The Creek. From Kazuko.

[oneighty]

The creek has passed under U.S. Route Five and joined Lake Erie where Donnie washed his dingy yellow tee shirt like the Indians do and where we caught the dying fish and ate him for dinner.

Our way home is East on the busy Route five. We must pass by a nice home surrounded by trees. A sign in the yard announces 'Tourist Home'. The man living there is friendly with us boys. He often talks with us and offers us cold water to drink when we stop by. He is clearing out a shed in the back of his house. He gives us old tools and other assorted junk he is throwing away.

He has some dusty old books in the shed. They stink of old things and mildew. He offers the books too. I am an avid reader at my young age and books are my friends. One day I am alone and I stop there. He invites me into his home to look at his books. He allows me to borrow some books and to take them home to read. He becomes my friend.

One day in his living room I open the book he offers me. When I open the book a little pornography book falls to the floor. He shows me the booklet it is very interesting. It shows cartoon characters doing it. I am very embarrassed and interested as I look through it. He takes it from me and apologizes for letting me see it.

The next time I stop by he gives me some books and more pornography to look at. Which I do. From behind he reaches around and caresses my arousal. He holds me tightly to him as he rubs me. I pull away. I leave in a hurry clutching in my sweaty hand a copy of Horatio Hornblower taken from his matched set of three.

Still I have not learned. I return the book. He says I can have the other two Horatio Hornblower books. They are upstairs. We climb up the stairs. At the top of the stairs is an open door to one of the guest rooms. In the bedroom are the books. He hands me the Hornblower books. Inside there is pornography.

That which happens next robs me of life robs me of innocence. I am sitting naked on the edge of the bed he is standing naked in front of me. In a little while I leave with the gift of books I have somehow earned. I am twelve years old.

In this same time period in a land far away a young girl too is raped. She is a child of the war and with a chocolate bar as bait she is led into a secluded area by two American soldiers. After a while with the soldiers she leaves. She is crying. Blood runs down her inner thighs. She is tasting the bitterness of chocolate. She unlike me is robbed of her life. All of it.

One day with tears in her eyes she will lay naked beside me and she will tell me some of her story and I will tell her some of my story and I will hold her tight and I will kiss away her tears and I will tell her over and over that I will love her forever.

But I am far too shamed to tell her what I have told here. Perhaps I should have.

Navy Boot Camp.

At seventeen years and twenty-one days old it has come my turn to ride the train.

The train leaves the big city along about nightfall. It travels West to the setting sun. In full darkness the train passes through my village and on past the building where the man could not shave. And it passes the field where the little girl burned to death and past the abused snake and past the place where Mitzi died and past the corrugated iron shack where the young girl and the young Eddie lay that day. It rumbles past the the hut where Donnie and I ate the stolen peaches and smoked the Lucky Strikes. The train roars past the hobo camp and the creek and the 'Tourist Home'.

In the dark woods I can see the children's faces. There is Carl, Janie, Ronnie, Earl, Donnie and my sisters Lois and Eunice. They are waving at me. "Bye Bye Eddie. Bye bye." I can hear them. "Bye bye Eddie."

A little while later suffering with an upset stomach, excitement, self doubt, who am I, fear of the future and fear of the unknown I shit my pants.

In the train rest room I discard my soiled underwear and I clean my discusting self as best I can.

The train screamed and roared through the long night. In the bright light of the following day we disembark. I arrive at U.S.Navy Great Lakes Boot Camp.

I am not a child any more but neither am I a man.

180

[JitterbugPerfume]

1. this story brings tears, Ed

You are very brave to tell it

[Orrex]

2. Self-delete (posted in wrong part of thread!)

[Orrex]

3. Here your understated style serves you especially well.

Too often this kind of story can lapse into uncontrolled catharsis that reveals a powerful experience only at the cost of the writing. Happily, that's not the case here! When I encounter a work like this, I try to separate the writing from the traumatic event; I’m not qualified to address the event itself, but I can take a swipe at the writing, at least.

Your tone here, as elsewhere, is calm and measured. The narrator (who may represent you but, once put on paper, is distinct from you) recounts a transformative episode from his early life without being maudlin or melodramatic. The voice is more or less objective, almost journalistic, and that lends a cold power to the narrative.

Paragraph One
Good opener—it sets the scene clearly and with a setting that nearly any American reader can immediately visualize. You could probably break it into two sentences, but that’s not essential. The phrase “the dying fish,” suggested to me more than one fish; perhaps you could change it to “a dying fish,” thereby eliminating doubt. The fish is dying, and the fish is a “him;” interesting on both counts. The boy is soon “hooked,” as it were, by the man’s books and friendship.

