At noon on the second Saturday in August, almost at the same time that Wei Yan boarded a US ship-based helicopter flying to the main island of Palau alone.
In the already overcrowded Shota Izakaya, both the diners eating and those queuing up could clearly see the old photos that had not been coded at all from the live news broadcast on the large LCD screen directly above the bar.
, and the diaries of Captain Evans and Hall's sailor Hawkes.
In these revolving old photos, the two nuclear-recruited pilots sometimes sit on the life raft with weapons raised, sometimes sit on the end of the traffic boat, sometimes take off their pants and sit on the side of the boat with painful expressions.
"Why do I seem to have seen these two pilots in the photo somewhere?" A black tourist from the United States picked up a piece of sushi and stuffed it into his mouth while talking.
"What you said reminded me. They feel very familiar to me when I look at them." Another white tourist from the United States also said at the next table.
In these few words, the background of the photo has changed to the beach of a small island, and the diary on the other side of the screen has also switched to what happened on the island.
"God!"
A middle-aged white woman let out a loud exclamation, used her fat fingers to pull out a postcard she had just bought for 10 US dollars from her bag, pointed at the two pilots standing next to the fighter jets and shouted, "
It’s them! Those two pilots in the news are them!”
While talking, the white aunt also pointed to the shrine not far away next to the bar and the wall next to the shrine full of photos!
"Hoola!" A few quick-thinking people immediately ran to the edge of the shrine. While pushing away the beautiful Japanese tour guide, they didn't forget to wipe a handful of oil. Then they exclaimed loudly, "It's them! It's indeed them.
They! Didn’t they die in the battle? So the stories we just wasted half an hour listening to are all fabricated?"
As soon as these words were spoken, even the two shopkeepers who were busy at the bar stopped what they were doing, walked out of the bar with their families and looked at the TV with their backs turned to them.
"Really are..."
One of the owners of the izakaya didn't even finish his words. The photos of Captain Evans' diary displayed side by side on the TV happened to change into photos of Hawks's notes. On the other side, there happened to be a picture of someone eating something that almost turned into a photo of Hawks's notes.
Photos of Akira, the pilot who killed someone!
I don’t know whether it was intentional or unintentional. Not only did this bloody and cruel photo not have any coding at all, but Akira’s face was individually enlarged as if for fear that the audience could not see clearly, and the historical background was originally introduced.
The narration also changed to a slightly trembling female voice and began to read Hawkes' notes about the content of this photo!
"Man-eating Wendigos! This family is all cannibal Wendigos! The two men in the photo killed Captain Evans of the USS Johnston!"
A blond male tourist yelled in panic in English, and then stumbled out under everyone's astonished gaze. He didn't even wear shoes, so he held on to the landscaped pine tree at the door and started.
Had retching.
"vomit--!"
At this time, the diners who had just been tasting the food couldn't help but start to retching, and among them there were several tourists from the United States who shouted angrily that the people in the photo had killed the American hero.
"Snapped!"
With a crisp sound, a Japanese teapot filled with barley tea flew out of the hand of a dark-skinned American tourist and accurately hit the shrine in the distance.
This crisp sound was like a signal. In an instant, more and more tourists were going up and downstairs in this not-so-big izakaya, picking up everything they could and throwing it at the shrine, the bar and even the small
stage, but only avoided the LCD TV.
And more tourists raised their mobile phones, took pictures of this scene and posted it on their own social platforms, or some smart ones simply called the media.
However, in just one week, the once ordinary Shota Izakaya has become a representative of the shogunate spirit and the darling of the Internet and the media. Even the turnover has increased more than ten times than before.
But on this ordinary and slightly hot Saturday noon, this Japanese restaurant that had just been lifted to the sky was slapped down by an invisible hand named Hela, and in the blink of an eye it became "
Synonymous with many elements such as "man-eating devil", "recruiter who tampered with history", "shameful deserter" and even "murderer of heroes".
Even the small shop itself, which was not that big, was in a mess at this time. The shrines dedicated to the ancestors, the photos and letters hanging on the walls, the several thick guest books, and
Those postcards were all scattered on the floor, or turned into pieces that could not be put back together, or were stamped with footprints.
Compared to the Kano family who were forced to hide in the kitchen and hold on to the door while making panic calls to the police over and over again.
