The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868-1945: vol. 1 (Modern Asian Literature Series)

by J. Thomas Rimer

  “My, you’re working hard. That’s really a great crop.”

  The old couple straightened up and turned toward me. They waved and laughed, as if to deny the fact, but did not say a word. They looked at me as if I were their child. These were villagers who had seen me yesterday noon. In truth, the old lady may have been there yesterday. Her eyes were fixed on me with the intensity of those villagers. The many children of this elderly couple had grown up and left home, and among the boys there were those who had become soldiers. I resembled one of them, and they were opening their hearts to me. The friendly exchanges that existed before the war situation had become so pressing had ceased now for some time. The conditions for me to meet Toshie had become more difficult, and arrangements could be expected to take more time. “That man shouted at us as he went by.” The two might have said as much if the assault departure or some other event or change in my situation had occurred. “He went smiling and laughing, carrying his sword, like a student on an outing. Feeling heavy at heart, we said nothing. He resembled our second son so much, and although we didn’t think he looked like a stranger, why couldn’t we do something?” I deliberately made up that conversation. My sentiments were gently captivated by the couple’s fit, elderly appearance with their long faces resembling mine, and I felt peace. Although the mountains were low, the greater part bespoke the essence of light and dark twisted together. Sweating profusely, I climbed up the mountain road. The chirp of a small bird, whose name I do not know and which I cannot identify, sounded as if it were praising its freedom. That curious sound was sweet to my ears. I met no barefoot young women crossing the mountain, with the strap for a carrying basket over their foreheads, and staring at the ground. As I walked along through the mountains, the natural sounds of the external world and a wheezing sound from within my consciousness merged into a scraping noise. I felt a closing in from the buzzing in my ears, creating the illusion that I was escaping somewhere. The figure of that old lady, straightening up her aging body and gazing at me, remained as the last observer to have watched me. There was no tinge of reproach but only a shade of long-silent pity that followed me. As I passed by fields with sedge planted along the borders, the tail end of the dream I had been fleeing suddenly came back to me, and the riddle of the motor launches was solved. The cork that I could not extract had popped out. It seemed that the water over there, which I did not comprehend, had suddenly told me. MAYBE THE WAR IS OVER. I could not conceive how it had ended, but anyway, hadn’t it really ended? There was no need for air raids. The defense unit motor launches could venture out into the straits at midday like the regularly scheduled boat service to the nearby islands. over. over. The words rushed up in my heart like puffs of smoke. Without thinking, I burst into laughter. I did think of stopping, but I could not. If I did not get the toxin out of my body, the laughter would not stop. I walked on briefly, laughing to myself without raising my voice. When I thought how I might survive, my muscles all over began to dance, my body heated up, my back stiffened like a thick shaft, and I wondered whether Toshie had appeared beside me or I were being watched. I looked around, front and back, and found no one. Why couldn’t I see well? I could do nothing about these impulses that occurred one after another. I ran up the hill to look, brandishing my sword about in its sheath and continuing to laugh. Gradually I stopped calling out, but I continued to sweat profusely and breathe laboriously. Finally I did stop laughing. My body was wreathed in a femininity, as if Toshie were following directly behind me. A gust of wind, stinking of fish, passed over me, but I could not guess from where these thoughts had boiled up. My assigned duty was to use the attack boats, and if the war situation developed favorably, it would mean that the base should be moved forward. However you thought about it, a decisively favorable situation in which the boats’ use was not absolutely necessary was improbable. I hastened my steps in anxiety, wondering once again whether there wasn’t some omen saying our bodies might be sunk by lead. I was depressed by the fear of that blue expanse of water I might see. My heart floated up to the surface with the billows.

