by John Kelly
That evening, quite early, Amanda settled in her room and lay down on her futon with no television, or radio. She felt quite at home amidst the bare surroundings; her focus was elsewhere. Wasting no time, she took up the journal and resumed reading, realizing that she would meet Masako very soon and given Yoshiko's remarks about her health, Amanda wanted to be as up to date as she could with the journal before the two of them met. At her last reading, she recalled that Tokuo had arrived at Ujina on a repatriation ship.
It was perhaps some two hours later, when Tokuo was de-mobilized, issued with his rail warrant and released from the quarantine area. Masako, Shigeko and I were waiting for him when he emerged. He was only twenty years old, six years older than Masako, yet the ravages of war, and a poor diet over the past six months gave him the appearance of an older man. Standing just five feet eight inches tall, with thick black hair, he looked gaunt and undernourished, but towered over Masako. The two of them embraced tenderly and Masako was unable to hold back her tears. Tokuo was trying to maintain the Japanese tradition of stoicism and hold his emotions in check. He looked curiously at Masako's burn scars and her distorted mouth. She then had the heartbreaking task of informing her brother of the deaths of their parents and sister, victims of the A-bomb. Tokuo's pain at the news was self-evident as he slumped to his knees, no longer able to hide his emotional frailty. He covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly. Masako wept too. As I looked on from a distance with Shigeko, I suddenly felt as if the bomb was my fault. I felt like an enemy alien, sickened and ashamed of the brutality inflicted upon innocent civilians; a far cry from the excitement and youthful anticipation I felt months earlier when we first arrived in Japan. I must have shown my sadness to Shigeko in some way because she moved closer to me and took my hand in hers, offering comfort. It was not as if I was oblivious to the atrocities the Japanese were guilty of in Burma, or earlier in Nanking, China, where they murdered hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians who had surrendered to them. Somehow in my naivety, I thought we, the allies, were better than that. I thought we could demonstrate our commitment to human compassion in a way that they could embrace and adopt. Poor me! When I looked upon brother and sister crying for their dead parents, I realized we were no better than they; perhaps worse. We had split the atom and developed a way to exterminate people far more horribly and efficiently than they had ever done.
Masako waited for Tokuo to recover and then approached both Shigeko and myself. She spoke in Japanese and Shigeko translated.
'She says they are going to take the train to Kabe now. They will go to their Uncle Mineo's house and stay with him. She wants to thank you for your help.'
'Ask her if she would like a lift to the station?'
Shigeko spoke to Masako, who spoke to Tokuo, who shrugged his shoulders still numb from hearing the news of his parents' death. Masako then nodded.
'She would like you to take them to the station, yes,' Shigeko said to me.
'Okay,' I said. 'Let's load up and go.'
We loaded up Tokuo's belongings. Masako had nothing. I didn't want to ask but it seemed her stay with the community north of the Aioi Bridge was a temporary one, with nowhere else in the city to go. Now at least they could return to their broader family in Kabe. I took them toward Hiroshima station, but Masako began pointing me in a different direction. We drove up and down street after street of flattened and charred, destroyed properties, occasionally seeing some families trying to reassemble a makeshift hut where their house used to be. It was then I realized Tokuo wanted to see what had happened to the family home, and see where his parents had died. When we arrived at Masako's lot, it was a gut-wrenching moment. How they were able to tell where their house used to be, I don't know. The entire street was totally destroyed; nothing but blackened ash and rubble. Tokuo climbed out of the jeep and walked over to where the front door used to be. Masako followed him, and they joined hands, went down on their knees and stayed there for several minutes praying. Then, unable to contain their grief any longer, they broke down and wept bitterly, gripping each other for support. They spent a few minutes sifting through the debris and became quite excited when they came upon a vase that had survived the heat and the fire. It belonged to their mother. It was a small thing, but clearly of great significance to them and Tokuo wrapped it inside his shirt. When they returned to the vehicle, and we continued on to the station, Tokuo said nothing. Masako spoke to him but he did not respond. I feared at the time that when his sadness subsided, a groundswell of anger would rise up within him and take its place, and I wondered what, in the passage of time, he might be driven to do. At the station, I said goodbye to them, and watched as they walked through the still badly damaged main entrance. Their departure left me feeling empty inside, as if this chapter of my adventure had come to an end. Certainly the story of which I write had not finished, but that moment did represent the closing of one period and the beginning of another, as time would demonstrate.
