Beyond the Starry Skies
THE TOWN WAS EERILY QUIET IN THE WAKE OF THE air raid, its once-bustling streets still as death. It had been almost a week now, and still, there weren’t nearly enough supplies to go around. The thought of rebuilding still felt like a dream within a dream, with everyone already struggling enough just trying not to starve to death.
And I was among them. By day, I did everything I possibly could to earn my next meal, while by night, my dreams remained haunted by visions of flames and rotting corpses, as I relived the horrors I’d experienced that day over and over and over.
“…Luckily, the whole family was out of the house, so at least we made it out with our lives. But all our clothes, our belongings, our bankbooks, our ancestors’ memorial tablets… It all went up in flames.”
One of the mess hall’s regulars—an old man who’d lost his house in the air raid—was lamenting his situation to Tsuru, who seemed unsure how to respond.
“No point in moaning about it, though,” he said. “Told me it might take months to get a replacement bankbook, so I won’t even be able to start rebuilding our house until then. Nowhere left to stay in town, so we’ll be moving out to stay with my wife’s family in the countryside for the time being.”
“Oh, is that so…” said Tsuru. “Well, we’ll certainly miss you…”
“You’re tellin’ me! I’ve been living in this town all my life! Gonna be hard to say goodbye, even temporarily, but oh well… What can ya do?”
The man let out a weak, halfhearted chuckle.
I didn’t understand. How could he so easily shrug off such a horrid state of affairs with a simple “oh well”? It wasn’t just him, either; everyone living in this day and age seemed to readily accept these kinds of atrocities as a simple fact of life. Losing their homes, or their most precious belongings, or a family member—though tragic, to be sure—was seen almost as an expected loss in these times of war. I’d seen many people grieving their dead loved ones, but not a single one seemed all that resentful about it.
But is that how they really felt? I wondered. Were they really willing to write this horror off as something that simply couldn’t be helped? I couldn’t understand it at all.
Nor could I understand why anyone would aspire to be a kamikaze pilot. It wasn’t even a matter of viewing one’s sacrifice as a necessary evil—Akira and his other squad mates had told me time and time again that they actually felt proud to give their lives for their country. Like it was some sort of privilege, almost.
These were the thoughts running through my head as I watched the old man rise from his seat and thank Tsuru for one last meal, before saying goodbye.
“You be well, now, Yuri-chan,” he said on his way out.
“Thanks,” I said. “Um… Take care of yourself.”
“Will do. Thank ya kindly.”
Tsuru and I walked him to the door and waved him goodbye.
“…Looks like things are going to start getting pretty lonely around here,” I said to her quietly as we watched him go.
“Probably,” said Tsuru, smiling sadly. “But what can you do?”
Most of the people who’d lost their homes in the air raid had no money to rebuild, and were thus forced to move away to live with distant relatives out in the countryside or something like that. Colloquially, people called it “evacuating”—since moving to a more rural area with no bases or weapons factories meant you were far less likely to be targeted in another air raid.
I wondered why, in that case, it didn’t make sense for everyone to move out there—but I knew it was a hard sell to ask people to uproot their entire lives and say goodbye to all of their friends, not to mention the land they’d grown up on. So instead, they all chose the path of least resistance—crossing their fingers every day and praying that their city might be spared from the firebombings. But even those who weren’t so lucky would generally only move away for a short time, vowing to return to the place they felt they truly belonged. Maybe it was more about attachment than survival after all.
As I was wiping down the old man’s table after he left, I heard a commotion outside. Come to think of it, the soldiers at the base had the day off today, didn’t they? Thinking it might be Akira and his squad mates, I rushed outside.
“Akira!” I said, greeting him with a smile. “Good to see you!”
Both Akira and Ishimaru patted me on the head almost simultaneously.
“Hey there, Yuri,” said Akira.
“Wow, Yuri… I see how it is,” said Ishimaru, pouting his lips like a petulant child. “No greeting for poor old Ishimaru, huh?”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Sorry, Ishimaru-san,” I said. “Of course, it’s good to see you too. And everyone else, for that matter.”
“Hey, we have names too, y’know!” said one of the other three.
“Ah ha ha! I know, I know!”
