Chapter Text
August 1995
LOS ANGELES, California -
This year will mark the 50th anniversary of the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan during World War II.
The Jyn Erso Foundation, well known for its decades of work with veterans, is sponsoring a group of twenty anti-nuclear peace activists to join the mourners there. There will be no official presence by the United States nor any of the Allied powers at the ceremonies.
A spokesman for the peace activists, retired Private First Class Bodhi Rook of Dearborn, Michigan, said “I was a prisoner of war held by the Japanese and was liberated via Nagasaki just a few weeks after the bomb fell. The destruction I saw there must never be allowed to happen again.”
Jyn Erso herself will also be attending the ceremony with the group. The movie star could not be reached for comment.
- Los Angeles Times, August 1, 1995
************************************
Beverly Hills, California, August 1995
Jyn looked over the contents of her suitcase. So much black. But she wasn’t going to Japan for attention - at least, not attention for herself. She was going because she wanted to support Bodhi’s work. People still noticed her after all these years; she might as well put that fame to a good use.
Fifty years ago, she’d listened to the announcement of those bombings on the radio in this very house. She hadn’t known then just how close Bodhi and Cassian had been, in Japan. The prisoner of war camp was a little over a hundred miles from Nagasaki, perhaps halfway to Hiroshima.
They’d been captured almost a year before, with only seven men from their company escaping and the rest killed. While Bodhi’s family had (unknown to her) eventually been informed he was alive in Japan, Cassian’s name had not made it onto any prisoner lists until after the war was over. The first news Jyn had heard of him since he’d gone missing was a telegram letting her know he was in a hospital in San Francisco, almost a month after his liberation.
Jyn refolded her blazer and smoothed it out. The war had never really left either of them, if she was honest. She picked up the small wooden bird sitting on her dresser. It was a Nicobar pigeon; Cassian had said they gave him hope. He’d carved dozens of them for her. This was the first one. Jyn traced its worn paint, then tucked it carefully inside her purse. She could use one of his little tokens today. After all, peace was built on hope.
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Viajera (Luis Arcaraz y su Orquestra, 1950 )
Viajera que vas por cielo y por mar
Dejando en los corazones
Latir de pasión vibrar de canción
Y luego mil decepsiones
A mi me toco quererte también
Besarte y despues perderte
Dios quiera que al fin te canses de andár
Y entonces quieras quedarte
No se que sera sin verte
No se que vendrá despues
No se si podré olvidarte
No se si mé moriré
Mi luna y mi sól irán trás de tí
Unidos por mis canciones
Diciendote vén regresa otra véz
No rompas mas corazones
(Translation)
Traveler who goes by sky and by sea
Leaving in hearts
A beat of passion, a vibrating song
And then a thousand disappointments
It was my turn to love you too
Kiss you and then lose you
God willing, you’ll finally tire of wandering
And then you’ll want to stay
I don’t know what will happen without seeing you
I don’t know what will come next
I don’t know if I’ll be able to forget you
I don’t know if I will die
My moon and my sun will follow you
United by my songs
Telling you come back again
Don’t break any more hearts
************************************
Beverly Hills, 1951
Cassian shook his head as he read the news. “Looks like this action in Korea won’t be over anytime soon.”
“About that,” Jyn said, joining him at the table. “Bob Hope is organizing another USO tour. He’s asked me to come.”
“Oh? How long this time?” Some of her tours during the last war had taken months.
“Only a few weeks. I thought maybe you could come with me.” She grinned. “This time, we won’t have to sneak away to be together.”
“They might even let us bunk in the same room now,” he laughed.
“The schedule hasn’t been finalized, but there’s probably a stop in the Solomons, and Tokyo -”
“No,” Cassian snapped.
Jyn blinked. “Why not?”
“We’re not going to Japan,” he growled.
“The war’s over. It’s different now,” she frowned.
“Is it?” he scoffed. “Maybe I should remind you what they did to me.”
Jyn sat back in her chair. “You’ve never had a problem with Maude,” she said quietly.
“We’re not discussing this!” he shouted, slapping his newspaper on the table hard enough to make her jump, then stormed out.