I returned to my jeep taking a brief moment to scan the black-market traders who had set up their stalls adjacent to the station. I could but wonder how on earth the Japanese authorities could allow this blatant profiteering to continue in the face of such abject suffering all over the city. But there was nothing I could do; no matter how much it vexed me, so I returned to Ujina and to my duties, but my thoughts were with Masako, Tokuo and the citizens of Hiroshima, whose plight to restore their shattered lives seemed so hopeless and so far away. On arrival back at the Repatriation centre I saw Shigeko sitting on a bench outside the building. She was alone and as I approached her, I could see that she was distressed, although she was trying her best to restore her composure. When she saw me coming toward her, she looked away as if to say, 'I don't want you to see me like this'. Not used to the ways of the Japanese, I approached her to ask what was wrong. At first she did not wish to speak, as if such an action would be a sign of weakness. Then, taking a deep breath to help overcome her lack of self-assurance, she told me that after I had left with Masako and Tokuo, she had been reprimanded by her Japanese supervisor for showing too much compassion to the 'hibakusha girl' and that such demonstrations should cease, otherwise she would be allocated another less interesting posting. I knew her heart was in the right place whatever the Japanese way, and I told her so. I told her that I thought she was a credit to her country, performing an invaluable service for her people. She wiped her eyes and looked at me, and for the first time I found myself looking at her in a way I had not before. We sat there for several moments staring into each other's eyes, unaware of our surroundings. Her dark brown eyes reached out to me and I thought that she was asking me to be her friend, her confidant. Slowly and without forethought, I raised my hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear that sat there heroically, a testament to her frailty. It suddenly dawned on me how beautiful she looked. Instinctively, she raised her hand and pressed it against mine, and once again our eyes became transfixed. I cannot do justice to the intensity of thought and joy that raced through my body. Within the space of a mere moment, powerful feelings of sheer happiness filled my mind, and all earlier 'non-fraternization' warnings from Brigade HQ dissipated as if dispatched to the archives of insignificance. Here I was in a moment of tenderness toward another, and such regulations were a million miles away. She too, must have felt similar such enjoyment taking my hand and holding it tightly. Eventually, we realized something needed to be said. Holding each others' tender gaze and hands without some spoken expression could not go on forever. Eventually I spoke.
'Don't let them bully you,' I said. 'I will help you if you want me to,' I added, not knowing how.
She smiled, more I think because the silence had been broken rather than from the re-assurance, but we both continued to find joy in holding each others hands.
'Thank you,' she said to me.
At that moment two trucks arrived at the centre bringing soldiers on guard duty and supplies. It was probably the distraction we both needed, and I suggested to her that she
go back inside and put the matter behind her. She nodded in agreement.
'I will wait for you later when you finish for the day,' I said.
She smiled. 'Yes,' she said, nodding her head. I watched her go, and felt such a strong protective feeling inside. None of the soldiers disembarking from the trucks seemed to notice anything wrong, and I joined them in the process of unloading the supplies. As I thought about the encounter I had just experienced with Shigeko, thoughts of my girlfriend Elaine back home surfaced, and the promise of marriage we made together, when I returned home. Suddenly confusion set in, and I wondered if that was what I still wanted.
Amanda stopped reading as she became aware of some movement in the corridor. Outside, a man stood at her door. Slowly he raised his hand to knock, but hesitated then changed his mind and walked away. Amanda wondered if it was simply someone using the toilet, or was there a prowler outside. She remained silent, not daring to move, listening intently. After several moments passed without any further sound, she put it down to her imagination and continued reading?.
It was around five-thirty that afternoon when I met Shigeko again outside the centre. I had been held up briefly when Sergeant Avers, who had returned from inspecting troops boarding the train for Tokyo, advised some of us that we would be going to Tokyo next week for ceremonial guard duty. My mind was miles away from anything about Tokyo. I had been thinking of Shigeko all afternoon, and occasionally catching her attention as each of us went about our duties. When she caught my eyes, she smiled, and then quickly looked down, appearing embarrassed, not wanting to attract anyone's attention. Neither one of us was sure what was going on between us, but deep down I realized my feelings for my Elaine back home were compromised. When work finished, Shigeko must have slipped out quietly. When I saw her, I didn't know what to do. She smiled as I approached and remained demure and sweet, but not demonstratively so. 'Are you feeling better?' I asked. She said she did feel better. 'Would you like to have something to eat or drink,' I asked. She nodded but said, 'not for long though. My ferry will be here soon.'
'Where do you live?' I asked.
'On one of the islands off the coast,' she answered.
'Which one?' I asked.
'It is called Miyajima. It's over that way,' she said, pointing toward the Inland Sea. 'I catch the ferry each day. It is a very peaceful trip, allowing me to meditate.'
We began walking toward the port and I could see a ferry approaching from the west. 'Is that yours?' I asked. She looked across the water. 'Yes,' then, after a short pause added, 'there's a small kiosk just down here near the wharf.'
We walked toward the kiosk as her ferry came closer. As we did, I took her hand in mine, gently, and she responded squeezing my hand. I looked at her and she turned toward me but quickly bowed her head down submissively, as if not wanting to appear forward. My heart was filled with great joy. I had never considered the likelihood of meeting someone while on service, and my mind was so consumed with this woman, that I barely realized what was happening.
'Where were you when the bomb exploded?' I asked.
'I was at home,' she answered. 'There was a blinding flash, and then a roar so loud and then a huge cloud of smoke rose up over Hiroshima. Everyone at home was very frightened. We thought it must have been hundreds of bombs all dropped at once. We could not believe it was just one. In the afternoon some of the survivors were brought to Miyajima for medical treatment. They looked horrible; their faces all black and blown up like a balloon, and their flesh exposed. No one slept that night.'
We each drank a cola together before it was time for her to board. I wanted to go with her, but that was impractical. Not familiar with the ways of the Japanese, I took her hand in mine, and moved toward her as if to kiss her. She moved back, and whispered, 'not here, not in public.' Then, as if to show that I should not be discouraged, added, 'I have Saturday off. Perhaps we could meet and spend part of the day together. You could come to my island.'
'Yes,' I said. 'That would be nice.'
