by James Webb
And now MacArthur himself flashed, launching into one of his famous stentorian lectures. “Captain Marsh, on this I am certain that you are wrong. This document is beyond doubt the most liberal constitution ever written. It will be the single most important accomplishment of our occupation. We are lifting them up from the ashes that the arrogance of their old system brought down on them. This constitution will bring the Japanese people freedom and privileges which they have never before known.”
But then he stopped, as if suddenly running out of words, joining Whitney and Willoughby as they all quietly stared at me. It was clear that he wanted me to continue.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, gathering myself again. “I was merely trying to give you an observation from the Japanese perspective.”
“Then don’t say ‘personally,’ ” warned Whitney.
“Right, sir,” I answered. “Not personally. Let’s try ‘culturally.’ But here’s the point.” I burrowed my eyes into the supreme commander’s, ignoring the other two officers, determined that I not be sidetracked again. “You have taken a royal hostage, and it’s worked quite effectively. But if you trade Prince Nashimoto merely for the changes in your constitution, what do you have? Not much. You have American words in a Japanese constitution. That’s it. Prince Nashimoto is back tending the Sun Goddess’s Mirror of Knowledge at the Ise Shrine. And our allies are still screaming that you haven’t done enough on the issue of war crimes.”
“No,” said MacArthur. “We’ll have General Yamashita’s conviction to take care of that.”
“It’s not going to work, General!” I was trying to keep my composure, but his cavalier dismissal of what he was ordaining for General Tomoyuki Yamashita as a bargaining chip had suddenly enraged me again. “It won’t work, sir! Not by itself! The Yamashita case is not going well for you.”
“That’s not what I’m hearing. He will be convicted, Captain!”
“Yes he will. And I know how happy that makes you. But it’s becoming a horrifying sideshow, that’s all! It doesn’t make a goddamn bit of difference on the points I’m talking about, sir!”
MacArthur stared at me, stunned and obviously angry, like a king slapped down by a lowly serf.
“I will not have you take the Lord’s name in vain in my presence.”
I was panting. My hands were trembling. Whitney and Willoughby were looking at each other with an unprecedented mutual rage, as if I had lost my mental capacities. I took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, sir. I apologize for swearing.”
MacArthur checked his watch. I knew he was not worried about the time. “Finish what you were saying, Captain.”
“Yes, sir. I’m trying to.”
My very words brought back the haunting image of Colonel Sam Genius struggling to convince MacArthur about the importance of holding Prince Asaka accountable for the rape of Nanking. I knew that I myself was dangling over a dangerous precipice. And I wasn’t doing very well in my own little ambush. Maybe they had learned from Genius’s antics. I hadn’t thought about that. Or maybe I just wasn’t as clever. Or maybe Genius hadn’t even wanted to go to Fort Ord, and I had totally misread what had happened to him. But it did not matter, not any of it, because there was no way I could now reverse myself anyway.
“Let me try again, sir. If you simply trade Prince Nashimoto for the changes in the constitution, it is—highly likely—that the issue of political war crimes will remain on the table. General Yamashita’s conviction won’t solve that problem. He’s a theater commander and a commoner. Even trying General Tojo in front of a proper tribunal next year won’t solve the problem. He’s a general who was picked to serve as prime minister by the imperial court. If you want to protect the emperor, then you must charge someone who was close to the throne. And since you don’t want to charge the emperor’s blood relatives, that leaves two people. That’s it, General! Two people. Prince Konoye, who is the emperor’s hereditary internal adviser, and Koichi Kido, the lord privy seal.”
The three silently looked at one another for several seconds. I waited for an answer, drenched in sweat. There was no answer. Either I had given them fresh grist for their thinking, or I had so offended them that they were mentally preparing my coffin.
Finally I continued. “Two people, sir. There is no alternative. Make it a package deal. Trade them for Nashimoto and the constitution. Then you’re done, sir. You have it all. You have the constitution, and you’ve charged the emperor’s two closest advisers.”
“And what are the charges?” asked MacArthur, now looking out his window toward the palace grounds.
“Accountability for all the emperor’s decisions during the war. You’ve got Kido’s diaries, use them! Kido and Konoye gave the emperor the bad advice. They picked the people who ran the government. They approved the policies that put Asia into full-scale slaughter. It’s one or the other, General. Either the emperor did it, or they did.”
This time I knew their silence was a form of stunned acceptance, as if they had never expected me to be capable of such shrewdness. The three generals stared at one another for a long time, deep in thought. Finally Court Whitney probed me.
“They came to you with this?”
“Kido came with the proposal,” I said. “The analysis is my own.”
I particularly enjoyed that little lie, for it was one that the lord privy seal himself might have been proud to tell. Lies to him were never lies if they prevented shame, and Kido more than anyone wished to insulate the emperor from shame. So in an odd, thoroughly Japanese way I was telling the truth. “They have come to understand that it is the only way to protect the imperial family. And as you know, they have dedicated their lives to protecting the imperial family.”
