Beneath the Flesh by Jodie Austin of Japantown, San Jose, California (Reading by Richard Newton, Menlo College, California)
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Beneath the Flesh
Professor Jodie Austin, Ph.D.
July 1, 1893
My Dearest Margaret,
I hope this letter finds you in good humor. It was with heavy heart that I left you and our young son today, but I have decided to write to you as I would a diary, that the letters may be kept as an account of our successful expedition. My hope was to impart some measure of dignity to the event by having you attend the casting-off at the docks; it was difficult to discern your own expression at a distance, but I was made proud by Peter's solemn face as he saw his father off. A man must answer when summoned to serve his nation.
It has been nearly two days since word arrived that Captain XXX XXX 's body had been found– murdered, it appears, by the very fugitive with whom he was sent to retrieve. Given the relation of Captain XXX XXX 's widow to our own family, it would seem fitting that I would be asked to take up the search for the savages and bring them to justice. I say "savages" because, as the report reads, the man is said to have been joined by his own wife and child. Given the high likelihood that he is a leper, it seems unthinkable that he could put his own family in the perilous position of being on the run (or worse, becoming infected themselves). It is said that leprosy affects the mind as well as the body; the disease must have rendered him crazed. In preparation for this mission, I read an account of the disease's communicability that shook me to the core. An otherwise healthy criminal, sentenced to die here in Honolulu, was inoculated with fluid from the ulcer of a long-suffering leper. The criminal went on to contract the disease himself, proving once and for all the possibility of its virulence. In some ways we have ourselves to blame; having incubated in the dark countries of the Orient, the disease has now come creeping to us on the backs of the yellow man employed in our very fields. Unlike the Orient, we have empiricism on our side; Dr. Wilshire has assured us that aggressive quarantine measures, if executed swiftly enough, will successfully isolate the disease's spread. By rational extension, we must be equally merciless to those who sabotage the health of our society.
For this I have been sent on my hero's journey. Do not be sad in my absence; my professional reputation can only stand to benefit from such a mission. The successful capture of the fugitive XXX XXX will mean a greater peace of mind for all on this island including you and our son.
As a brief aside: I would ask that you exhibit the same degree of discipline in dealing with Peter as I do. He has developed the objectionable habit of thumb-sucking in his spare time, and betrays a womanish sensitivity as of late. Please counsel Norwena against coddling him further. I have also decided to dismiss our girl upon my return. My uniforms were aired only twice this past week and the epaulettes resewn askew. Her employment was a kindness on our part; all islanders should understand that benefaction is a Christian value to be respected rather than squandered. If she protests her notice, please withhold her final wages.
As I make for Kauai to do my duty as a soldier, please hold me in your prayers.
Your husband,
XXX XXX
July 2, 1893 Dearest Margaret,
Having moored the ship off the coast, we were forced to delay after wind gusts made it impossible to approach. We played cards and had an early supper aboard the Pyrite, which smelled of stale brine outside and in. The winds only abated at the end of the second day and the sky was darkening by the time we lowered the whaleboat. We took our packs and enough rations to last six days, although I suspect we will be gorging on the remaining salt pork within three. The ship's captain was visibly nervous about the weather, fairly pushing us aboard the boat to take advantage of the lull. Not a military man himself, he showed little respect for our company. After the boat had been lowered, Lieutenants Conrad, Tessley and I set off with our two native guides and the skiff pilot. The pilot was able to navigate us to the beach with great skill, although I nearly lost my supper upon arrival. I caught the eye of one of the guides— Iulio— before the boat was heaved onto the rocky shore. He seemed to be waiting for me to be sick, and I noted the insolent gleam in his eye. I was able to swallow my sick and disembark without issue.
No sooner had we set foot on the shore than a lone figure emerged from an unseen path, as if detaching itself from the treeline. As I had assumed the beach to be deserted, this spectral figure gave me quite the start. My surprise was doubled when, upon passing us, the figure was revealed to be a young nun— and a fair one at. The skiff pilot greeted her, taking her bags and dropping them into the boat. She must be a missionary, I thought, returning to Honolulu for sundries. I had heard of them traveling between the islands to tend to the sick, but did not expect to encounter one on a darkening beach on Kauai. As she climbed into the boat, her delicate features all but glowed in the waning light. The lantern set her eyes ablaze in a most uncanny way; she said not a word but bowed her head as the skiff pushed back off from the beach.
