This post covers pages 37-43
The Day Garma Died chapter list
(Please note that while this particular chapter is safe for all ages, others in the book are R18)
Content Warnings
— Act 10 —
For writing
None
For images
None
Act 10
By Ai Naniwa, Shio
He was the one who called out first.
“What is it, Job…-san?”
“Just Job John is fine. Don’t you remember me, Pilot-kun?”
“Y…yeah, um…yes.”
Amuro was a little confused and stammered as he replied like an elementary school kid.
“No need to be so tense.”
The young man with the two J’s in his name pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and walked over to the red-haired boy.
“Can’t sleep?”
Amuro blinked and nodded slightly. Job was right.
“I thought so… It’s obvious from how you look.”
Job, with blond hair and distinctly fair complexion, stretched with his chin tilted back.
“Actually, I can’t either.”
“You too, Job-san?”
“I said just Job is fine.”
His friendly, deep double eyelids narrowed. He was a year or two older than Amuro, and somehow Amuro remembered he was close to Bright. There were 26 of them on the ship, fewer than a classroom, but there had been no time for self-introductions, so the group was full of people who didn’t even know each other’s faces or voices. This was especially true for Amuro, who spent more time staring at machines rather than people.
However, there were plenty of things he had to get used to on Earth – especially that blonde girl, as well as this afternoon’s broadcast. That’s right, that man who was consigned to oblivion in a single Gaw, not by choice, and (in hindsight) Amuro had hoped that it had been unmanned. But that didn’t matter. That man was the enemy, and that was that. Yet Amuro was tormented by his own weakness, unable to accept that fact.
It was midnight. The Earth’s sun had produced an extremely vibrant blue sky, but that sky had now changed from indigo to black. Amuro was told to go to bed. Ah, if only I could sleep, he thought. Amuro had crawled into bed and swiftly forced the covers over himself, unable to rest.
“Of course you feel that way, you only had to be a normal kid until recently.”
Job’s expression was bright in contrast to his words, and there was even a hint of defiance in his raised eyebrows.
“Suddenly being ordered to kill, boasting about those kills, always going on about Zeon.”
He must have been referring to that afternoon’s broadcast, and Amuro found himself bowing his head.
“Hey.”
Job called out in a cheerful tone.
“Do you know The Fall of Icarus?”
“Huh?”
Amuro popped his head up upon hearing the unfamiliar phrase thrown at him.
“The Fall of Icarus.”
Then Job laughed with a smile.
“It’s a painting, and it’s based on Greek mythology… you know mythology stuff, right?”*
[*T/N: Job is referencing the painting Landscape with the Fall of Icarus]
“Well…”
His words were naturally caught in his throat.
“It’s a story about the son of a carpenter who is trapped inside a maze he made, and the climax of that story is what that painting depicts… A vast ocean… You’ve seen the ocean, right? And green terraced fields, with men dressed in olive and orange raising cattle.”
Amuro’s eyes widened even more. What was this about? What does anything have to do with Greek mythology or orange guys in fields? But Job’s expression remained gentle. His bold laughter had subsided, but a soft smile remained on his cheeks, and his brows were still slightly raised, showing no sign of derision.
“Hey, Pilot-kun.”
“Amuro is fine.”
“I know, Bright-san is yelling it all the time.”
Job then laughed a little again, and Amuro’s ears turned red.
“Sorry for teasing you.”
His words were kind, and somehow Amuro felt like it had been a long time since he had met such a gentle person. But everyone has some kind of needle stuck in their mouth somewhere, with the added bonus of not knowing when you might be stabbed, but that’s just how war is, you know…
“It’s nothing to worry about.”
Suddenly, Job’s words changed in tone. Huh?, Amuro thought, looking back at him.
The hallway at night was silent, and the sound of Job’s shoes as he turned on his heels echoed rather loudly. There was no one there of course, and the sound of the air conditioning was dull. Job looked over his shoulder, folded his hands behind his head, and stretched his back again. Then, he exhaled and relaxed, straightening his body again. He moved well, Amuro thought. He seemed flexible, and so were his words, but so what?