“Will they make that offer officially?” asked the skeptical Willoughby.
“They have made the offer officially to the emperor,” I answered. This time I knew that I probably was correct. Kido had said as much as I left the house of his mistress. “But they would never officially offer up one of their people to the Americans to be charged with a war crime, General. You know that, sir. It is their position that no single Japanese committed war crimes of a political nature, that the country acted as a collective family, that if you charge one Japanese with a political war crime, then you should charge the entire nation.”
“They should communicate this to us directly,” said Court Whitney.
“They have. That’s what the meeting last night was all about.” Again I held his piercing, unsettled stare. “They would never pass this on to your staff, General Whitney, because they fear it would make them lose face if you used the information improperly, or decided to expand on it by somehow using it as evidence of an admission of guilt by the imperial family. There will be no witnesses and no paper trail. Kido trusts me. He believes I was sent by the imperial ancestors to help Japan as it moves into the future.”
“The silly little bastards,” quipped a suddenly chuckling Willoughby.
“Jay the Duck, a spirit sent by the ancestors,” laughed Court Whitney.
“I thought I sent you here, Captain Marsh,” joked the supreme commander.
They laughed together for several seconds, enjoying the thought of my supposed ancestral mission. I did not join them. Instead, I persisted. “I’m not asking you to believe what they believe, and for my part I’ll be very happy to be sent back to Manila as a civilian. But this is a serious offer. And in my opinion it will remove any criticism you might otherwise receive once you free Prince Nashimoto. So what more are you looking for, sir?”
MacArthur was smiling widely at me now, as if I were that same, formerly rebellious son who had just graduated first in his class from college. Watching his face I could not contain my own inner sense of elation and pride. It was as if a miracle had occurred, for in my adamance I seemed to have earned his full respect.
“It’s an exceptional idea. A brilliant solution to a terrible dilemma! So what is there left to do, Jay?”
I took a deep breath, staring directly at him and speaking with forced conviction. “Charge them, sir.”
“That’s all?”
“They’re expecting it.”
MacArthur paced for a while, staring as he so often did across the near moat toward the emperor’s residence, playing with his unlit pipe. Then he turned and pointed to Court Whitney.
“Charge them.”
Whitney’s mood had quickly changed. He glanced at me, then winked, a gesture of forgiveness. He even smiled as he furiously wrote notes in his legal pad.
“Bold stroke, Boss.”
“Indeed.” MacArthur turned back to me. “All right, now tell me about the Yamashita trial. It’s clear that you’re not as enthusiastic as other people who have been reporting to me.”
I tightened my lips and sat full up in my chair, a gesture of final defiance. “I told you how I feel about it, sir. I want out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want out of the army. I can’t go along with it anymore.”
I could almost hear his mind calculating as he watched me, again taking in every nuance—the way I sat on the couch, where I kept my hands, how directly I was gazing back at him. He puffed up his chest, raising his chin as if somewhere nearby a camera was rolling. But he did not fool me. Looking into his eyes I realized that no matter what he would say, inside his heart he knew that at some level he was wrong.
“It is not easy for me to pass judgment on a defeated adversary, Captain Marsh. But rarely has so cruel and wanton a record been held up for public scrutiny.”
“I can’t imagine you’d say that if you’ve been reading the transcripts, General. You’re hanging the wrong man, sir. This is an emotional time, but all wars end emotionally. General Grant didn’t seek to hang General Lee after the Civil War just because he lost, did he?”
MacArthur bridled at that, his mouth tightening with disgust. “General Lee did not sanction the killing of innocents. Nor did he pillage and destroy an ancient Christian city.”
I took a deep breath, but said it anyway. “No, I guess we’d have to go to the rape of Georgia and the burning of Atlanta for that. But that was the Union army, and General Sherman was on the winning side. So I guess we’re not supposed to mention it?”
I was trying to force his hand, to get him so angry that he’d be done with me, fire me and send me off. After all, as soon as Sam Genius had become personal, he was gone. But for some reason the supreme commander held back. A small, teasing smile crept onto his face. “An interesting point, but you realize that you are treading on very thin ice, Captain! My father was a soldier in that march.”
“I well know that, sir. And I make no judgments, although I suppose he did feel some air of conciliation in marrying your mother, a daughter of the Confederacy?”
Surprisingly, MacArthur’s smile broadened with appreciation at my knowledge of his family history. His eyes went far away. “To the great distress of her family, I might add. But that is the spirit of America.” He seemed to catch himself, to forcibly bring his mind back to the present. “But I can understand that you are ready to resume your civilian career. And what is it that you want to do with your life, Jay?”
“I want to return to Manila, sir. I have an offer to join a family business there.”
Court Whitney leaned forward, joining the conversation. “You will recall that Captain Marsh is engaged to a Filipina woman, Boss. From the Ramirez family. A good family. They do construction and food services. Very active in Subic and Manila.”
