⚠️ WARNING ⚠️
The following chapter may contain explicit descriptions of
wartime contexts in Vietnam and references to World War II,
including Chinese-Japanese invasions, grief, and death. These topics may be sensitive for some readers.
The author does not seek to provoke or promote any of this in any way.
Everything narrated is entirely fictional.
Reader discretion is advised.
✒️ AUTHOR'S NOTE 💻 🫠
I wish I didn't have so many assignments or exams,
my term will end in 2 weeks 😔
______________________________________________________________
In the distance, the silhouette of a young soldier
stood out, planted in his worn uniform as if he were
part of the terrain.
The sun barely broke the horizon, leaving a coppery, dusty
glow over the metal roofs of the camp.
At the sharp order of his superior, the boy
brought the trumpet to his lips: i it was the wake-up call that got
everyone there moving.
May 21, 1964.
Another morning… or so it seemed.
Because this was no ordinary part of the world.
We are in Vietnam.
More precisely, Qui Nhon: a U.S. Army logistics base,
where the day began before
fear and always without guarantees.
This is not the front; here, no shots are heard, only engines and cranes.
The creak of ammunition crates piles up relentlessly.
The environment hummed with a noise that reminded everyone the war was still on.
Even here, behind the lines, nothing truly stops.
Of all the sectors, the busiest was the repair depot.
There, the Ordnance and Quartermaster sections worked.
They inspected engines, repaired vehicles, and fixed damaged parts.
The workshops were divided into heavy, armament, and light aviation.
Each followed its own rhythm, dictated by the day's urgencies.
Spare parts arrived from the port and were logged quickly.
Then they were sent to the front according to the established
priority.
They distribute weapons, sort airplane parts and equipment.
They also maintain contact with the Vietnamese from the
nearby village.
A man crosses the warehouse carrying a box.
"There's beer for the afternoon, guys," he shouts, with a smile
that not even the dust can dull.
And there appears our protagonist.
A nineteen-year-old boy, on his second tour in Vietnam.
Tall, unshaven, hardened by the heat and by a noise he no
longer even notices.
"Hey, Collin," his friend says from a table covered in grease.
"What's up, man?" he replies without lifting his gaze much.
"You got any oil?"
Collin smiles.
"Yeah, I need oil… to lubricate your sister."
They laugh. Workshop humor, war humor.
" No, seriously,' he said. 'You got some?'"
"Nope, brother."
"Alright, I'll go to the warehouse."
Collin MacKenzie.
Son of farmers from northern Idaho, near the town of Moscow.
His father, William Johnson, works the land; his mother,
Margaret MacKenzie, comes from a Canadian family, the kind
that speaks little and believes work solves everything.
Collin didn't go to college. Nobody had time to dream of that.
He learned to repair tractors, change spark plugs, and ended up here:
in Qui Nhon, where the army needs him more as a mechanic than as
a soldier.
He doesn't know about politics. He doesn't know about ideologies.
He just follows the path that was easiest to take. His childhood
friend enlisted, and he simply went along.
If only he knew everything that's happening beyond the workshop…
But as he walks toward the warehouse, the only thing on his mind is:
"Was it a good idea to get myself into this?"
"I'm not saying the work's bad… but I wonder what the front is like."
"Dad always said a real man has to live it all."
"And that a man proves himself when he faces death and comes back
as a hero."
"If I want him to take me seriously again, I have to do it right."
"Holding a rifle is cool, but I think this is more important."
"Come on, hurry up!" his companion shouted.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he replied, stepping out of his thoughts.
_________________________________________________________________
As Collin resumed his work, on the other side of the world,
thousands of kilometers away, the story continued with Kamei-san
and Jack, near the border between the Hiroshima and Okayama
prefectures.
They walked toward the town of Shōbara.
The sky had a gray tone, the air smelled of damp earth, and their
steps marked a slow rhythm on the path.
Jack finally broke the silence.
"What's going on? You know… I know what that doctor told you
might have affected you, but I think you should feel glad."
Kamei-san lowered his gaze without stopping.
"At least there's no war here. Right? Are you affected by that, right?"
Jack insisted.
Kamei-san took a deep breath before speaking.
