Beside a Burning Sea

DAY FIVE
A silk flower seeks
To rise from a hardened ground.
Light falls on gold skin.
Uncertain of Tomorrow


The city smoldered about him. He had seen cities die before, but something was different about these torn streets and buildings. It was the screams, of course. They should have ended long ago. Usually the screams stopped a few hours after the fighting stopped. But here in Nanking, a city that should never have been defended, screams rose from gardens and temples, homes and public squares. These miserable, often inhuman sounds made him wince as if they were bullets striking his flesh—small pieces of hot steel that pierced him from all angles.
He carried some rank and was known as a man of war. Thus he tried to walk the streets as often as possible. On this walk he’d already saved a pregnant woman from being bayoneted, and had also shot a soldier who refused his orders to untie a dying boy. Of course, even with his rank and reputation, he stayed far from the large concentrations of soldiers and civilians, as most of the screams came from such gatherings and the bloodlust could not be stopped by one man alone.
At the edge of the city, where a few families still hid and were still found, he walked with his hands on his pistol and sword. He moved past many sights known to him—piles of ruined armaments and animals and people. Houses had collapsed atop the street, and he often climbed over these stony, dismembered skeletons to continue on. High above, unchallenged Zeros darted to and from distant battles.
He heard them laugh before he saw her, heard her cry from within a group of boisterous soldiers. A booted foot rose and fell, and a female voice pleaded. His heart suddenly skipping, he hurried forward. Eight men surrounded her. They must have just discovered her, for her clothes were somewhat intact, though her face was bloodied. She likely had not seen ten years come and go. Her delicate hands clung to a toy horse that she protected rather than herself.
Though two of the men bore higher rank than he, his horror at her looming fate propelled him onward. Speaking forcefully, he used lost words—ancient sentiments of the samurai—to try to shame these men. They paused, and he moved between them. The little girl looked up at him, pleading with terror-stricken eyes and a quivering mouth. Her face was already swelling from their beating, and through bleeding lips she begged him to help her. She was young and innocent and desperate, and he leaned forward, reaching for her.
A pistol pressed hard against his temple. The barrel was still hot. He froze. She continued to beg him as his flesh burned. His assailant ordered him to rise. She frantically shook her head at these words, her fingers clinging to his hand, her toy horse caught between them. The gun pushed violently against his skull and he was given a choice—to stand or die. He did not want to die, and so as his tears dropped on her leg, he rose. Someone then took his weapons and roughly pushed him away. The little girl screamed. He heard fabric tear and he hurried forward like a beaten dog. As he started to run, her screams grew louder—screams that ravaged him until he blindly stumbled into a deep bomb crater and was knocked unconscious.
Akira awoke from his dream with her screams still reverberating within him. Silent sobs wracked him, and he put his balled fists against his eyes. He saw her precious face and he started to crawl, as if he could flee his dream, as if this past could be expunged from his memory. He crawled until his tears mixed with the sea. His fingers dug into the sand and he squeezed fistfuls of this gritty wetness until his knuckles whitened and his hands shook. He wrung the sand with all his might—each granule a demon to be smothered, each ounce of the earth he held something upon which he could thrust his horror and grief and rage.
“I’m so . . . so . . . so very sorry,” he whispered in Japanese, bowing until his forehead touched the sea, his hands finally unfurling and clumps of compressed sand dropping. “I . . . I should have stopped . . . those beasts. They should not . . . I should not have let them touch you. Oh, how lovely and pure and good you were. How beautiful. And how . . . how terribly I failed you.”
Akira remained on his hands and knees for some time. When he finally ceased to tremble, he sat up. He remembered the girl’s fingers against his and, moaning, he looked to the stars for her. To his dismay, no trace of her was present. In fact, nothing of any solace existed at that moment. No girl. No peace. No religion. No hope. In this void he saw her pleading eyes, saw himself turn away. He cursed himself then, cursed his entire being. How he hated who he had become.
