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hesitantly.
    “The leprosy?” Matsu shook his head. “It was like a wildfire back then. It couldn’t be stopped once it began.”
    “When did it happen?”
    Matsu slid his hand through his short gray hair. I watched his brow wrinkle in thought, as sweat glistened and slowly made its way down the side of his face. “It must have been at least forty years ago or so when it first appeared in Tarumi,” he finally answered. “I don’t know what brought the cursed disease to us. We had never seen it before, but maybe it was always incubating, waiting like a smoldering fire to spread out. One day, it began to show its ugly face and there was nothing we could do. The disease chose randomly, infecting our young and old.”
    “My father never told us anything about it.”
    “He never knew,” Matsu continued eagerly, as if it was a story he’d long held inside and could finally unleash. “It was kept quiet among the local villagers. After all, Tarumi was a place for outsiders to come on holiday. If they’d heard about the disease, no one would return. We didn’t want to frighten anyone away until we knew more about it. At first, no one had any idea what was happening, then a few more became infected with the scaly patches. It first appeared like a rash, only it wouldn’t go away. Within months, it began to eat up the victim’s hand or face.” Matsu paused and swallowed. “Fortunately, there was a young doctor visiting Tarumi who tried, without much success, to reassure us that the disease couldn’t be spread by simple touch. We wanted to listen and learn, but those first few months were like a bad dream. Every day people awoke, afraid the leprosy would claim them. Some of those suffering from the disease quickly left the village, while others ended their lives, hoping not to dishonor their families.”
    “Was your family all right?”
    Matsu was silent. The road had become familiar again, with bamboo-fenced houses and trees. We were almost home. I could smell the salt from the ocean and feel its mist on my face. I waited for him to go on.
    “It took my younger sister, Tomoko,” Matsu finally said.
    I hesitated, remembering what my father had said about her accident. I wanted to know more, but Matsu had quickened his pace as we neared the house. Instead, I asked, “Why did you take me with you to Yamaguchi?”
    Matsu slowed, then turned to face me before he answered, “So you would know that you’re not alone.”
    OCTOBER 21, 1937
    Everything has changed between Matsu and me since we’ve visited Sachi. It’s as if the awkwardness has disappeared and we share some precious secret. It’s not that we speak a great deal more, but the silence no longer seems intimidating. Once in a while, I even catch Matsu glancing my way, a smile just barely visible on the corners of his lips.
    Last night after I’d finished eating in my room, I walked back to the kitchen to find Matsu still sitting at the wooden table. A high, scratchy voice coming from his radio had just declared another Japanese advancement in their struggle against Shanghai. Matsu leaned over and played with the dial until a Bach concerto filled the room. He seemed oblivious to my presence.
    After I listened for a while, I softly said, “Excuse me,” to let him know I was there.
    Matsu turned to me, startled for a moment.
    “Will you be going to Yamaguchi soon?” I asked.
    Matsu laughed and relaxed. “So you want to see Sachi- san again, do you?”
    “Yes,” I quickly answered, embarrassed that my curiosity was so apparent.
    Matsu laughed and rubbed his thick hands together before he said, “I suppose it does Sachi good to see a young, handsome face now and then. Unfortunately, she has had only mine for too long.”
    “You have a strong face. A face someone doesn’t forget.”
    “Like a monster,” Matsu added.
    “Like a samurai,” I said.
    Matsu opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly swallowed the words before they came to his