“Well, you see…”
Job continued, or it might be more accurate to say that he never stopped.
“What do you think of the scenery I described?”
“What do I think?”
Amuro hesitated again, what was he trying to say? However, Job just kept smiling. Amuro said a little angrily,
“Don’t make fun of me. What does that orange guy or Icarus have to do with each other, and with me?”
“They have a lot to do with you.”
Job leaned forward eagerly, his pale-colored eyes lit up deep inside.
“In that they don’t have to do with each other.”
…Huh?!
Amuro was stunned once again, but Job’s expression was sparkling. It was as if he understood everything.
“Yeah, that’s it, that’s what I wanted to tell you.”
Even though they were on Earth, the fan continued to pump out artificial air, and the stench bothered him. There was no guarantee that Amuro still remembered the smells of the sea, trees, and living creatures that had been collected in his young body. As the faint rumbling sound echoed, Amuro stared blankly at the other man’s face. Job was slightly taller than Amuro, but instead of looking down at him, his eyes gently fixed on Amuro.
“That’s right, they have nothing to do with each other – in that picture, you see, at the edge of the ocean, two tiny white legs and fragments of his wings, that’s Icarus. And the people are just working away. It’s the myth of Icarus, but he’s ‘irrelevant’, right? What does he have to do with the bigger picture? …You might see him as something incredibly important to the future, or something like a war criminal being forever consigned to oblivion, but right now he’s ‘irrelevant’, right? So what about the Zeon general, let him bark.”
Having said all that in one breath, Job again drew in his chin and then slowly exhaled. As for Amuro… he was silent, or perhaps it would be better to say he had lost the will to speak. He didn’t know what to say. What did he mean by “irrelevant”?
“The war will probably continue, at this rate.”
Job’s hair, too, was a mess of skillfully directionless curls, or maybe just frizzy, and he continued speaking as he scratched at it. Alone together with Amuro, the sound of machinery echoed along the walls of the corridor. So far, there had been no shouts from anyone about disturbing their sleep, although neither of them had even considered that.
“There’s no guarantee that you or I will be able to talk like this even after the war is over, but even if that’s true, is there any reason for us to go along with their nonsense? I think it’s only the top brass in Zeon, but they’re happy about the war. Like hell it’s a ‘war for independence’, a holy war is what they mean to say. But coming from someone like me… it doesn’t change anything.”
Before he knew it, the smile had disappeared from Job’s face, but his eyes still had a slight softness to them. However, that was only towards Amuro, who was opposite him, and not towards Icarus, the scum of the earth, or the Zeon followers. It was Amuro’s inability to accept that “it has nothing to do with me” – and this was probably the reason he left his bed – but Job continued.
“Did you lose someone too?”
When asked, Amuro hesitated for a moment, then nodded, though it wasn’t so much that he lost someone as they went missing.
“Right? So it’s not really even, but… there’s no need to think about it.”
Then suddenly Job burst into a carefree laugh, once again stunning Amuro.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m just being weird.”
His laughter didn’t echo much in the hallway, since he quickly stopped laughing.
“Well, that’s basically how it is. You don’t need to care who dies. You don’t need to think of them as human beings. They started the war, so you don’t need to listen to any of their babble… unless they want a ceasefire. Well then, good night.”
He patted him on the shoulder, gave a wink as Amuro straightened up in response, and with a smooth showy stride he disappeared around the corner of the corridor, leaving Amuro behind as if it was perfectly natural – and the hallway from where his companion had disappeared was instantly filled with the presence of the air-conditioning fans.
—
There was no particular plate that indicated this was supposed to be Amuro’s room, but… it was clear he was familiar with this corner of the wall. He wasn’t yet at ease with the whole “irrelevant” thing, so he curled up under his blanket. Even though he knew Fraw would say something if he didn’t sleep properly, Job’s words still echoed in his mind.
Irrelevant?
He wondered if it was true. The higher ups in Zeon want war? No way, that’s completely ridiculous.
