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paused to study him, then leaned forward. “You said that you saw my husband when he died. How did he look? Was he tired or thin?” Her face was exceedingly sad.

      Masters thought back through the years which spanned half a lifetime. “He did not appear thin or ill,” he finally replied.

      “When did he die?”

      “I’m not sure of the exact date.” He rubbed his jaw, reflecting. “It was before Okinawa was invaded - that was the first of April. I was transferred there soon after. I guess it was somewhere between the fifteenth and the thirtieth of March.”

      “What time of day?”

      “In the afternoon, about four o’clock.”

      She hesitated. “Where was he shot?”

      “In the heart,” he said, deciding to lie. “Look, Kimiko, your husband and his comrades tried to fight back like good soldiers, but it was over in an instant.”

      Her head drooped and she sat silently. After a while he heard her whisper. “Do you still have the good luck belt?”

      “Yes.”

      “May I have it, please? I made it for him.”

      “Yes. It’s at the hotel.”

      Kimiko broke off the conversation as the old man and woman reentered the room. They drank tea together, then went outside to sit on the long bench in the moonlight and talk of Vietnam and Germany and Castro and China ... and Masters had to chuckle at these old peasants, who know only labor all their lives, who could not read or write, but who could ask if he thought Nixon would be the Republican choice for president in 1968.

      When her parents had gone to sleep in the rear room, Kimiko arranged two mats and bedding on opposite sides of the living-dining room, and waited outside while Masters disrobed and slid under the quilt. Then, in the darkened room, she changed into pajamas and lay down on her mat.

      An hour passed and Masters, halfway to sleep, suddenly realized that she was sitting next to him, motionless, looking at his face in the thin light of the moon. His eyes opened fully and he raised his head from the round neck-rest.

      “Yes?” he asked quietly,

      She leaned down towards him. “Please, Keith,” she whispered. “Did he die peacefully?”

      Masters’ loins suddenly grew warm, but he forced himself to answer softly. “He died peacefully, Kimiko,” he replied.

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