our commanding officer and paired to bunks. “‘The body beside you,’” he said, “‘ ..will be your comrade. He will be the guard of your life and you his. For this great country, we all will gladly lay down our lives.”’  We repeated his mindless words, all of us ignorant to that lay ahead.”

    “What did lie ahead, Mr. Matsuda?” 

    “Nanking.” With a solemn sigh, the young man came closer finally, after standing at the door as if the room would close up on him. Perhaps the longer he dwelled, it would. 

    “This office holds many secrets.  Things only my wife knew about. Some of them she didn’t.” 

    “Did remembering things grow worse when she passed?” Twisting up his lips, he let a hand move the thick dust off of a leather-bound book.

    “No. Forgetting them did.”  Old arthritic hands opened the book, eyes settling on pictures. 

    “Do you believe monsters deserve love, Ito?” 

    “Monsters, sir?” 

    “Yes. Monsters.”  The younger man bit the inside of his cheek. 

    “Take a look around. I will be in the sitting room.” Eyes watched the old man make his way to the door and soon, it was shut behind him. He couldn’t quite describe it… the feeling in this space. It seemed to fray his nerves and cause uneasiness to settle in his stomach. 

    “What is his purpose for this?” He asked himself quietly, taking another glance around the room. A stately grandfather clock sat nearest the desk and the quiet ‘tick, tok’ somehow calmed him as he gathered the courage to approach the desk. Do monsters deserve love? What kind of question was that? As he roamed the thick dusty documents and partially covered books, his eyes found the one Mr. Matsuda had opened. Eyes finding what he’d walked away from, suddenly he felt chills slip down his body. 

    Date: 1938  

    Nanjing 

    A gift for you Mother, and Japan

    There stood a young Matsuda with a stoic look on his face, with two other soldiers. In his hands, he held up a decapitated head, the remaining corpse underneath him, one of his feet stepping on the chest cavity. He lifted shaking fingers and peeled the plastic page, finding another gruesome picture of him posing with two small tied-up children while another soldier appeared to be preparing to stab them with a bayonet. 

    Recoiling, he felt breakfast come up his throat and barely swallowed it back down. His entire arm was shaking now and his horrified eyes swirled around the room. Turning them towards the door, he quickly hurried to make his escape, the room itself seeming to close in around him. Breath harsh and sweat now providing a thin sheen to his peachy skin tone, his eyes grew watery as he watched the old man sitting in an enclosed sitting room. 

    “Did you ponder my question, Ito?” Trying to get a hold of himself, he inhaled sharply through his nostrils and forced himself to approach him, his body wanting to get far away from him. 

    “It depends on if the monster is repentant.” He answered, throat dry. A gruff gritty chuckle, if it could be called that, filled the space and interested aged eyes met his own as he came to sit beside him. 

    “Repentant, hm? You sound like one of those preachers.” He left the question unanswered, trying to find some sort of footing. Surely, he did that to shake him up. It did more than that. 

    “You have a lot that you want to forget. Clearly.”

    “And?”

    “And what?”

    “Do you think I deserved life? After everything I did?”

    “I can’t answer that.”

    “You have opinions about what you saw.” Again, left unanswered. 

    “I’m far from some decrepit old man in need of his ass being wiped. That you know now.” He glanced at Mr. Matsuda, finding him looking ahead of him, out into the deep thick of the forest.  

    “Now you know where my dementia originated.” 

    “Yes, sir.”

    “You know who I am… who I was.”

    “Yes, sir.” 

    “Now that we have an understanding, ask your silly questions.” 

***

     By the time she got home, Mere was coming down the stairs. Smiling, she set her purse by the door and removed her shoes. 

    “How has today been?” 

    “Well, I’ve been cleaning most of the day. Mr. Matsuda’s room and around the house.”

    “Where’s he been?”

    “He’s in the sitting room with Mr. Ito.” Nodding, she allowed Mere to take her coat. 

    “Has Grandpa eaten today?”

    “Not much. He’s been refusing everything but tea.” 

    “He never likes to eat.” 

    “He’s been talking to Mr. Ito the entire day so… I’m sure by now he’s worked up an appetite.”

    “Sure,” Sighing, she watched the young woman hang up her coat. 

    “Isn’t your birthday coming up Mere?”

    “Yep.”

    “I thought so. We’ll have to do something nice for you.” The young woman blushed but nodded.    

    “You don’t have to.”

    “After all you do for Grandpa and me, it’s the least I could do.” Smiling, she shook her head in a small dismissal. 

    “I’ll fix you a snack, Sami.”

    “Fix yourself one too. We’ll eat it on the porch.” 

    “Okay.” Fondly watching the woman head into the kitchen, she took a small breath and started her way towards the sitting room. She heard the voices of Grandpa and Mr. Ito talking quietly. Though he wouldn’t admit it, she think he liked Ito. Perhaps he reminded him of a younger him… a more ambitious him. 

    “Knock, knock.” She gently interrupted with a small little rasp against the cracked door. 

    “Ms. Asami…” Smiling, she gave a small nod. 

    “Is Jii-chan behaving today?” 

    “I’m not a child.”

    “You know you aren’t always nice to Mr. Ito.”

    “Today, he was. I got to know him very well.”

    “Well, that’s good. I’m glad you kept him company.”

    “Mr. Matsuda, I’ll visit again soon.” A wave of the hand in dismissal was all he got and he stood up, his expression complicated. It was a mixture of so many emotions. Fear. Anger. Interest and insight. 

    “Ms. Asami, I’ll see you next week.”

    “Sure. Do you need me to show you out?”