He slammed the door to his study and collapsed into an armchair, unable to breathe.
He lay in the mud, gasping for breath between the blows raining down upon him -
The hunger, and stink, and pain, and fear, and humiliation. Hell, he’d lost a leg there! He’d nearly died. Shaking, he fumbled in his pocket for one of the little wooden Nicobar pigeons. They helped ground him, somehow. He clutched the familiar shape and tried to think of better things.
“Look at that!” smiled Jyn, grabbing his arm and pointing to the iridescent green bird.
“Found you a bird book,” yelled Kay, tossing it at him.
- watching a pair of pigeons from his cell, a glimmer of hope he and Bodhi might survive -
- Maude teaching him to carve his way out of the darkness -
- making more and more little birds as gifts for Jyn -
Cassian closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. He hadn’t had a flashback this intense for a while. But as the nightmare faded, another long-forgotten memory drifted to the surface.
Slowly, he dragged himself upright, guiltily relieved that the guard had moved on to someone else. He’d have a moment to catch his breath, at least. Thankfully, his work detail was only at the shoe factory and not the shipyards or ditch digging, but it was a long walk back to the prison camp with only one crutch. He tried to steel himself for the effort of standing up.
A young woman crouched beside him, pressed a massive pear into his hands, and vanished back into the crowd.
She had a kind face. Cassian suddenly wished he knew what had become of her. She’d probably been starving herself; there was no reason for a Japanese civilian to give an Allied prisoner anything, let alone her own food.
Cassian knew that there were decent people in Japan, even during the war. Still, his friendship with Maude Yamamoto here in California was entirely different than the prospect of running into one of his torturers on the street. No, Cassian would never set foot in Japan again.
Jyn would understand. Though, he needed to tell her, instead of snapping and storming off. He sighed and went back to the kitchen, where he found Jyn staring blankly out the window with the coffee pot boiling over.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, turning off the burner and squeezing her shoulder. “I just - I can’t go back there.”
She shook her head. “No, I should have realized. I’ll tell Bob to find someone else for the tour,” she said, reaching to caress his hand.
He bent down to kiss her. “No, you should go. You can do some good for those soldiers. I guess this time I’ll be the one waiting for you to come home.”
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Contigo en la distancia (Andy Russell, 1954)
No existe un momento del día
en que pueda apartarme de tí
el mundo parece distinto
cuando no estás junto a mí.
No hay bella melodía
en que no surjas tú
y no quiero escucharla
si no la escuchas tú.
Es que te has convertido
en parte de mi alma
ya nada me conforma
si no estás tú también.
Más allá de tus labios
del sol y las estrellas
contigo en la distancia
amada mía estoy.
(Translation)
There isn't a moment in the day
when I can leave you alone
the world seems different
when you're not with me.
There's no beautiful melody
in which you don't emerge
and I don't want to hear it
unless you hear it.
It's because you've become
a part of my soul
and nothing satisfies me anymore
if you aren’t here too.
Beyond your lips
of the sun and the stars
I’m with you in the distance
my love.
************************************
American Embassy, Mexico City, Mexico, Summer 1954
Jyn refilled her glass of punch and tried not to listen to the conversation going on in Spanish behind her.
“Ay, is she that actress? What’s she doing here?” muttered a woman.
“She’s married to the ambassador’s aide,” said the other. “The war hero.”
“I heard she used to…entertain…the troops.”
“Shh! Not like that. Besides, I heard she had a breakdown on tour in Korea. She doesn’t do that anymore.”
“Well, it’s unseemly. Traipsing around the world with strange men! And acting! She should stay home and focus on giving her husband some children -”
“Oh! Terribly sorry!” said Jyn, dumping her punch down the woman’s dress. She handed the shocked woman a napkin to help clean up and leaned in close. “Don’t talk behind someone’s back, puta,” she hissed in perfect Spanish, then marched off.
Unfortunately, Jyn realized she had nowhere to go. The two women hurried off to the powder room, so she had nowhere to hide, and Cassian was still arguing Guatemalan politics with some diplomat, so she couldn’t leave. Shaking, Jyn decided to intently study a strange, brightly colored animal figurine in the corner.