First of all…doesn’t that mean his death was meaningless?
Amuro tried to recall the deft words of the man on the stage. It was fragmentary and vague, but he remembered their meaning – he’d forgotten his name, but the enormous portrait of the man with purple hair – his death was just the beginning. That’s what the man on stage was saying. The beginning of what? Well, to put it simply, it was probably the beginning of a new phase in the war. Something about dictatorship, and Bright, unable to contain his anger, yelling at the screen, which was pretty intense for him. Amuro wondered why the man had died – obviously from the barrage of artillery from the White Base, but for what purpose – to boost Zeon’s fighting spirit?
That couldn’t be the case, Amuro thought. The man had been pursuing his enemy in earnest, and Amuro, the one being pursued, understood that, even though he was a decoy. Despite that fact, it wasn’t like Amuro was thinking about such things while fighting, but it was clear that the man had intention to kill until the moment he was shot down. If his death was simply to boost morale, it didn’t have to be like that. There had to have been other ways, and more effective ways (regardless of the specifics). In the first place, he seemed to be a fairly high-ranking military officer, but would someone of that caliber just go off and die like that? No way. After all, that man had died accidently (which is to say, in a very ordinary way). He didn’t die with a bouquet of flowers in his arms because of Zeon’s desire to go to war.
Then, Amuro thought again, why did that person proclaim those things? The simplest explanation was that he was taking advantage of the man’s death, the circumstances of which may not have been much of an issue for that clever orator. In any case, there’s no way that man died just so that he could complain about it later, as long as there’s someone like that blonde-haired girl who would snap at him like “You’re wrong!” But it wouldn’t happen that way.
Then Amuro remembered the thunderous chants of Sieg Zeon, and he felt a strange loneliness – because if someone was truly saddened, then why? Why did that man have to die?
…Would they cry for him? To that crowd, it was more of a speech than a funeral, more of an uproar than mourning. There was no need for tears. It might be good (for Zeon) that he hadn’t simply died, not that he could know that. But surely no one…except perhaps that girl…wished they could at least hear his voice and see him again. Wouldn’t it be a joyful thing for the dead person to know that someone yearned so deeply for that?
That man was now dead, Amuro was certain of that. Not only was he physically gone, but his death had been truly welcomed with open arms. In other words, no one cared about his passing. One might even say that they were happy about it. No matter how he was decorated or worshiped afterwards, it was in response to his death – not to the way he was in life. To put it bluntly, it didn’t matter who had died.
But, he thinks again and again, it’s not that the man wanted to die, he never wanted to die. Even if a sacrifice was necessary, that person in the portrait…
Amuro suddenly took a breath and, sitting up, hugging his knees, he remembered the girl who had embraced him on Side 7 a long time ago (at least it feels that way). Fraw Bow, oh, you must be feeling so lonely too…
On the Side where winter never comes, from the blue doors of a makeshift church came the girl who seemed so modest, until she leapt down three steps into the field and shouted to the boy by the beech tree.
“Oh Amuro! May God bless you!”
That was when he was 14. The copper bell rang a special tone signaling Confirmation, a ceremony where Christian children become adults regardless of their denomination. Either way, children come of age before God from the day they turn 14. Fraw’s mother, who was also very close to Amuro, was a Christian, though she worshiped in her own way. Therefore, Fraw also followed suit. If his father, who didn’t care about religion, had not thought the way he did, Amuro might have been drawn in as well.
But Amuro had been spared from that, and in fact his father’s indifference had unknowingly left an impression on him. So he found himself standing in a field that had no scent of true green grass, leaning against a tree, waiting for the girl he knew to come out with a flushed face, and it was even more than he’d expected… And Amuro may never forget that day, for it was the first and last time anyone had ever whispered those words to him (although it was more like a shout).
Wondering why he had remembered this, Amuro laughed a little. God’s blessing?
