Bonus Chapter:
Till Summer Comes Round Again
“OH, HELLO THERE, CHIYO-CHAN.”
No sooner had I poked my head in through the back door of the Tsuru-ya Mess Hall than did its proprietor look up from the stove and greet me with a friendly smile.
“Morning, Tsuru-san,” I said. “I’ve got your delivery for today right here.”
I held up the box of fish I’d procured this morning and smiled back at her.
“Oh, wonderful,” said Tsuru, as she knelt down to stoke the fire beneath the stove. “Could you just set it down in the usual spot for me?”
“Yeah, sure thing,” I said, placing the box in a corner of the dirt-floored area.
“Thank you, dear. My goodness—it’s a hot one out there today, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” I said, casting my gaze out through the open door behind me.
The blue sky overhead, the fluffy white clouds.
It was a perfect mid-August summer day.
Tsuru walked over to me and gazed up at the sky as well.
We both just stood there for a while, staring into the vast blue expanse.
I figured we were both thinking the same exact thing.
Every time I looked up into the summer sky, I couldn’t help but be reminded of that fateful day—when they flew off beyond the horizon and vanished into tiny glints of light.
I could still see it vividly in my mind’s eye, even now.
“…How about a cup of tea before you go, Chiyo-chan?” said Tsuru, smiling gently as she beckoned me into the mess hall.
“Oh, sure,” I said, smiling modestly back at her. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
It had been two years now since the summer that ended the war.
That meant it had also been two full years since we said goodbye.
I tried my best not to talk about those days anymore, if I could help it.
But still, I knew that neither Tsuru nor I would ever forget them. That summer was always on both our minds; I could see it whenever we looked each other in the eye.
In a corner of the mess hall, there sat a white flower vase on a shelf, which Tsuru always kept filled with whatever colorful flowers were currently in season.
“Oh, hey…” I said, looking over. “A lily…”
“That’s right,” Tsuru whispered softly.
We sat side by side, appreciating the elegant blooms as we sipped our tea.
“I wonder what Yuri-chan’s up to right about now…” Tsuru murmured to herself. “Hopefully, she’s doing all right…”
“…I’m sure she is,” I said, gazing at the lily’s immaculate, glossy white petals. “She’s a tough one, that girl.”
Sometimes, I still had trouble believing she’d actually been real.
She just showed up out of the blue one day, then left us just as quickly.
I thought back to that day, when we all went to watch the kamikaze unit sortie. All I remembered was standing there in the crowd along the runway, cheering as the planes rushed past us one by one—when all of a sudden, I heard a familiar voice. I turned to look, and I saw Yuri standing a little further down the runway, shouting something out at one of the planes. Then, after watching them all fly off and disappear, I turned back to where she’d been standing, thinking I’d go over to say hi—but instead, I saw her falling face-first to the ground, as if she had fainted. I ran over to her in a panic, shoving my way through the crowd… But by the time I got there, she’d completely disappeared. I asked the people who’d been standing around her, but none of them seemed to know where she had gone either. It was like she’d just vanished into thin air, like some sort of mirage.
“Chiyo-chan,” said Tsuru all of a sudden. “You still have that letter, I take it?”
I nodded firmly, immediately knowing exactly which letter she was referring to.
That afternoon, after Yuri disappeared, Tsuru and I spent the entire day searching for her before finally giving up and returning to the mess hall as it started growing dark. There, we found that one of the letters the kamikaze pilots had left with Tsuru the night before had been removed from the pile.
It was one from Sakuma, the one that he addressed to Yuri.
“Listen, I’m getting up there in years,” Tsuru had said, “so I’m not sure I’ll be hanging around long enough to see Yuri-chan again. Maybe you should hold onto it for me, Chiyo-chan…”
“Oh, sure!” I replied without an iota of hesitation. “Just leave it to me!”
I’d only opened it a single time to make sure it did indeed contain a letter for the now-disappeared Yuri, before sealing it back up and wrapping it in a lovely cloth. I stowed the letter away in an empty box of sweets I’d received as a gift in the back of my desk drawer. I wanted to make absolutely sure it didn’t get stained or torn—or worse, lost—before I had a chance to deliver it to Yuri.