'It would be wise if we did not meet during work,' she said. 'I do not want to anger my superiors any further.'
I agreed, although I didn't like it. Shigeko was performing a vital service for the occupation forces, and any suggestion that she be cautioned on some misguided, cultural interpretation of her behaviour, wasn't fair. But Saturday was only two days away, and the idea of spending a day with her away from work, away from disapproving eyes, was intoxicating. Brimming with anticipation, I let her hands slip from mine and she walked off toward the ferry, briefly turning her head back toward me as she found a seat and settled inside.
The following day, Friday, was like torture; seeing her in the office and pretending as if there was nothing happening between us. I found it difficult not to track her every move, wondering if I should risk speaking with her. But, work intervened and I was called to undertake some driving assignment. As difficult as I found it to be, I kept away from her, expecting that at some point she would come to me and tell me how to find my way to her house on Miyajima. She did so, not by speaking to me, but by leaving a note in an envelope with my name on it at the reception counter. The note was brief?. 'I will wait for you where the ferry docks on Miyajima at ten tomorrow morning.'
My heart raced when I read it.
The following morning, thrilled at the prospect of spending the day with Shigeko, I dressed in my cleanest uniform, wishing that I had some civilian clothes to wear. I drove to Ujina and boarded the nine o' clock ferry. As I watched Ujina disappear behind me, the water sparkled in the sunlight; it was a balmy spring morning and for the first time I felt that I was more than just a soldier of occupation; for the first time I felt as if I was a part of my surroundings, if only a small part. Then I noticed other Australian soldiers on the ferry, seemingly as a small group, but making eyes at some Japanese girls opposite them. It soon became obvious that they were all together but not wanting to seem so. At the other end of the ferry, some Indian soldiers from their engineering base near Kure sat, enjoying the ride. I realized that I knew nothing about Japanese propriety and thought it would be prudent not to get ahead of myself with Shigeko, but let her guide our first outing together as she wished. The Inland sea was calm and the ferry made good time even if it seemed to lumber through the water.
Water Transport units from the base workshops at Point Camp near Kure, were also heading for the island, bringing with them demolition personnel. As we approached the island we came upon a stunning red Shinto shrine that seemed to float upon the water. One of the soldiers called out, 'There's the Torii gate.'
'What's that?' another asked.
'It's the entrance to the Shrine of Itsukushima, the abode of the gods,' he answered.
It stood majestically on the water, a Japanese-style timber structure, rather like the entrance to a fortified command post, except there were no fortifications to be seen; only a narrow inlet leading to several adjoining buildings both in and around the waters edge, against the backdrop of a dense green hillside that seemed to rise straight out of the water. I felt a thrill as we passed by. I felt as if I was transformed in time to another place, away from the ever-present scenes of misery and destruction that haunted Hiroshima.
As the ferry docked, the Australian soldiers became impatient to disembark and shouted obscenities at the pilot as if they owned the craft. They pushed in front of everyone else except their girlfriends, and one jumped off before the ferry had tied up properly. They were not a good example of the way in which we were instructed to behave. Shigeko was waiting at the pier a little further on. She looked different; clothed more casually in a pretty dress, not the official navy blue skirt and white blouse girls wore at the repatriation centre. The soldiers wolf-whistled at her and I felt angry. She ignored them, smiled and waved when she saw me; the soldiers unsettled me, but she was more relaxed and friendly.
'O-hayo gozai masu, Michael san,' she said, as I came off the ferry.
'O-hayo gozai masu,' I replied.
Amanda paused for a moment. 'Michael,' she thought to herself. 'Our mystery writer's name is Michael.' She continued reading?
'Welcome to Miyajima. This is a holy place you have come to,' she continued. Then she took my hand in hers. 'Come, we shall give thanks,' she added, and began walking. Not far from the waters edge stood a small circular, wooden structure where people had gathered to pray. In the centre, sitting on a wooden block surrounded by sand there was a small statue of the Buddha around which strong-scented incense burned, and people absorbed by waving it toward their faces as they prayed. I watched as Shigeko prayed. She looked so lovely and my heart felt such a longing for her that any spiritual significance she was trying to display was lost on me. When she finished she turned to me and took my hand once more.
'Come and meet my parents?' she said, as we walked, and then, added respectively, 'It is expected.'
The notion caught me off-guard but I was more than happy to oblige.
It was a short walk across a street and down a narrow lane filled with timber cottages, mostly dark brown in colour, where residents were busy moving up and down, to and from the shops, situated close to the pier. The area was very shabby, and dilapidated, hardly better than slums but there was no damage evident; no signs of any bombing. Miyajima was however a place where large concentrations of munitions had been stored by the Japanese military, and our engineers were de-commissioning bombs and shells at various locations on the island. Here, as elsewhere, ordinance was dismantled and destroyed, and then the cordite piled up and set alight.
'Do your parents speak English?' I asked.
'No,' she answered, 'but don't worry. Just smile and look pleased to see them.'
She took me to her parents' house. It was a simple wooden structure, as I expected, and impeccably clean. Her mother and father were waiting for us and when Shigeko introduced us in Japanese, they bowed in traditional style and I returned the compliment. Everyone giggled as if my actions were unexpected, but all the same, appreciated. They beckoned me through sliding doors into their washitsu room where we sat on the floor on tatami mats and drank tea at a low table. Her parents were incredibly polite and seemed only concerned with my comfort, offering me a cushion upon which to rest in case I found the floor too hard. Then they disappeared and left us alone.
