Blood of Nanking (Part 2 of 4)

In which Hasegawa's day becomes infinitely worse.

Unsplash image by Yener Ozturk

By Tai Weiland. Read Part 1

Trigger warning: Mentions of assault ahead.

His kidnappers had tossed him into a dark and stuffy place—the trunk of a car. After much rattling and rolling, the car stopped, and he was hauled out of his prison. He was led, stumbling, across a rocky path. And then, just as abruptly, someone sat him down in a chair.

Then, his legs were tied to a chair and his hands roughly behind his back. When the sack was finally removed, he saw a man with blond hair and pale, blue eyes seated on a stool with his legs crossed in front of him.  

The gaijin had a cigarette in his mouth. Hasegawa felt unnerved by the man's direct, relentless stare. He looked around frantically and saw that they were in a room with stained walls and with weeds growing between the cracks in the walls. Weak sunlight streamed from holes in the roof. The Chinese man – Lee – was also there, leaning against a door at the far right corner of the room. He was whittling a stick with a short, sharp knife. 

"So. Are you married?"

Startled, he stared at the foreigner. Judging by his accent, he was an American. 

"I know you were an English teacher before you took over your family business. So I know you understand me. Answer the question," the man said, his voice flat.

"No. Why are you doing this?" He had not used English in many years and the words came out slowly and awkwardly.

"Why not?" The man sounded curious.

He frowned. "I won't answer until you tell me why you have kidnapped me!"

The gaijin chuckled. "I guess people like you are more used to being the kidnappers."

He held his breath. "What have I done to you? I don't know you!"

"Now, I'm really insulted. You did know me back in Nanking."

"I can't—"

"Well, I suppose you can't remember. You did kill so many people. But I thought you'd at least remember one or two gaijin."

He shook his head.

The man laughed. "Fine, I'll help you along. The name's Thompson. That's all you need to know now. Still don't remember me?"

He blinked and slowly shook his head.

"Wow," Thompson said, then took another puff of his cigarette. "Wow," he said again, as if he could not quite believe his response.

"It's funny because all these years all I see when I close my eyes was your face. You and your pals. And to think that all these years you probably did not lose a second of sleep over what you did, let alone remember who I am … Wow, I mean. Wow," he grinned.

Hasegawa stared at the man.

"How about Xiao Yan? Do you remember her?"

He shook his head again. He had a terrible feeling where this was going.

"I can't believe it!" Thompson exclaimed, throwing up his hands and smiling widely. He tossed a look at his companion. "He can't remember Xiao Yan! I mean, she was a looker, wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was," said Lee in English. Then he returned to whittling that piece of stick.

Suddenly, Thompson shoved him hard on the chest. Hasegawa gasped, his eyes wide.

"Answer me," Thompson growled.

"Yes, yes," Hasegawa said, stammering.

"Now, how the hell do you know that when you can't even remember her?"

He looked away, but the man grabbed his chin roughly with his big hands.

"It's rude not to pay attention when a person is talking to you. Maybe that was your problem. You didn't pay attention when you were shoving your dick into her."

Hasegawa swallowed when he heard the crude words.

"I didn't—"

"Oh, I know you did. Ogawa told me that you all took turns. Even drew lots to see who went first. Ogawa was first. Hanasawa second, Hiro third and you were last. You must have hated that, being last. All that waiting."  

"Ogawa?" he said, feeling numb. 

He had not maintained contact with most of the men in his company. But he heard that Ogawa met with some misfortune after he returned from the war. He did not know the details, but Osaki, who gossiped like a woman, said that he died in squalor— a crazed, homeless beggar. 

They had sworn not to talk about Nanking, about the madness that overcame them. It was war, after all. And men did what was necessary during war.

"That was a long time ago," he said. He knew that it was a terrible answer, and the gaijin would probably not understand.

"Sure. Fifteen years is a long time. Especially when you spend that time wondering what happened to someone."

"Please, I really don't remember who this woman is."

The man made a disgusted sound. Then, he gestured to Lee.

Thompson just said two words: "Do it."

He instinctively shrank back in fear, but he was given no time to even think of a way to struggle because Lee, without warning, tore open his shirt so hard that the buttons popped out. He yelped when Lee showed him the stick he had been carving. It was now a sharp, pointed stake.

"What are you doing?" he cried out, his voice trembling.

Lee did not answer him. Instead, he placed the stick on his chest—on the spot next to his heart. Hasegawa trembled when Lee pressed the stick hard enough to hurt.

"Please! Please, can't you just tell me what you want from me?"  

But Lee merely smiled. Hasegawa cried out in horror when the sharp end of the stick sank into his soft skin. Did they mean to stab him to death with this? A trickle of blood flowed from the tiny wound, but his torment didn't stop there. 

Lee, who frowned like a man engaged in an important task, dragged the stick slowly across his skin and this time Hasegawa screamed. He struggled hard against the restraints and tried to lean backwards, but strong hands—Thompson's—gripped his shoulders. 

In the end, Hasegawa could only look away, whimpering in anguish as he felt warm blood trickle down his sweaty chest. It seemed that the pain lasted forever.

"It's done," he heard Lee suddenly say. And the pain finally stopped.

Next: Read Blood of Nanking, Part 3

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