“Don’t you worry,” I said. “If I ever see Yuri again, I’ll be sure to give it to her.”
To be honest, I had a bad feeling in my gut that that day might never come.
Not that I thought she was dead or anything, of course; I was fully confident that Yuri was still alive and well. And yet, something told me that she was living a very different life these days, somewhere far, far away. I got the feeling there was very little chance we’d ever get to see each other again.
At the same time, it was still a small world. And an interconnected one, at that. No matter how far away you might be from somebody, and no matter how much time might have passed, there was always a chance your paths might cross again somehow. Even if, for example, I didn’t get the opportunity to deliver that letter to Yuri myself, I was certain it would find its way to her somehow, no matter how roundabout the path it took.
But until that day arrived, I’d keep her letter safe and sound.
At some point, I might have to hand it off to somebody else I could trust if I grew too old or too sick to bear the responsibility anymore, and then that person could put the letter somewhere safe and secure, even if it just ended up staying in storage for many, many years—until it could eventually be received by the person it was intended for.
After all, wasn’t that the way humanity had always passed things down? Finding ways to safeguard our history, knowledge, and experience so that it can be inherited by future generations? So they wouldn’t make the same mistakes we had?
There was one other letter I’d been keeping safely stowed away, incidentally.
The one Ishimaru had given me the day before they sortied.
To be fair, it was really more of a note than a letter. It was written on a tiny, folded-up scrap of paper that he’d sneaked into my hand when we said our last tearful goodbyes.
When I got home that night and unfolded it, I saw it contained only three words:
“Be happy, okay?”
And just like that, I broke down and started crying all over again. I wept so hard and for so long, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even think it was possible for my body to contain so much water, only to let it all flow out through my tear ducts.
Be happy, okay? It was a short, sweet sentiment that conveyed the very essence of Ishimaru’s indefatigable optimism so well—and so succinctly, too.
They were simple words on the surface, perhaps, but they felt far more impactful to me since I could hear the voice and feel the intent behind them.
He was right: I needed to find a way to be happy.
I wanted to be someone capable of genuine happiness.
Someone capable of sharing that happiness with others.
Capable of making this world just a little bit brighter, just as he had.
Though in all honesty, I wasn’t sure I was up to the task.
But as my father kept telling me, the world around us was changing fast.
Before long, we might find ourselves in a whole new reality.
Living all-new lives in a hectic, fast-paced society, we have become so accustomed to the pace that many of us would probably forget all about the way things used to be.
I swore I’d never let that happen to me.
I was going to carry these experiences, these precious memories close to my heart, and continue to share them with people and pass them down for as long as I lived.
That felt like a good first step toward the person I wanted to be.
And so, yes—I’d guard Yuri’s letter with my very life.
I’d let future generations know what it was like to have known and lived alongside these poor men whose lives were cut tragically short by the cruel nature of war.
Most of all—I’ll never, ever forget you, Ishimaru-san.
And hope that maybe, just maybe, we can meet again someday.
In a different place, a different time—maybe even a different me and you. It doesn’t matter to me how, really, just as long as I can finally be reunited with you.
When that day comes, I hope we’ll find ourselves in a world where I can tell you I love you without any reservations, any fear of what the future might hold.
I want to love with all my heart and be loved in return.
In a world where there’s no shame in loving fully and wholly.
I hope someday, that world can become a reality.
“Well, I should probably be heading back now,” I said. “But thank you for the tea.”
“Of course, dear,” said Tsuru. “See you tomorrow, then. Careful on your way home.”
She bade me goodbye with a smile and a wave, and I waved right back.
As soon as I stepped out the door, a light breeze blew past and caressed my cheek. It was chillier outside than I had expected; even in the hot sun, I could already feel autumn’s looming specter in the air. But that was just fine with me.
Yes, summer would soon be over.
But it would always come round again.
And each time it did, I’d be reminded once more.
Of my departed friends—and the man that I loved.
And the fateful summer that swallowed them whole.