Read Online The Emperor of Any Place by Tim Wynne-Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Tim Wynne-Jones
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you next see me, Hisako, I will be a wise man, a philosopher! Meanwhile, the dead floated in on the tide, and I was the only one around to send them on their way to heaven or hell or wherever it was they were going. The destination of the dead was not my business: the vehicle was.
“Am I not an auto mechanic? Is it not my job to make sure people get to where they are going as smoothly as possible?”
I made a spear out of bamboo. Using my trusty raft, I ventured out onto the reef, where I proved an able fisherman. It seems, Hisako, that for all my unkind comments about him, my father did at least teach me something. There were sea urchins, crabs, oysters, octopuses — real food! The gelatinous canned meat did have one great value. It made good bait.
There was some American food I grew to like, especially the beans in a red sauce and a vegetable stew of which there was an abundant supply. But fish became my staple diet. Besides, fishing gave me something to occupy my time.
Once, when I was fishing in deeper waters with a line and improvised hook, taking advantage of a clear, calm day, I looked down and saw the ghostly form of a sunken ship. It might have been the source of my bounty, spilled onto the tides to wash up on the shores of Kokoro-Jima. I knelt on my raft and stared down into the waters at the wreck. I said a blessing to the gods for the bounty and a prayer for the dead I knew must be trapped down there in the green darkness. I had found three other corpses by then. But if the wreck gave up further members of its crew, I would give them a proper send-off. I could do this much.
Days passed into weeks. I had clothes to wear now, and shoes. I had stripped the clothes off more than one dead sailor by then. As I had suspected, other sailors from the wreck washed ashore, and I sent them on their way, getting to them whenever possible before the
jikininki.
I would regularly go on death patrol, which, as awful as it may seem, was better than when I was a soldier and went looking for people to kill!
“Come home in death.” It was a line from a song we had learned when I joined up. There were many such songs extolling the proud deaths we soldiers would earn on the battlefield. Curiously, there were not a lot of songs about what to do if you happened to survive.
Sometimes I would wake and find the ghouls hovering near me, longing for me to die, drawn to the stench of the corpses that lingered about me, I suspect. A smell that remained no matter how many times I bathed in the lagoon. But I would not die. I would not give them the satisfaction.
I will return to you, Hisako, when the aroma of the dead is gone from me.
I have not mentioned the other pleasant ghosts for quite a while. I suppose that is because I have become quite used to them, these “children” of mine, for I cannot seem to shake them. I no longer try to frighten them away. I do not waste my breath yelling at them. Though their faces are hardly formed and they cannot speak, they seem to express human emotions. They smile and frown and look angry sometimes, though it is hard for me to know what motivates their feelings. The expression I see most when I gaze at one or another of them is hopefulness. There is one, a boy child, Hisako, who comes closer to me than the others. In some strange way, he reminds me of you. But perhaps that is just my longing for you that makes me look for your features everywhere — even in the clouds.
I have come to taking the clothing from dead men and hanging them over bushes to dry, leaving them until the sun has bleached every last drop of death out of the material. One of the corpses I found was not so big, and his boots fit me quite well. I go barefoot most of the time, in any case, but these boots are good for when the sand is hot or for my sorties into the jungle, where there are snakes and thorns but where there are also luscious fruits for the picking.
Ah, but I have not yet told you of my biggest project! Up on
“Am I not an auto mechanic? Is it not my job to make sure people get to where they are going as smoothly as possible?”
I made a spear out of bamboo. Using my trusty raft, I ventured out onto the reef, where I proved an able fisherman. It seems, Hisako, that for all my unkind comments about him, my father did at least teach me something. There were sea urchins, crabs, oysters, octopuses — real food! The gelatinous canned meat did have one great value. It made good bait.
There was some American food I grew to like, especially the beans in a red sauce and a vegetable stew of which there was an abundant supply. But fish became my staple diet. Besides, fishing gave me something to occupy my time.
Once, when I was fishing in deeper waters with a line and improvised hook, taking advantage of a clear, calm day, I looked down and saw the ghostly form of a sunken ship. It might have been the source of my bounty, spilled onto the tides to wash up on the shores of Kokoro-Jima. I knelt on my raft and stared down into the waters at the wreck. I said a blessing to the gods for the bounty and a prayer for the dead I knew must be trapped down there in the green darkness. I had found three other corpses by then. But if the wreck gave up further members of its crew, I would give them a proper send-off. I could do this much.
Days passed into weeks. I had clothes to wear now, and shoes. I had stripped the clothes off more than one dead sailor by then. As I had suspected, other sailors from the wreck washed ashore, and I sent them on their way, getting to them whenever possible before the
jikininki.
I would regularly go on death patrol, which, as awful as it may seem, was better than when I was a soldier and went looking for people to kill!
“Come home in death.” It was a line from a song we had learned when I joined up. There were many such songs extolling the proud deaths we soldiers would earn on the battlefield. Curiously, there were not a lot of songs about what to do if you happened to survive.
Sometimes I would wake and find the ghouls hovering near me, longing for me to die, drawn to the stench of the corpses that lingered about me, I suspect. A smell that remained no matter how many times I bathed in the lagoon. But I would not die. I would not give them the satisfaction.
I will return to you, Hisako, when the aroma of the dead is gone from me.
I have not mentioned the other pleasant ghosts for quite a while. I suppose that is because I have become quite used to them, these “children” of mine, for I cannot seem to shake them. I no longer try to frighten them away. I do not waste my breath yelling at them. Though their faces are hardly formed and they cannot speak, they seem to express human emotions. They smile and frown and look angry sometimes, though it is hard for me to know what motivates their feelings. The expression I see most when I gaze at one or another of them is hopefulness. There is one, a boy child, Hisako, who comes closer to me than the others. In some strange way, he reminds me of you. But perhaps that is just my longing for you that makes me look for your features everywhere — even in the clouds.
I have come to taking the clothing from dead men and hanging them over bushes to dry, leaving them until the sun has bleached every last drop of death out of the material. One of the corpses I found was not so big, and his boots fit me quite well. I go barefoot most of the time, in any case, but these boots are good for when the sand is hot or for my sorties into the jungle, where there are snakes and thorns but where there are also luscious fruits for the picking.
Ah, but I have not yet told you of my biggest project! Up on
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