by Meira Chand
‘I have it from reliable sources that Okawa now regales American and Japanese doctors with accounts of visitations from Emperor Meiji, Edward VII of England, President Woodrow Wilson and the Prophet Mohammed. Japanese doctors are persuading our naïve American friends that he is suffering from tertiary syphilis. I am told this condition is irreversible and leads to insanity and a quick death. Many of us here will soon be dead, but I predict Okawa will sit out this trial in the comfort of a sanatorium. When all is over and done, he will miraculously recover from his deadly disease and live to a ripe old age. The whole thing is a hoax,’ Toda said.
Since he was of a different race to the other prisoners, Tilik had no cell mate. The segregation was for the sake of order. Even before the trial began in Ichigaya, the noose and the trap-door were in service in Sugamo Prison. The trial of the Class B and C criminals had started in Yokohama some time before. For them the first executions had already begun. A tremor darted wildly about the prison at the end of April, when the first hanging occurred. Sometimes, in his sleep Tilik dreamed he heard the crash of the trap-door early in the morning, and awoke with sweat pouring off him. He was not important enough to warrant a noose, being only a petty Class C criminal, but there might be years of incarceration. Or even repatriation to India. There he would stand trial with those members of the Indian National Army who had been turned over to the British after the surrender. This too was a recurrent nightmare. But somehow, nothing now seemed to matter after what he had witnessed in Hiroshima. The whole of his life, swinging away behind that one explosion, seemed now to take on new perspectives. It would live with him for ever. He did not know anyone else in the prison who had seen the bomb.
He was surprised the next day to be told he had a visitor. Visits were allowed only once a month from relatives, and Michiko had been the week before. She was not well and both children were also sick. It had been explained they were nearer the blast than he. He was now never without an underlying worry for them. A hundred yards this way or that, a wall here or there to protect, everything seemed to have made a difference with that bomb in Hiroshima. Chance drew its arbitrary lines between who should live, or die.
He followed the young American MP up to the room where Class C visits were allowed. At first he hardly recognised Nozaki. What little hair was left had turned white, and an ugly keloid covered part of his cheek. Although little more than forty-five, he already looked an old man.
‘In my opinion you should not be here,’ Kenjiro said sitting down before Tilik. ‘This is a strange trial. The more I think of it, the more confused I become. There are of course lofty ideals involved, but also ideals that are not so lofty. This is very much a victor’s justice. Who is really to judge whom? If I had not been caught in Hiroshima, I might be speaking differently. This whole trial sometimes seems no more than an excuse to prove legitimacy for the dropping of those two great bombs. I make no excuse for Japan, but lust for power is in all men and all nations.’
‘I suspect we shall hear nothing of the dropping of those atomic bombs,’ Tilik speculated.
‘They have taken us into a new era of warfare and morality. What is being discussed here is already partially obsolete. The question for the future is whether it is legitimate by such indiscriminate slaughter to win victory, breaking the will of a whole nation to continue to fight. Of course, the argument now is that lives were saved upon both sides, but that is not really an argument when one considers the millions upon millions of lives already wasted. Japan would have surrendered within a few days of that bomb. Negotiations were already in progress. Why did they not drop it on some uninhabited island to show us first what it could do? Nothing validates the dropping of those bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.’ Kenjiro clenched his teeth together.
‘Governments, not men, create war,’ Tilik answered with a sad sigh.
‘I do not agree,’ Kenjiro protested. ‘If one man refused to kill another, governments could do nothing. Men are indoctrinated to think of the enemy as the devil incarnate. In this great tribunal the guilt of war does not appear to reach beyond the twenty-eight old men sitting in the dock. In that courtroom a war is still going on. It is the final nailing, the final retaliation. Magnanimity, understanding and charity are what we need, and they are not there. This trial is political and few of those whose deeds reached demonic levels will ever come to light. Which of us, tell me also, is free of that dark side in ourselves? Is it not better to be killed than to kill? This question comes to me always. Killing to order, killing for pleasure, for sport. Nanking still fills my dreams, you know. I shall never be free.’
