Part One | Pond

July 1945

“It is the duty of the Japanese people and our fellow Asian brothers to serve, protect, and if necessary, die for the emperor and ensure the survival of the empire. The death of the emperor means the death of Japan itself.”

I wasn’t listening to what my teacher was saying. Instead, I was busy drawing on my desk, sketching out a giant gorilla, although it looked more like a rock.

I watched King Kong the other day and it was all I could think about. My father worked in the film department for the government, so he often took me to the theatre to see the many films he worked on and films from other people. Out of all the films I’ve seen, King Kong is my favourite. It was one of the very few American films that the government let us see.

King Kong was so strong and cool. I wish I were wrecking cars, eating my teacher, all while holding Faye Ray in my hand. Faye Ray was beautiful. I get why Kong fell in love with her. I, too, would climb the Empire State Building with my bare hands if I saw someone that beautiful.

“Toshio! Are you listening?” my teacher yelled at me, hitting my desk with his bamboo stick. I shook from how loud his voice was. All my classmates giggled. I avoided eye contact as I responded. “Yes…”

“Toshio, how many times do I have to tell you, listen to me or I will have to report to your parents!”

“Yes sir…”

I promptly returned to drawing after he resumed teaching. I didn’t see why I needed to learn about how important protecting the empire was. I wanted to be a film director, to travel the world and make films like the ones I love. Not how to charge a bayonet or to do a seppuku. I may be Japanese and born in Japan, but I practically lived all my life in China. Why should I really care about a puny island? China is my home.

After school, I played tag with my friends in the tall grass. Mushiba was “it.” I heard my friends screaming and laughing in the distance. I took my opportunity to move and scuttle away while Mushiba was distracted. He was a slow runner, so it didn’t really matter if he saw me.

I scuttled faster and faster until I didn’t recognize where I was. When I emerged from the tall grass, I discovered I was in an open field. In the centre was a downed plane, presumably from one of the recent air raids.

Behind the plane was a small village, which seemed abandoned. It smelled like burnt wood and rotten meat. I gagged. I held my nose and approached the plane with curiosity.

I’m not as much of a plane fanatic as Mushiba, but I knew immediately it was the Zero Fighter. I caressed the plane. Its left wing was bent. It was the first time I ever got to be this close to a plane that wasn’t just a toy model. However, my time to admire the aircraft was cut short when I heard noise in the village. I hid behind the plane.

I saw a group of soldiers marching from the village. They were dragging a boy around the same age as me. He looked badly beaten up. Blood streamed from his forehead.

The oldest-looking soldier kicked the boy. “Speak to me, animal!”

The boy remained silent, fear clearly present in his eyes.

“If you don’t say anything, we’re gonna kill you! Give us back the money you stole!" He pointed towards the large hole in the earth near them. “You’re gonna be like them!”

The boy looked at the hole, but remained silent. He shook with fear.

The soldier pulled out his bayonet and aimed it at the boy. The other soldiers pulled the boy to his knees. The boy screamed, and despite not knowing what language he spoke, I knew he was calling for his parents, wherever they were.

I covered my mouth, trying not to make noise, and looked the other way.

Silence.

Once I had the courage to look again, I saw the soldiers dragging the boy’s body into the hole, laughing. My imagination filled in the blanks on what happened.

No, no, it can’t be…. what I just saw…. it has to be a dream….

No matter how much I rubbed my eyes, I still saw what I saw. I saw a soldier kill a boy. I felt numb.

I hid until the soldiers disappeared from sight. When they were gone, my curiosity got the better of me. I glanced inside the hole.

Bodies.

I quickly looked away. No, no, no. I took several deep breaths. I looked again.

In the hole were piles of bodies. Bloody heaps. Men, women, even babies. Some bodies had their heads missing.

And there was the boy. The boy I never knew the name of.

A million thoughts and emotions flooded my mind.

My stomach churned. I wanted to throw up so badly. Father told me that the army was fighting to protect Japan and fellow Asian nations against the West. He never told me that the soldiers were killing kids like me.