'Your parents are very friendly and polite,' I said.
'They think you are an important person come to inspect some of the weapons being destroyed,' she answered.
Her remarks took me by surprise.
'Don't they know that we are friends?' I asked.
She shook her head.
'They would not approve,' she answered, and added, 'do not be troubled, it is a cultural matter; nothing to worry about.'
At the time I was too young to realize the significance of her words and left the matter to her good judgement, something that would later haunt me.
'When you are ready, we can go,' Shigeko said. 'My mother has packed us a lunch and I can show you our island. Can you ride a bicycle?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I can drive a tractor too,' I added jokingly. She laughed as if slightly intimidated, her manner delightfully warm.
'Then you can ride father's bicycle,' she said. I looked at her longingly and realized that I was falling in love with her, and while conscious of all the complications such a relationship would encounter, not the least of which was working with her at the repatriation centre, it seemed then, that I didn't care.
We rode out down the lane, our lunch basket strapped onto the front handlebars, two young people seemingly without a care in the world. We rode through the main street adjacent to the pier, and back toward Itsukushima Shrine. We stopped a small distance from the entrance to the shrine and she paused at what seemed like a wayside altar, where incense burned. There she knelt in prayer for a few moments, her head bowed, her hands joined together. Then, at the completion of her prayer, she lit a small candle and placed it in the sand around the incense, and clapped her hands three times. It was an outward display of her faith and I found it very refreshing, when compared with the atheistic state of affairs in our battalion compound. She turned toward me smiling, and beckoned me to absorb myself in the fragrance of the incense. I stepped forward awkwardly and she waved the incense around and over my head. I felt a purifying influence, warm and alluring in a spiritual sort of way. Then, as if this brief moment of reflection was no more than a brief distraction, she said, 'Let's go,' and we were on our way again.
We followed a track through a forest where deer roamed freely. I watched her as the wind streamed through her hair. When she turned to look at me, her hair blew across her face and left an image that would stay with me to this day.
As we rode, gaps opened up between the trees and I caught glimpses of the inland sea, where remnants of a defeated nation's naval past lay wasting in the water. But for that stark reminder, and the occasional explosion of ordinance being conducted at the far end of the island, I could have been on a deserted tropical island, just Shigeko and I, alone together.
Along the way we stopped at a smaller shrine and Shigeko explained some of the rudimentary principles of Buddhism, much of which I found similar to the Christian faith, but more importantly, just good human values.
'It is the quest to discover who we really are,' she said to me. 'If we disregard the material distractions all around us, if we put the pursuit of wealth to one side, we are able to concentrate on the true depth and understanding of our being.'
'How do you do that?' I asked.
'There are many traditions, many ways to seek the mind of the Buddha. Meditation will enlighten one's mind to what is right for each person who seeks the mind of the Buddha; unless we come to meditation with a clear mind though, true realization is impossible.'
These things I took seriously, but not too seriously. I was after all a young man of western culture who had been taught to regard oriental religions with suspicion; dark even and mysterious, and I was not about to complicate matters further by trying to learn a new faith. I did want to learn more about Shigeko though and allowing her the time and freedom to express herself by whatever means, was, I thought, a good learning path for me. Her calm, relaxed state of mind contrasted sharply with the present state of her country. Her country's future was now under foreign control, but this did not trouble her. I attributed this to her faith.
Further on, a few miles deeper into the forest, we rested beneath the pines. For our lunch, Shigeko had prepared small sandwiches with tomato and cheese as well as soft cake. She told me to light a small fire and we boiled water in a saucepan and she made tea. Afterward, we lay on a rug together staring up beyond the tree tops into the beautiful blue sky. We lay there listening to the breeze rustle through the tops of the trees and watched as the branches swayed gently to and fro. Then, I felt her gentle touch as she nestled closer and took my hand in hers. I turned my head toward her and our eyes met in loving expectation. Slowly we edged forward, both longing to express our feelings more physically. We kissed on the lips, softly at first, neither willing to appear too eager, and then more fervently, more confidently as we responded to each other's wishes. She rolled on top of me and we grasped each other, wrestling for more satisfying experiences. Somehow in the joy of that brief encounter, Shigeko and I found each other crossing that first hurdle of uncertainty. How long and how far this might have continued is difficult to say. We were totally absorbed in each other and may have continued much further but for the rustle of nearby shrubbery that disturbed our privacy and brought us to a halt. Slightly startled, I turned my head toward the sound. There, just a few feet away stood a Doe that had wandered from its mob and was as surprised to find us as we were to find her. Rather than shoo off the Doe and return to a more frenzied, passionate fling, it seemed a better idea to continue to enjoy the day together. We tried to entice the Doe with food but she would not allow us too near. Then, suddenly another explosion, rocked the ground beneath us; a detonation of munitions much
louder than the first, such that it frightened the Doe and caused it to bolt away. It frightened both of us too, and shattered the notion of being alone on a deserted island. So we dusted ourselves down, packed up the remains of our lunch basket and continued on our bikes, this time fulfilled with the joy of mutual affection, even devotion. Each time we stopped to take in the panoramic views of the inland sea, we kissed, cuddled and caressed, at times completely unaware of others occasionally passing by.
