RAIN, ALL LAST NIGHT. I fell asleep to the sound of thick raindrops on the tarpaulin Mamoru had stretched over the camp. I was still worried about my diary: twice in the last few days, I imagined that it had been disturbed. Finally, after dinner last night I took it, wrapped in its wax cloth, and buried it in the sand close to my bed, near the base of a tree; then I covered it with twigs and dead leaves.
I was awakened again by that awful wail. Every night since it started, I have been the only one to wake up. I wondered if it was a joke one of the men was playing, but they were all asleep. Nothing stirred in the camp. All the other beds were silent. I got up, pulling a gown over me. The cry screamed in my ears. I had to see where it was coming from. I put on a pair of boots that belonged to Johnny and stepped out from under the mosquito net.
Beyond the tarpaulin the rain dripped steadily through the canopy of trees above. The boots were too large for my feet, and I stumbled slowly into the jungle. The source of that high-pitched call seemed always to lie just ahead of me, a few steps out of reach. Every time I thought I would discover it, its call would echo from slightly further away. I kept walking, tripping over small logs and tree roots; the more I walked the less afraid I became. I thought: I want to confront this creature. I did not know if I would destroy it or hold it to my bosom when I found it. I was not frightened of it anymore. In the half-light I saw the monolithic silhouette of the house of antlers. The deformed animals, carved in stone, seemed to freeze in mid-leap on the façade. The wailing seemed to come from within those darkened depths. I started up the huge stone steps, my gown falling open as I climbed to the massive door.
Something darted into the darkness. A figure. I could not tell if it was man or beast; it fell from the high wall next to the house and disappeared into the jungle. I stopped and looked around me. The wailing had broken into a coughing bark. More movement, I sensed. Another figure — this one of human definition — moved swiftly amongst the trees. I caught a flash of naked skin. It was pale and shining in the broken moonlight, smooth white against the patchy darkness of the jungle.
“Mamoru?” I called.
Again I saw it, gliding silkily, naked, amongst the trees.
“Mamoru?” I shouted. There was no answer. “Peter? Frederick?”
I ran to where I had last seen it, but there was nothing there. I searched amongst the trees for some time, but I was alone. The wailing, too, had stopped. I began to walk home; the rain had made my clothes heavy and cold. I realised that my face was wet not only with raindrops but with tears too.
When I arrived back at the camp I picked my way silently past each of the beds. All the men slept soundly. I undressed and went to bed with my skin still damp. I slept badly, even though the wailing had stopped.
This morning, after breakfast, I waited for the men to disperse from camp on their various activities — fishing (Johnny), exploring the house of antlers (Peter), mapmaking (Mamoru and, I think, Honey) — before I went to collect my diary. The leaves were still piled thickly over the hole I had dug. I felt gently relieved. It was only when I knelt down to dig out the diary that I saw the marks in the sand. Two sets of deep, broad scratches, a foot long, next to the mound which marked where the diary was. They had faded in the rain but I could still see them, clawed heavily into the earth.
TELL ME ABOUT MANCHURIA,” I said to Mamoru. “I want to know everything.” It was in the middle of the afternoon and we were alone.
“I’ve told you everything,” he said. “I’ve told you about my shame.”
“I know. I want to know more. I want to know what you saw.”
“Terrible things,” he said. He laughed softly. “Too terrible for words. Really, I do not wish to speak of those things. They belong to my past.”
He began to look away but I said, “Mamoru, please. I want you to share your pain with me.”
“Why?”
I did not answer.
“Fine,” he said, his voice dropping. “Let me tell you about some of the things I have seen, some of the things that have happened to me.” He looked into the distance, and when he spoke he sounded as if he was speaking to himself. After a few seconds it felt as if he had forgotten I was there. He seemed to vanish into himself. I no longer knew who was telling the story.
