Somewhere near midnight the rain slackened, halted; wind barreled about wringing out the trees. Singly, like delayed guests arriving at a dance, appearing stars pierced the sky. It was time to leave. We took nothing with us: left the quilt to rot, spoons to rust; and the tree-house, the woods we left to winter.
This excerpt is from The Grass Harp by Truman Capote
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The man was a bit shorter than I was. His gray beard looked as stiff as it had been frozen. His shirt’s top button was missing, and he was wearing a jacket without his arms through the sleeves. It was not warm in this place. Of course, there were no windows, just the yellow glow of the room lights. I guess that this room is in the basement. Does the stairway at the back lead to the ground level? From what I could see, there was nothing that looked like a room heater.
“Don’t you ask me where this place is?” He spoke. It was a low voice. Maybe it was echoing. “Or, do you want to ask me who I am?”
I kept silent because I did not want to ask either of those questions.
“Well, excuse me. Forgive me if I make you uncomfortable. I won’t tell you my name. I can’t even tell you about this place. In short, that’s the kind of place this is.”
“He’s on our side,” Sagara standing next to me explained.
What does she mean by “our side”? I thought. I ran away from my company’s military force. The police may have been pursuing us. I’m sure they are allies in the sense that they share such common circumstances.
But to be precise, it was from the hospital that I escaped. I did not dislike to fight in the sky. Actually, the opposite was true. I just could not stand the fact that I could not fight.
For example, if I were commanded to get on a fighter aircraft right now, I would be happy to return to the cockpit. I had a feeling that Sagara was misunderstanding this point.
“Anyway, I can’t say it’s very comfortable, but I think you should stay here for a while to get the treatment.” The man told me. “Hayase will be coming here shortly as well.”
Hayase was the doctor, who was driving a car on an embankment earlier. Is he going to treat me here?
Will I ever be healed? I don’t even know what’s broken, though.
“You might want to show him the hangar next to this room.” The man suggested to Sagara.
“Of course. Perhaps, it’ll help him recall something.” She smiled.
The man got back to his desk. Sagara and I went up the stairway in the back.
About two meters above the floor, there was an exit. Opening the door, we came out into a dark tunnel-like area. From there, we went straight down the tunnel for about 30 meters. The walls were plain, covering the earth with boards and blocks. The incandescent light bulbs hung from the ceiling every five meters or so were glowing.
We then went down the stairs, after reaching the end of the passageway. This was a concrete staircase. The walls and ceiling encasing it were bumpy as if concrete had been pasted on a rock face. The surface was a little wet when I touched it.
“This place is an air-raid shelter that was built during the previous war.” She explained. “It leads to a sewerage system, so we can go pretty far without getting outside. And there are a lot of routes.”
“Whom are we hiding from?” I asked.
“First of all, from the police.” She answered. “And then, from your company. In other words, it’s all the general frameworks of this country.”
“Why are you resisting in such a way?”
“This is the only way for us to resist.”
“Well, my question is why you are resisting.”
“That’s because we want to stop it, of course.”
“Stop what?”
“The useless war.”
I shut my mouth.
She fights to stop the useless war.
Is it not indeed another useless war?
Are there both useless wars and useful wars?
Are the one side which thinks it is useless and the other side which thinks it is useful foes and friends, respectively?
However, those who are fighting each other think that it is not in vain.
I’m not sure.
But, for me, it doesn’t matter if the fight is futile or not.
Wasteful or not, the value of the fight remains the same.
Am I wrong?
We were descending the stairs. It was dark here, but the air was moving slightly, and I could tell that there was a large space. In the distance, I saw a small spot, from which the light was leaking. Is that a ventilation opening?
“Is this place also underground?” I asked.
“Yes. Above this is a road on the embankment.”
“Does the glider runway outside belong to the club?”
“Yes. The club is a part of our organization. As far as I know, that glider has never flown.”
“Did you learn how to pilot a plane here?”
“Yes.”
“You learned it so that you can fly over here, right?”
“No, I have never been here since I purchased the airplane. I don’t want to arouse suspicion.”
At the bottom of the stairway, she flicked a light switch on the wall. A little later, the fluorescent light flickered and came on.
I was still in the middle of the stairway. I was holding a cold railing with my hand. What I saw there stopped me.
“Sanka,” I uttered the name.
The aircraft was barely able to fit into the hangar. It sat there, with the nose facing the back end of the hangar. A fighter aircraft with canard wings. Two shades of blue camouflage. No number was written on the airframe.
Was this the reason why I felt the air somehow?
I thought this place was capacious, but it was not. It was the air that wanted to get out to the more spacious place.
I was too astonished to breathe.
“You remember the name, don’t you?” She commented.
I was staring fixedly at the outline of the airframe.
It is not a scrap.
It is the real thing.
It is alive.
“What?” I looked at her face. “Name?”
“You have uttered it just now.”
“Oh, what have I just uttered?”
“Say that again.”
I slowly went down the stairs to the lowest tread. I could not watch my steps as I was looking at the aircraft. Then, I calmly approached it and went around to the back end of the space.
I touched the nose of the aircraft. It’s cold. Still, it is alive.
It had machine guns mounted on its fuselage. That’s right. I have forgotten about it. That’s where it should be at.
Its slender landing gears were wrapped with yellow tapes. There were some scratches on the stabilizers, but they would not pose any problem for the flight itself.
I walked around the aircraft to the other side, toward the back end of the airframe.
I peeked under the wing. There was also a streamlined drop tank.
The engine in the cowling looked beautiful. I touched the propeller blade gently. The pitch was adjusted to its lowest. There were many spots of peeled paint on the cowling. They were not scratches that were inflicted in combats, but marks from repeated removals and maintenances of the cowling.
“Sasakura.” I found myself uttering the name.
“What?” She asked right behind me. I looked back. “Sorry? What did you say?”
But the memory was gone in an instant, like a train passing by the platform.