Well, if there was such a thing, then why was he in a place like this now? At any rate, Amuro was still alive, which was a bit of irony towards heaven. Now that he thought about it, to what god did that mysterious funeral (it seems the best way to describe it, so it can’t be helped) return the soul of the deceased…
Thinking that, Amuro sat up straight, realizing how clear it all seemed. Usually, funerals are attended by some kind of god. In the past, this god would be things like an animal or something in the natural world. Either way, isn’t a funeral the practice of handing over the soul of the deceased to something that can be called a god? That must be the case. As an exception, there are things like space funerals, which, although not to a specific god, are still about handing over the dead to the heart of the universe. Of course, if thought about rationally, one could say that this is simply because it would be difficult to dispose of the corpse. But if that’s the case, then it doesn’t have to be so formal and it could be just like disposing of garbage. Calling it garbage is a bit of an exaggeration, but that’s the gist of it.
“Yes, that’s right”, Amuro muttered aloud this time. But before whom could that person ask for forgiveness? He couldn’t go before anyone, right? That’s right, he can be summed up in one word: “irrelevant”. The dead person whom the man at the podium had been speaking about…
Amuro felt himself shudder involuntarily. That person was “irrelevant”. Once he was dead, it didn’t matter what happened to him. As long as he became a force for the war, no one cared what became of him after that. Of course Amuro didn’t openly believe in God either. His beliefs more resembled if someone had murmured to him, “there’s no such thing as God or Buddha”. To begin with, if you try to talk about things that God and Buddha said to someone who doesn’t belong to any religious sect, it’s just empty words.
Even though the girl’s touch had made him hot under his collar, Fraw wasn’t forcing Amuro to convert. If she really had that sort of plan in mind, it still wouldn’t have changed anything now. No matter what you worship, it’s the enemy’s bullets and such that kill you, and in the end, when you die, others will grieve and cry.
If the screen was truly filled with an abundance of colorful bouquets, wouldn’t someone among them be sad? It doesn’t matter what denomination you are, you ask yourself why that person had to die. You think, poor thing, it must have been painful. Why didn’t someone say, “At least save his soul?” You know you return to the earth when you die. Isn’t it because you lament that fact that you offer a bouquet?
“Irrelevant”, Amuro muttered again, and reconfirmed those words. Then, as he was biting his lip, the familiar sound of the air conditioning suddenly rang in his ears. Startled, Amuro instinctively turned around, only to find that no one was there.
He regained his composure and took a long breath. “Ah, he’s dead”, Amuro thought. He didn’t know who that man was, where he was from or any other details, only that he was an acquaintance of the man on the podium, and that he was young and beautiful. It was a portrait of a carefree smile, and Amuro was certain that’s how the man must have smiled while he was alive. That girl, crying for revenge, must have been his sister or lover. Looking back on it now, she was the only one who mourned for the Icarus that had crashed, and now she’s gone too. There was no cloth to cover her face with, as the circumstances on the White Base would not allow it. He wondered what happened to the girl’s family, are they still waiting for her to return?
“Because there is a God,” Amuro thought, looking up to the ceiling. He understood for that man there was no up or down, left or right, while he was in the sky or outer space. But then Amuro wondered if he also watched over this decaying conflict like that. He didn’t know what anyone could have done, he didn’t know who had done this, he just knew that someone had died. Whether for Amuro’s sake or for anyone else’s, there was no choice but to leave that behind. That man simply died, and like that, he was truly gone.
He was a stranger, and then he was truly gone.
God bless you.
Amuro murmured in his mind. The words of the girl that day were sweet, and just like back then, he didn’t know what to say. Even if there was no relevance, then at least…
The sound of air occasionally escaped through the pipes like a flute, and the faint scent of the outside air passed through the window and by Amuro’s cheek. Far above the sky and beyond the window that was supposed to be closed was something that no man had made. It was filled with the half-eternal darkness itself.
It’s not a lie, it’s true, and from tomorrow onwards… probably forever.
God bless you.
It can’t be helped if it falls on deaf ears. But can you at least hear me, Icarus from another land?
May God bless you… and, if it’s alright, me too.
FIN