After that wonderful day, we saw each other on every possible occasion, either at the Repatriation centre, stealing tender moments in a tiny storeroom, or wandering along the beach out of sight at lunchtime, and after work at the dock where she boarded the ferry to go home. At the Repatriation Centre there was the endless eye contact from across the open expanse of the office. You might say that while we kept our romance a tightly-guarded secret, we were inseparable until, one day, when inexplicably, she disappeared.
Amanda dropped the journal onto her lap. For the most part she had felt a flicker of delight as she absorbed the first sparkle of young love. It relaxed her. This strange story unfolding as it was with great uncertainty, had developed a soft dreamy edge, a beating heart and she allowed her romantic side to anticipate a joyful outcome. But the sudden forewarning of Shigeko's disappearance sent a painful jolt through her body. No longer feeling calm and serene, she felt concerned for what she was about to discover. There were only a few pages of the journal left and she was determined to continue reading and finish them.
One morning as I saw her ferry approaching, I went to the dock to meet her. I waited in joyful anticipation of seeing her emerge, smiling, happy, along with the other commuters. As each person filed down the plank way, I looked for her inside expecting that at any moment she would appear. But she didn't. She was not on board. Disappointed, I returned to the centre. I assumed she might not have felt well, and had decided to take the day off. That day I felt incredibly lonely and strange as if half of my being had been detached. I could barely contain myself the next morning as I waited nervously by the dock for her ferry to come alongside, trying to avoid the Provost NCO who may have thought I was acting suspiciously. Again, she was not there, and my heart sank. What had happened? I drew strength from the fact that it was Friday and resolved to take the ferry to Miyajima the next morning. When I arrived at her parents' house they were clearly not pleased to see me. The mother spoke abruptly in words I did not understand. I left the house and with some difficulty, located an English speaking shop-keeper in the main street and returned with him to the house. From the shop-keeper I learned Shigeko had gone to Tokyo to stay with family for a while and that I would not be able to see her anymore. I was devastated. I asked why, and that only made the mother angrier. The next day, Sunday, in a fit of desperation I travelled to see Masako at Kabe to ask if she could come back to Ujina and make some enquiries as to where in Tokyo, Shigeko might be. Always I struggled through the language barrier, but always we found someone to help. She agreed and returned with her brother Tokuo on the Monday. I introduced her to a young staff member at the centre in the hope that she might learn something of Shigeko's whereabouts. Someone at the centre must have known something. The disruption I caused did not meet with the approval of the Japanese supervisor, but I thought, 'Stuff him.' Finally, Masako came through for me. Through another interpreter she told me what I needed to know.
'I have an address for you,' she said. 'I can't be sure, but I have the impression that Shigeko is pregnant and she has been sent away to have her baby,' the interpreter told me.
Suddenly I felt faint. I must have turned white with fear, shock, whatever, it doesn't matter. The interpreter suggested I sit down while I absorbed the news she had relayed. My only thought was to go to Tokyo, find Shigeko and learn the truth for myself. I thanked Masako and asked her if there was anything she needed. Her answer was so odd that I asked the interpreter to repeat it. 'She said that Sergeant Avers san was taking care of them,' the interpreter said. I didn't know what she meant but so consumed was I, learning of Shigeko's whereabouts, I didn't pursue the matter any further. That afternoon when I returned to barracks, I sought out Lt. Kelty and requested guard duty assignment to the Imperial Palace in Tokyo. I was due to go anyway and had only avoided going earlier because I was classified as essential staff at the Repatriation centre. Lt. Kelty approved my request and within a week I was on my way to Tokyo.
When I arrived at Hiroshima station, nothing, it seemed, had changed. The black market traders were still openly selling their goods at inflated prices, seemingly immune from any kind of policing. On the train, I came across Pte. Len Patterson, the soldier I had picked up on the road some weeks earlier outside Dr. Kano's clinic; the soldier who had helped me provide food supplies to Masako and the impoverished community she lived with while waiting for Tokuo to return from the war. Patterson had also been assigned Imperial guard duty and we kept each other company on the trip. Somehow my curiosity got the better of me.
'How's the V.D.?' I asked.
'No problem,' he replied. 'All fixed.'