Gradually, Akira’s tears subsided and his heart slowed. His thoughts wandered. He realized that if he were alone on the island, he’d do the only honorable thing left to him and end his life. He’d read the death poems of samurai—haikus written just before noble men forced their own swords into their own bellies. Beauty dwelled in those words, and were he alone, he’d write a haiku in the sand for the little girl and then begin his journey toward rebirth.
But Akira was not alone. And though he cared nothing for the men nearby, he felt strangely linked to Annie. She had somehow briefly brought him back into his former life, into a place that once gave him the peace and religion and hope that he so lacked now. Without question, she reminded him of his past—when he helped people instead of hunted them—but she also kindled a part of him that he’d not known.
Akira had never believed in fate, but as gentle waves lapped at his flesh, he wondered if he was meant to be here. These nurses, who had saved so many, who had so compassionately taken care of him, could die soon. If his countrymen landed on this beach, they might well hurt these women. They might hurt Annie. She had told him that she’d always been afraid, and he couldn’t endure the thought of what evil might befall her.
Rising to his feet, Akira closed his eyes and imagined his homeland. He saw pagodas and water lilies and white-faced geishas. And he saw his fate as he suddenly imagined it. May my ancestors forgive me; I will betray my own people, he thought, wiping his face of sand and tears. I’ll hide her. I’ll hide her and pray that they will not find us. And if we are found, and if they seek to harm her, then I will fight them. I will be the warrior I was before Nanking, and I won’t fail her as I did the little girl. And if they are too many, then I’ll take her life and also end my own. And she won’t die alone.
Akira glanced toward camp, toward where Annie lay sleeping. I won’t let anyone hurt you, he promised. No matter what has to be done, or what may be done to me, I’ll never see such hurt again.

DAWN HAD RECENTLY unfolded when Joshua and Jake reached the top of one of the hills. Both men sweated heavily, and upon reaching the crest, removed their shirts. Though their camp was hidden by the thick foliage below, a tendril of smoke rose through the trees, dissipating into the heavy air. A trio of figures walked the beach—the women, perhaps. Beyond them, the sea looked like an endless sheet of gold. Past the confines of the harbor, this sheet shimmered with the movement of the bigger waves. No ships encroached upon the water—only a splattering of distant islands.
“Thanks for joining me,” Joshua said, still slightly winded from the climb.
“It was a mighty fine walk, Captain,” Jake replied, removing a leaf’s stem from his teeth. “And there sure ain’t no views like this back home.”
“Missouri, isn’t it?”
Jake smiled, pleased that the captain remembered. “Sure is, Captain. As the feathered friend flies, ain’t but two hundred miles from Chicago.”
Joshua nodded, liking Jake. “You must be wondering why I brought you here.”
“Oh, I expect you’ll tell me.”
“I brought you here because I trust you. You’ve served me on two ships, and from the beginning I’ve felt that you were a man I could count on. You’re an able, good man, Jake.”
“You can trust me, sir. But as far as being able . . . well, it ain’t easy to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”
Joshua shook his head. “You’re no sow’s ear, Jake. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have with us on this beach.”
“Thank you kindly, Captain.”
“I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to do as I ask.” Jake nodded but said nothing, and so Joshua continued, “Isabelle thinks she’s pregnant.”
Jake paused only for a moment before reaching out to grasp Joshua’s hand. “Congratulations, Captain. That’s mighty fine news.”
“Thank you, Jake. It really is something.” Joshua shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “In seven months I’ll be a father. Imagine that.”
“A darn good thing to imagine, I reckon.”
“Yes, yes, it is.” Joshua thought he heard a distant drone and scanned the sky for planes. Seeing nothing, he said, “If something should happen to me, I want you to watch over the women.”
“Captain, ain’t nothing gonna—”
“I want you to watch over them as if they were your own blood. Do you understand that? Your own blood.”
