An hour passed, or perhaps two—Ito could no longer be sure. He was accustomed to being in control of his situation, including and most of all his mind, but it had run out from underneath him like a wayward horse. When he regained his full senses, he saw that the troops were walking around, impaling anyone who still squirmed underneath their boots. Ito also looked down and saw a mangled heap of a man, more body parts than a whole human, whose only sign of life was blood-sputtering breath. Both arms were gone from his shoulders, making him look like a fish—and Ito realized that this was the same white-robed man he’d cut down earlier. In the nearly dead man’s bloodshot eyes, there was still a pianissimo hope that he would somehow survive. It was like taking off a bee’s wings and watching it crawl around—in Ito’s experience, every single being did the exact same thing. Always clung, always chose suffering over death. Ito finished the man off with a thrust of his sword and then passed the hilt to his left hand. His right hand was cramping painfully; otherwise, he felt nothing.
The sun sank behind heavy black clouds, which looked as though they had been burned. In the semidarkness, Ito saw a flash of red some fifty yards away and recognized the flame-headed young deputy from earlier in the day. He was hunched over a corpse; there was another, shorter white man next to him, also bent over at the waist and holding something small and rectangular in his hand. When Ito started walking toward them with a drawn pistol, they raised their hands above their heads and shouted in Japanese, “Don’t shoot! Americans!”
Closer up, Ito saw that the small rectangle in the shorter man’s hand was a vest pocket camera. “Associated Press. Don’t shoot,” the man repeated slowly. It was amusing how, even until the moment a bullet entered their skin, people refused to believe that they could die—despite the fact that death was the only thing everyone could be certain of getting, sooner or later. That was what life amounted to—an absurd disbelief, Ito sighed to himself. He raised his pistol, aimed at the photographer’s forehead, and pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked, and the man’s lids fluttered like a dying moth. He was still standing, unharmed, but with a quickly spreading stain on his crotch. The smell of his piss attacked Ito’s nostrils anew. Ito had run out of bullets.
He holstered his pistol and drew his sword out instead. The two white men were shaking like leaves, sweat dripping down their faces. The red-haired deputy was whispering something under his breath with closed eyes. When they finally seemed ready to die, Ito sighed and slid his sword back in its sheath. His right hand was cramping ferociously, and he wasn’t a butcher who would just hack away with his left hand.
“Go,” Ito said. It had truly been a long day and he was tired to the very ends of his lashes. He’d done his part well, and needed rest. Before he could change his mind, he made a gesture like flicking off an annoying fly. And the two Americans, streaming with sweat, tears, and urine, fled behind the walls of their sanctuary.
10
The Darkest Shade of Blue
1919
ONCE HE’D SAFELY LED THE GANG BACK TO THEIR TENTS AFTER THE March, JungHo left again by himself. He knew something serious was happening to Jade by the way he was being pulled toward her house, as though they were connected by an invisible line that she was now tugging on for his help. But when he arrived, the gate was firmly shut. He knocked on the door, nervous about being met by her servants, or worse, her family.
The door cracked open an inch and a gasp was heard. “Oh, it’s you!” Jade said, sliding away the bolt. “Come inside quickly.”
“Are you okay? What’s the matter?” JungHo slipped in and Jade bolted the door shut again. Her face was flushed and wet with what could have been either sweat or tears.
“Aunt Dani and our maid Hesoon went to the protest today. They haven’t come back and Luna’s really sick,” Jade said. “She’s going to have her baby. I don’t know what to do.”
JungHo didn’t know anything about childbirth except the fact that his mother had died giving birth to his younger sister. He kept this to himself and asked, “Who else is here? And how can I help?”
“Lotus is next to Luna. She’s even more scared than I am.” Jade wiped her face. “I don’t know where we could find a midwife and it’s still dangerous out on the streets.”
“Okay, I’ll bring help. You stay here.” JungHo tried to remember anything he’d heard from his mother’s midwife. He shouted over his shoulder as he ran out: “Make sure Luna stays warm and give her water!”