Untainted Eyes
FROM THEN ON, EVERY FEW DAYS I’D SNEAK OUT OF the house in the middle of the night and try sleeping in the air raid shelter again—hoping beyond hope that when I awoke, I might be back in my own time again. But no matter how many times I tried, or how hard I prayed, the universe seemed determined to leave me trapped in 1945.
I wondered if there might be some other method of getting back home. I had to believe there must be some way, given that it’d happened once before, but I couldn’t think of anything—I was at a complete loss. As time went by, I grew more or less resigned to my fate, becoming more and more accustomed to my new life.
“Oh, Yuri! Good morning!”
As I was sweeping the mess hall one day, I heard a cheery voice call out to me from the entryway. I lifted my head to see that it was the local fishmonger’s daughter—a girl by the name of Chiyo—who’d come to make her daily delivery of fresh fish for the icebox.
“Morning, Chiyo,” I said.
“It’s pretty hot out there today,” she said. “You’re lucky you get to stay inside!”
“I know. I don’t envy you one bit, having to make your rounds in this weather.”
It felt a bit strange to be making casual small talk like this, knowing there was a war going on somewhere far beyond the horizon, where our fellow countrymen were fighting for their lives. I’d always had this image in my head of what it would be like to live during wartime—of everyone being gloomy and depressed at all times, like a whole society in mourning. But apparently, there was always room for levity, even in the midst of adversity.
“Hey, Yuri…” said Chiyo. “Could I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Do you think…Ishimaru-san will come by the mess hall today?”
As she bashfully asked me her question, I noticed her cheeks had flushed ever so slightly red. It was a fairly open secret that she had a bit of a thing for one of the mess hall’s regulars—the aforementioned Ishimaru, a soldier stationed at the nearby air base.
“Well, let me think,” I said. “I believe Akira…er, Sakuma-san and the others have the day off today. That usually means they’ll stop by for lunch, so I’m fairly certain he’ll swing by.”
“Heh-heh… Nice,” said Chiyo. “Do you mind if I come back a bit later, and we can pretend I’m there to see you instead?”
“What, again? That’s the third time this week… Okay, fine. I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t leave before you show up, then.”
“Thanks! Golly, you’re the best!”
Of course, just like in my time, people were always falling in love.
Really, there wasn’t that much that was fundamentally different about living in wartime, aside from maybe the propagandized slogans like “LUXURY IS THE ENEMY” or “WANT NOT UNTIL VICTORY IS OURS” posted here and there on utility poles and fences around town. If it weren’t for those, however, one might not even be able to tell our country was in the midst of a world war—at least not at first glance.
“Here!” said Chiyo, smiling from ear to ear. “I’ll make it up to you by pitching in with the cleaning!”
As she snatched the broom out of my hands, I caught a glimpse of a bright fabric with a cute red floral pattern peeking out from inside the cuffs of her plain kimono.
“Hey, I like your undershirt,” I said. “That’s a really cute pattern.”
“Wait, you can see that?!” said Chiyo, pulling down her sleeves in a fluster. “I’ve gotta be more careful, then…”
Suddenly, I recalled something from class. Apparently, during the war, it was considered unpatriotic or even traitorous to be going around town wearing gaudy or brightly patterned clothing—though I wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Is it really that big a deal?” I said. “It’s not like you’re going around flaunting it.”
“Yes, it is!” said Chiyo. “A while back, one of my classmates got reprimanded by a military police officer just for wearing floral undergarments. We all need to be extra careful in case someone tries to report us—by the way, that goes for you, too!”
“Huh… I see.”
If you couldn’t even wear the clothes you liked without getting in trouble, maybe there was less freedom here than I thought.
“Still…do you mind if I gush, for just a minute?” said Chiyo.
“About what?” I asked, tilting my head.
“Okay, the thing about this shirt is…”
Chiyo took me by the hand and led me into a corner of the shop where nobody could see us, then pulled back the lapel of her kimono to give me a better look.
“It’s actually one of my mom’s old blouses,” she explained. “But I made a few alterations to it, so now I can wear it as an undershirt. Pretty cute, right?”
“What?” I said. “You did that all by yourself?”
“Yep. And look at this!” She pointed to a little embroidered rose emblem on the chest of the shirt. “I sewed this by hand, too. I’m really happy with how it turned out!”
“You’re kidding! It looks so good!”
“Heh-heh… I know, right?” she said with a proud grin. “It’s probably my best work yet. I’m really into sewing, honestly. I know—I’ll make something for you sometime!”
“Wait, you mean it? Wow, I’d be honored!”
“Of course! I mean, how cute would it be if I made you something with a lily pattern? …Ah!”
In a split second, Chiyo’s buoyant expression went stiff and tense. Outside, I could hear someone passing by the front of the mess hall. Chiyo quickly pulled the collar of her gray kimono back up to conceal her cute floral undershirt. It made me sadder than I cared to admit to see her unable to wear the products of her passion with pride, and keeping them hidden away as undergarments instead, where no one could see them.
“Hey, Chiyo,” I said, changing the subject. “Your school’s been mobilized too, then, I’m guessing?”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I work at a silk mill during the week now.”
“…Don’t you ever get sick and tired of it? Don’t you wish you didn’t have to work every day?”
Chiyo looked at me blankly for a moment.
“What do you mean?” she said matter-of-factly. “Our soldiers defend the front lines, so it’s on us to protect the home front.”
“Pardon?”
“Wait—you’ve never heard that before?” Her eyes went wide. “It’s the motto of the mobilized students. Just think about it, though: the men all went off to war, where they’re putting their lives on the line to fight for our country, right? So for us girls, who can’t go out there and help them directly, it’s our duty to support them indirectly, by working in the factories and stuff. So no, I don’t get sick and tired of it or wish I didn’t have to work—if anything, I take pride in it. We all do.”
Wait… She’s proud of being able to help out with the war effort?
This I had a hard time wrapping my head around. But perhaps that had something to do with my modern-day upbringing. In my time, World War II was always referred to as a terrible atrocity—a grave mistake of the past that we needed to learn from, one we had to be very careful to make sure never happened again. It was hard to swallow the notion that the people who actually lived through that war and suffered its consequences firsthand, considered it a point of pride simply to be allowed to take part in it, in some small way.