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What
are
they
waiting
for
?
The
first
round
didn
’
t
hit
Yonabaru
.
The
shot
that
was
supposed
to
have
killed
him
was
headed
for
me
instead
.
I
didn
’
t
have
time
to
move
a
millimeter
.
I
’
ll
never
forget
the
sight
of
that
enemy
javelin
flying
straight
at
me
.
The
paperback
I
’
d
been
reading
was
beside
my
pillow
.
It
was
a
mystery
novel
about
an
American
detective
who
was
supposed
to
be
some
sort
of
expert
on
the
Orient
.
I
had
my
index
finger
wedged
into
a
scene
where
all
the
key
players
meet
for
dinner
at
a
Japanese
restaurant
in
New
York
.
Without
rising
,
I
looked
carefully
around
the
barracks
.
Nothing
had
changed
.
The
swimsuit
pinup
still
had
the
prime
minister
’
s
head
.
The
radio
with
the
busted
bass
grated
out
music
from
the
top
bunk
;
from
beyond
the
grave
a
singer
admonished
us
against
crying
over
a
lost
love
.
After
waiting
to
be
sure
the
DJ
would
read
the
weather
report
in
her
bubblegum
voice
,
I
sat
up
.
I
shifted
my
weight
as
I
sat
on
the
edge
of
the
bed
.
I
pinched
my
arm
as
hard
as
I
could
.
The
spot
I
pinched
started
to
turn
red
.
It
hurt
like
a
bitch
.
Tears
blurred
my
vision
.
"
Keiji
,
sign
this
.
"
Yonabaru
craned
his
neck
over
the
side
of
the
top
bunk
.