We had little time to waste. We shouldered our packs and treaded inland toward the thick embrace of the forest. As we walked, I made a note to enjoy the air of Honolulu when I returned. I know that I have often objected to the vaporous aspect of Oahu, but I can assure you that the smells of our island are more than tolerable compared to the stench that awaited us on Kauai. The beauty of the lush, almost primeval quality of the jungle was offset by a smell that could only be compared to spoiled meat. As we hiked further up the path, the wind seemed to worsen the effect by casting the odor straight at our party. I wasn't the only one so strongly affected; I spotted young Conrad discreetly draw a kerchief from his pocket and briefly clap it over his face when he thought no one else was looking. But the forest soon grew denser, and the wind lessened as we made our way deeper into the trees.
Our guides said next to nothing to us on the way, only casting back glances to see that we were keeping up. I searched for any clues of the insolence I witnessed earlier in the young man, but it was carefully hidden behind that mask of inscrutability perfected by the locals. Prior to our leaving, the Magistrate had told me that our guides would be well paid, and that their loyalty was assured. I remained cautious, however. We had been sent to capture one of his own— a fugitive, yes— but certainly a brother to the young men leading us up the path in the dark. There is a strong bond of kinship within the locals that breeds a blind loyalty; whether he was in our pocket seemed beside the point. I would not trust any man who has likely killed with a spear or his bare hands; this requires a primitive instinct. As I meditated on the nature of this primitivism, I recalled some of the Holy verses— that of Peter 2:2, who admonishes us to beware those brute beasts who understand not, and who shall utterly perish in their own corruption.
I look forward to revisiting these passages in the Scripture with you with upon our return.
Your faithful,
XXX XXX
July 3, 1893
Dearest Margaret,
I write to recount our late-night arrival at camp, and the events that followed. The camp, left by XXX XXX and his men from their failed excursion to the island, consisted of little more than four shabby huts clustered together around a fire pit and a basin. There was still too much wind for a fire, but the animal heat of the island continued to linger even after the sun had gone down. Our native guides fetched water from a nearby spring and refreshed our basin. It seemed to me that the forest odor was already creeping into my clothing; my uniform will need a good washing and airing upon my return. When I entered my hut, I was startled to see a dark form in the shape of a man on the ground. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a rotted blanket— apparently left by the previous soldier. I dragged the blanket outside and threw it in the bushes in disgust. As I held up my lantern, quick, minute flashes caught my eye; the blanket had been infested with swarms of black beetles.
Shortly before finishing this letter, I conjured the image of a warm brandy in bed with clean sheets. I feel confident that I can now sleep.
July 3, 1893
I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of shouting. Emerging from my tent in a half-daze, I saw Conrad kneeling on the back of our guide Iulio. The man's face was turned towards me in the dirt and with anger burning in his eyes. Meanwhile, Tessley was wrestling with a native girl a few feet away; she emitted inhuman cries as he bound her hands, tying the cord to a nearby koa tree. As the highest ranking member of the group, I quickly demanded answers. Tessley informed me that our guide had been caught handing supplies and letters off to the captive girl, who stared in dumb defiance as he spoke. As I approached her, I was horrified to see that one side of her face had thickened with the telltale signs of that dreaded Asiatic affliction. Her hands, bound behind her, had a gnarled and clawlike appearance; the hands of a woman forty years her senior. Her very presence threatened to compromise our mission; had she not been found out, she doubtless would have gone on to alert XXX XXX to our presence on the island. I admit, Margaret, that I pitied her in my heart of hearts. The unmarred side of her face had a quality that could even be called beautiful; her cheekbones bore some degree of primitive nobility, like the face of some early tribal conqueress. The effect was greatly spoiled, though, when she turned to stare at me directly, revealing the extent to which the disease had ravaged her face. It was as if the savagery had started within and bloomed on the surface, creating a scale-like ripple on her jawline, which now flexed haughtily.
