Standing on the porch, Hayama turned and seeing that Shimura was still fuming, he tried to calm him.
‘I’m sure there’s a reason. Perhaps your man got lost. He’ll probably turn up at any moment. Maybe he was drunk.’
The commander observed his subordinate, barely able to disguise his contempt.
‘My men never drink on patrol,’ he said and he looked away across the compound, his gaze ascending the mountain that rose above the forest. ‘I know he’s out there somewhere …’ he muttered.
The officers waited in silence as their men arrived and gathered in the sunlit square. When they had all lined up, Shimura addressed them.
‘As some of you already know, yesterday evening one of my crewmen went for a walk in the forest and did not come back. We must look for him. No leaf or stone should be left unturned. He may have hurt himself and be unable to move, so make plenty of noise so that he can hear you. Since Captain Hayama’s men know the island and we do not, we will team up with them.’
The commander faced his subordinate.
‘It’s up to you how you conduct the search. But we had better find him.’
Hayama nodded and began to address the assembled men. They would fan out in a line and sweep the island like a broom, starting from the beach and working their way up the mountain. He and Commander Shimura would lead the way. The men then fell out and walked in single file down to the shore led by their officers, and the search party spread out across the beach. At a singal from Hayama they returned through the trees and passing the camp, headed on up the mountain. As the men searched they shouted and whistled, calling out the sailor’s name so that the forest was filled with cries and disembodied voices, as if a company of ghosts had descended upon the island.
Hidden deep within the spinney, Strickland heard them approaching and listened as they called out and beat the bushes in their path. He lay quite still and waited as a patrol forded the stream and walked right by his hiding place. He held his breath, but they did not look into the spinney and continued on, their voices rising and falling above the rushing water. The pilot knew that even if they found the ravine, they were unlikely to venture down into it. Both he and the dead man were safe.
The day drew on and as evening fell, the search party returned empty-handed and gathered disconsolately back at the camp. The men were exhausted, their arms and faces cut by the branches and lianas of the forest. They did not know that the man they were looking for lay in a perpetual slumber at the bottom of a crevasse, deaf to the sound of their calling. The men assembled in front of Hayama’s cabin and the officers stood on the verandah facing them.
Shimura addressed them and thanked them for their work. It was unfortunate they were unable to find the crewman, he must have had an accident. Whatever had happened they could not spend any more time searching for him. The submarine had a mission to complete and this must be their priority. They would set sail as soon as it got dark. He told his men to fall out and watched as his crew set off to prepare their vessel for the voyage home.
With the square empty, Shimura turned to Hayama.
‘I want a word with you, captain,’ he said. ‘Let’s go inside.’
Hayama gave a small bow and they entered his quarters. The commander turned to his subordinate, a look of malice in his dark eyes.
‘Tell me the truth about the pilot,’ he demanded.
The captain stood there silently. He did not know what to say. He knew the commander suspected something because of the dog tags, but he could not tell him the pilot was on the island. Nor did he know what had happened to the unfortunate sailor. Perhaps there was a perfectly innocent explanation. But he realised he had to say something.
‘Commander, I’m so sorry about your missing crewman …’ he began.
‘Forget him, he’s dead,’ hissed Shimura. ‘I want to know about the pilot. Where is he?’
‘I told you. His body washed up on the shore.’
‘Don’t lie to me!’ spat the commander, his voice rising in anger. ‘The current is far too strong, it would have carried him away from the island.’
Hayama did not reply immediately and looked at Shimura. He was an astute man and plainly he suspected something. But apart from the identity tags, he had no evidence. The only thing the captain could do was to keep to his story.
‘There was a storm, the waves carried the body into the lagoon.’
‘What did you do with the body?’
‘We buried it at sea.’
‘Why didn’t you bury it on the island?’
‘Because he was not Japanese.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s what happened.’
‘No! I’ll tell you what happened. The pilot survived the crash and you rescued him!’
Hayama was speechless. How did Shimura know this? Had one of his men told him? Was he psychic? He did not know what to say and he stood there dumbfounded, staring hopelessly at the commander.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ said Shimura, glaring at him.
‘Yes, sir, you are,’ said a voice.
The officers wheeled round and saw the orderly standing in the corner. He had been preparing supper in the kitchen and had heard everything.
‘So, tell me … private?’
‘Private Ito, sir.’
‘Very well, Private Ito. Please go on.’
Hayama looked aghast at his servant. Had he betrayed them? Inwardly he begged him not to divulge what had happened. It would only make things worse. But the orderly continued.
‘The pilot’s plane crashed, but before it sank he sent out a distress flare. We had to search for him in case the enemy came looking. If the enemy had found him, he would have told them of our whereabouts and all would have been lost. You would not have been able to return here to repair your vessel …’ and Ito paused.
The commander nodded. He was calmer now and wanted to hear what the orderly had to say.
‘Please continue.’
