“Let me make a phone call, and I’ll be right down,” said Onodera.
When he had finished his call, Onodera went down to the basement.
The heart of Professor Tadokoro’s private laboratory was a snug air-conditioned room with walls of double thickness. It housed a miniature LSI computer, and spread around it in disordered fashion were a desk, an open file, a locker, a drawing board, an old-fashioned dictaphone, and a variety of other instruments. The cool air of the silent room felt pleasant against Onodera’s skin.
Professor Tadokoro was sitting in a chair in the corner, his chin propped up by his elbow, his mouth moving as though he was mumbling something. When Onodera walked over to him, he raised his bloodshot eyes and looked at him searchingly, as though he were seeing a stranger.
“Oh! It’s you,” said Tadokoro. “Now, let’s see . . . Oh, yes. There was a call from Yukinaga just now.”
“Professor Yukinaga?”
“His house is close by here. How about having lunch with us? I’ll have something delivered.” As he spoke, Tadokoro picked up the telephone.
“What was it you wanted to talk about, Professor?”
“Oh . . . yes.” So saying, Tadokoro put down the telephone receiver and, once more lost in thought, said nothing for a few moments. “That submarine at your place—if you charter it for a long period, how much does it cost?”
“Well, it depends, I imagine,” said Onodera, embarrassed. “Figuring out something like that would be beyond me, Professor.”
“Something else, then,” said Tadokoro, abruptly thrusting out a thick finger. “If I asked for it now, would I be able to get it right away?”
“I’m afraid that would be out of the question, Professor,” said Onodera. “The Wadatsumi is being sent to Kyushu next, to do a survey for the Kanbu Tunnel project. After that there’s an assignment from Indonesia waiting for it. And there’s still more lined up after that. It would take several months before your turn came.”
“This is for something of the utmost importance,” said Tadokoro, thumping the table with the flat of his hand. “Isn’t there some way that I can be given priority?”
“Well, sir, I can’t promise anything, but . . . how long would you have to have it?”
“Half a year. Maybe longer,” said Tadokoro, his stubborn expression showing he realized the extravagance of what he asked. “You know what I have in mind. The floor of the Japan Trench—I want to look over every inch of it.”
“A half-year?” Onodera shook his head. “It’s impossible, Professor.”
“What kind of situation is this? In all Japan there’s only one submarine in the thirty-thousand-feet class!” said Tadokoro, growing irritated at last. “Are we a sea-going nation or what? Incredible!”
“Well, once the Wadatsumi 2 is ready, then things will open up a good deal, but that won’t be until next year. Have you thought about chartering a foreign submarine? There’s—”
“I know all about foreign submarines,” said Tadokoro, inter rupting. He thrust a paper under Onodera’s nose. It was a list of all the deep-sea submarines in the world. “I want at all costs to use a Japanese submarine. This survey is intimately bound up with the national interest.”
Behind him, Onodera heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Professor Yukinaga entered, tie neatly knotted, jacket on despite the heat, but there was not a drop of sweat on his decorous features.
“Well . . .” said Yukinaga, smiling at Onodera.
“So you’re here. Will you have lunch with us?” asked Tadokoro. “Should we go out or have something brought in?”
“Either is all right,” said Yukinaga.
“Wait a minute,” said Tadokoro, jabbing the interphone but ton and bending his head. “No answer. They’ve all gone out upstairs. I’ll go get something cold to drink.” He went out the door and started up the stairs.
“The professor’s a fine person, isn’t he?” said Onodera with a smile as Tadokoro’s footsteps faded.
“That fellow? He’s a boor,” said Yukinaga, not at all jocularly but rather with a sigh. “He’s a rash, headstrong genius. So here in this country he’s persona non grata with the scholars. It’s abroad that he’s gotten his reputation.”
“It’s certainly an excellent laboratory,” said Onodera.
“It cost about four or five hundred million yen to build,” said Yukinaga, looking around. “And then the operating expenses are incredible. Once he launches himself into a project, the sky’s the limit.”