"To be honest, yes, I am affected by that, Jack. In fact, I hadn't
found out until now."
He stayed still for a moment, clenching his fists.
"Finding out this way doesn't sit well with me. And we're heading
there right now."
Jack turned toward him, uneasy, searching for something to say,
but Kamei-san cut him off first.
"I'm going to ask you, please, not to mention any of this.
Is that okay?"
"Okay…" Jack replied, in a quieter tone.
Kamei-san lifted his gaze, firmer.
"But… haven't you thought that maybe that man would just invent
those stories?"
Jack shrugged, trying to sound casual. The attempt died instantly.
"They're no invention, Jack," Kamei replied, firmly.
"In fact, it makes sense… I was there and knew how things were."
Jack stayed silent. The sound of crickets filled the space between them.
"Please, don't say anything about this to Adelaida,
nor to Dánae, much less to Nuriel, about what you heard."
Jack nodded with a nervous grimace.
"Yes, alright, Kamei-san."
"Don't say anything."
Jack replied:
"Relax, the good thing is I still don't speak Japanese… so I have
no idea what they were saying in detail."
Kamei-san was very upset. His chest burned and his breathing barely
responded, as if his own body were trying to suffocate him.
He was getting lost in his thoughts.
Kamei-san pressed his chest. It burned. His breathing failed,
as if his own body wanted to close his throat.
Jack barely understood words here and there, but immediately saw
something was very wrong.
And then, almost voiceless, Kamei-san whispered:
"I can't believe all this happened in such a short time…"
The rest didn't come out of his mouth.
But in his mind, everything fell like a violent storm:
"The Invasion of Manchuria."
"The Marco Polo Bridge Incident."
"The Battle of Wuhan."
"The Battles of Jaljin Gol."
"The Japanese maritime expansion"
"The attacks in the South Pacific"
"The bombings over Chongqing"
"The Battle of Manila"
"The naval battles of the South China Sea and the Western
Pacific"
"The massive bombing of Tokyo"
"Pearl Harbor"
"Hiroshima"
"Nagasaki"
"Okinawa"
"The rumors of medical experiments…"
Every memory, every name, every shadow of a story he was
just beginning to accept…
It all mixed together, pierced him, dragged him down.
And among all that pain, one stood out like a final blow:
"But what hurts me most… is what happened to the city of the
Yangtze flower"
"Nanking"
Kamei-san eventually learned about this whole disaster from the
son of a friend who had died.
His friend was Masayuki Takahashi.
He had passed away two decades earlier, but his son, who had
fought in the Japanese wars, inherited his house in the
Okayama prefecture.
It was there that he could tell Kamei-san everything.
They spoke only about the war.
The man, in a way, was remorseful.
He felt disgusting, especially because he acted, from his perspective,
like a coward.
He already knew Kamei-san from before, but never imagined
seeing him again, and much less in his old age.
He felt complete regret for everything that had happened.
When he enlisted, he questioned nothing.
He only let his fanaticism for Japanese pride and patriotism
guide his decisions.
As he spoke, Kamei-san felt his blood turn cold.
Not only because he had ignored everything that happened in
Japan over the past forty years, but because he had left in 1929.
He had stayed away from the country.
The only reason he had returned was to bury his daughters Hana
and Sora, before visiting Dechen.
They were perhaps the few who knew about Kamei-san's immortality.
The man bowed gracefully and said:
"Do you think someone like me can live with dignity?…
…I'm sorry… I can't…"
"Relax, I'm not condemning you…"
"Please… I beg you. You're the only one who could judge me.
You live for centuries… you are the closest thing to a Kaiō-sama,
to a god…"
Kamei-san walked, thinking of his granddaughter Hana.
He remembered the details the man had told him.
As a soldier, he understood the country's situation.
He knew Kamei-san would be interested in these topics, since deep down
—even if he won't admit it—he cared about Japan.
He had married two Japanese women and had descendants there.
He looked at the sky and murmured:
"If I had known all this, I wouldn't have buried Sora
or Hana in Hiroshima. Now, maybe I can't even identify their grave."
Kamei-san was sad, but understood everything. Then he said to Jack:
"I'll be honest with you. I have no favoritism toward any country.