They sat in silence for some moments. Then Kenjiro spoke again. ‘I did not come to tell you this. Although I am to be a witness for the prosecution with regard to Nanking, I want to tell you I shall also be a witness for the defence on your behalf. We have nothing to fear now from the Kempeitai. I shall tell how you freed Professor Teng, a Chinese prisoner, at the risk of your own life. Teng is also expected here soon. I have no doubt he will also take the stand in your defence.’
‘I am most grateful,’ Tilik replied. He felt a tightening in his throat. His whole life seemed suddenly to condense before him, strange and inexplicable. The threads that should have run strongly through it were frayed beyond recognition.
The MP came towards them, signalling that their time was over. Kenjiro stood up, leaning heavily upon his cane.
On another floor in Sugamo, Donald Addison waited to meet General Matsui. Soon he was led to the General’s cell with an interpreter. Matsui sat reading, and looked up as Donald entered. At first his face was blank.
‘My friend, Mr Addison. My publicity agent still?’ The General smiled in sudden recognition.
‘Yes indeed,’ Donald answered.
Matsui gestured him to sit down upon a chair the MP had brought into the cell. The interpreter stood behind them.
‘For a time I had a cell mate, Mr Okawa, but he went mad and they took him away. So now I am alone,’ Matsui explained.
‘Some people are saying Okawa’s madness is a hoax,’ Donald suggested.
Matsui looked at him hard. ‘Mr Okawa was never a soldier. Those of us in the military are more used to the idea of death perhaps.’
They spoke for some moments about life in Sugamo and the General’s state of health. Matsui did not look well; his frailty had a new brittleness. ‘We are all preparing ourselves for the end. We read religious books, meditate, write. A priest attends us. It is a peaceful life, much as we might lead in a monastery.’ The General’s eyes lit up with a flash of sudden humour.
‘I am sorry to see you here,’ Donald said quietly.
‘What else could be expected? Someone was needed to take responsibility for Nanking,’ Matsui replied. ‘You know my point of view. I have explained it to you already.’
‘I hope it will be understood,’ Donald replied. ‘Where are the other commanders of Nanking? What about Prince Asaka and General Nakajima? Are you covering up for them?’
‘Soon after I last saw you we were all recalled to Japan. I and Yanagawa and Prince Asaka with more than eighty officers. Counsellor Hidaka had visited Nanking and sent back a report to the Foreign Ministry. It caused an uproar, I believe. But when we returned, the Emperor personally rewarded us for the victory at Nanking. We received silver vases embossed with the crest of the Imperial Chrysanthemum. In spite of Hidaka’s report, everyone except myself received promotions for their part in Nanking. But I retired to my home in Atami. I spent many hours there facing the sea and the gnarled pines that litter that rocky coast, deformed by the blast of the wind. They echoed the state of my soul.’
He explained to Donald that he had built on his estate a small shrine. Its base was of clay dug from the banks of the Yangtze about Nanking. It stood on a southwesterly point, looking out across the sea to China. Within it hung mementoes of the Chinese war dead. On an opposite wall hung mementoes of the Japanese dead. Between these knelt a priestess, chanting prayers and lamenta
tions. Her duty was to weep. On a promontory behind the shrine, further up the hill, stood a statue of Kwannon, Goddess of Mercy. There was a crudeness about her, she was not cast in expensive bronze, or carved from costly marble. She was fired from a muddy mix of clay, half from the far away banks of the Yangtze, half from the soil of Japan.
‘I have made my amends to a power greater than any man,’ Matsui declared. ‘I often wondered why I of all men was brought out of retirement for the battle in China. I see now that to many I appeared dispensable. The noose awaits me. And I deserve it. I should have done more to guide those in command. It is my duty now to die for the protection of the throne and the country. I am happy to end this way. Seeing now the way things have turned out, I am in fact eager to die at any time. I can face it calmly, I assure you.’ He smiled slightly at the worried look on Donald’s face. ‘They have arrested Colonel Hashimoto too, you know. He will get what he deserves.’ A look of sudden satisfaction filled Matsui’s eyes.
