Page 7 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

“I’m a nurse. I should check on him. He’s elderly and needs care.”

Elderly. There it is again. Does everyone see him as an old man while I see him as…what? What the hell is going on? I blink furiously and realize my fox has gone quiet. Deathly quiet, in a way it never has before. I touch it underneath my shirt, trying to wake it up. Nothing. It’s the only thing outside myself confirming there’s something different about this guy.

Or maybe I just don’t want to face the fact that I’m cracking up big-time.

“Better not,” the woman in pink instantly hisses. “You’ll get us in trouble. He tried to escape. And maybe that’s the least of it. For all we know, he’s a maniac and he’ll attack us when he wakes up.”

“So, which is it?” Mr. Nomura snaps at her. “Was he trying to escape or is he a maniac?”

She casts a glare at Mr. Nomura and says evenly, “Both.”

Cautiously, the nurse slips into the aisle. She moves to the back of the bus, staying low so no one outside can see she’s moving. After a minute, Mr. Nomura stands.

“I tended to a man or two during the war,” he announces to no one in particular. Together, he and the nurse kneel next to the man and begin a whispered consult.

Everyone’s attention is fixed on the trio, but I look back out the window. There. The man’s box. It lies on its side, a rectangle of dark, polished wood. I can make out a single kanji carved into the top, a lone mark in the glossy finish.

No one is loading it into the underside of the bus with the rest of our luggage. It’ll be left behind. My fox has gone silent, but my heart races. None of us have anything but our stuff. We’ve been made thin. Our houses—even the crappy apartment Mama rented—took up room on lots, just as our desks took up room in classrooms, and our cars, children, pets, and shops took up room on the streets. That’s gone. We wear only our bodies and the things we carry and the clothes on our backs. If the bus leaves, the box will be thrown away. Whatever he is—old, young, who the hell knows—the man will be even thinner.

I inhale sharply. Stand.

“Ren?” Emi asks, alarmed. “What’re you doing?”

“Sit,” Mama commands. She reaches across Emi to grab at my shirt. “Sit.”

Ignoring them, I sidestep into the aisle and move up the bus. Every step brings me toward the front. There’s a lever by the door. One pull and the door swishes open. It feels like a portal to another world. A doorway of sunlight awaits, and cool air beckons me forward, cleansing away the stale bus air. Three more steps. I’m off the bus.

I reach for the box.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Hands come from nowhere. I’m thrown violently against the unforgiving aluminum siding. Something gives in my shoulder. I’m yanked away, and there’s a dent in the siding. I hear Emi’s voice, muffled from inside the bus, cry out. I try to lift my hands in surrender but my right shoulder hurts so much that I can only raise the left. Hopefully it’s enough. Guards surround me.

“I’m just getting the box. Whatever we can carry—we were told we can bring whatever we can carry.” I’m reciting their rules back to them. I hate it. I force away the urge to slug the nearest guard, busted shoulder or not.

“No one is allowed off the bus,” a guard blares in my face. Four soldiers gather around me, their shiny shoes ringing me in. “Act like a lunatic and you’ll get yourself shot. We’re trying to keep this calm, sonny.”

My face burns hot, fire raging inside me. I stand completely still, trying not to combust, waiting to see what they’ll do.

“I can arrest you right here,” the guard continues. That sure as hell gets my attention. If I get separated from Mama and Emi when they need me most, I’ll never forgive myself. He pauses and glances around. The other families waiting for buses and loitering around are quiet, watching. He points to the bus. “Go on, then.”

I pick up the box with my good arm. Climb back onto the bus. Uncirculated air reclaims me, and my muscles tremble. It isn’t with relief. It’s with anger. I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe. A man takes the box from me and carries it to the back, where its owner is still unconscious. I return to my seat next to Emi. My adrenaline starts wearing off, which is when the pain from my shoulder really kicks in.

“Baka!” Mama’s hand reaches around Emi to slap at me. I try not to wince as her palm connects with my shoulder. I’m not successful. It sends her to another level of frenzy. “Stupid boy!”

“Calm down, Mama,” I say stiffly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you all right?” Emi’s voice is thick with worry.

“You’re hurt.” Mama sounds accusatory, like she’s bringing me up on official charges. Her necklaces swing as she half rises in her seat.

“I can take a look,” the nurse says, glancing up from where she and Mr. Nomura are still working by the unconscious man.

“Come here, Ren,” Mr. Nomura commands. His face is stern, but he and the nurse look way too excited that their patient roster is about to double.

“Go!” Mama and Emi chorus together.

“I swear I’m fine.” I’m regretting getting the box. Not because of the injury or the incident but because of the amount of attention I’m suddenly getting. I try to slink down on the bench, but my fate is sealed. Emi and Mama shove me out into the aisle. Resistance is futile. These two are rarely united, but when they are, they’re formidable as a tank brigade. I’d take my odds against ten guards over Mama and my sister any day.

The nurse motions me over to the newly founded bus hospital. I slouch up the aisle. When I reach her, she probes my shoulder, and my breath catches. Pain radiates down my arm and up my neck, straight to my brain.