The journey to Tokyo took about twelve hours, stopping frequently along the way. As we passed through Osaka, the damage inflicted on the city by American bombers was evident. Not so, Kyoto which seemed relatively untouched. The train itself was surprisingly modern; better than the trains at home, and fitted with a dining car and sleeping berths. The military carriages were at the rear and identified with a white horizontal stripe painted the length of the carriage. No Japanese civilians were allowed to enter these carriages. When the train arrived at Kyoto, Len Patterson and I were sitting in the dining car having dinner. I sat by the window scanning my eyes across the crowded platform where people rushed to and fro, coming and going, some carrying suitcases, some mothers carrying babies and other young children following behind. There were other military personnel, British, Indian and American, all either coming or going somewhere. The Americans always looked smarter; their uniforms more appealing. As I gazed out the window, I suddenly became aware of a small Japanese boy standing directly below me, looking up at me as I ate. He looked at me and then at my food. The expression on his face was unambiguous. He was thin, terribly thin. His face long and narrow, his hair untidy, his clothes were tattered and dirty. He looked longingly at my food and I realized why. He was starving. This pathetic young boy, perhaps an orphan, perhaps here every day in search of something to eat, was slowly starving. I wanted to give him my dinner but I could not open the window. Suddenly the train started to move off again. I pointed back toward the door of the carriage, quickly picked up what remained of my dinner, grabbed some bread off Len Patterson's plate and raced toward the door. The boy followed me. The train was now gathering speed as I swung open the carriage door. The boy was running alongside the train, with a look of desperation on his face, living in hope that he would soon have something to eat. I passed the bread and the plate of food, nothing more than potatoes, some carrots and gravy with a small amount of roast lamb. He took the plate from me and immediately stopped running. I looked back to see him devour the food as if it were his last meal. For all I knew it might very well have been. This small incident left me felling sick. The thought of children being uncared for, so desperate that they would scrounge for food at railway stations was so dispiriting, I could not think of anything else for miles. Soon, darkness closed in and I returned to my sleeper and went to bed. The following morning the incident with the little boy was still vivid in my mind, but it was trivial compared with what awaited us when we arrived in Tokyo. As we entered the outskirts of the city, square mile after square mile had been laid waste by incendiary bombing; bombs made of jellified petrol. During 1945, American B-29's in their hundreds flying at night and at low level, set the city alight and created a firestorm that raced through vast areas destroying the mainly wooden structures and allowing the dry winds to carry the fires across the city killing tens of thousands of people. The bombings continued through the night until dawn
in some cases creating fires so hot they produced their own wind force, syphoning oxygen from the air and suffocating residents. As we entered this wasteland that was until then, the third largest city in the world, we were shocked to see entire neighbourhoods destroyed and makeshift huts and shelters everywhere, housing thousands upon thousands of people, many emaciated, in the most primitive of conditions. Clearly they were sick and in many cases, starving. It was a sobering site and the true extent of the destruction was probably a greater calamity than Hiroshima. We continued through this devastation, suburb after suburb until reaching the city centre where the damage was less severe. Here some buildings remained untouched and doubtless were quickly commandeered by the Americans to administer the country. We left the station and boarded trucks waiting outside that took us to Ebisu Barracks, about four miles from the city centre where we were informed that we were now a part of 4 Company of the Tokyo Guard Battalion.
As our company commander explained our duties to begin at 6am the next morning, my thoughts were elsewhere, with Shigeko and I struggled to remind myself that I was still a soldier on duty as a member of an occupation force and it was always to be a case of duty first. But in the devastation that was Tokyo, I wondered how on earth she was coping, if indeed she was pregnant, and how she was feeling having left Miyajima, her work, and me without any explanation. My army mate, Len Patterson and I were billeted together at the Ebisu barracks and little did I know then, that he was there with a separate agenda too. I was soon to learn that his penchant for contraband had reached new heights, and that I would find myself inextricably linked with him in my quest to find Shigeko.
That evening, the company commander informed us that our khaki webbing, our gaiters, belt, scabbard, rifle sling and shoulder straps all had to be coloured white. Apparently our appearance on parade had been judged dreary when compared with the Americans; or at least those with whom we shared guard responsibilities. Whitening the webbing was the short term answer designed to transform us and give us the appearance of an elite force.
'Don't use bleach,' the commander cried out. 'It wrecks the stitching. Use Blanco. It'll do the job.' Blanco was a soluble whitener that when applied onto the webbing left a coat of soft dry powder.
'Why do we have to compete with the yanks?' Patterson whispered to me. 'Everyone knows we'd beat the crap out of them in a fair fight.'
'Image,' I replied. 'Image is everything to these blokes. We hate playing second fiddle to the Americans. We don't only have to be the part, we have to look the part as well.'
'The yanks always look the part,' Patterson replied. 'They couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag, but they have the money, the buying power, the fire power. They only have to dress smart and they frighten the shit out of the enemy.'
That night after mess, we settled down to the job of transforming our dull khaki webbing belt and straps into the dress parade standard the top brass wanted. The Blanco supplied to us, did the job effectively but was messy to use and took hours. I spent most of the time thinking of Shigeko and wondering when I would get the time to look for her. Tokyo was still a very big city. The address Masako gave me was all I had, with no idea where to start.
'I wonder if we'll get any time off,' I said to Patterson.
'We'd better. I've got things to do, people to see.'
Len Patterson always gave the impression he was a man on a mission. I had the distinct impression his commitment to the army, to our role in Japan, ran a poor second to other matters at hand, to personal gain, to any available business opportunity.
'What do you mean?' I asked.
'Nothin', he replied, without conviction.
'I need to find someone,' I confided. 'I don't suppose you know anyone who could help me get around this town do you?'
'Depends what you want,' he replied.
'I have an address. Is there anyone here I could ask in confidence, like how to find this place?'
'Perhaps,' he replied carefully. I knew that when he said, 'perhaps', he meant a qualified yes. He spoke the way he always spoke when something was in the wind.
'Perhaps we could help each other,' he suggested.
Immediately memories of the last time he helped me came rushing back. He was onto something big, and probably illegal, but if he could help me find Shigeko, I didn't care.
'I don't know what you're up to,' I said to him, 'but as long as it doesn't get me shot or thrown into prison, I'll help you if I can. I'm here to find a girl. I may have got her pregnant and she needs my help. If you know someone who can help me find her, I'll help you in any way that I can.'