Jake briefly closed his eyes. “Yes, sir. I do. But might you oblige me with a request?”
“That depends on the request.”
“If any job’s dodgy, I want it. I want that job, Captain.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t give every dangerous detail to you.”
“No offense, Captain, but I expect you can. You think of that sweet little baby and you give that darn detail to me.”
Joshua took a deep breath and let out an equally long exhale. “Help me find some places to hide, and hopefully none of us will have to do anything dangerous. We can simply hide and wait for the cavalry to arrive. That’s all I want. When it comes to this, I’m not afraid to be a coward.”
“Better to be the beak of a chicken than the tail of an elephant.”
Joshua smiled. “I believe you’re right.”
“Ain’t no doubt about it.”
A gust of wind buffeted them, and Joshua instinctively looked for signs of bad weather. His gaze drifted across the spot where Benevolence rested, and a sudden sense of loss surged within him. “I’m sorry, Jake,” he said, shaking his head, his fingers again twisting beads that didn’t exist.
“For what, Captain?”
Joshua gestured toward the sea. “For her being on the bottom. For you being stuck here.”
Jake absently placed the stem in the corner of his mouth. “Them people on Benevolence, they saved a lot of soldiers, Captain. As sure as rain’s wet they did. Better to have brought them all this way, to have saved as many as you did, than to have stayed home.”
Joshua nodded slowly. “You’re talking about . . . the greater good?”
“Yes, Captain. I suppose so.”
“But . . . does much feel good to you?”
The engineer pursed his lips. “Ain’t much that’s good, Captain. But maybe enough. Maybe . . . things can begin again.”
“If things . . . begin again, where will you go?”
“Home, I expect. To the farm.”
“Do you miss it?”
Jake smiled. “Parts of it. I don’t much miss manure. But I sure do miss my momma’s cooking. And my daddy’s pipe. And that soil. I reckon them’s enough reasons to go home.”
Joshua nodded, aware that Jake was one of those rare people who forever seemed content and happy. Even back on Benevolence, when he was covered in grease and nursing bloody fingers, he’d always seemed pleased. “Why, Jake, did you leave your momma’s cooking and your daddy’s pipe?” Joshua asked. “Why come to this war?”
“To do my part, Captain.”
“As simple as that?”
“I suspect so. I didn’t see how I could stay on the farm and shoo grasshoppers when the whole world was bleeding. I had to do something. They weren’t real eager to let me fight, so I started fixing engines. I’d done such work on the farm, so it came natural to me.”
Joshua looked at the man before him. Jake’s face was proud, defined by sculpted cheekbones, sharp eyes, and a strong jaw. His coffee-colored skin was smooth and, bearing a glaze of sweat, seemed almost polished. Jake was well over six feet tall, and his body looked as if it could lift a house. More important, Joshua knew that Jake was bright and quick-witted. How utterly foolish, Joshua thought, not to let this man fight. “The world is bleeding, isn’t it?” he finally replied.
“Yes, Captain. I do believe it is.”
“Will you look after the women if something should happen to me?”
“As if they were my own kin.”
Joshua extended his hand. “Thank you. I’ll sleep better knowing that.”
Jake glanced toward the jungle. “Let’s go find a cave, Captain. A hidden cave that will be just right for us chickens.”
“I like your thinking.”
Joshua followed Jake down the hill. After almost a year of war, Joshua had seen enough men to know who was truly a man. And though Jake was humble and often overlooked, he was without question a man who Joshua was glad to have beside him. Men like Jake would win the war.

ISABELLE AND ANNIE WALKED TOWARD SCARLET, who was in the process of tidying up camp. Aside from the flicker of the fire, Scarlet represented about the only nearby movement. Nathan and Ratu collected coconuts fifty feet down the beach, Roger was in the jungle, and Akira had sat by the sea’s edge all morning. Annie had been surprised to awaken and see him there, with his feet in the water and his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. She’d considered saying hello but decided that he must have wanted to be alone.
