The Durian Hunter

Roger took a thrill in hunting for durians at night. He trespassed army fences that night. His wife gave up dissuading her 78 year old husband from this mad hobby. “What if a durian drops on your head?” she would nag. He wasn’t stupid. He had his old army helmet.

He entered by a hole in the old army fence that was abandoned for some time. Panting heavily, his fat frame barely squeezed through. Adjusting his helmet, he switched on his torch light, illuminating the thick foliage and overgrown grass.

He trudged through it with difficulty and he froze when he heard rustling in the trees. 

There wasn’t anything. 

The cicadas chirped incessantly in the background. Finally, Roger’s eyes gleamed when he saw a durian in the grass. It was large and spiky. He bent down to pick it up when he heard a voice shouting at him, “Stop.”

Roger was paralysed by fear, legs rooted to the ground. It wasn’t English but Japanese. He understood it well enough when he worked for the Japs during World War II. 

A figure emerged from the bushes.

It was an old man, face weathered like a gourd. He was dressed in a tattered Japanese officer uniform. How was this possible? Didn’t they lose the war more than 50 years ago? A katana sword was still attached to the Japanese soldier’s belt. 

Roger smiled. This must be some cosplayer lost in the woods. “I’m taking my durian and I'm leaving you whacko,” Roger said, picking up the durian with his gloves. 

The soldier unsheathed his sword with a shingle and pointed it directly at Roger. “You lie! You wear the helmet of the enemy.” 

Roger cursed. This was getting too real for comfort. And this cosplay soldier seemed intent on chopping him into half. He tossed the durian at the soldier and it went straight through him.

A Japanese ghost. Roger screamed and broke into a run with all his might towards the fence. He was running from his past too when he was part of the resistance against the Japs. Many Japs were killed by the resistance forces. 

Roger heard footsteps thumping behind him. It sounded like a whole mob of people was chasing him now. He was too scared to look back.  

He squinted at the fence but his direction was all jumbled up now. Where was the one with the hole? Then his foot hit a sharp durian and it exploded in pain. He fell forward and he tried to use his hands to break his fall. His brittle wrists broke upon impact. 

The soldier stood over Roger. He didn’t look tired. “You die now gaijin.” He held up the sword above Roger’s chest, ready to plunge it in. 

“Wait,” Roger said, his breath becoming so fast it was suffocating. “I know what I did but I...I—”

He felt an overwhelming pain in his chest and the last thing he saw was the Jap soldier laughing.

Then it all went black.

Roger’s wife cried as she identified the body in the grass. 

The coroner said to her, “I’m sorry. He had a heart attack. What was he doing here?”

“Looking for durians,” she replied between sobs. The old fool.

“There doesn’t seem to be any foul play.”

She nodded. 

“We found this also but we are not sure if it belonged to him?” The coroner took a plastic bag and passed it to her.

She shuddered. 

There was a dirty Japanese cap in the bag.