‘There are some who say the period covered by the indictment is faulty. That Japan accepted the Potsdam Declaration at the end of the 1941-45 war. If this is so, the conquest of Manchuria and of China do not come into the trial at all. The defence is to argue this point. If it is accepted then your part in the war is irrelevant,’ Donald informed him.
Matsui shook his head and smiled. An expression of patience filled his thin face. ‘This will not be supported. Potsdam or not, our war began with Manchuria. What occurred in 1941 was an escalation and one that from the beginning had been half-anticipated.’
‘I wanted to tell you that in my reports I intend to speak of the difficulties of your position and that you tried to impose discipline but were not obeyed.’
‘I appreciate your concern.’ General Matsui bowed his head slightly. ‘But it will do little good. They call me the Butcher of Nanking.’ His thin voice broke in bitterness.
‘That title should go to others. A scapegoat is needed,’ Donald replied.
‘I am happy to be that. I have thought for many years, day after day, upon all that has happened and pondered it deeply. My death is the only payment now that I can make.’ Matsui repeated his earlier sentiments. ‘All of us here regard ourselves as no more than symbols of the guilt that Japan is seen to carry by the rest of the world. We do not ourselves feel guilty in the way your western nations view it. Our guilt as we see it, is for having let our nation down, for the face Japan has lost. But to free the country, to purify its soul in the eyes of the Allied nations, we are happy to die as a symbolic sacrifice to the angry spirits of those Japan is seen to have wronged.’ Matsui looked down once more at his book of Buddhist scriptures.
Donald stood up and bowed to the General. There was a serenity in his expression that Donald hoped was more than simple resignation to his fate. Donald turned, and the waiting MP closed the cell door behind him. At the gate, as he left Sugamo, he was surprised to see Kenjiro Nozaki and hurried to catch him up.
In his cell Tilik lay back upon his mat. He could make no sense of the future as yet. It was well over a year since Rash Bihari’s death, not long after that visit from Subash Chandra Bose. Who knew also what awaited India now? At last Independence was discussed as if it might become reality. But Subash was also now dead.
His death had come as a shock to Tilik. Once more he was left adrift upon an uncharted sea. The unfinished manner of Subash’s death seemed only to add to Tilik’s own unresolved state. It was said Subash had died in a plane crash after Japan’s surrender. In the panic of those first few days after the surrender, Subash Chandra Bose had dashed from Rangoon to Singapore and then on to Saigon. If he fell into British hands he would be tried as a traitor. The Japanese could do nothing more for him, and regarded him as a nuisance. Which country now could he turn to? It was said he decided Russia would be best and became desperate to get to Moscow. First these plans had to be finalised with his old contacts in Japan. He set off from Saigon in a Japanese plane, bound for Tokyo with several of his aides. Taking off after a stopover in Taipei, Subash’s plane had crashed in flames.
Nothing but question marks surrounded his death. It was said a chest of treasure travelled with him as he fled. Japan wanted no more to do with him, it had already troubles enough. Why should he go to Russia, friend of Britain, who had just declared war on Japan? Why, if his plans had been successful, should any Japanese plane be prepared to fly him to Russia in such circumstances? Some of those on the aircraft with Subash and declared dead like him, it was whispered, were still alive. Was Subash himself still alive, or really dead? Had he been captured by the British? Had he committed suicide? Was he murdered by Japan or Britain? Or even by his aides, for the treasure, and immunity from British prosecution?
These thoughts swirled about Tilik’s head. Some definite knowledge of Subash’s end, or a new beginning with him if he were still alive, might have given him a sense of continuity. Instead, Tilik was left with question marks. He whimpered in the tiny cell.
