Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

even preventable. There was a diphtheria outbreak at Sham Shui Po, and men were dropping like flies.” His hand went around his throat, as if he were being strangled. “Their necks swelled up, and their airways were cut off. They developed lesions all over their bodies, which then got infected. Some died of kidney failure.”

This time, when he took a drag on his cigarette, his hand was noticeably shaking. “The only reason I survived was I’d had a vaccine for it back in school. But Arnie—” His brow drew in tight. “Arnie hadn’t gotten the vaccine. He’d been off school, sick that day, and never got one. When he came down with diphtheria at the camp, I tried.” He closed his eyes. “I tried. But he’d already suffered so much. His body couldn’t fight it.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and tapped another from the pack, but he didn’t light it. “All Arnie needed was the serum, and the Japanese doctor had it all along. Oh yeah. The Japs had medicines for practically everything, but they wouldn’t give the POWs any of it.”

He swallowed. “So one day I went to the hospital and told the doctor I was a doctor as well. I begged him for medicine.” He looked directly at me. “Oh, and by ‘hospital,’ I should clarify. It was four walls with no windows, doors, fittings, lights, taps, baths, or furniture. No beds, no chairs, no blankets, no disinfectants, and no bed pans. It was just a filthy, broken place where they put the sickest of us.” He paused, returning to his thoughts. “But I knew that bastard had the medicine. None of their men were sick. I also knew the chance of my getting it from him was slim, but Arnie was really suffering. So at first I was subservient like they expected, bowing and scraping and all that, speaking as much Japanese as I could work out, but he wasn’t interested in listening to what I was trying to say.

“It was the most frustrating thing I’ve ever experienced. I ended up yelling at him, which shows you how out of my mind I was. The whole time I was yelling, I knew what was coming. I mean, I’d basically slit my own throat just by raising my voice. I didn’t even bother fighting back when they threw me out of the hospital, then a bunch of them took turns beating me. I couldn’t stand up when they were done. I was afraid my jaw was broken at first, and at least a couple of ribs. After that, they—” His voice cracked. “They dragged me across the yard and shoved me into the shack for a week.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What’s… what’s the shack?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. A tiny, broken-down, floorless shed with nothing in it. Nothing but darkness and dirt, with half portions slid under the door when they remembered me. The rain was constant. And it was so cold.” He shuddered and looked away. “I changed in there. I was no more than an animal. No. I was less than an animal. When I got out, Arnie was gone.”

I caught my breath, imagining how that must have felt. Ian reached for my hand, but I slid it out of reach. It wasn’t I who needed comfort.

“Is that when you hurt your leg?” Ian asked, breaking the silence.

“No,” he said quickly, striking a match and finally lighting the cigarette.

I could tell he didn’t want to talk about his injury, so I changed direction. I hoped we would discuss it eventually, but I’d never go where he didn’t want me to go.

“Did the Red Cross packages help?” I asked. “I helped pack them, full of food and clothes and books, even sports equipment. Did they help at all?”

“I never got one,” Max replied. “I think some of the guys got a couple over the years, but the Japanese mostly sold them on the black market. Someone said there was a whole warehouse full of them somewhere. The Red Cross wasn’t allowed into any of the camps, from what I understood, except for one time at Niigata.” He smiled. “They wanted the Red Cross to go back and report on what a nice, happy place our camp was. They sent us to the field to play soccer, for crying out loud, and they even gave us little bits of meat in our rice. But after the meal, one of the men tried to pass a note to the Red Cross people, telling them the truth, and a guard caught him. They waited until the visitors were gone, then they cut off his head.”

My stomach rolled, and I had to look away. Ian was staring at his notepad, but his pen was still. I forced myself to turn back.

“What did you do?” I whispered, sick for him. “How did you survive?”

He met my eyes, and the most terrible longing twisted in my chest.

“I thought of you,” he said simply. Then he went on. “I thought of home. Of Mama and Papa and Hannah and the kids. I thought of all of you over here, gathered around the fireplace, knowing you’d be thinking of us, or at least hoping you were. I thought of our summers together, of the fun we used to have, of baseball.”

I wanted to tell Max that thinking of him had pulled me through the worst of times as well, but the truth was, I’d given up on him. The shame I felt was crippling.

Ian shifted on the bench beside me. I wondered if he could sense the torment ripping through me. “I knew this was going to be a hell of a story, but wow. Thank you so much for opening up to us this way. It can’t be easy.”

Max tapped his cigarette in the tray and finished what must have been cold coffee. We hadn’t even ordered food, I realized, but I had no appetite now.

“I’d like to hear about the