I must say with some embarrassment that my instincts got the better of me; unthinkingly, I struck the side of her face as if she was a common servant. Tessley looked surprised but said nothing. I ordered him to scout the area around camp in case the girl had not come alone, and left Conrad to deal with our mutinous guide. It will not do to have them with us as we continue our mission. I plan on resting for three more hours before deciding how to proceed.
Your faithful,
XXX XXX
July 4, 1893
I made a courageous decision today, in no small part cheered by the anniversary of our great country's birth. As our new prisoners would have slowed our trek, I made the decision to order Tessley and Conrad back to the beach to transfer the captives back to the Pyrite. I have decided to continue on with our second guide, who would do well to heed the fate of his brother should any rebellious urges arise. XXX XXX is said to be cunning, but the capture of the girl-spy will doubtless throw him off our scent.
Tessley lent me some extra ammunition as well as a cigar for good luck before their party departed back down the mountain. We made plans to rendezvous at our camp within 48 hours. I will admit that I nearly changed my mind as I watched them start back, but assured myself that a soon-completed mission would mean a swift departure from this blighted island. I was soon my better self after a good boot shine. The air was disturbingly still, but I pictured myself in the role of a safari- hunter in the African veldt on the trail of some trophy beast, and shouldered my pack with newfound determination.
My God bless my steady aim with His righteous purpose. Your Faithful,
XXX XXX
July 5, 1983
Dear Margaret,
I write to you after a long and weary day of tracking. Little more has been gained beyond an ugly mass of bramble scratches along one arm and a long welt from my shouldered rifle. Our guide took on my pack after four hours of trekking; I soon paused to take a survey of the land. I offered him a map of the valley, which he declined; the report made it clear that both our guides were intimately familiar with the parts of the valley in which XXX XXX had likely taken refuge. As I sat on a rock watching my sweat fall onto the dirt below, I had the queer notion that the earth was hungrily sucking each droplet into its inner recesses. I pondered how the moisture would make its way into the soil, find some subterranean tributary, and perhaps be flushed back out to the sea through a rocky portal. As I rose, I noticed a small rash that had appeared on my left palm. The harsh slap I had delivered two days before must have been more forceful than I had intended.
My musings were interrupted when my guide emerged from the brush nearby, holding what seemed to be a spent .30-40 cartridge. Leading me a few yards away, he showed me the remains of a hastily kicked-over campfire, and what seemed to be the charred bones of a small rabbit. I recalled that when Captain XXX XXX's body had been found with two holes in his chest, his Springfield rifle had been missing. Leprous and armed, our quarry posed a threat to the rest of the island. He could not have gone far. We took to the trail again soon after. Although we did not find any more signs, I am confident that we will soon.
I would write more, but sleep threatens to overtake me. Your Faithful,
XXX XXX
July 6, 1893
Another day of hiking. My instincts tell me that we are close. A heavy rain began to fall as we moved up the mountain, and the mud began to fall away underneath our feet. We were forced to make camp. This island is determined to rot everything that it touches; this evening I tore away at the green spots that had appeared on our bread before eating what was left. My guide refused to partake, contenting himself on the bland purple poi of which the locals are so fond. We took refuge inside of our respective tents. The storm has darkened the sky, making it seem like night at an early hour.
July 7, 1893
I awoke this morning to the sound of the tent puffing around me like some great engine. After calling out for Koi and receiving no answer, I emerged from my tent. The rainstorm hit me in the face in a single wet blast, carrying my voice with it.
Koi was nowhere to be found.
His blankets had been left behind; for a moment, I had an uncanny sense of deja vû. My trousers were already beginning to soak through, so I crept back to my tent bent against the driving rain and enclosed myself within. I now refuse to think of what would happen should I return empty-handed. The fate of the civilized within the islands remains at stake, and I grow frustrated at the thought of the city officials' reaction to another failed retrieval. Should our fugitive escape forever into the wilderness, it would send a signal to all of the locals that our grasp on the crisis has weakened. Open rebellion would not be off the table. This epidemic— and its spread— must be managed at all costs.