Paragraph Two
To me, this reads just about perfectly as is. My only tiny suggestion is to change “in the back of his house” to “behind his house,” but that’s just a stylistic choice.

Paragraph Three
Right here I begin to sense that something is amiss. The image of “old things and mildew” is great and evokes the musty and easily recognizable scent. The repetition of the word “home” here has a chilling resonance. The boy is invited into the man’s home as a “friend,” and the boy brings the books—his friends into his home. There’s a real sadness as this unfolds because the reader can see where it’s going and can see that the narrator probably won’t be able (or know how) to stop it. If the narrator were to smell that musty scent today, it would bring the whole episode back in sad and vivid detail.

Paragraph Four
Events begin to unfold here, and the word choice becomes important. Repetition of “book” is a little problematic but can be overcome. In the first sentence, perhaps you could refer to a specific title: “One day in his living room I open a copy of Hornblower and the Atropos, and a booklet falls to the floor.” Skip the word “pornography” there because it's already covered more effectively when the narrator refers to “cartoon characters doing it.” “Embarrassed and interested” is a poignant description that captures the innocent awkwardness of such a moment. The man apologizes not because the narrator saw the booklet but because the man allowed him to see it. This is a distinction calculated, I think, to make the man seem more sympathetic and trustworthy to the boy. It’s a cruel hook, and the reader can feel it taking hold. Chilling and sad.

Paragraph Five
You can probably omit “I stop by” from the first line because it’s implied, but otherwise that and the second sentence are excellent. “Which I do” is stirring in its bluntness. It conveys an air of inevitability and demonstrates the ease with which the vulnerable narrator is swept along. And a scene that was already creepy now becomes fully distressing as we witness the narrator’s flight. Though the narrator can escape with apparent ease, the molestation is perhaps all the more disturbing because no physical force is applied. Frankly, it’s a form of seduction, but that makes it no less an assault on the boy.

Paragraph Six
“Still I have not learned.” This is an interesting moment of “blaming the victim,” in which the narrator, reflecting on the episode years afterwards, assumes responsibility for a situation that was largely out of control. It’s likely that an escape route obvious in retrospect was not apparent to the boy, yet the narrator still blames himself for part of it. This is sad and, from what I’ve read of this kind of case, very true to life.

You can probably change “the other two Horatio Hornblower books” to “the rest of the series” or “the other two books,” since we already know that they’re about Hornblower. You can also omit “They are upstairs” or “We climb the stairs” because either works just fine on its own. You can also delete “to one of the guest rooms,” because the subsequent phrase “In the bedroom” gets the point across just as well. The other two sentences are excellent as they are—objective but distressing.

Paragraph Seven
Get rid of the first sentence! The whole excerpt details the robbing of the boy’s innocence, so to state it outright here is to inject a summary that’s already apparent to every reader (and it weakens the tension, like letting steam out of a pressure cooker!) Otherwise this is a remarkably strong paragraph—understated and poignant. The revelation here, at this late point in the scene, of the boy’s age works very well, too. We already knew that he’s quite young, but this underscores his innocence and helplessness.

Paragraph Eight
Rather than “In the same time period,” which has a historical, mythic sound, I’d offer “At about the same time” or something similar. I’d also suggest that you remove the word “too,” because it’s redundant here and overplays the respectively tragic experiences of the boy and girl. Again the hook—this time, a chocolate bar, which to an orphan in occupied Japan is probably as good as a pound of gold. Interesting also that she leaves on her own, rather than being left in a ditch by the Americans. The fact that she’s able to walk away implies that she’s not grievously injured (physically) by the rape, but her wounds are nonetheless deep and slow to heal.

However, to say in this context that she is robbed of all her life is to imply that she perishes from her attack. I sense that the “robbing of life” refers to the war’s destruction of her life as well as the brutal fact of her rape, but it doesn’t quite read that way. Omit the final two sentences of the paragraph because they’re confusing, and they detract from the poignancy of the bitter chocolate, which is very striking in its own right. The image is especially evocative of a tainted treasure, gained only through the theft of her innocence.