‘The pilot was in a very bad way. He had been in the water too long. He was almost dead. We took him back here, but he never regained conciousness. He died the next day.’
‘If he was in such a bad way, why did you not leave him to the sharks?’
Shimura was looking at the captain.
‘I thought he might recover. If he had then he would have given us valuable intelligence about enemy movements in the area. Information that would have been helpful to people like yourself. As it was we learnt nothing,’ and Hayama shrugged, the last part of what he said being perfectly true. Strickland had never told them anything during his interrogation.
The commander gave a wintry smile.
‘I think you have only told me part of what you know. Both of you. But I suspect something else, something treasonable. Aiding and abetting the enemy is a capital offence. I am going to recommend you for court martial, Captain Hayama. Your men will all be summoned to testify. If found guilty, as I’m sure you will be, you will be sentenced to death.’
Shimura turned and faced the orderly, his deadly eyes fixed upon him like a snake’s.
‘And you shall be the prosecution’s principle witness, Private Ito.’
The submarine commander then donned his cap and without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the hut, leaving Hayama and his orderly staring after him.
It was dark when the submarine slipped its moorings and slid out of the harbour, departing as silently as it had come. The vessel sliced through the black waters of the lagoon, its propellers leaving a trail of phosphorescence in its wake. The captain waited alone on the shoreline and saw the solitary figure of Shimura standing in the conning tower, as 1–47 made its way towards the reef. The commander did not look back, but continued to gaze straight ahead as the vessel passed through the narrow channel and headed for the open sea, the moonlight reflecting palely off the surf. Hayama watched it go and as the submarine was gradually consumed by the darkness, he felt an overwhelmi
ng sense of relief. The island was theirs once again.
TEN
Ito took the path that led up the mountain. He had no idea where Strickland was hidden, but suspected it was somewhere far away from the camp and near running water. That meant he had to be on the mountain. The orderly walked quickly up the trail, pausing now and then to rest and enjoy the early morning sun as it cascaded through the branches of the trees. In the canopy bright plumed birds courted each other, shaking their feathers in a dance. Here and there blue-winged butterflies flitted among the frangipani and hibiscus, pausing to drink from the forest flowers. Ito passed a glade and stopped to sit on a boulder, watching the insects as they flew here and there among the flowers. They reminded him of the gardens at Dejima island in Nagasaki, the only place in Japan where foreigners had been permitted to trade, and he wondered when he would see them again. As he sat and watched the butterflies, he recited a haiku written centuries ago:
A butterfly
Poised on a tender orchid
How sweetly the incense
Burns on its wings.
The orderly smiled to himself and continued on, leaving the damasked-winged dryads behind. He walked up the trail and passed the mango tree where the sailor had met his nemesis and, turning off the path, he followed the sound of running water until he came to the stream. Ito started to call out the pilot’s name, walking along the banks of the water course.
Sitting in his hiding place Strickland heard his friend’s voice rising and falling above the rushing water. The pilot crawled out from his bower and stood up. Below him he could see the orderly as he made his way up the stream, stopping now and then to call his name.
‘Hey Ito!’ he cried. ‘I’m over here.’
The orderly turned and screwing up his face he squinted at the rising sun and saw the pilot standing on a boulder waving at him. He smiled, waved back and began to make his way upstream towards the Englishman.
When he got there they hugged each other and laughed, delighted to see one another again.
‘Is it safe now?’ asked Strickland, breaking from the embrace and grinning at his friend.
‘Yes, thanks be to God. The submarine, it went last night. But, oh, we had most difficult time with commander. He lost a man and we search all the island.’
‘I know.’
‘You saw us?’
‘I heard you. A group passed right by my hiding place, just over there.’ The pilot indicated the spinney on the other side of the stream.
Strickland looked away. He realised he would have to tell Hayama what had happened at some point. But he did not want to say anything. At least not yet.
‘Let’s get back to the camp,’ he said
As the two men walked down the trail, they passed the spot where the pilot had despatched the sailor. The place bore no trace of their struggle. Instead, sunlight dappled the shadows and the tall grass nodded innocently in the breeze. If it had not actually happened, Strickland would never have believed that this was the place where he had fought and killed a man with his own hands.
The pair continued through the forest, the monkeys chattering in the canopy. They walked past the glade of butterflies and carried on down through the trees, finally arriving back at the camp.
Hayama was sitting at his desk, annotating his notebook. He looked up as his orderly and the pilot entered the hut, his face a mixture of relief and concern. The captain was happy Strickland seemed well and had not been discovered in the search, but they also had much to talk about.
The Japanese officer got to his feet and they shook hands.
‘I’m glad to see you,’ said Hayama, observing his friend who seemed none the worse for his escapade.
‘Me too,’ replied Strickland.
‘Let’s have some tea.’ The captain turned to his orderly, who bowed and went off to the kitchen.
