The Girl Who Played Go

52

The Chinese girl has gone home for lunch and I choose a Korean restaurant that seems to have very few customers. I order cold noodles, and sit in a corner overlooking the whole room so that I can keep an eye on the comings and goings of the waiters as I write the beginnings of a letter to my mother.

I tell her what I need: soap, towels, newspapers, books and bean-curd cakes. My years spent at the military academy made a man of me, but my time spent far from my homeland has turned me into a capricious child. I insist on particular brands, giving details of the color and the flavor. I rewrite the list twenty times before my raging nostalgia finally calms.

How are the flowers in the garden? How is Little Brother, who has been called up by the army? Does he come home once a month? Do they give him a good meal and warm sake? What is my Little Sister doing as I think about her now? What is the weather like in Tokyo?

Everyone knows that mail can be intercepted and monitored and so, for fear of betraying military secrets, our soldiers’ letters to their families are excruciatingly bland. The replies are in the same vein. When we are gone, will the fact that we do not complain or express our fears make us look like intrepid heroes?

I pull to pieces every sentence from Japan, and my family have their own way of interpreting my words. Fearing she might weaken my will, Mother has never written that she misses me. So as not to make her cry, I have never told her how I suffer away from my country.

Only the vocabulary of death is allowed between us. She writes, “Do not hesitate to die to honor the Emperor. It is the path of your fate.” And I reply, “What joy to sacrifice myself for my beloved country.” I will not tell her that I shall also die for her glory, and she will never admit that my death will destroy her.

I end my letter thus: “According to Confucius, ‘a man who knows humanity will never agree to preserve his life at the expense of that humanity.’ This courageous virtue has become the key to my very existence. Pray, venerable Mother, I beg you, that I may soon attain this ideal.”