Lands seem just a silly way for the powerful to maintain power."
"But after what Takeshi told me, I am not in favor of any.
What I am against… is everyone."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
Kamei-san replied:
"The country is not to blame."
"The blame lies with those who care for war."
"Now that I think about it… I will never be in favor of any country,
but of the people who make it up."
"All countries are garbage."
Jack made hidden statements, beyond his answers,
but everything was very ambiguous, almost imperceptible.
Kamei-san kept walking. In a couple of hours, they reached Hiroshima.
They wanted to know if the bomb had struck that place.
To the north, where a lake surrounded the mountains, along a line
of small rural villages, was the site.
Jack immediately noticed that Kamei-san was searching for something.
They entered the mountains as the sun set. The stars began to appear again.
"We've been walking all day," said Jack.
"Don't you want to rest?"
"We will arrive soon," replied Kamei-san.
"When we get there, we will rest."
In the distance, Jack spotted something among the trees.
The dense undergrowth darkened the surroundings, but insects
glimmered faintly, lighting the path.
Frogs and crickets could be heard, mixing with the
crunch of dry leaves beneath their feet.
Kamei-san stopped. In a low, broken voice, he whispered:
"Thank you, sir. If what you told me is true,
then I am grateful the blast wave
did not reach here."
Jack advanced slowly. Some villagers knew
there were about ten tombstones.
There was incense, and although they were not his family,
they respected those graves.
The tombstones were well placed, surrounded
by a stone circle.
Each one had a poem written in Chinese.
Kamei-san showed melancholy and said:
"Jack, I present to you my family."
Jack lowered his gaze, watching his steps.
"Look, Jack, I present the Takeda family (竹田家).
It consisted of Takeda Haru (竹田春) and
Takeda Aiko (竹田愛子), my two wives,
along with their children: Takeda Nao (竹田直),
Takeda Michi (竹田道), Takeda Aya (竹田綾),
Takeda Yumi (竹田由美), Takeda Ren (竹田蓮),
Takeda Kenta (竹田健太), Takeda Sora (竹田空),
and the youngest, Takeda Hana (竹田花)."
"They are my children and grandchildren. At least, the ones I could
move. I didn't live in Hiroshima, actually. I lived further north.
I chose this place because I heard it was calmer."
"I have more children, but they are buried elsewhere.
When my daughters married, only one stayed: Takeda Nao.
She married, but I couldn't bury her with her husband; I never
found him."
"He went hunting and never returned. I tried to look for him,
but I didn't find his body. Maybe he left out of fear…
I know perfectly well what that means."
"And these are my granddaughters. The last of this family
were Sora and Hana."
"Twins, sisters."
"One died when she turned thirteen."
"She was gravely ill. Hana was the only one to reach old age.
She never had children."
"Even though she dreamed of marrying, she was a victim of
a fire that disfigured much of her face."
"Nao, my daughter, cared for her until her old age.
Haru died at eighty-two. Hana was the only one."
"It's as if my third generation… cannot multiply
beyond the limited."
"Maybe I have grandchildren of my grandchildren, but I don't know them."
"I was with Hana in her final days. She motivated me to search
for Dechen, even though she had already said she hated me.
That is another story."
"Here is my whole family, Jack. The family I loved and,
foolishly, also abandoned. I wish I had been braver before."
"Seeing them on these tombstones fills me with deep sadness.
So many things I could have done with them."
"Maybe I could have taken them to Vermont."
"But I simply didn't think of it."
Kamei-san walked to the side and began unpacking his things.
"Come on, Jack. Help me unpack. We'll rest for a few hours,
light incense, and then I'll leave. Maybe I'll never see them again."
The atmosphere grew melancholic, the wind blowing through the trees,
trying to dissipate the doubts.
Jack asked:
"How many tombstones are there in the whole world, Kamei-san?"
Kamei-san fixed his gaze on the ground, as if carrying a whole sin.
His rough, old memory kept spitting out what he wished to forget.
"There are many..."
"In Nanking, in Yunnan, in the deep jungle, Sagsai,
in Lahachowk, in Sagada, in Voronikha, in Chiang Rai,
here ten in Hiroshima, and the last of all, Dechen."