“Well, where does he get the money?” asked Onodera.
“The Church of the Seven Seas,” answered Yukinaga cryptically. “It’s a new religion. Its headquarters is in Greece. Making the sea your god is an ingenious approach to religion. They’ve recruited men whose business is linked to the sea—everything from fisheries to shipping—and they’ve formed sister churches all over the world. It’s quite rich.”
All this came as quite a surprise to Onodera.
“Professor Tadokoro is a man unhampered by scruples, you see. If he has research to do, then he’ll snatch money from the hand of the devil himself, confident that nothing will stop him from doing things his way.”
Tadokoro appeared at the head of the stairs. From his right hand swung a kettle covered with beads of moisture, and in his left he was holding a tray with teacups on it.
“Professor Tadokoro,” said Yukinaga, “I have some news. A classmate of mine, a very good friend, is a secretary in the Prime Minister’s Office. He just called me.”
“The Prime Minister’s Office?” said Tadokoro, frowning. “Some bureaucrat?”
“Yes. He told me that the Cabinet members intend to have a confidential briefing on earthquakes from a number of scientists. He wanted me to suggest names.”
“Bureaucrats!” said Tadokoro as though vomiting out the word. “The same old story. They say they want to consult a wide range of people, but the truth of the matter is that all they’re interested in doing is setting up a serene consensus utterly devoid of anything resembling insight. Since their abiding desire is to avoid risk, they shrink from any venture that might entail it, and so they have no way of grasping the shape of things to come.”
“I realize all that, Professor,” said Yukinaga, nodding his head. “Would you be kind enough to participate?”
“Me?” demanded Tadokoro, his eyes straining at their sockets. “Me participate? You’re out of your mind. Who’ll be there? —as though I had to ask. Takamine from the Disaster Prevention Center, Nozue from the Weather Service, Kimijima from the Ministry of Education, Yamashiro from Tokyo University, Oizumi from Keio—a crowd of that sort, right?”
“That’s right, Professor,” said Yukinaga, intimidated.
“And suppose I join them in the bureaucrats’ lair—what then? First of all, we’ll be talking to people who don’t know the first thing about science. And my colleagues, since they depend upon the bureaucrats for patronage, will be bending over back ward so as not to disturb anybody. And then, finally, who are these scientists anyway? They’re all splendid fellows. Each is tops in his field, but there’s not one of them who knows much of significance outside of it. This damned compartmentalization! Nobody knows how to draw the big picture, and they gang up on anybody who dares to try.”
“All the more reason, then, Professor, for you to do me the favor of joining in,” said Yukinaga, cutting in quickly. “The research you’re doing now—”
“The research I’m doing?” shouted Tadokoro, getting up out of his chair. “The research I’m doing now, you say? Suppose I were to talk about that—what would happen? They’d treat me as though I were insane—the mad scientist full of wild fantasies. Because as yet, you see, I haven’t gotten my hands on any unmistakable proof. And if you’re not careful about promoting me, it won’t bode well for your future. Even your friends will attack you, and your reputation will be ruined. No, I’ll not take part. Never!”
“What’s this about my future and so forth?” Yuk
inaga asked, his voice very patient. “Professor, there’s too much at stake for talk of that sort. It’s hardly worthy of you. This is something that is vital for Japan, something that—”
“Japan? Japan, is it?” said Tadokoro, his face suddenly becoming contorted as though he was about to cry. “As for the likes of Japan, it can go whatever way it wants, as far as I’m concerned. Yukinaga, I have the world, this marvelous world full of inexhaustible mystery and richness. Japan—this threadlike line of islands—what’s that to me?”
“But, Professor, you are a Japanese,” said Yukinaga quietly. “You love the world, yes, but you love Japan, too. If not, why have you kept back some of your data from the headquarters of the Church of the Seven Seas?”
“What?” said Tadokoro, his voice suddenly sharp. “How do you know that I’ve concealed data from my sponsors?”
