Fields of Fire by James Webb Page A

lest he feel excluded. A murder. Boy killed two shopkeepers with an ax. American boy. No. Okinawan mother, American father. No father.
    Hodges mentally shrugged it off. He could not understand their excitement. She noticed that he seemed unmoved and touched his knee, intense. He shrugged to her, smiling ironically. “One murder?”
    “No no no. You no understand. Okinawan never kill. This is terrible!”
    “Must have been the American in him.” It was supposed to be a joke. She withdrew her hand and ignored him, continuing to converse with the driver.
    The taxi turned off the beach road and groaned up the short steep hill and entered the island road. In a few moments they were driving through Kin village again. They rode along the lighted street, the sign-drunk buildings depressing him now. Mitsuko spouted another command to the driver and he nodded once and pulled over to the Camp gate.
    She smiled with effort, warm yet distant. “Taxi take me home. I pay. Good night.”
    Her face was only inches from his and he stared beyond the careful smile into eyes that were confused and innocent, and somehow hurt. What a bummer, mused Hodges. How the hell can I understand? Three days and it's Vietnam. How the hell can I try to understand? It can't be like this.
    He touched her shoulder. “I can't leave you here.” He gestured out into the streets. “Too many crazy Marines. Let me take you home.”
    She said nothing but her unchanged expression told him no. They sat close, staring at each other, each waiting for the other to capitulate. The driver stared courteously out the front window. Marines passing by the car on the way in from liberty elbowed each other and smiled at the figures in the car.
    The nudging Marines finally tipped the scales. Mitsuko turned to the driver and spoke a low command and he nodded once again and drove off into the village. They bounced a few blocks and turned onto a dirt road, following it behind the street. The car stopped beside a stairway which led to a group of second-floor apartments that fronted on the street.
    Hodges checked the fare and started to pay the driver. She protested again. “No. You take taxi back.”
    He ignored her, paying the driver. The taxi departed. He turned to her, smiling uncertainly. “I'll walk back. It isn't far.” They stood under the stairs, looking at each other's image in the dark. Finally she gave him a small, confused smile and turned away. She began to walk up the stairs.
    “Sorry. Good-bye.”
    He followed quickly, astounding himself with uncharacteristic boldness. He took her shoulder and stopped her and she turned around, angry, somehow insulted, but he needed her too much to worry about her insult. He pulled her to him, first gently and then tightly, kissing her and pushing her into the guardrail. Finally she responded, ever so slightly, not even wanting to.
    He squeezed her and spoke soft words that she did not understand and then kissed her again, less clumsily than before. She kissed him back, a portion of her innocence crumbling with great remorse, admitting his attractiveness. Then she stared at him with a curious, examining look.
    He held her and discovered that his eyes were wet. “Please.”
    She did not invite him. Nor did she ask him to leave. She merely turned and walked slowly up the stairs. He watched the golden legs ascend the steps and felt insane, controlled by their measured motion. He followed her.
    She unlocked the door and left it open, still not looking back for him.
    He entered her apartment, closing the door and walking through the kitchen after her. She stood in the other room, facing away from him, still not acknowledging his presence. He placed both hands on her waist, standing behind her, holding it as carefully as fragile china.
    He did not ask and she did not answer. Neither of them needed to. When she reached up and turned out the light they both understood. She stood with her back to him and pulled a long pin out of her hair