My parents…. they aren’t lying…. it can’t be….

My world was shattering. Every argument I thought of trying to prove they’re innocent fell apart if I thought about it for longer than a few seconds.

The Japanese soldiers acted like monsters…. Am I a monster?

“You’re it!” It was Mushiba. He’d finally caught up to me, laughing joyfully, unaware of what I witnessed.

“I’m sorry Mushiba,” I told him in a gaunt tone. “I think I’m gonna go home early today. I don’t feel good right now.”

I lay down in the middle of my room. It was dinnertime, but I didn’t want to eat. All I could think about was the soldiers and the boy.

“Toshio?” Mother said as she knocked on my door. I didn’t respond. She kept knocking and knocking, then opened the door. “Toshio, what’s wrong?”

I didn’t respond. I wanted to, but my mouth refused to open. She sat next to me.

After a moment of silence, I got the courage to tell her what happened. The soldiers, the boy, the bodies, everything, and how I felt about it. Mother was silent for a few minutes. Then she wrapped her arms around me. I cried while she gently stroked my hair.

The terrible scene kept playing in my mind while I ate dinner. I silently ate as my parents chatted about the latest gossip. I’m not sure if mother fully processed or understood what I told her, or if she even cared.

I never spoke about what I saw for many years.

Part Two | End of Innocence

August 1945

The cicadas were singing. The once green fields are now golden. Far away from the poisons of war and industry, it seems like paradise. Or so it seemed. I was in the living room, playing with toy soldiers and planes, while the radio host sang about how beautiful the weather was.

I imagined Japanese soldiers charging against the Americans. “Banzai!” I shouted.

A few months passed since the killing, yet something felt off as I was playing. After I made the soldiers ram against each other and fall to the floor, I froze. The radio went silent. A small jingle played, and a man spoke.

“This is an emergency announcement. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Soviet forces have invaded Manchuria and are rapidly approaching civilian areas. All civilians are ordered to be evacuated immediately. All men aged 15-60 are not exempt and should report to duty, unless they are outside of said age range or have a physical disability. Please carry only the belongings that are absolutely necessary. We wish you safety for you and your loved ones.”

I was stunned. “Son, let’s go. Grab your bags,” my father yelled.

I ran to my room. I packed what I needed. Clothing, the toy soldiers, and a book or two. I then noticed the book about Socrates on the floor. Father gave it to me as a gift a year ago, and I haven’t finished it yet. I tried to pick up the book before—

“Son, we need to go!”

“No, wait!” I cried.

“We can’t wait!”

My father’s shouting shocked me. He rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was scary. I started crying. He slapped me hard in the face.

“You’re a man, aren’t you? Men don’t cry!”

But all I could do is cry more. Things were overwhelming. My father, realizing I wasn’t going to cooperate, carried me in his arms. I flailed my arms wildly, kicking and biting in my attempt to escape his grasp. But it wasn’t long before I got tired. Tears were overflowing. I wanted to scream so badly but I was too tired to yell.

I felt so helpless. My insides felt like they were bursting. My eyes grew heavy. The last thing I saw before falling asleep in my father’s arms was the sunset behind us. The blood red circle against the golden sky. It was beautiful. As the sun sank towards the mountains, my mind went blank.

The sun was always with me. Every day, she would smile and greet me like a friend.

Except for when it was raining or snowing. But even then, the sun would always return.

The sunset in Manchuria made me calm.

I woke up under a thin blanket. My mother held me tight before letting me go. We were on a ship. I looked at the window in our room. I saw ruined buildings in the distance.

“We’re in Tokyo now,” Mother said. “Hopefully, we can see Grandma again. Well, if she survived the air raids.”

The sun behind the city line was a bright blood red like the one I saw in China. It certainly was the sun I knew in China. But something was different. It felt lonely, sad, and tired. It didn’t feel as warm as the sun I knew. I guess a part of the sun and something in myself died that day when we left Manchuria.

The sunrise in Tokyo made me anxious.