Cassian was not in his usual place at stage left.
Jyn searched the crowd of soldiers frantically. No Cassian. None of his men. Just fresh-faced boys. Children, really. Where was he?
Captured. He’d been captured. What if he’d been killed? Would they tell her? Would she know? She shivered despite the jungle heat. All these cheering, smiling boys had no idea. She heard Bob Hope calling her name and managed to smile and wave while her heart shattered in front of all of them -
Cassian laughed, somewhere across the room, and Jyn snapped out of the memory. She shouldn’t have gone on that disastrous Korean USO tour. The move to Mexico was supposed to have fixed things. She found herself blinking back tears.
“Jyn! How was your trip?” Spencer Tracy smiled, but gripped her arm firmly as he steered her towards the corner. “I need to talk to you,” he murmured.
“About what?”
“Your husband.” Spencer glanced out at the crowded room. The party was in full swing; no one paid them any attention. “Listen. I was down in Tijuana last week with friends, and I saw him.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Jyn. I saw him…coming out of a brothel.”
“What?!”
“Shh! Look, I don’t think anyone else recognized him. I just thought you might want to know.”
Jyn took a deep breath and managed to control her shaking. “Thank you, Spencer,” she choked.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and slipped off into the crowd.
Jyn closed her eyes. They’d had such a fight.
She’d practically marched Cassian out of the party, and drove home in stony silence.
“Come on, Jyn. What’s this about?” Cassian asked, once they were inside.
Jyn crossed her arms. “What the hell were you doing in Tijuana?”
“Tijuana? Who told you-” Cassian sucked in his breath and tried to make his voice even. “I was looking for my sister.”
“In a brothel?”
“Yes, in a brothel!” he snapped. “I got a tip she might be-” he sighed and shook his head. “It wasn’t her.”
“In a brothel.”
“I didn’t fuck anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Jyn saw the hurt in his eyes, and believed him, at least on that. She was still furious. “Is that why you didn’t come on the tour?”
His voice went cold. “I told you why.”
“But you waited until I was gone.”
“The timing just worked out that way.”
“When did you hear-”
Cassian cut her off. “We’re not doing this.”
“No, Cassian. You don’t get to brush this off.”
He scoffed. “You know what? Yes, let’s do this. I have never once complained to you about having to watch you kiss other men.”
Jyn blinked. “That’s acting.”
“And I hate it!” Cassian turned away and crossed his arms. “I know it’s acting,” he murmured after a long moment, “but I still hate it.”
Jyn took a deep breath. They’d made up, of course, but that night had changed things.
Hollywood wasn’t easy for him. She’d seen the wary looks, heard the snide comments. She knew there were places he was only welcome because of her. And she knew he’d never wanted her to give up acting for him. He’d always supported her work. But Jyn knew it wore on him, sometimes.
Cassian had lost so much in his life. And Jyn would give up everything to make him happy. So she had.
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Usted (Los Tres Diamantes, 1951)
Usted
Es la culpable
De todas mis angustias
Y todos mis quebrantos
Usted llenó mi vida
De dulces inquietudes
Y amargos desencantos
Su amor es como un grito
Que llevo aquí en mi sangre
Y aquí en mi corazón
Y soy, aunque no quiera
Esclavo de sus ojos
Juguete de su amor
No juegue con mis penas
Ni con mis sentimientos
Es lo único que tengo
Usted es mi esperanza
Mi última esperanza
Comprenda de una vez
Usted me desespera
Me mata, me enloquece
Y hasta la vida diera
Por vencer el miedo
De besarla a usted
(Translation)
You (formal - kind of like saying ‘you, madam’)
Are to blame
For all my anguish
And all my sorrows
You filled my life
With sweet worries
And bitter disappointments
Your love is like a cry
That I carry here in my blood
And here in my heart
And I am, even if I don't want it,
A slave to your eyes
A toy to your love
Don't play with my sorrows
Or with my feelings
It's all I have
You are my hope
My last hope
Understand once and for all
You drive me desperate
You kill me, you drive me crazy
And I would even give my life
To overcome the fear
Of kissing you