With some of the men gone, Annie had thought it would be a good time for a swim. She hadn’t bathed in several days and was certain that she’d have to scrape the grime from her. Isabelle had immediately welcomed the idea, and now the two sisters trudged through the deep sand until Scarlet finally looked up.
“We’re going swimming,” Annie said. “Want to join us?”
Scarlet’s gaze traveled up and down the beach. “Where?”
“A secluded spot not far from here. Near the big rocks where you caught the crabs.”
Scarlet rolled a depleted coconut toward the water. “Why not?”
The three women walked in the opposite direction of Ratu and Nathan. The tide had been high the previous night, and the beach was littered with shells, driftwood, jellyfish, and even a few more bottles from Benevolence. The patches of sand free of such debris seemed to glow in the morning sun. The harbor appeared to be an even deeper turquoise than usual and, looking forward to getting wet, Annie increased her pace. Before long, they came to the gathering of barnacle-encrusted boulders. Walking twenty paces beyond the boulders, she was pleased to see that their camp disappeared behind the rocks. The sea here was quiet and dominated by soft sand. It would be an ideal place to swim.
“What are we waiting for?” Annie asked, stripping to her undergarments. She balled up her oversized clothes, set them in the shallows, and waded into the water. The sea was warm and gentle, and for a moment Annie had a hard time believing that it had almost killed her. A school of red-finned fish swam before her, darting into deeper and clearer water. She followed them until the sea reached her belly button. She didn’t want to go any farther, and so she held her breath and dropped beneath the miniature waves. Once underwater, Annie scrubbed her scalp, then ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She opened her mouth and swished water through her teeth.
Rising to the surface, Annie closed her eyes and lay atop the waves, basking in the sun. She’d never experienced an ocean as warm as this one, and sighed contentedly. “Have you ever felt such water?” she asked, removing her bra and underwear.
“Not even close,” Isabelle replied, vigorously scrubbing her naked body with sand.
Annie spied something white below and reached down into the clear water to grasp a sand dollar. She studied her find before placing it back in the sand. “Why don’t we just stay here?” she asked. “Why rush back into war?”
Isabelle stopped scrubbing. “People need us, Annie. We’ve work to do.”
“I can’t wait to get off this island,” Scarlet added. “I’m already sick to death of bugs and bananas and the awful heat.”
Annie followed her sister’s lead and used sand to clean her body. “You think we’re going to lose this war if you’re stuck here for a few days?”
“Those boys need our help,” Isabelle replied, rubbing her arms so hard that they turned red. “You know that as well as I do.”
Annie started to respond but stopped, not wanting to admit that she was tired of seeing torn bodies, tired of watching boys die. A part of her agreed with Isabelle, and this part intended to return to the front lines. But she was also in no rush to leave the island. After all, on the island she could sleep without constantly worrying about her patients. She could breathe. She could walk the beach with her sister and write poetry with a gentle man.
“Don’t you ever get tired, Izzy, or you, Scarlet?” Annie asked. “Sometimes . . . sometimes aboard Benevolence I just felt overwhelmed.”
“I’m always tired,” Scarlet replied. “I think I’ve aged ten years in the past six months.”
Isabelle nodded. “And I’m tired too. But just think of those boys, Annie. Think of what they’ve been through. What they—”
“I always think of the boys,” Annie interrupted, dropping two handfuls of sand. “Do you know how many nights I’ve cried myself to sleep thinking of them?”
Scarlet stripped off her undergarments. She then looked east. “Last I heard, my little brothers were headed to North Africa,” she said quietly. “To help the Brits with Rommel. It’s a big secret of course, but they told me. For all I know, they’re already in the desert, fighting in some awful place . . . so far from home. Jimmy runs a tank crew, and Bobby defuses bombs. I still can’t get over that . . . my baby brother drives a tank. He’s only a boy. It seems like a few years ago I was teaching him to ride a bike. And he . . . he was so little. So happy and innocent.” Scarlet’s eyes watered at these words and she began to cry.