  The evacuees’ huts came into view at the foot of the hill down the steep red clay slope into S. village. I felt that I was peeking into a place that I should not look upon. The intimate exposure in plain sight of encroaching sewage from cooking water and excrement with no cover over it would shock passersby. I turned away from the slope and came out where there was an unbroken view of the rice fields. I saw clearly that things were changed from normal. Or rather, one should say that they had returned to normal. What had looked normal until now was the strange view of the countryside gone to waste because the farm workers, fearing air raids, had not gone out to the fields, and on the seacoast far from the village, jetties had been constructed and the naval defense forces had built barracks, drill fields, and wharves. The area had been bombed many times, and here and there the soil had been torn up, leaving a pitted surface reminding one of the moon. The land had been left exposed without restoration. But now quite a few farmers had gone out to the fields and were ceremoniously bustling around in excitement, reaping the late harvest. These routine activities were being carried out in an area not thought to be short of workers, and people were dotted about looking like scattered rubbish. However, these facts gave one a strange feeling of shock at the panorama spread out there. The people showed no sense of danger or anxiety at the shell holes they tramped through, adding to the impression that things were not right. They seemed to have abandoned whatever grievances they may have had; this new attitude did not match their previous image of weakness in bowing down and deferring to the military when they were threatened by air raids. Their features, deeply chiseled and burned by the southern sun, and the sturdy build of their hands and feet seemed to encompass the distance to those people in a place unreachable by words. But what had happened? I felt threatened by their apparent unconcern, which I had not seen before. I felt for their fear that there might be unexploded bombs in the fields. That was tied to my dread of meeting the drastic changes to come. I did not understand the depth of my consciousness. My military uniform had become strange. I felt a chill with my sense of fear. I ran a little faster past the rice paddies, and without entering the village I went through the front gate of the defense unit and came out at a turn in the open road, where I ran into that strange bustle again. There, at the antiaircraft position, four or five workmen were digging up the area where trees had been felled and tossed about for camouflage. That was not the usual kind of work arrangement. It plainly showed a careless disorder. I thought it was despicable, and for some reason I was struck by the idea: JAPAN HAS SURRENDERED. I recalled that fishy smell that hit me on the steep road over the pass. In my weak head I was again escaping, and a strange spiritual condition of unreason toward reality came over me. Still, the situation was pressing in on me and could not be put into a form that I could comprehend. A Japanese surrender was unthinkable, but if I did not think about it, I could see no reason for that scene so full of inexpressibly foul smells. Also, there was no way to express the reality of surrender, but then the past, too, was unthinkable; it was an image of flesh and broken bones protruding, foul and discordant. This is a scene of things collapsing. DEFEATED. DEFEATED. DEFEATED. With these raving mad thoughts coming from where in my mind I did not know, the strange thing was that my realization of living on began to tell me where I was and force a smile to my cheeks. The energy to press on up the slope burst out again, and trying to suppress the smile spreading over my cheeks, I entered the front gate of the defense unit. The interior of the unit was not particularly changed. With a feeling that I was exhausted by some strange fantasy I had been anticipating, I saw a line of thick sooty smoke rising unbroken from a corner of the barracks. Again, with that odd conviction I ran out to the drill field with its clear view, and there I came upon the chief navigation officer. Running up to him I felt I must say, “I’ve finally thrown up my hands.” He was a reserve officer who, before he was drafted, had been the captai
n of a merchant ship on international routes, and he was always telling jokes. I thought he always liked to say joking things like “You’ve had a narrow escape.” However, when he saw me, his face was grim, I noticed. I stiffened my expression and hesitated in my banter. Without changing my pace, I continued approaching boldly. He glared at me but admitted my presence. I didn’t know what he might be thinking. Here were two people who would usually laugh and joke together, but if they thought they might be seen by others, they would hold back any signs of lingering smiles. Yet feeling I was with an older man who always understood me, I saluted and stood silently by his side.

  “Well done. Well done. You walked all the way, didn’t you?”

  When I said yes, he averted his gaze and looked toward the cliffs behind the barracks. I turned to look at the smoke, which you could see even better from the drill grounds. The two of us stood there for a while, saying nothing and staring in different directions.

  “Something of great importance has happened,” he added out of context.

  I wondered whether it was a premonition or a fantasy about our activity, but I knew nothing more because I hesitated to ask directly, and I changed the subject.

  “What is today’s assembly called for?”

  He peered in my eyes as he said: “There’s to be a broadcast by the emperor at noon.”

  With a finishing blow, he added: “It’s unconditional surrender.”

  UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. I chewed over the idea. Wasn’t that nothing more than a child’s war game or the unrealistic words you heard in a university lecture? Here the weight of reality was exposed before my eyes. To tell the truth, that is what my ears expected to hear. But to hear it spoken clearly, the naked voice assumed an irrevocable weight. Again, what meaning it had I could not guess, leaving me confused. Little by little, my expression of familiarity was transformed into an expression of fear of the unknown. Although I did not fully understand it, before I could escape completely from the complications of the current war situation, I feared I must slip out of the troubles I was so entangled in. Was it perhaps impossible to get through this unscathed? Even one false step would probably mean death. Whereas until recently I was tormented by fear and thought only of death, a light came to me that I might be able to survive even if I were torn up in the process. But bathed in that light, my life might become excessively pitiful. Then again, if I had to turn my cheek toward death, what would that amount to? As I thought like that, the original bad color of my face would suddenly turn green in reaction. How many times did I wipe my face with both hands? The smile that I killed earlier I now wanted back. It had modulated by advancing stages that I could not understand.

