I often go for a walk when I cannot sleep, especially when the moon is full. On these nights I do not feel in the least bit tired and just start walking. On this particular night I felt quite happy to be walking along the road in the moonlight and before long I achieved the state where my body felt like it was floating along with a steady rhythm and my mind was free to wander. Sometimes when I reach this state I might make up a play and have all the various parts playing in my head. I was therefore not aware of the scooter until it was quite close to me and was startled by the sudden sound as it sped past me. It was an older model called a Honda Joker and this one was shiny black with chrome handlebars. The rider had a black helmet, dark tinted goggles, and as far as I recall was dressed entirely in black. I guessed he or she was a student on their way home from a friend’s house. I saw them look back at me and then pull away at speed. I guessed they must have wondered what a foreigner was doing wandering about in the middle of nowhere at this time of night. The encounter was enough to break my rhythm and also train of thought. I looked around and realised that I hadn’t a clue where I was. Despite everything I decided to walk on in the hope that I would find a convenience store up ahead.
The road eventually curved to the right and there was a steep wall of rock on one side where the road had been carved out of the hillside and on the other side there was a steep drop with what looked like dense undergrowth. Around the next bend there was very little to see but I walked on until I noticed the scooter that had passed me was parked at the side of the road. It was ticking slowly like a clock as it cooled down. A short distance further along I noticed some wide steps cut into the rock and what looked like a path up into the rock wall. I thought this was probably some old footpath and probably led to some lookout at the top and on the spur of the moment I decided that I would go and see what was up there. During the day I imagined cars probably stopped here and I could visualise whole families running up the wide steps and at the top there was probably a couple of concrete picnic tables with little red roofs and a nice view.
I started walking up the steps and after a while I started to see graves. Graves in Okinawa are like little stone houses and some of the older ones resemble turtle shells and were originally constructed using skills learned from Chinese stonemasons. During the Battle of Okinawa many graves were destroyed by the invading US military as they were mistakenly thought to be gun emplacements or bunkers. Many civilians sheltering inside them were killed often with a single grenade slung indiscriminately into the entrance. There are also many stories of Japanese soldiers sheltering with Okinawan civilians held at gunpoint who were told that if they were discovered by the Americans they would be tortured and killed. These Japanese soldiers were also known for killing Okinawan babies, when they cried, fearful that their hiding place would be discovered. In the heat of the battle US forces were hard pressed to know who was a combatant and who was an Okinawan civilian simply trying to shelter in the crossfire between the battle hardened Japanese military and US troops many of whom had seen the desperation and recklessness with which the Japanese fought for every inch of the territory they occupied. Many of those Americans did not know how the Okinawans had also been overrun by the Japanese military and had been forced to speak Japanese rather than their own dialects and also suffered the systematic destruction of their own unique culture and traditions in the name of militarist aspirations. The Okinawans that were liberated by the Americans soon discovered that on the whole they were not so badly treated and the Americans realised that the Okinawans were a relaxed, peaceful, generous and wonderfully warm-hearted people with a rich culture that was significantly different from their northern cousins. The land however was devastated and until the Vietnam war was in fact the most bombed place on earth. To this day the soil in some places is stained red with the rust of rusting iron from bombs. The people were desperately poor and of course people resorted to any activity they could to get food. Those were terrible days for the people of Okinawa. Okinawa is still the poorest prefecture as they were still under occupation whilst the Japanese were enjoying their bubble economy.
I began to feel a little uneasy and muttered some apologies to the dead for disturbing their rest. Okinawans have a great respect for their ancestors and their family tombs are often impressively large. I should have realised that this was the entrance to a graveyard but for some reason I kept climbing passing several tombs on either side. It was then that I heard what sounded like a baby crying further up the path. I stopped suddenly and so did the sound. I felt as if it had suddenly grown very cold indeed. I was sweating from the climb and the air was still but I couldn’t help shivering uncontrollably. I pulled myself together and resumed the climb telling myself there was probably a very simple and logical explanation for the noise.
After a while I knew I was not alone and I had an intense feeling I was being watched. I kept turning suddenly sure that I would catch someone looking at me before they could hide behind a grave. I wondered whether I would come across the rider of the scooter I had seen. I hoped that I would reach the top and find them sitting there having a quiet smoke or finishing off a can of Coke. A few words to another living soul would be a great comfort.
When I finally reached the top there was a small clearing with some rocks but no sign of the rider. It was a little bit of an anticlimax after the drama of the climb up. I sat down on one of the rocks for a rest. I was hidden by some bushes and for some reason this made me feel better. I sat very still and took some deep breaths. I was looking straight ahead when I became aware of several small grey shapes in the bushes at the other side of the clearing. One by one they moved cautiously into the clearing looking around like a pride of small lions. I wasn’t surprised to discover this place was populated by a group of feral cats. There are many in Okinawa and they are a common sight almost anywhere. Surely they must have known I was there but they had decided to ignore me, I supposed, as long as I stayed still and away from them. They were all different kinds and all of them looked thin and bony. I then witnessed something a bit odd. Another cat came out of the bushes behind them walking through them gracefully and jumped with ease onto a boulder turning around in one smooth movement to sit and face the others. This cat was a bit different. It looked well fed and its coat was shiny and black, its green eyes too sparkled in the moonlight, making the other cats look poor and shabby by contrast. This cat sat regally like a queen on the rock looking down imperiously at the others who stopped and looked up at her briefly and one of them mewled loudly followed by another. I held my breath wondering what I was seeing then the black cat on the boulder turned to face me like a spotlight and I knew it was looking at me fully aware of my presence. It then turned away, as if it had sent out a message to the others, they then all melted away into the bushes and were gone.
I sat still for a couple of minutes and then decided I had better make my way down. When I reached the road again I noticed that the scooter had gone. I turned towards home and as I did so the first glimmer of dawn appeared on the horizon. Behind me I could hear the sound of a scooter still far off. I carried on walking and the scooter I had seen earlier passed me stopping about 50 yards ahead of me. The rider turned to look at me and as they did so they pulled up their goggles and my heart nearly stopped. I looked into the space where their eyes should have been and saw instead two holes of oily blackness. I felt a feeling of dread grip me as they slowly replaced their goggles and rode off again. It took me a while to recover my composure and I swore out loud and even tried to laugh it off, telling myself it was just some kid with some weird black contact lenses trying to give me a fright, but I have never seen anything like it. I made a promise to myself there and then not to go visiting any old graveyards in the dead of night ever again as you really don’t know who or what might follow you home.
I sometimes dream of that awful moment when the rider took off their goggles but in my dream instead of looking into those terrible eyes I see instead another face looking back at me. It is the face of a woman with short black hair and the most remarkably beautiful green eyes. I hope in my heart that it was the woman I saw and that the other face was just the product of my overactive mind and a sleepless night.
