Kamikaze

Kagoshima Prefecture, Japan–June 23, 1945

The scent of damp wood hung in the air as Mariko Yamaguchi finished wiping down the table tops at the café. The owner, Mrs. Takahashi, entered from the kitchen with an armful of seat cushions and clean chopsticks.

“Mariko-san, when you’re done, please prep the squash and daikon and cook the barley rice. Make plenty. A new crew of pilot trainees is coming from the base, and they’ll be hungry.”

“Yes, I will.”

For three months, groups of young soldiers had cycled through for “special flight training.” Mariko didn’t understand why it was called that. But she was certain these men would be sent out soon to fight the Americans.

Barely eighteen or nineteen years old, these trainees were serious-faced boys called to do a man’s job. They boldly proclaimed that they would fight and die for the emperor and protect their homeland from the enemy. What were their true sentiments?

These men were the vanguard against the country that had firebombed Kobe, killing her parents and sister. Yet, instead of revenge, Mariko wanted the war to end. She was sick of seeing young men return as ashes in boxes.

Something didn’t add up. The government broadcast reports of glory, yet hundreds of enemy airplanes rumbled overhead. From a distance, smoke from neighboring towns billowed into a hazy, brown sky. Craters pockmarked the streets, and people were starving. Mariko was lucky; living near the farms meant there was still food.

She struggled to believe the propaganda that Americans were demons who would mercilessly kill babies, rape all the women, and completely destroy Japan. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed to her that the Americans would be people, just like the Japanese.

Precisely at 5:00, eight young men in immaculate white uniforms entered the café. Mariko served green tea, recognizing three returnees. The other five were new faces.

“Mariko-san, how are you today?” said Goro Tanabe, the squadron leader, with a rakish smile.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” Goro flirted with her whenever he came. But she had no time for that, and she wanted to avoid an emotional entanglement with any man who went out to war and might not come back.

“Come meet the new men in my command. Ishida, Morita, Tanaka, Nakamura, and Asakura.”

The five new men snapped to attention and gave Mariko a crisp military salute.

Asakura bowed politely and smiled, holding his gaze a moment longer than the others. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mariko-san.”

His handsome face and the warmth in his eyes caught her off guard, making her pulse quicken. She blushed slightly, nodding back before ducking into the kitchen to fetch their tea.

Mrs. Takahashi entered the dining area to join them. Mariko returned with a big ceramic kettle and teacups.

Goro faced the owner. “This place is the best place in the area to grab a quick bite.”

Mrs. Takahashi smiled and demurred. “Squadron Leader, you’re too kind. I’m sorry I can’t prepare your meals better because of all the food shortages. I can’t remember the last time I was able to serve white rice or fish. The best I can offer you is barley rice, boiled squash, sweet potatoes, and pickles.”

Goro chuckled. “I say that you make the best food, especially because of the shortages. What you do with those ingredients is amazing.”

Mrs. Takahashi faced Mariko. “Part of the reason is Mariko-san. She’s a skilled cook, and she’s been a big help to me.”

The three returnees clapped, and the five new men joined in the applause.

Embarrassed by the recognition, Mariko retreated into the kitchen.

* * *

June 30, 1945

On a bright, cloudless day, Mariko strode out with two large baskets to buy vegetables, as she did every three days or so. The sticky humidity clung to her clothes. She’d have to change out of them when she came back to the café. She bought the vegetables from a kind and honest farmer, Mr. Ito, who lived three kilometers outside of town. He was an old friend of Mrs. Takahashi, and always provided the freshest produce, often at a discount.

A glum expression replaced Mr. Ito’s usual cheerful face. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. I won’t be able to provide Mrs. Takahashi with these vegetables starting next week.”

“Why not?”

“The navy is going to build a new airstrip right where my farm is.”

“Oh, no!” This would mean that Mariko would have to buy the vegetables at the black market and pay at least three times what she paid Mr. Ito.

“I hope that it won’t put Mrs. Takahashi in a bind.”

Mariko nodded, her gaze drifting to his. “What will you do?”

“Don’t worry about me. I have another plot of land a little farther away, but it’s full of stones and tree stumps. I’ll try to make it farmable. But it’s going to take some time, especially because I’m all on my own.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mariko hung her head.

Mr. Ito’s smile returned. “Today, the eggplants are ready to pick, and I have a lot of cucumbers.”

“Thank you so much. They’ll be a pleasant change from the squash and daikon.”

Mr. Ito handed her the clippers. “Here, go and pick as much as you want.”

After ten minutes, Mariko returned with the baskets full of eggplants, squash, and cucumbers.

“I’ll inform Mrs. Takahashi. Goodbye.” She turned and walked back toward the café.

Mariko liked to think she was a strong girl. However, after walking a kilometer, she struggled to balance the two baskets laden with heavy vegetables.

“Yamaguchi-san,” a male voice called out from behind.

She turned around and recognized the person as one of the new pilot trainees, but couldn’t remember his name.

He loped to come alongside her, his grin wide and welcoming. As if he could tell that she’d forgotten his name, he said, “I’m Asakura, Taro.”