  The static was bad on the noon broadcast, and we had trouble catching the words. The sound of the gentle voice we were not used to, rising and falling and weaving through the static, induced an even more illusory feeling. Afterward the commandant reported that Japan had acceded to unconditional surrender. The commander of each local unit then reported the same to all unit members, and all were warned to avoid any rash actions. As soon as the assembly was dismissed, I went to the commando staff officer’s room, where I had been summoned. My commander looked at me with his usual expression, but a little more kindly than before. Compared with his former hardness, he showed a softened attitude that was totally inconceivable. Never before in front of him had my identity as a reserve officer lacking in the military arts been so clear. On the contrary, his attitude learned from strict training in the naval academy displayed his military dignity, as did the staff officer epaulettes worn on his shoulders. There was a certain controlled beauty that could not be crossed. His overwarm reception, which he had never before displayed even slightly, made me suspicious. His staff office reminded me of the reception room of a commercial business. My attitude must have betrayed some craftiness; I may in turn get the same from the unit members when I return to the unit to report the surrender, and it is time to decide what to do next.

  “I think I understand the commandant’s order. From now on we simply stop fighting. We must think at length what to do if the enemy illegally comes close and we must counterattack. For your boats, though it will be troublesome I know, it would be deplorable to dismantle your condition of instant readiness. Until you have other directions from here, stay in your present standby position. However, do not remove the fuses.”

  I watched him closely as he spoke. I could not do that earlier. I thought I would like to turn the self that could look at him now back into my former self. I had an idea. In worrying about going pale, I was thinking back to the normal lively look of my cheeks. While I knew his words were measured, I was tense, but I relished the process of calming and gutting the self that was stampeding recklessly. I had to adopt a way for my future self. It seemed cynical, on the one hand, but I did think, on the other hand, that I liked him. Together until recently in an order that had not collapsed, I thought we were devoted to disciplined commando warfare.

  “Now I want you to believe me. I intend to understand fully the feelings of you all. Therefore, I absolutely will not undertake any one-sided measures that you do not understand. Please consult with me before doing anything at all. I say again and again, please remember this. These are only my own feelings. Don’t do anything bad. You must not brood on things alone. Whatever it is, please believe me and consult with me.”

  Those words of his I did not at first understand at all, but soon I sensed the meaning, and I found something lighthearted and laughable in them. I listened in silence without stifling my expression of incomprehension. Our unit with its fifty-two assault boats, however it might be seen at the moment, could, if I wished, be a threat to him, and that gave me some satisfaction. I didn’t for a moment think of leading the attack boats in assault on enemy forces in disregard of the armistice. However, I understood I could do so if I wanted to, and that was an odd feeling. Without telling him my true feelings, however, I kept silent.

  After leaving the commando staff offices, I hesitated about returning at once to the unit. I could not decide in what sequence to tell the unit members about the abrupt change. If there was one man pressing for a decisive attack with weapons, how could I handle that? If he becomes enraged at my refusal and if he strikes at me with his sword or fires a pistol or a rifle, would I be overwhelmed? Or by confronting him, could I enlarge it into a grudge fight? Without a heartfelt understanding about this, I could not go back to the unit. My feet unwittingly turned me toward the reserve officers’ room. With my classmates at reserve officers’ school, we trained together for only a limited time. Those who attended ordinary schools before entering military service had had varied experiences of student life and may not have shared a feeling of intimacy from their youth, but they did have in common a memory of being intimidated. Their temporary position in those classes had not changed at all after they were assigned to operational units. With them it was like the feeling after becoming an adult of meeting a primary school classmate and unconsciously sensing the futility of contact. The position to which I had adapted myself in this isolated unit reminded me of the weariness at encountering that feeling in the past. But I thought I would like to indulge in some chat with those I was now with, even in a childish way. Was it my imagination, though, that I thought most of them were avoiding me? One man, who was in charge of the antiaircraft emplacement, was polishing his pistol. I had heard of his courage in standing up, not crouching, as he shot down how many enemy dive bombers attacking the defense unit. I had also seen with my own eyes his gallantry in not shrinking from his surroundings in reserve officers’ school. He was sitting in the cluttered single room as if he had just been transferred and was polishing his disassembled revolver when he spoke to me informally in the reserve officers’ school manner.

  “I envy you for your commando boats.”

  When I could not answer, he added: “There’s some rumor of a conspiracy. Are you in it?”

  Since he repeated it, I replied: “There’s nothin
g like any conspiracy, I don’t have any revolvers. All I’ve got is 230 kilograms of explosives. I’m not going to do anything.”

  It appeared that to try to leave quickly might end in violence, and I did not know what the man might do with his gun if I should leave. A crew member in the sail and steam unit said that he wanted to reenter the university he had dropped out of halfway through and read lots of books there. In his post he was compelled until just recently to sail the inter-island connecting routes, and you might say he had continuously been exposed to the greatest danger. But attached to the defense unit as he was, he already thought of himself as discharged from the military organization. I, however, had not yet extricated myself. Now I had to return in order to convey the reality of unconditional surrender. The look that the staff officer and his comrades had given me I now had to turn onto my unit members.