“Oh, Jimmy. You know I’m on your side. What does it have to do with me? With us? Am I responsible for my grandfather’s sins?”
“You even suggested her claims were blown out of proportion.”
“No, that’s not what I said. I don’t care what online trolls say. They don’t mean a thing. They don’t make me doubt even for a second. I know what I’ve seen. Those images. They’ll get to you and bring you down. But no, we can’t just pretend it never happened.”
* * *
The following day, I arrive on campus earlier than usual and lock myself in the lab. The projector hums when I switch it on. Once logged into the system, I type in the date and location before hitting the return key.
Bright lights flash and blind me temporarily. I open my eyes and blink a few times. A desolate city in ruins spreads before my eyes. I take out the revolver but feel naked. Peasants pass by. Some shoot strange looks my way. After a while, I reach a two-story nondescript building guarded by Japanese soldiers.
A hand-painted wooden sign hanging over the entrance informs the visitor that he’s about to enter an ianjo —“comfort station” in Japanese. What they mean is a military brothel. It’s another reminder that my fellow countrymen excel at coming up with euphemistic misnomers. On the outside, the building looks like an ordinary residence. Inside, girls and young women are sexually enslaved.
Evil lurks even in such a seemingly banal everyday landscape. The Japanese have efficiently normalized horrific abuse and violent deaths. A numb sadness fills me. A rickshaw comes to a halt, and a young soldier climbs down. He refuses to pay the driver and shoos him away like a stray dog.
“Lt. Kawashima?” I call. “Lt. Yasuo Kawashima?” My knees tremble.
The soldier looks up. In the flesh, he bears an uncanny resemblance to Uncle Takashi, Mom’s baby brother. Our gazes lock, and his face shows no sign of recognition. I’m a stranger to him in this timeline.
I pull my revolver out and cock it. I hesitate. My mouth moves without producing any audible sound. He becomes blurred through my tears. A gunshot rings out. The soldier falls to one knee. His mouth moves as if to ask why. I silently scream as I empty my barrel. Bloody bubbles foam from his mouth, and his body thrashes like a steel whip.