Isabelle and Annie moved closer to her. “I’m sorry,” Isabelle said, putting an arm around her fellow nurse. “But I heard that Rommel’s finally on the run.”
Annie wondered what it was like to have two brothers fighting in the deserts of North Africa, facing a legendary man who’d rarely tasted defeat. She thought of her fiancé, Ted, who was battling Germans somewhere in Europe. Though she didn’t miss Ted as much as she once thought she would, she worried for him all the same. “You’ll see your brothers again, Scarlet,” she said. “I realize I’ve no right to say that, but I believe it.”
“Why?” Scarlet asked.
“Because this war can’t go on forever. And if one of your brothers is a tank commander and the other is defusing bombs, then they’re bright and they’ll make it through this.”
Scarlet wiped away her tears. “They are bright boys. Their marks at school were always much better than mine.”
Annie was about to respond when she saw a trio of fins slicing through the water not far from them. Her immediate thought was that the newcomers were sharks, but as she grabbed her companions and pulled them toward shore, she realized that dolphins, not sharks, were paying them a visit. “Look,” she said excitedly, pointing. “Three dolphins!”
“How do you know they’re dolphins?” Isabelle asked, still moving toward shore.
“See their curved backs? And look at how they play!”
The trio of dolphins, which were about a hundred feet away, swam with great speed and with what Annie thought to be exuberance. They often rose above the sea’s surface as if seeking to glance at the nearby island. One suddenly leapt out of the water, its gray body glistening in the sun. The dolphin reentered the sea with hardly a splash, darting underwater with exquisite grace. The same creature leapt again, its arching body stretching skyward.
Does he see us? Annie asked herself. She waved at the dolphins, wondering what they might think of her. For a moment she was tempted to swim out into the deeper water, but seeing how dark that region was, she remained motionless. As Isabelle and Scarlet renewed their conversation, Annie thought about what she’d witnessed. Impulsively, she decided to try to create a haiku. Her initial words were far too clumsy to bring life to the memory of the dolphins, but she lowered herself into the temperate water and continued to think. She patiently mixed words and feelings, remembering what Akira had told her. And a few minutes after the dolphins had vanished, she whispered, “Leaping from the sea, / Bright new sights are bound in blue. / Worlds so far and close.”
As she scrubbed herself with sand, Annie wondered what Ted would say to such a poem. Would he smile or laugh? Would her words further convince him that she was forever lost in a land of fantasy? Or would he come to peace with the notion that she was different than he? That she enjoyed splicing together pleasing phrases and painting impossible scenes? Annie wished he was with her in the water, so that she could watch his face, repeat her poem, and have her questions answered.
Suddenly, Scarlet wiped her eyes and sniffed, and Annie chastised herself for being so self-indulgent. After finding the sand dollar that she’d discarded, she hurried to Scarlet, pressed the simple treasure into her hand, and tried once again to reassure her that her brothers would live through the war.

BACK AT HIS USUAL station at camp, Akira watched the three women walk toward him. Each was wearing a man’s khaki-colored shirt and shorts, with belts fashioned of rope keeping the shorts from falling to the sand. Annie was between Isabelle and Scarlet and was a full head shorter than each. Otherwise, the two sisters looked very much alike. Akira knew from earlier encounters that the sun had already changed their appearance, transforming their former honey-colored skin into a deeper shade of brown. Several freckles had gained prominence on their cheeks and shoulders. The sun had even lightened their hair, slightly bleaching their bangs.
Akira’s gaze lingered on Annie, who carried something, and twice dropped the object as she gestured to her sister. He smiled, realizing how often Annie used her hands to emphasize her points. Though the concept of doing so was foreign to him, he liked that her hands were often in motion. She was excitable and unique and utterly compelling.