I didn't want to bury him at his home. I didn't want anyone to bother
him, so I buried him north, near a salt lake. There I know no one
would try to dig him up.
"I've had several families, Jack."
"The Liang family, the Takeda, the Borchin and Altan,
the Suwan and Norbu. The last of all was Dechen Norbu,
the last one I buried."
"These are the only families I returned to. With some I spent
long periods. I had more, yes, but I never found their
whereabouts. After Dechen, I didn't want more"—
his voice cracked as he remembered.
The forest's silence grew denser. Fireflies flickered through
the shadows as the incense burned down. That almost sacred
atmosphere pushed Kamei-san to continue speaking, as if
the pain needed to escape at last.
"I was a fool, Jack. Completely useless at forming a family."
"And you'll surely think I'm cruel… I can't blame you.
When one lives too long, one learns to let everything go,
even what should've been cared for from the beginning."
"You convince yourself that freedom is the only thing that matters.
And now, with this age upon me, I understand how miserable I was."
"Immortality never left. Sometimes I looked in the mirror and
begged God to let me age, age beside my wife."
"More than once they told me being with me hurt.
I stayed young, firm… and they withered.
They feared I'd replace them with someone else, someone young.
And maybe… maybe they weren't wrong."
In the end, he did break their hearts.
Jack looked at Kamei-san with sadness; he understood his words,
but not the weight of so many lived years.
Kamei-san sighed and murmured:
"I'm sorry, Jack. This is not important.
Unpack everything. We'll sleep a few hours here.
Then we'll leave for Fukuoka."
Jack obeyed silently and soon fell asleep.
But Kamei-san remained kneeling, lit only by a candle
before the ten tombstones.
"Hana, it's me, your grandfather.
You will always be beautiful, no matter what happens.
Whatever you do."
"Haku, I'm sorry for not telling you each morning
that you were beautiful."
"And you, Kenta… I almost forgot." —He smiled—
"It was me who burned your kimono. I blamed Hana,
but it was me. It was an accident. I am so sorry."
He laughed through tears. Then fell silent.
The trembling of his breath betrayed him, and tears continued.
"Why am I doing this? You don't hear me.
You are in the Sheol, sleeping… There's no way you hear me."
"Why didn't I say anything… when I should have?"
The air grew heavy, almost still.
At that moment, an angel appeared and placed a hand
on Kamei-san's shoulder, who wept silently.
"Let me go," said Kamei-san, voice broken.
The angel replied:
"I think that's enough already, don't you think?"
"What will I do with Adelaida?
What am I going to do now?
…I don't know how to love… and you know it," he said in pain.
"Yes, you know how to love, Kamei-san," replied the angel.
"The problem is you didn't know how to do it back then.
I assure you all your descendants and wives…
God will make an exception for them."
"If you do things right, you will see them after the Final Judgment.
They were all innocent. All were good men and women.
Do not mourn their loss, Kamei-san.
God is letting you feel again. That is because now
you are doing what is right."
Kamei-san hyperventilated.
"You know?… You should have seen Hana as a baby.
She had a beautiful smile… she cried hard.
The tears fell."
"I am scared… it's okay. I am scared.
I know you don't hear me, but I don't want to repeat
the same mistake. I will hurt Adelaida…
not me, not me, I shouldn't…"
He finally broke, saying:
"God, kill me… that's what I deserve.
I'm a damned bastard… I abandoned them out of fear."
The silence was absolute. Only the candle crackled.
"I think I must stop," whispered Kamei-san.
The angel replied gently:
"You will not make the same mistake."
"And do you know why? Because now there are two great differences.
The first is that Adelaida is immortal.
And the second, you will live in Vermont. Be strong, Kamei-san.
Endure everything you can."
"God has not forgotten you.
And He has protected the place where your family rests.
At least, so you can visit them one more time."
As Kamei-san broke down, his voice in pieces,
Jack listened to everything. He didn't move. He didn't try
to hug him. He just watched from the shadow, saying nothing.
"I miss with my heart only three people," he thought.
"Nuriel, Adelaida… and Dánae."
"But Kamei-san… he seems to carry more than that.
I cannot imagine it. Not even in concept.
How heavy it must be… how much his absence must hurt."