“Good morning, Asakura-san.”

“Call me Taro. Let me help carry some vegetables.”

“Oh… thank you, Taro-san,” she said shyly. “But you don’t need to trouble yourself.”

He took one basket from her.

“Thank you. What brings you out this way?”

“I’m on my way back from taking mail to and from the military postal exchange. See this bundle in my satchel. I’m the lowest-ranking in the unit, so they make me do it.”

Mariko chuckled.

As they walked side by side, their conversation was warm and easy, and Mariko found herself laughing—a sound that felt strange and wonderful after so many months of fear and silence.

“I have to say, I truly enjoy eating the food at Mrs. Takahashi’s café. It’s so delicious, and there’s plenty of it. These fresh vegetables you’re carrying probably have a lot to do with it.”

“I’m glad to know that. But unfortunately, the supply will come to a halt as of next week.” Mariko proceeded to tell Taro everything the farmer had told her. “I don’t know whether Mrs.Takahashi will be able to continue cooking with good quality vegetables.”

“That’s too bad.” Taro hung his head and continued walking without saying a word.

As they arrived at the café, Mariko stopped to thank him once again. “Asakura-san—”

“Wait. I have an idea. The men in my unit aren’t busy right now. The new airplanes haven’t been delivered, and we’re also waiting for spare parts for existing planes. Let me ask the guys if they have some ideas. Maybe we can help clear Mr. Ito’s other field.”

“Even if you could, the new field won’t be ready to provide vegetables for quite a while.”

“That’s true. I’ll discuss the problem with them anyway. We’ll come up with something. I’m sure they’d want to help because they have a vested interest.”

Taro continued to visit the café on his time off-duty, finding every opportunity to interact with Mariko. She noticed the way his gaze lingered on her, and the quiet smiles they shared grew more meaningful. Their hands would brush as she passed him a dish or poured tea, and each time her heart would flutter.

Taro approached her after dinner. “Mariko-san, tomorrow afternoon, we’re going to have a yakyuu game against the army team. If you have some free time , perhaps you’d like to come watch. It’ll be at the elementary school nearby.”

Mariko didn’t know much about this game, but she welcomed Taro’s invitation. “Maybe I can come for a little while. I’ll ask Mrs. Takahashi.”

* * *

A sharp crack sounded, and a ball flew out into the field after one man hit it with a stick. Other men cheered as that guy ran to the right and stepped on a bag, then turned left, stopping at a second bag.

Taro picked up the ball and threw it to Ishida, who was standing on a third bag. Then, another man hit the ball and ran in a similar pattern, while the first runner ran around a third bag and completed the circuit. More cheering erupted, and the other men surrounded and pelted the first runner with backslaps.

After the game, Mariko walked back toward the restaurant to resume her work.

Taro came alongside her. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Today, the army team won, but we’ll beat them next time.”

“I don’t understand the rules.”

“It’s simple. A guy tries to hit the ball and run around the bases before another guy from the other team retrieves the ball and tags him. When a guy hits the ball high, and a player from the opposing team catches it in mid-air, the hitter is denied from running to the bases.”

“Bases? You mean those bags on the ground they step on?”

“Yes, bases,” Taro leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “That’s why the real name of this sport is baseball.”

“Bei-su-bo-ru?” she whispered.

“It’s an American game.”

Mariko halted, and her jaw dropped. “What? You mean it’s a sport from the enemy country?”

“This sport was brought over from America long ago. It became so popular that the government hasn’t banned it. However, calling it baseball is forbidden. Everybody calls it yakyuu.”

“Even though jazz music, permanent hairdos, and other Western things are forbidden?”

“War has a way of making things strange.”

They resumed walking.

“Oh, by the way, we’ve resolved the issue of Mr. Ito’s farmland. It turns out that the configuration of the land doesn’t permit planes to either takeoff or land into the wind. Totally unsuitable. I don’t know what the person who selected his farm was thinking.”

“So, Mr. Ito will be able to continue providing vegetables to us?”

“Yes.”

“That’s wonderful. Thank you.” Mariko appreciated Taro’s company. His radiant grin was like a beam of sunshine that pierced through the thick overcast of these depressing times.

* * *

August 12, 1945

Mariko found herself looking forward to the pilots’ visits, especially Taro’s. After she finished her chores, she and Taro would stroll to a nearby hill, covered with vibrant azaleas visible by the light of the stars above.

Although she had vowed not to fall for anyone—least of all a soldier—Taro’s presence filled her with a happiness she couldn’t resist. Yet with the shadow of war hanging over them, she feared her longing for him might remain an unspoken dream.

“Yamaguchi-san—”

“I’ve been calling you Taro-san. So call me Mariko.”

Taro nodded. “Sometimes I wish things could be different.”

“What do you mean?”

“That there’d be no war, and we’d live normal lives. Mariko-san, I’m very fond of you.”

She demurred, uncertain of how to respond. “I like you very much, too.”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” Taro hung his head. “In a few days, my unit will be called into action, and I’ll not be able to see you again—ever.”