When the women drew near, he pretended to be writing in the sand. To his delight, Annie walked straight toward him. “Did you get enough of the beach this morning?” she asked, sitting down near him.
A vision of the little girl flashed before him. “I . . . I needed to think,” he said, forcing thoughts of Nanking away.
“Oh.” Annie repositioned her body so that she also faced away from the sun, as he did. “We went for a swim.”
“Was it a good swim?”
“Yes. Yes, it was.” She looked at his leg. “May I inspect your wound?” He nodded, and she carefully removed his bandage, bringing her hands together in a brief clap when she saw that the stitches had held without exception. The skin on either side of the wound was already starting to bind together. No sign of infection was present, and though having to restitch the wound would ultimately make for a large scar, she felt lucky that he was healing so well.
After leaving Akira briefly to find some disinfectant, Annie returned and started to clean his wound. As she carefully worked, she wondered how he’d been hurt. Though she didn’t like such thoughts, she almost always asked herself this question when attending to a wounded soldier. Akira’s injury was obviously from a bullet and seemed large enough to have come from a high-caliber weapon at close range. But she knew little beyond that.
She put a fresh dressing and bandage on the wound, and then took a drink of coconut milk. He thanked her, and she said, “You should start to exercise that leg.”
“What is best?”
“A bit of walking, I think.” She wrapped up the old bandage in a palm frond. “Care to join me?” she asked, not ready to retire beneath the shade of the banyan tree, and believing that some company would lift his spirits.
Akira smiled. Wanting to please her, he tried to rise to his feet without appearing to be stiff or in pain. He almost succeeded. Glancing up and down the beach, he said, “So much beauty. Where is it best to start?”
Annie held him by the elbow and proceeded to lead him toward the water. Once the sea touched their feet they began to walk near the shoreline. Though the sun was far along in its journey across the sky, its touch was still fairly hot. Fortunately, a breeze kept the air refreshing. To Annie, the island seemed unusually alive. Crabs scurried about the sand, ivory-colored birds dove upon unsuspecting fish, butterflies added color to the sky, and trees danced in the wind.
“Tell me about where you lived as a boy,” Annie said, holding his elbow tightly so that he wouldn’t stumble.
Her directness pleased him, and he smiled. “My home was in the mountains near Kyoto, which is the old capital of Japan. The city sits within mountains, green mountains full of streams and forests and ancient temples.”
“It sounds wonderful. Almost like . . . like another world.”
“When I am in those mountains, it is another world.”
“Can you tell me more?”
“Of course,” he said, trying not to grimace at the tightness in his leg. “About what would you like to hear?”
“Oh, tell me about . . . about what you used to do, before you knew anything about poetry or . . . or homework.”
He smiled. “As a boy . . . I did so many things. But mostly, I would climb mountainside trails made by monks two thousand years ago. In the springtime, cherry blossoms would fall like snow on the trails. And in the autumn, the leaves of maple trees were such a bright orange that the mountains looked to be on fire.”
“How beautiful.”
“It was. I would often climb a mountain and sit and watch the city. Many times I sat under my umbrella in the rain.” Akira looked at her, noting that though she was small and thin, she tried her best to support him as he walked. “I sometimes think of myself as . . . as this boy . . . as if he were a different person than me,” he added, speaking quite slowly. “After school, his mother would give him a sweet, and he would climb those green mountains. He would study ants. He would listen to crickets. He would read while atop a rock.”
Annie helped Akira step over a weather-beaten tree trunk that had been marooned on the beach. “Do you miss this boy?” she asked, sensing that he did.
“Yes. I do miss him. Very much. In fact, I sometimes . . . sometimes I wonder where he has gone.”
“Oh, I don’t think such a boy changes that much. He may have grown into a man, and maybe being a man has brought him to different places. But I think he could still walk those trails and still climb those trees.”
Akira paused, gazing at her face, her eyes. He had never experienced anyone speaking to him this way—telling him how he was perceived. In Japan, people might have found such a comment presumptuous. “I hope you are right,” he finally said, pleased that she could so readily imagine him as a boy.