Paragraph Nine
It’s remarkable that these two wounded characters are able to bond through the shared experience of tragedy (even if the narrator doesn't quite reveal his to her). “Tears in her eyes” is a cliché and should probably be reworked, but keep the underlying image because it’s powerful. Also, it should be “lie naked” instead of “lay naked beside me.” Instead of “some of my story,” consider “some of mine,” which conveys the same thing without repeating the preceding phrase verbatim. “Kiss away her tears” is likewise a common phrase, but you could say “Kiss her tears” instead and maintain the image without lapsing into cliché here, too. The narrator telling her “over and over” reveals an almost desperate urgency, and its source isn’t as clear as it might seem. Is he trying to reassure her that his love for her isn’t contigent upon illusions of purity or innocence? Is he “forgiving” her for being raped in a way that he can’t “forgive” himself for his own molestation? I note with interest that he doesn’t promise to stay with her; he promises to love her. Is he therefore apologizing for having to leave against his will? It’s clear that he loves her, even 50+ years hence.

Her rape by two Americans is an unavoidable metaphor for America’s destruction of Japan. One can’t easily read “two rapists” as “two atomic bombs,” and the small, helpless girl as a metaphor for a nation all but defeated before the final bombs were dropped. Sure, Japan as a country was hardly innocent (of genocide and torture, for example), but the civilians who died at Hiroshima and Nagasaki didn’t commit those crimes.

Paragraph Ten
It’s fascinating that the narrator doesn’t reveal to her his own loss of innocence. Perhaps at the time of their involvement he still wrongly blamed himself for what he perceived as his complicity in his molestation (maybe he still does). Maybe he felt that the slow, almost gentle nature of the molestation doesn’t compare to her violent physical assault. Maybe he simply wanted to be strong for her, and he thought that revealing his secret would compromise that strength? Whatever his reason, his shame is itself tragic and speaks of a scar as deep as hers; even in a moment of profound intimacy, he can’t bring himself to reopen that wound.

One also can’t help noticing that the book that snared the narrator as a boy was a sailing epic, rather than, say, a western. Later he himself becomes a sailor, and this lends an engaging symmetry to the narrative arc.

An excellent professor once gave this mantra about writing: "The truth is no excuse for bad fiction." That is, even if something really happened that way, if it doesn't yield good writing, then it should be reworked when it's put into fiction. The reverse is also true--even if something really happened that way, that doesn't mean that a corresponding metaphor has no meaning! This is what's going on in this excerpt, I suspect.

=====
This is easily the most powerful of the excerpts you’ve posted so far. You undertake an unusual straddling of periods in the narrator’s life: the present (when the story is told); the distant past (when the molestation took place); and the intermediate past (his involvement with Kazuko). To juggle these three timeframes in so short a space is commendably artful. Once again you’ve done a good job of highlighting the central details without dwelling on trivia, and you weave a strong tale as a result.

I think it’s long past time for the narrator to forgive himself.

=====
I just noticed the part that you added on edit; I'll post that critique separately when I have the chance.

[JitterbugPerfume]

4. Orrex

your commentary is fascinating

[oneighty]

5. Up until now

there are three people that know this story. I considered long whether or not to use it. But it is in fact a very important if embarrassing part of my early life which created great doubt in myself.

Her hands warm tender gentle caressing
Nursed me and healed all my wounds

As you noticed was not without meaning.

I consider it a very important part of my journey into manhood. A terrible lesson learned.

Kazuko's life was stolen in that her future as a Japanese wife was ruined. She took the only course available to her. She was not an orphan. I knew her older sister and her mother and father. They will appear later.

I have printed out every comment you have made. Excitingly helpful is a good description. I will make good use of your efforts on my behalf.

Thanks Orexx

180

[Orrex]

8. Typo in my critique

For Paragraph Nine, I wrote this:

One can’t easily read “two rapists” as “two atomic bombs,” and the small, helpless girl as a metaphor for a nation all but defeated before the final bombs were dropped.

That should read "One can easily read “two rapists” as “two atomic bombs.”

Oops.

Also, the fact that Kazuko's life was ruined didn't occur to me--I was too bogged down in "literal" death to understand the cultural context. Call me an ignorant gaijin!

Still, it might be worth a quick phrase to clarify the nature of her "stolen life," so that lunkheads like me get the meaning.

Great stuff. I'm glad that you find my comments helpful.

[WCGreen]

6. Man, that is great stuff....

You need to see a publisher.....

[oneighty]

7. Thank you

WCGreen.

Since it is true it writes itself. Easy. Well this was not exactly easy due to content.

Story has a long way to go. But much of it is already written.

A couple of more months and it will be done.

180