“The girl. Yes, of course I remember.” MacArthur’s eyes softened, again chasing memories and dreams, perhaps of a life he himself might have lived if duty had been different and destiny had not been a blood obligation. “So you haven’t forgotten her, up here in the land of geishas? You still want to marry her. And what is her name?”
“Consuelo, sir.”
He visibly jolted, coming out of the past to stare hard at me. He knew why I had said it. It was a private joke, perhaps a hidden threat. For a brief second his face held a mix of pained memories, undefined jealousies, and vague fears. But I was the only one who comprehended this, because I was the only one who knew. And finally he smiled blandly.
“An interesting name.”
“Actually it’s a middle name,” I lied. “They call her Divina Clara.”
He scrutinized me further, as if finally accepting me as something of an intellectual equal. “You would make an excellent businessman, Jay. But I should counsel you never to join a Filipino family as a junior partner. You would lose your position of high respect in their community if you do that.”
I had never thought of that. And although I could not measure the sincerity of his advice, it occurred to me that he might be right. “Thank you for saying that, General. But it will give me some time to look at other options.”
“If you need time, then I will help you find some time.” MacArthur turned grandly to General Whitney. “Court, we need to send Jay back to the Philippines. He should be down there for the Yamashita trial, anyway.”
My heart sank. “But sir, I want out of the army!”
MacArthur held back a smile. “In due course, Jay. When the trial is over. We need you to provide us with a continuing update, and to see it—to its conclusion. Thank you for your excellent observations with respect to the Japanese. We will charge these people. It was an astute recommendation. And, good day.” And now he smiled grandly, dismissing me with the simple nodding of his head toward the door.
“Good day, sir.”
I rose slowly from my seat, stunned and deflated. I had tried to ambush him, but I knew that he had just mouse-trapped me instead. For so long as General Tomoyuki Yamashita was alive, I would remain his hostage. One false word, one loud protest that might resonate in the media, and I would be recalled from Manila and posted by MacArthur to anywhere in the world that he might decide.
As I neared the door he called to me.
“Oh, Jay—”
I turned to face him. “Yes, sir?”
“I want your notes.”
Another mousetrap. I could not help but grin. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
He grinned back, in full control. There was a playful mystery in his eyes. “And there’s a gentleman waiting outside to meet me by the name of Thorpe Thomas. Would you bring him in?”
“Yes, sir.”
Thorpe Thomas was sitting on a chair in the corridor just outside MacArthur’s office. He was a tall, crisp-looking man of about sixty, with wavy white hair and a quick smile that revealed perfect teeth.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you Thorpe Thomas?”
“Indeed I am.”
“General MacArthur will see you now.”
He stood, walking toward the door with me. “Well, that’s wonderful.”
He was wearing a grey woolen pinstriped suit, a red silk tie, and the most expensive pair of Florsheim shoes I had ever seen. He moved with an air of easy self-confidence that seemed only to emanate from those who have become irreversibly and supremely successful. I found myself instinctively liking him.
MacArthur was standing at the door itself as I opened it. His face was brimming with a regal, welcoming charm.
“Thorpe, old man! It’s good to see you.”
“Douglas, you’re looking well, for an old warrior.”
As they shook hands I began to leave, but instead MacArthur took my elbow and held me in their presence. For the first time in my life he put an arm around my shoulder, embracing me and turning me to face Thorpe Thomas.
“Here’s a top prospect for you, Thorpe. And you know I’ve never made an introduction without personally backing it up. Captain Marsh has given me unprecedented service for three years, now. I can’t tell you how valuable he’s been over the past few months here in Japan. He’s a Japanese-speaker, a born diplomat, and very, very smart about Asia. Despite his junior rank I’ve had him working on his own, negotiating at the top levels of the Japanese government! But I’m goin
g to be losing him soon. He wants to leave the army and get into business.”
Thomas smoothly took my hand, never losing his smile as he took in every aspect of my appearance with cool, appraising grey eyes. “Have you thought about investment banking?” he asked.
I felt flattered, but at the same time stunned, unprepared, even small. I had never even contemplated such an immensely rewarding future. I looked uncertainly from Thomas to MacArthur and then back again. “I haven’t ruled it out,” I finally managed to say.
“This region is going to explode with American capital,” said Thomas. He reached into a pocket and came out with a business card. I examined it as he talked. “Japan, the Philippines, Hong Kong, Singapore! They’re all waiting to be rebuilt, and American business is going to lead the way. We’re looking for bright young men with energy and insight who also have some knowledge of the area.”
“You won’t find a better man,” said MacArthur, giving me a fatherly pat on the back. “I will stake my own reputation on that.”
The business card read Managing Director, International Investment, Bergson-Forbes Group, New York. An uncontrollable thrill now shimmered through me. I was as breathless as the first time I had ever seen a naked woman. New York. Hong Kong. Japan. Singapore. And Manila as well! I knew vaguely what investment bankers did. They lived well, traveled to great places, and made millions of dollars.