Outside Shota Izakaya, some American tourists also began to gather under the instigation of thoughtful people. Some of these people held corrugated paper signs, some of which wrote "Man-eating Wendigo" in English, and some simply used
"Shameful Liar" and even "Murderer!" were written in both English and Japanese in blood red. There were even groups of two and two, working together to carry a box of beer from who knows where. From the look of it, they were obviously ready to throw it out at any time.
.
In a block farther away, some Japanese-Palauans who were also incited seemed to be moving in the direction of Shota Izakaya.
Seeing a violent conflict coming, in the parking lot outside the izakaya, several tourists from the United States quietly put down boxes of beer or folded placards after feeling the vibration of their mobile phones in their pockets.
With a squeeze in his arms, he turned around and left the crowd, either getting into a car waiting in advance, or walking directly into a hotel not far away.
This chapter is not over yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content! "Are we leaving?"
In a tourist bus, a black man with dreadlocks asked in a low voice to a white man sitting next to him. While speaking, he also took out a handful of broken U.S. dollars and a car from his pocket.
TV remote control.
"What are you doing with the remote control?" A white-skinned man sitting in the same row as him asked in puzzled Russian English with a snappy accent.
"I just took it out of the cash register."
The black young man pointed out the window at Shota Izakaya across the road, "I just wanted to go to them to change some change, but I happened to see the waiter who was about my age trying to turn off the TV. They actually put the remote control at the cashier.
Inside the phone, I even suspect that the remote control is made of gold."
"So you brought the remote control?" the white man asked helplessly.
"I even knocked it out by the way."
As the black man spoke, he actually pulled out a copper incense burner about the size of an ashtray from the crotch of his jeans. A corner of the incense burner was still stained with some blood.
The black boy proudly shook his trophy at the white man next to him. While putting it into the bucket bag beside him, he said whimsically, "I got it from that shrine. It may be valuable."
of antiques.
Besides, Kluzy, when are we going back? I can’t wait to go to the Chinese pawn shop where I often take care of business and ask how much this thing can be sold for.”
"The boss asked us to wait until the American warships leave before going back, and we are not allowed to cause trouble during this period."
While the man responded to the other party in Russian English, he also casually lit the cigarette in his hand and raised his chin towards the crowd walking in the distance, "White, how about we take a gamble?"
"What are you betting on?" White, the black man sitting next to him, asked as he took the cigarette case and lighter.
"Do you think the Japanese Palauans who arrived will burn down the izakaya, or will they fight with the angry tourists from the United States?"
"For $50, I bet they'll have a fight with those mindless tourists."
White, the black man, said, taking out a few crumpled dollars from his pocket and stuffing them into the space of the armrest of the front seat, "But who instigated those Palau people? Do any of us speak Japanese?"
?”
"how could I know"
The white man Klyuchi who spoke Russian English lowered his voice slightly, "But you'd better not be so curious. Do you remember the bastard who could disassemble joints that the boss put into the punishment team some time ago? I listen.
The boss said he was also sent to Palau."
"The one who performed in the workshop last time?"
White, the black man, subconsciously shrank his neck. His big, frightened eyes wanted to stretch out of his eye sockets to observe the other people sitting on the bus. He swallowed nervously and asked in a low voice, "Kluqi, you know
Who is that person?"
"How could I know? Am I going to die?"
Kliuch also lowered his voice, "White, don't blame me. I didn't remind you that the identity of the members of the disciplinary team is confidential. If you..."
"You don't need to remind me"
White slid his body a little under the seat. When the back of the seat in front blocked all his sight, he had already taken out a pair of bright red lingerie-shaped sunglasses from the bag next to him and put them on his face.
"I'm not curious about anything, and I don't want to know anything."
Hearing this, Kliuchi carefully looked at his companions sitting in front of him and behind him, and snapped his fingers at the driver of the tour bus, "Jerry, please take us out of here quickly. This ghost place is too dangerous."
Before he finished speaking, the bus also started driving to the seaside resort hotel they booked in advance.
Almost immediately, in a cafe only thirty or forty meters away from Shota Izakaya, a gentle woman slowly put on her wide sunglasses, pressed a dollar bill under her cup, and walked out of the cafe.
, got into a black business car.
"Call my anxious nephew"
The woman lit a cigarette and said nonchalantly, "Ask him to help me make an appointment with his friend. I want to meet him."
"I understand." The strong man sitting in the passenger seat had already taken out his cell phone and made a call before he finished speaking.