‘Take a seat,’ he said, indicating the empty chair at his desk. The pilot did so and Hayama also sat down.
‘I presume Ito told you what happened while you were away.’
‘Yes he did. I’m sorry.’
Hayama nodded, a look of resignation on his face.
‘Well … there was a problem,’ and reaching into his tunic pocket, he pulled out the pilot’s dog tags and placed them on the desk in front of him. ‘You left these behind.’
The Englishman picked them up and shook his head.
‘I haven’t worn them in weeks. I’d completely forgotten.’
‘The submarine commander found them in your quarters. He was immediately suspicious, but I told him your body had washed up on the shore and that I had removed the tags myself. He didn’t believe me, but he didn’t have any other choice. Until one of his men went missing …’
The captain paused as a rattle of china indicated the orderly’s return. Ito emerged with a tray bearing cups and a teapot and setting it down on the desk, he departed again. Hayama picked up the pot and poured them both a cup and the officers sat there in silence drinking their tea.
The captain continued sipping his drink, observing the pilot. Eventually he spoke.
‘I don’t suppose you are able to … shed any light on this?’
‘Actually I can,’ answered Strickland, replacing his cup and looking directly at his friend. ‘I killed him.’
‘What!’ Hayama spluttered, tea spraying his uniform. ‘Are you quite mad?’
‘He saw me picking mangoes.’
‘Why on earth were you out picking mangoes?’
‘It was stupid I know, but …’
‘But what? You didn’t have to kill him!’
Strickland looked at the captain, whose face was flushed with anger. He felt his own blood rising and tried to remain calm.
‘I had no choice.’
‘What do you mean you had no choice?’
‘He ran away! I couldn’t let him escape. I had to catch him and when I did, he tried to kill me!’
Hayama let out a long sigh.
‘So where’s the body?’
‘At the bottom of a ravine. I made sure no one would be able to find it.’
The captain pushed his cup aside and shook his head sadly. He never imagined something like this might happen. He wondered if the gods were punishing him for some act or failing, which he could not recall. If he had angered them in some way, they were exacting a heavy price.
‘Why? Why did this have to happen?’ he muttered, raising his eyes to the roofbeams.
Neither man spoke and they sat there in silence, both simmering with resentment. The only sound was the incessant calling of the cicadas in the trees outside, an unending chorus of accusation.
Amid the mad cacophony an idea came to the pilot, which he thought offered a solution to their predicament.
‘Hayama … I’m grateful for all that you’ve done for me. I know I owe you a debt I cannot repay …’ and Strickland hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘It’s dangerous me being here on the island. This could easily happen again. You have your own men to consider.’
The captain frowned at him.
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I think that I should leave.’
‘What? Leave the island?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘The patrol boat has a dinghy. I could use that. There are plenty of Allied forces in the area. It wouldn’t be long before I was picked up.’
The captain waved a hand dismissively as though brushing away a fly and for the first time since their meeting a smile passed across his face.
‘You really are crazy! Don’t be absurd. The sea is far too treacherous. The first big wave would flip you over and that would be it.’
‘But the submarine commander knows I’m here, he’ll report back to his superiors and someone will come looking.’
‘I very much doubt anyone will come looking for you and besides that’s the least of my troubles.’
‘What do you mean?’
The captain sighed wea
rily and laid his hands upon the desk, his fingers lightly drumming upon the surface. There was no need to tell the pilot about the court martial.
‘It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.’
‘Hayama, let me take my chances. It would be better that way.’
‘Absolutely not. I forbid it!’
The captain looked at his friend. He was brave and selfless to suggest such a thing, but he would not allow him to throw his life away. Yet there was another reason why Hayama would not permit it. He realised their destinies were now so closely entwined, as to be inseparable. The gods had brought the pilot to the island and their fates were inextricably bound together. Only a catastrophic rupture could ever break such a bond.
The officers sat there knowing the storm between them had passed. It had happened and it was unfortunate, but their friendship had survived the ordeal and their souls were now forged together like the steel of a samurai’s sword. Whatever the gods decreed, they would face it together.
ELEVEN
The afternoon sun shone high above the signals hut as the wireless operators sat at the control desk chatting about home and listening to Radio Tokyo. The music of Iva Toguri, better known as Tokyo Rose, filled the airwaves; her siren song drifting through the ether like some heavenly perfume. To Corporal Higa her voice was like a nightingale’s, natural and unadorned. It was enough to make a man weep and yet you could not tear yourself away from it, so exquisite was the sense of longing it engendered. As the sound of Tokyo Rose’s melodious singing filled the cabin, another more urgent note came from the wireless set.
Higa swung around in his seat and clamping a set of earphones to his head, he began to jot down the morse code that came through. The message was repeated and the corporal checked it against his original draft to make sure that he had not missed anything. The communiqué began and ended with Osaka’s own call sign, so he knew that it was genuine and not American propaganda.
Under the Sun Page 15