'How the Jesus did you get a girl in Tokyo pregnant? Was it by remote control?' he asked.
'She's been sent here by her parents. They're too ashamed to keep her at home,' I told him.
Patterson looked at me for a moment then nodded his head. 'Okay. Give me the address you have and I'll see what I can do,' he said. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for, but I decided that if sleeping with the devil would help me find Shigeko, then so be it.
Amanda turned to the next page noting that she was almost at the end.
Taking part in the Imperial guard seemed a contradiction in terms. But in reality it was a great honour. There were many on the allied side who thought Emperor Hirohito should be tried for war crimes as it was he who sanctioned the war and urged his generals to press on and obliterate the enemy. In the end though, it was he who instructed them to surrender. For the first time ever, the Japanese Emperor, the man considered to be a god among his people, spoke directly to them via radio and told them that their nation had been defeated. The Allied powers agreed that a successful reconstruction of Japan depended on the cooperation of the Japanese people. With that objective in mind, they chose to allow him to remain head of state and to ensure his safety, they maintained a ceremonial guard at the Imperial Palace. Over many weeks and months it evolved into a daily tourist attraction as both American soldiers from the 1st. US Cavalry Division and Australian soldiers took up their posts with a daily ceremonial changing of the guard. It was with great pride that I participated in this moment in history. I felt it to be of enormous significance; a message to the world that good will always triumph over evil, and that in victory, the forces of good can demonstrate compassion and compromise, not strangulation or humiliation. But all this time, while I acted out my soldierly duty, my heart was in another place, a place of longing for the woman that I loved, the woman that may be carrying my child.
It was on the evening of the third day in Tokyo; we were off duty for 24 hours and I had seen nothing of the city. I had seen Len Patterson earlier in the day. He said he was going to Kamakura to deliver something and that he would be back around six in the evening.
'What is it this time?' I asked, knowing it would be something illegal. He looked at me for a moment, grinned broadly. 'Ever seen gold before?' he asked.
'No,' I answered. He then delved into his pockets and brought out some gold ingots about an inch wide and two inches long.
'Take a look at these,' he said. I looked at them and asked, 'Where did you get them?' He said they were an investment. Then he told me he might have some information for me later in the day about Shigeko. I offered to go with him to Kamakura but he said it would be better for me to stay in Tokyo. That evening in the mess he approached me.
'I need your help,' he said. 'Tonight, we have to relocate some material. There will be someone who can give you some information about your girlfriend. We have to leave here in an hour. Be outside the barracks guardhouse. I will meet you there.'
The very thought that I might see Shigeko sent a bolt of adrenalin racing through my body. I knew Len Patterson was up to some kind of mischief but if he could lead me to her, whatever he wanted me to do was worth the risk. One hour later I was waiting outside the barracks when a truck covered with a tarpaulin emerged from the compound. The rear flap opened and he called out from inside.
'Get in,' he said softly.
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I jumped up and two other soldiers hauled me in. The truck then moved off out into the night.
'We are going to another base,' Len said, 'an American base, where we will be loading some boxes. After that we will transfer those boxes to another set of vehicles. When we get to the American base, you don't say a word to anyone. In fact don't even look at anyone. Just carry the boxes to the truck, okay?'
I nodded. 'Then what?' I asked.
'That's it. That's all we are doing tonight,' Len said to me as I settled myself on the crusty wooden seat.
'What's in the boxes?' I asked. Len hesitated momentarily as he glanced at the other soldiers.
'Medical supplies', he replied, 'bound for Hiroshima.'
I didn't believe him. Medical supplies sounded like a euphemism for anything and everything, but that was not my first concern.
'You said you knew something about Shigeko?' I queried.
He nodded. 'All in good time,' he answered. 'First, we deliver the merchandise.'
'Okay, you're the boss,' I said.
'No,' he answered. 'Derek Avers is the boss.'
This admission came quite casually, almost as an after-thought and I paid almost no attention to it. I was only interested in finding Shigeko. But it was something that I never forgot.
We travelled for about twenty minutes before coming to a halt. Then the truck reversed. I heard voices outside. Everyone in the back was silent as if waiting for the signal to emerge. We waited in silence perhaps for five, even ten minutes until finally someone from outside pulled the flap back and said, 'Now.'
Len jumped out and told the other two soldiers in the truck to stay while beckoning me to follow him. It was dark. Len and the American soldier who pulled the flap back shook hands and I followed them to where several pellets of supplies sat in a corner of the yard. Then we began to load the truck using only torch lights to guide us. The whole operation took no more than fifteen minutes, while the American soldier stood guard. It was as plain as day that this was an illegal shipment of US Government property, but the sheer efficiency of the operation was so impressive, I just did as I was told. Not for a second did I flinch from the task at hand, all the time motivated by the expectation that I would soon be re-united with Shigeko. When the loading was complete, the American soldier handed Len a manifest of the goods, they shook hands once more and we climbed back into the rear of the truck. With the flap secure, we were travelling once more, rumbling along, through the war devastated streets of Tokyo. Len sat beside me, and spoke as if I was his little brother and he was responsible for my wellbeing.