“It was just a guess. Forgive me, Professor. It was unkind of me to trap you.” Yukinaga lowered his eyes and then raised them again. “And yet I have had occasion to wonder a good deal. I had paid almost no attention to the reports that you’ve been sending to the headquarters of the church. But, just recently it was, something in them happened to catch my eye here. It was very strange. The report dealt with our recent survey, and in it you went on at great length, tediously so, about various sea creatures and coral—something that’s not very much in your line. But any nuance relative to what we saw— which, you intimated to me, might well be something that threatens us—was smoothly concealed.” Yukinaga pressed the attack: “There’s something pertaining to Japan that you didn’t want foreigners to know. Isn’t that correct? Something that you wanted to conceal from the headquarters of the Church of the Seven Seas . . .”
“All right, Yukinaga,” said Tadokoro, his tone suddenly changing. “This conference or seminar or whatever it is of yours —I’ll give it a try. That is, if they accept your recommendation.”
“Splendid,” said Yukinaga. His shoulders sagged as he sighed in relief. “As for lunch, I’d like a bowl of rice. And now let’s have that cold drink.”
4
The conference was held one evening ten days later in an office building in central Tokyo, a place chosen to throw an inquisitive press off the trail. After it was over and all the participants had left, an official in the Prime Minister’s Office drove out of the garage beneath the building. When he reached the neighbor hood of the Palace Outer Garden, he pulled over to the curb and placed a long-distance call on his car telephone. An old man’s voice answered.
“It’s finished, sir,” said the official. “Nothing of significance came out. I’ll summarize the main points.” Then after he had read from his notes, he concluded by saying: “There was just one scientist there who came out with something unexpected. A man named Tadokoro. He said that it could happen that Japan would sink. The others thought he was out of his mind. . . . Yes, sir. Yusuke Tadokoro. . . . That’s right, sir. You keep well abreast of things. . . . What, sir?” The official frowned slightly. “Yes, sir. If now is suitable, I’ll come immediately.”
After he hung up the receiver, he sighed heavily and looked at the dashboard clock. It was 10:35. “Something’s on his mind,” he muttered. “I wonder what.”
Ten more days passed, and then a call from Yukinaga came to Tadokoro’s laboratory.
“Who do you want me to meet?” demanded Tadokoro impatiently. He had been working through the night for some time, and his face was covered with a thick growth of stubble. “You know how busy I am. A hotel, eh? That means a necktie, I suppose.”
“It won’t take much of your time, Professor, No more than thirty minutes. I’ve taken the liberty of sending a car to pick you up,” said Yukinaga, his tone frantically insistent. “This gentle man is a man who knew your father well.”
“Well, who is he, then?”
The line went dead. And at the same instant the interphone buzzed: “Professor Tadokoro, the car sent by Professor Yukinaga is waiting at the front door.”
Wearing a wrinkled, sweaty shirt and carrying his crumpled jacket, Tadokoro strode into the Palace Hotel to be met at once by a young woman in an exquisitely arranged kimono.
“You are Professor Tadokoro?” she asked. “Please, this way . . .”
They made their way through groups of foreigners, business men, elegantly dressed young women, and other guests to a lounge a level higher than the lobby, where a tall, husky young man dressed in a dark suit came forward to meet them. He bowed politely to Tadokoro.
“We have been waiting for you, Professor. Please . . .”
Looking in the direction indicated by the young man’s out stretched hand, Tadokoro saw an old man crouched in a wheel chair. He was no more than skin and bones. Despite the heat, he clutched a blanket which lay over his knees.
“Where’s Yukinaga?” asked Tadokoro, turning back to the tall young man. But he was no longer behind him.
“You’re Professor Tadokoro.”
The old man’s voice was surprisingly strong. Beneath thick gray eyebrows, his sunken eyes were pale but bright, and they were focused upon Tadokoro’s face with piercing force. The small, pinched face, flecked with the splotches of age, seemed somehow to be laughing.
“Well, well! There’s certainly a resemblance. I knew your father. Hidenoshin Tadokoro. A stubborn young fellow, he was.”