    “No, thanks.” Curiously, she turned her eyes back towards the reclining man whose feet were up on a cushion. 

    “Why do I feel like you two talked about life or something?” 

    “You could say that we did.” 

    “Hm. Jii-chan, are you going to eat dinner with me tonight?”

    “I suppose so.” 

    “What would you like?” 

    “Kakioko.” Her eyebrows shot up. 

    “Are you sure?”

    “I’ve developed a craving for it today.” 

    “Okayyy then…Kakioko it is.” Helping him stand, she could hear the strained grunts of pain as he walked and looked down at his prosthetic limb. He normally didn’t have any trouble moving with it after so many years but for some reason, she could tell that today his leg was bothering him.  She’d always been curious as to how he’d lost his leg in the war… that being a story he’d never shared with her or the other grandchildren.

    “Where did you go today?” He asked as they began to walk into the hallway. 

    “I went to visit Grandma.” It was amazing how even after all this time, the mere mention of her seemed to transform him. His once hard stiff expression melted into a look reminiscent of how she remembered him. He smiled gently, eyes softer…humored. Miraculously, his voice gravely and coarse now clear. 

    “That woman.” He clicked his tongue as if to chastise. 

    “I told her not to go to the beach alone. But, does she ever listen to me?” Licking her lips, she replied carefully, 

    “What did she do, Grandpa?” There, her voice was girlish and light, a comfort and caress to the past that he seemed in his heart to cherish. He laughed some, a quick short little grunt.

    “She came back with sand everywhere. It looked like she had laid down and rolled around in it. It was in her hair. Her clothes. Bea was so hardheaded.” Glancing up at him, she felt her eyes water as the memories of her transported him back to a happier place. 

    “You get your stubbornness from her, you know.” 

    “Mm.” 

    “Mm.” He teased back, bringing a laugh to her. Though she laughed, tears began to rise and she blinked them back as she led him into the kitchen. 

***

    She couldn’t say she completely regretted it; having spent the last three hours in that room. But now that grandpa was in bed and the house was silent, she was pretty close to saying she did. It had been weeks since she’d ventured towards his office. Curiosity, though, had led her back towards those large looming doors. Doors shrouded in mystery. Now, however, they provided a grim reality… a portal to the past that some would say should best be forgotten. Licking her lips, she buried her hands in her palms her eyes watery. It didn’t sit right with her that the urge to delve deeper picked at her. What if I’m not ready to uncover this? She got up and turned on the shower with a heavy sigh, soon undressing to step in.

    The water gently pelted her body and she let the hot rivulets run across her face, neck, and arms. It was nauseating. It was obvious that he and Mr. Ito had been there. More dust had been brushed off of the many aged books and papers on his desk. One such book had been opened. Pictures. Images that made her throw up. She couldn’t hold it in and rushed to the bathroom much like she did the first time she’d entered that room. 

    Wet fingers combed through her drenched hair. It was so hard to believe… so hard to force herself to see a man whom she didn't recognize. Everything in her screamed that he was a fraud. That he wasn’t her grandpa. It couldn’t be. To confirm her deepest darkest fears, however, she’d gotten her hand on a small stack of letters, some pulled apart from the bundling. Letters to his mother. They proved otherwise. 

*** 

1939 

    Location: Confidential 

    Dear Mother,

     I thought of you today. As of late, sakura petals fall in my mind’s eye and I cannot help but want to return home immediately. I am in good health. Forgive me for not writing before now. We were stationed in a city called Nanjing. In a filthy place of squalor, rats ran amuck. Not to be concerned, all that was needed was a little fire and force and they scattered. Do you fare well? How is grandmother? My wish is that once I return home in victory, we can eat cold melon in the summer as we used to do with Father. 

    Ikki 

*** 

    She wondered if his mother had any clue. Any such idea that the ‘rats’ he spoke of so casually were indeed human beings. Human beings that were shown in pictures being thrown into pits and dirt shoveled on them. One soldier had been photographed lifting an infant to the camera, the whole of their tiny body impaled on the entire end of his bayonet. Fresh and sudden it appeared, the fingers of the baby still spread as if to grasp and claw at the air.

     Letting her eyes fill with tears, she wept quietly, the heat from the water serving to close around her like a warm comforting hug. 

*** 

1939 

Location: Undisclosed 

With a roasted pig

    A pig was not in the picture. Instead, the charred remains of a human being had been photographed, tied to a pole. Eyes took in the face of her grandpa and his platoon, some of them grinning and humored. Others smug. What frightened her the most was the expression on her grandfather’s face. It was neither smug nor humored. It was blank. Empty. Cold. Stoic. His lifeless eyes stared back at her, a jarring contrast to the youthful shreds of fat still in his cheeks. 

*** 

    It was at that moment that she could no longer stay in that room. She did pick up his diary, there a little bit aways from the unnamed album, and left the room, sweaty hands closing the doors behind her. She feared that if she didn’t read it and find out the origin, his origin, she’d never be the same around him again.

    Already, she had begun to question how her grandmother could marry someone like him. A monster like him. The thought made her weep even harder… and a bit of her felt ashamed to even let the words caress her mind. Sniffling, she reached up and turned the water off. Lifting wet fingers to her equally wet cheeks, she wiped the tears away and got out. Her first night discovering who Ichiro Matsuda was would begin tonight. God help her, she was scared. 

    After doing her night routine of smoothing shea butter into her skin and putting on comfy pajamas, she curled up in bed and reached for the beat-up diary with a shaky hand. Turning to page one, she swallowed sand. 

***

    My name is Ichiro Matsuda. My hands are stained with blood and I seek atonement.