I ushered the five of them into the building, and they sat down at their usual table. As I helped Tsuru plate their food, I peeked out from the kitchen at them from time to time—and almost immediately, I could tell that something was different about them today. They were still chatting it up like usual, but there was a different vibe around the table.
Suddenly, I had a harrowing thought, and my heart started racing.
Ishimaru was joking around, same as always.
Itakura was complaining about being teased.
Kato was attempting, and failing, to arbitrate.
Akira was laughing along as this all played out.
And Teraoka watched calmly from the sidelines.
From afar, it looked just like any other night.
But something felt decidedly off about them.
At every lull in the conversation, I could feel it.
The way Teraoka looked down at his cup, smiling softly.
The way Itakura awkwardly hung his head.
The way Kato kept looking up at the ceiling.
The way Akira scanned the mess hall in silence.
But every time there was an awkward pause, Ishimaru would crack another joke, bringing their gazes right back onto him as a peal of laughter resounded across the room.
The longer I watched them, the more my pulse quickened with anxiety. What could have happened? Why were they acting like this? It can’t be.
I tried to act natural as I brought out their food.
But my suspicions were on the money.
As soon as they were finished eating, the men rose from their seats and straightened out their backs to address Tsuru as if standing at attention.
“We’ve received our orders,” Akira said calmly. “We’ll all be sortied three days from now, at thirteen hundred hours.”
His words hit me like a truck. Like someone had just bashed me over the head with a shovel.
I stood there, stiff as a board, as Tsuru simply bowed her head.
“Congratulations,” she said.
“Thank you,” the men responded in unison.
…What are you saying?
They’re being sent off to their deaths, aren’t they?
What do you mean, “Congratulations”?
As I hung my head in disbelief, I could feel my right hand beginning to shake—so I reached over with my left and tried to stop it. Then, I realized that my left hand was shaking too.
I felt like I was going to puke. I covered my mouth with my trembling hands and ran out of the mess hall as fast as I could, not saying a word.
“Yuri!” Akira called after me.
I tried to ignore him and just ran faster.
But he caught up to me in no time.
“Yuri…” he said. “Yuri, please…”
He grabbed me by the wrist and spun me around.
I broke free from his grasp and covered my face with both hands.
“Stop… Don’t look at me…” I said, certain I looked like a sobbing mess. “I’m sorry, I just… I need some time alone. I want to sort out my thoughts…”
I knew that if I stayed with him, I’d probably say some things I’d end up regretting, not to mention some things that there was no point in saying since it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. I just told him to leave me be, avoiding his gaze until he let out a sigh.
“…All right,” he said. “Just don’t go too far, okay?”
He rustled his fingers through my hair.
I nodded—then promptly started walking off without even turning back to look at him. After rounding the corner, I crouched down in a corner of an empty lot, hugging my knees to my chest.
They’re being sortied in just three days.
Which means three days from now…
Akira and the others will be—
My head was swirling with so many emotions that I couldn’t even begin to put my thoughts in order. How utterly cruel was it to be tormented by the knowledge that somebody you knew would be dead in just a few days’ time? How could you even look that person in the eyes after that? What do you even say to them?
Not “Congratulations,” that’s for sure.
Why did people in this time period celebrate things like getting drafted and sent out to die on the front lines? I didn’t understand it at all. What were you congratulating them for? For the possibility of dying in combat? Or, in Akira’s case, the certainty?
I couldn’t do it. I could never bring myself to say it. Gun to my head, I could never say, “Congratulations on dying for our country!”
Not when I knew that wasn’t how I actually felt, deep down.
Those weren’t the words I truly wanted to say to him.
After that, I just kind of sat there for a good, long while—staring at the ground, gazing up at the sky, looking around at all the burnt-down buildings around me. I watched as a line of ants marched across the dirt just a few inches in front of my feet. It was funny to think that they didn’t even know there was a war going on; the whims of men made little difference to creatures as tiny and adaptable as them.
Random, pointless thoughts like this occupied my mind until, eventually, I looked up and realized that the sky was starting to grow dark and dim. I should probably be heading home, I thought to myself. Tsuru-san must be worried.
But just as I rose to my feet, I heard frantic footsteps running in my direction. Akira’s footsteps—I could recognize the sound of his gait. Reflexively, I looked over to see him racing down the street, turning his head from side to side as he looked all around.
“Akira!” I called out. This got his attention, and he rushed my way.