“And your name, sir?” asked Tadokoro, looking full at the old man, his irritability fading.
“Mmmm. Sit down there,” said the old man, clearing his throat of phlegm. “What do names matter anyway? I tell you my name’s Watari, and that means nothing to you, does it? I am, however, more than a hundred years old. Come October, I’ll be a hundred and one. Medical science has made such progress that we old people aren’t allowed to go to our rest any more. And we become more and more arrogant with each passing year. We’ve seen everything, and with the end drawing near, there’s nothing left for us to be afraid of. Now today, having you come here like this—this, too, should be laid to an old man’s arrogance. There is something that I want to ask you. Would you be kind enough to give me an answer?”
“What’s the question, sir?” Tadokoro asked, wiping the sweat from his face. He had sat down in a chair beside the old man.
“There is just one thing that has caused me some concern,” the old man said, his piercing eyes looking directly into Tadokoro’s. “Perhaps you might think my question is childish. It has to do with swallows.”
“Swallows?”
“Yes. Every year swallows come and build a nest in the eaves of my home. For more than twenty years now. Last year they came in May, as usual, built their nest, and then, for some reason or other, they left in July. They abandoned their eggs. And this year they didn’t come at all. All around where I live, it was the same. What is the reason, I wonder?”
“Swallows, yes,” said Tadokoro, nodding. “Yes, of course. In the past two or three years the number of migrant birds has fallen off at an incredible rate. Ornithologists say that perhaps it’s because of a change in earth magnetism or in climate, but I feel that it’s due to something far graver. And it’s not just birds. There’s been a great change, too, in the size of the runs offish.”
“Hmmm. My heavens,” said the old man, “what does it all mean? Are these harbingers of something?”
“I can’t answer in definite terms,” said Tadokoro, shaking his head. “But I’m making every effort to find out what that some thing may be.”
“I see,” said the old man, coughing. “I have but one more question for you. For a scientist, what is the most precious thing?”
“Intuition,” answered Tadokoro without hesitation.
“Mmm?” The old man cupped his hand to his ear. “What is it?”
“I said intuition, sir,” said Tadokoro. “You may think it’s strange, but for a scientist—especially for a natural scientist— far and away the most precious gift he can possess is that of keen intuition. Without it, he’ll never make a notable break through.”
>
“I see. Very well,” said the old man, nodding emphatically. “Well, then, I must say goodbye. . . .”
The tall young man suddenly reappeared. A polite bow to Tadokoro, and he began to push the wheelchair away with quiet efficiency. In a moment both were gone.
When Tadokoro recovered from his surprise and took another look around him, there was still no sign of Yukinaga. A bellboy, however, came by calling for Dr. Tadokoro. The message was from Yukinaga: “Please forgive me. I’ll explain at some other time.”
A middle-aged man with a sunburned face came to Tadokoro’s laboratory one night a week later.
“I understand, Professor, that you’re in the market for a sub marine,” he said without standing on ceremony. “How would the French submarine the Kermadic suit you?”
“How would it suit me? What do you mean by that?” said Tadokoro, frowning. “I’d like to use a Japanese submarine. However . . .”
“I’m not talking about chartering it. I’m talking about buying it and letting you use it. Furthermore, we’ll supply the money for your research. Whatever amount is necessary—it doesn’t matter. And you may select whomever you wish for colleagues. We ask only that you entrust to us the means for preserving the secrecy of your operation.”
“Who are you? What connection do you have with Yukinaga?”
“We’ve requested Professor Yukinaga’s cooperation, too, of course. As for me . . .” The man took a card from his wallet and presented it.
“The Cabinet . . . Department of Research . . .” Tadokoro mumbled, not at all happy.
At that moment there came the loud thumps of hurrying footsteps from the stairway outside the computer room, and a young technician burst into view.
“What is it?” asked the startled Tadokoro. “Can’t you be quiet?”
“Professor!” His face showing his distress, the young man held out a note. “It happened again. In the Kansai. . . .”
Japan Sinks Page 6