“Well, I don’t think a man who writes poetry in the sand is that different from a boy who follows ants up a mountainside.”
He smiled at her. “And what of you? May I hear of your childhood?”
She started walking again, leading him over the uneven sand. “My childhood was good and bad. My parents are wonderful. And my sister, as you know, is wonderful. The four of us lived in a cottage in California. We had a dog and a garden, and life was very good.” Annie watched a miniature crab disappear into a nearby hole. “But when I was nine, I almost died from diphtheria. That was the bad. The terrible, really. It . . . changed my childhood. For two years afterward, I hardly left my house. I was afraid of everything. Cars. Strangers. Getting sick. I just . . . I just didn’t want to be hurt again. I still don’t.”
He shook his head. “I am so sorry about that.” She didn’t reply, and he leaned closer. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“If you were so afraid, why did you come to this war?”
Annie started to speak but stopped. She’d asked herself this same question dozens of times, and had never discovered the right answer. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know,” she finally said. “I’ve never had any . . . direction. Never wanted to work to achieve a certain goal because I didn’t want to dedicate my life to something and then not be around to enjoy it. Though you’d never believe it, I was like Isabelle when I was a little girl, working so hard to do everything right. But then I almost died, and everything changed.”
“But the war . . . it is hard work, yes?”
“Exactly. I finally decided to stop running. But I’m not sure if I have. My . . . my fiancé once called me a coward, and I think that he was right.”
“A coward?”
“He had a reason . . . a good reason for saying it.”
“You are no coward,” Akira replied. “I have seen many such people. In China, I saw terrible, terrible things. The men that did those things were cowards.”
“I have no idea what it feels like to be brave,” she confessed, her free hand swinging upward and opening as if to emphasize her point. “What does it feel like?”
He briefly thought of those he had saved and then the little girl. “For a time, I was brave. I was good. But then I was not.”
Annie sensed sorrow creeping into his mood, and she did not want his first walk upon his mended leg to be a sad one. And so she said, “I thought of a poem this morning.”
“You did? May I ask what it is?”
“We were swimming, and three dolphins came by. One leapt from the water, and to see it . . . well, I wish you had seen it.”
“May I please hear your poem?”
“You promise once again that you won’t laugh? That you won’t think I’m a silly girl?”
“Yes. I give you my promise.”
Annie briefly closed her eyes, reliving the memory, re-creating the words. Her heartbeat quickening, she told him her poem. After she finished, only the kiss of the waves upon the shore could be heard. “What do you think?” she finally asked.
“I think,” he said, smiling, “that I may have saved a poet.”
His words pleased her greatly, and a sudden and unexpected urge to pull him into her arms almost overcame her. Annie felt inexplicably drawn to him, as if he were a colorful flower and she had wings instead of legs. Though Ted was handsome and charming, she’d never been so enticed by him. In fact, she hadn’t even known that she was capable of such powerful feelings.
“Thank you,” she said finally, managing to resist pulling him closer. “You know, I’m glad it was you who saved me.”
He looked into her eyes and smiled. “It was a good swim, yes?”
“A good swim,” she replied, grinning. “Now, here,” she said, pointing beyond the boulders, “is where we saw the dolphins. Let’s look for them.”
Though his leg was no longer so stiff and he could have easily walked on his own, Akira continued to gently lean against Annie. He sensed that she wanted him to need her, that helping him heal was somehow a part of the path she longed to follow. He wasn’t certain, however, if she saw him as anyone more than a patient with whom she had developed an unforeseen friendship. He hoped she saw him as more. For a reason that he didn’t altogether understand, he wanted to be special in her eyes, to be someone who provided her with solace and sanctuary. Akira had never been such a person, and to his immense surprise, as he walked along the beach with this foreigner who so inspired him, he wanted to do just that—to make her smile and feel as if she were not alone in the world.