40
The Distance of Time
1946
Chief Counsel for the Prosecution, Joseph Keenan, had earlier announced in his opening statement:
‘The war which Japan waged against China and which Japanese leaders falsely described as the China Incident or the China Affair, began on the night of 18th September 1931 and ended with the surrender of Japan in Tokyo Bay on 2nd September 1945. The first phase of this war consisted of the invasion, occupation and consolidation by Japan of that part of China known as Manchuria, and of the Province of Jehol. The second phase of this war began on 7th July 1937, when Japanese troops attacked near Peking following the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, and consisted of successive advances, each followed by brief periods of consolidation in preparation for further advances into Chinese territory. Some of the accused were active in this war from the very beginning, others participated as it progressed. It is not too much to say that the fuse of the European war was first attached to the China Incident.’
Now at last that part of the trial concerning China began. Many weeks of testimony had already gone by examining not only the invasion of Manchuria, but also army intrigues that propelled events forward towards the rape of Nanking, and then the Pacific war.
The weather had progressed from spring to early summer and the wet Tsuyu season. Now the rain beat down and in the lchigaya courtroom the humidity was intense. People fanned themselves with reports, mopping sweat from brows with handkerchiefs. Soon there would be a summer recess, and air-conditioning installed. The great lights still burned, further heating the air unbearably.
General Matsui perspired freely in the dock. His thin face took on a ferret-like look as the evidence of witness after witness surfaced. Officers were called to the stand who had once been under Matsui’s command. In the dock General Matsui stared ahead, aware of the court’s gaze upon him. He wore the look of a man who wished the floor would swallow him up. The courtroom was packed with spectators. Now at last the tortuous legal arguing would cease for a while, and the meat of the trial would surface. Everyone wanted to hear about the rape of Nanking.
Almost all the members of the Safety Zone Committee were present in the courtroom. They had filed more than seventy reports with the Japanese Embassy over the six week period of the siege. Now, at this distance in time, the desperation of these letters of entreaty seemed no less intense than at the moment of their dispatch. Nadya listened, sitting as she always did now beside Donald. As the trial progressed and the spectre of Nanking loomed, he seemed to regress to the state of fear that had gripped him then. The letters submitted to the Japanese Embassy, many to Kenjiro Nozaki, continued to be read. Each word seemed to push them back, inch by inch, down the dark tunnel of memory, back into the nightmare of Nanking.
‘Shameful disorder continues and we see no serious efforts to stop it. The soldiers every day injure hundreds of innocent people most seriously. Does not the Japanese Army care for its reputation? In the name of humanity we appeal to you to stop
the slaughter in Nanking.’ Letter after letter was read.
Across the courtroom Nadya caught a glimpse of Kenjiro. He held his cane between his knees, his hands rested over its ivory knob. She knew the distress he had felt on receiving those letters. She saw him look up as Herbert Strang took the stand. Mr Metzger followed.
After Mr Strang and Mr Metzger, doctors gave their testimony, one after another, slowly building up the grim evidence. ‘Our hospital filled up from the moment the Japanese entered the city and was kept full to overflowing for the next six weeks as was every other hospital in Nanking. The patients usually bore bayonet or bullet wounds. Many of the women patients were the victims of violent sexual assault and were horribly mutilated.’ Dr Chen of Martha’s hospital had come from Nanking to give this evidence.
A Chinese official from the Ministry of Railways spoke of his experiences. ‘Japanese soldiers were rough and barbarous. They shot everyone in sight, like they would shoot rabbits.’
A Chinese merchant testified that he had been arrested with his elder brother and marched, wrists roped together to the Yangtze River. There they joined a thousand men sitting along the bank. Forty yards away a row of machine guns faced them. As the firing began he had slumped to the ground and was immediately covered by corpses and fainted.
It went on and on, until they were all sickeningly satiated by the details.
‘We call to the stand Nadya Addison.’
She made her way to the witness box and took the oath as instructed. In her hand she held Martha’s diary.
‘You were a member of the Safety Zone Committee?’ the Prosecution asked.
‘Yes. I worked with Dr Martha Clayton as auxiliary help in her hospital.’
‘So you saw many cases of the wounded?’