'We are going to stop again shortly. You get ready to jump out. You have fifteen minutes,' he said. 'Fifteen minutes,' he repeated. 'That's all. I don't care what your plans are with this girl, but right now you have fifteen minutes and don't even think about bringing her with you. We'll wait for you further up the road.'
I struggled to come to terms with what was happening. How were they able to find her? What sort of an organization was this? How deep, how broad did their plans extend? My mind was on fire with a lethal mixture of anticipation, uncertainty, and confusion and rather than ask questions I tried to steady myself and concentrate on what I would say to Shigeko. I had not expected matters to come to a head so quickly and in truth I was caught by surprise. When the truck stopped, the flap opened up and I looked out onto the street and a strong aroma filled the air. It was like the smell of campfires, after cooking; a mixture not immediately attractive but neither was it unpleasant. It was dark and difficult to see properly. Len placed his hand on my shoulder.
'She's in there,' he said, pointing to a house on the other side of the road. 'We'll be up there by that signpost. Remember, you have fifteen minutes. Don't make me barge in and drag you out.'
I nodded and climbed out, watching as the truck continued up the dark narrow street. I had no idea what part of Tokyo I had been brought to. The street was quiet. Lights shone out from some of the houses. The truck stopped and the driver turned off his headlamps. I walked to the house across the street and knocked on the door.
I find what happened next difficult to describe, such was the emotion I felt. An elderly lady answered the door. I said Shigeko's name and she invited me into the house, taking me to the rear, out the back door and across a small courtyard to a bungalow situated in a corner of the property. There, Shigeko stood waiting, tears welling up in her eyes. She ran toward me and threw her arms around me clinging tightly as if determined never to let me go. I held her for some time, the sweet smell of her hair, her body captivating me, her delicate arms hanging on to me for dear life. Through her broken voice she thanked me for finding her, and thanked me for coming to take her away. I held her tight for a few moments but then I broke off gently and explained to her that I could not take her with me, that I was in no position to care for her.
'But you will come back for me, Michael?' she asked, her eyes filled with hope. I could not bring myself to say no. I saw deep within her an expectation that she was about to leave, that she had concluded there was some likelihood we would be together from this moment on.
'In a few days,' I said, without thinking. It was all I could offer her.
'We are having a baby,' she said, and it was then I knew I could not desert her, but I had no idea how to overcome the difficulties that would confront us. There was a strict non-fraternization policy and I had broken that already. How was I to manage this predicament?
'I need some time to work things out,' I said to her. 'I have to get help from our people.' While I said 'our people', I didn't know who 'our people' were. Then in a moment of calm I resigned myself to be adopted by the black marketeers, for if they could not help, surely there was no one else. After all, she was having our baby, and somehow that took priority. Whatever I could do, would be driven by that fundamental reality.
'Are you being looked after here all right?' I asked.
She nodded. 'The woman who let you in is my aunty and she agreed to allow you in when a soldier came asking for me. In return, he offered food. Food is so scarce. People are starving. Housing is limited, the bombing, the incendiary bombing. Anyone who still has a house is very fortunate. My aunty will most likely write to my parents though and tell them you have come,' Shigeko said.
'Don't worry. I will find a way for you to leave here soon. Trust me. Be ready to go at a minute's notice. The next time I come, I will take you with me, I promise.'
My words helped her calm down, her body once tense and frightened, relaxed and rested in my arms. I had made her a promise and she trusted me, although at that point I had no idea how I would keep my word.
I left her there with a promise to return and the only person I thought could help was Len Patterson. As I walked briskly back to the waiting truck, my fifteen minutes up, my mind focussed on him. Clearly, there was something about him and his activities that, in my naivety, I was missing. But right now, he was the man, the only man, and having seen Shigeko, and aware of the circumstances she had been forced to accept, I was prepared to do anything he wanted, if he could secure her safety.
And there, quite abruptly, it ended. Amanda went back over the pages to see if she had missed anything. Surely there was more. What happened to it? She wondered if some had some been lost in transit. Had Quentin Avers not given all of it to her? How could it possibly end here? Where was the rest of it? She flicked through the manuscript hoping some loose pages would fall. She lay back confused, trying to recall a moment or place where any part of it might have been mislaid. Was this connected to the mystery note she found on the plane? How could she have been so foolish as to leave the whole thing lying on the seat while she went for a walk? Quentin had warned her that there might be others interested in the artefact she was supposed to return to the rightful owners. Feelings of guilt began to haunt her, feelings of failure. She had not even arrived in Hiroshima yet and already she had messed things up. Too restless to sleep, she went downstairs and made herself a cup of tea.
The kitchen area was empty, quiet, and peaceful. Everyone else had retired for the night. Her mind then focussed on Shigeko and what happened to her. Had Michael come back and rescued her as he promised? What happened to the baby?
As Amanda continued to muddle through her disordered state of mind, forty kilometres to the north, David and Margaret Maclean sat in bed together in their hotel room at Kamakura discussing their plans for the next day. Earlier, after completing the rounds of tourist spots to visit, they followed Ronnie's instructions and found the entrance to the hiking course track that would lead to where the gold ingots were buried. They entered the forest to gauge its degree of difficulty and soon discovered that the rough terrain and steep climbing would be too much for Margaret to handle. They decided that David would attempt the search the next morning, alone.
16.
Hiroshima, April 2007.