“Why?” Tears welled up in her eyes and blurred her vision.

“Our mission is to fly out and destroy American warships. We won’t be bombing them from a high altitude. Instead, we will fly our planes low to the targets and guide them all the way to impact.”

“When that happens, you’ll die?”

“Yes,” Taro said in a solemn tone. “Each one of us volunteered for this.

Mariko sobbed. “Why did you do that?”

“Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve been taught to serve the emperor and die if necessary. Also, I was always interested in flying, so it only seemed natural and the right thing to do to defend our country.”

A tear meandered down Mariko’s cheek. “But what if we still lose the war?”

“I’m not sure whether I should be telling you this, but we’ve heard rumors that the Americans have a terrible new weapon—a new type of bomb. It was dropped on Hiroshima, then again a few days later in Nagasaki. Many people have died.”

“Oh no! What will happen?”

“I’m not sure, Mariko-san.” Taro stood silent for a long moment. “Regardless, we must continue to fulfill our duties.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and wept.

* * *

August 14, 1945

She set the table for eight people and put a teakettle on the burner. At 5:00, the usual crew entered the café.

She put on a cheerful grin and welcomed them. “Today, we have a special dinner prepared for you. Mrs. Takahashi was able to get sea bream from a local fisherman.”

That announcement brought smiles to their faces and applause. As they sat down at the table, Mariko and Mrs. Takahashi brought out the various dishes of cooked vegetables and fish.

Mariko noticed that while the men seemed to enjoy their meals, they weren’t as talkative as usual, and the mood was more somber.

At the conclusion of dinner, all the men stood before Mrs. Takahashi and Mariko.

“Mrs. Takahashi, Mariko-san,” Squadron Leader Goro said. “We will fly our mission and fulfill our duty tomorrow. Therefore, this is the last time we can enjoy your delicious meals. We thank you so much for taking care of us for the past six weeks.”

Mrs. Takahashi bowed deeply from the waist. “It’s been our pleasure.”

Goro faced the men. “Attention!”

The men snapped to attention and saluted Mrs. Takahashi and Mariko.

“It is time to fulfill our duty,” shouted Goro. “Long live the emperor!”

All the men raised their arms over their heads and shouted in unison, “Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!” Then they exited in single file, with Asakura bringing up the rear.

Mariko ran out of the café to follow them. “Asakura-san, may I have a word with you?”

Taro stopped and turned around. “Yes, of course.” He slumped his shoulders and the corners of his mouth drooped, displacing his usual radiant smile.

“Taro-san, thank you for being a special friend to me during the short time we’ve known each other. I don’t know how to say this to you. I—I…” Mariko’s voice broke. Tears ran down her cheeks.

“Mariko-san, don’t cry.” He handed her a handkerchief. “I, too, appreciate your friendship. I’ll always remember you.”

Taro pivoted and walked away briskly without looking back.

* * *

August 15, 1945

Mariko woke up early and started her work outside and in the back of the café. She started to launder tablecloths, aprons, and her own clothes. She tried not to think about Taro and the other young men who no doubt were flying their first and last mission. She could’ve gone to the airfield to see them off, as the base commander had urged the townspeople to do. These pilots could use all their encouragement and support to stoke patriotic fervor and steel themselves to carry out their valiant mission. But she couldn’t do that. It would hurt too much to say goodbye to Taro for the final time.

Mrs. Takahashi rushed out the back door. “Mariko-san, come quickly. You have to listen to the radio. The emperor is going to speak.”

“What?” Mariko dropped everything she was doing and entered the café. In the dining room, about twenty people, including the farmer, Mr. Ito, had gathered. Each person kneeled on the floor in a respectful posture toward the radio.

An unfamiliar voice resounded through the radio speaker. The tone was somber and seemed restrained. Mariko couldn’t even understand some of the emperor’s words, as he seemed to be speaking in a formal and archaic way. But she comprehended the sentence, “We must endure the unendurable and bear the unbearable.”

Did that mean what she thought it meant? Was the emperor announcing the surrender? Did Japan lose the war?

For several hours, people remained at the café in a state of shock. Some wept bitterly. Facial expressions clearly displayed their dismay and fear about what was to come. But a few people’s faces, including Mrs. Takahashi’s, seemed to transform from shock to relief. The war was finally over.

But what happened to Taro and the squadron of pilots who were scheduled to fly out earlier that day? Did they get the message? Or did they fly out to continue their mission?

In the late afternoon, a few young men straggled into the café. One of them was Taro.

He was safe. Joy exploded inside Mariko. He didn’t die.

She rushed to greet him. “Taro-san, you’re safe.”

“Yes, I am. We were all set to go this morning. But the delivery of fuel never came. Then our commanders gave us the order to stand down.” Taro’s crooked smile showed a strange blend of sadness, disappointment, and happiness. “I don’t know what will happen to Japan. For more than a year, I’ve been preparing to fight the enemy and die for our country. Now, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Mariko stepped closer. She took his hands in hers, squeezing firmly. “Then we will learn together,” she whispered. “The war is over, Taro-san.”