July 7, 1893 My Dear Wife,
The possibility of failure is intolerable to me. I think of our Peter, and, involuntarily, the image of his fair cheek pocked with tubercles worms its way into my mind. That his skin should grow cancerous with lesions, his breathing more labored with each month— this is the very threatening reality embodied in the cursed man I now hunt.
I resolve to wait for the rain to abate. Tessley and Conrad will have returned to the camp down the mountain by now. Certainly they will wait another 24 hours before they come looking.
July 7, 1893 Dearest Margaret,
Darkness has come. The wind has fallen off at least, leaving only the incessant sound of rain above. I worry at the integrity of the waxy canvas. My skin is almost as warm as the air around me; my fever has risen somewhat. The rash on my hand also seems to have worsened; pushing on my palm I feel little sensation. The nerves must somehow be damaged.
July 7, 1893
I tried to eat a light supper of jerky and water. The meat came back up almost as soon as I tried to swallow. I feel weak and unable to stand; there are hardly any ways to pass the time. Inwardly, I rage at myself for not having backtracked sooner. The men will soon find me, shivering in a pile of damp blankets. A picture of shameful retreat. I tried to light Tessley's cigar, but the damp extinguished it in short order.
July 8, 1893
The lack of feeling in my left hand vexes me.
July 9, 1893
Dear Margaret,
Good news! I have found a new way to pass the time while I wait for my men to arrive. With careful precision, I have been able to use my shaving razor to scrape away at the skin in the center of my palm to reveal the unmarred skin beneath. The effect is transfixing; with each scrape, the mottled skin reveals a fresh layer underneath like the dazzling whiteness of a newborn.
July 10, 1893 My Dearest Wife,
The space between the raindrops is no longer discernable; they fall as one in a glittering rite of purification— "perfecting holiness out of reverence for God!" Better yet, the pervasive smell of the island has been washed away, leaving me basking in the welcome drone of the storm.
My own work on purification continues. Although I thought I was done, I recently caught sight of my face in the reflection of the razor. A new rash seems to have bloomed on the skin near my ear. The effect is one of a pronounced scar. Running by fingers over it, the flesh seemed deadened to the touch. As I caressed the skin, I was reminded of my father's face at his funeral. The masklike skin, mortified in age and finally in death. I wonder now as I wondered then what lies beneath that surface flesh.
August 12, 1893
Re: Letters from Captain XXX XXX Honolulu, HI
Dear Sirs,
The above letters were retrieved near the body of Captain XXX XXX, who was recovered approximately six miles from the camp along the Kalalau Trail. The content of the letters indicate the extent of Captain XXX XXX’s mental breakdown; at this point, we suspect some degree of impairment even before his arrival on the island of Kauai. Neither Lt. Conrad nor Lt. Tessley could corroborate the incident related in Captain XXX XXX’s’s letters on the night of July 3; indeed, the girl described in his account appears to have been entirely fictional. More perplexingly, Tessley and Conrad report only that Captain XXX XXX ordered them back to the beach along with the native guides, Koi and Iulio, to await his return.
Contrary again to the Captain's account, Koi did not accompany him on the second leg of his journey. It appears that the Captain had ascended up the mountain by himself.
Captain XXX XXX’s supervising infantry officer reported no sign of mental instability prior to his assignment. We would ask that the details regarding his case be withheld from his widow for the time being. The condition of Captain XXX XXX 's body as it was found is unprintable here. There were no physical signs of the leprous symptoms described by the Captain in his correspondence, although it may be that the disease was otherwise asymptomatic, afflicting only the susceptible parts of the brain. We are awaiting the final autopsy report from Dr. Harold Burnham at Queens Hospital. Our hope is that a thorough post-mortem examination of the brain in particular will yield some insight into the terrible and mysterious circumstances of his death as well as the motives of a surprisingly inscrutable character.
Please keep this letter and its references confidential. I am not ashamed to say that the events of the past days have prompted some nervousness on my part. I plan on seeing both of you gentlemen at the Governor's Ball this evening to share the remaining details over some well-deserved brandy and a good cigar.
Sincerely,
XXX XXX XXX
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