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Cover]
_We stared--frozen--at the great face above us._]
_Up from the horror of Hiroshima came a god. He gave the people hope and for this they killed him--as they have always killed their gods._
THE IMAGE
and
THE LIKENESS
By John Scott Campbell
Shanghai had changed. We sensed that the moment we came ashore.Extraterritoriality was long gone; we had known that, of course. Thedays of exploitation, of clubs where Chinese and Burmese and Indianservants waited on Britons and Americans were passed. Pan-Asia had seento that. This was 1965. The white man's burden in the east had been uponbrown and yellow shoulders for over sixteen years now, and the Indiansand Burmese and Indonesians were ruling themselves, after their fling atcommunism in the fifties.
The initial bitterness which followed the debacle of 1955 had passed, wewere glad to see. Porters no longer spat in the faces of white men. Theywere polite, but we had not been in the city a half hour before wesensed something else. There was an edge to that politeness. It was asMajor Reid had written before we left San Francisco--a subtle changehad come over Asia in the previous few years. They smiled--they waitedon us--they bent over backwards to atone for the excesses of the firstyears of freedom from foreign rule; but through it all was an air ofaloofness, of superior knowledge.
Baker put it in his typically blunt British way.
"The blighters have something up their sleeves, all right. The wholecrew of them. Did you notice that rickshaw boy? When I said to take usto the hotel, he answered 'Yes, today I take you'. The Major wasright--there's something in the wind, and it's damned serious."
We were sitting, surrounded by our luggage, in our suite at the NewChina Hotel. There were four of us: Llewelyn Baker, Walter Chamberlin,Robert Martin, and myself, William Cady. Baker and Martin wereanthropologists, and old China hands as well. Chamberlin was ageologist, and I claimed knowledge of zoology. We were here ostensiblyas a scientific expedition, and had permission from the Republic of EastAsia to do some work on Celebese man, following up the discoveries byRance of bones and artifacts on that East Indian island in 1961.
We had another reason for coming at this particular time, although thiswas not mentioned to the authorities. Our real objective was to find outcertain things about New Buddhism, the violently nationalistic religionwhich was sweeping Pan-Asia.
New Buddhism was more than a religion. It was a motivating force of suchpower that men like Major Reid at the American Embassy were franklyworried, and had communicated their fears to their home governments. ThePan-Asia movement had, at first, been understandable. At first it hadbeen nationalism, pure and simple. The Asiatics were tired ofexploitation and western bungling, and wanted to rule themselves. Duringthe communist honeymoon in the early fifties, it was partly undergroundand partly taken over by the Reds for their own purposes. But througheverything it retained a character of its own, and after '55 itreappeared as a growing force which was purely oriental. Or at least soit seemed. Our job was, among other things, to find out if Russiancontrol was really destroyed.
We had already made several observations. The most obvious was thenumber of priests. Yellow robed Buddhist priests had always been common,begging rice and coppers in the streets, but in 1955 a new kindappeared. He was younger than his predecessors, and was usually anex-soldier. And his technique was different. He was a salesman."Rice--rice for Buddha," he would say. "Rice for the Living Buddha, togive him strength. Rice for the Great One, that he may grow mighty. Ricefor the strength to cast off our bonds."
And they had organization. This wasn't any hit or miss revival, startedby a crackpot, or by some schemer for his own enrichment. There wasdirection back of it, and very good direction too. We sensed that it hadbeen Japanese, at least at the start, but with the end of theoccupation, we could no longer barge in and investigate officially. Nowthere were treaties to respect, and diplomatic procedure and all thatsort of thing.
Instead, we were here to spy. Unofficially, of course. The ambassadorwas very explicit on that point. We were strictly on our own. If we werecaught, there could be no protection. So here we were. Four scientistsinvestigating Celebese man, and trying to find out, on the side, justwhat was back of New Buddhism.
We washed up, had dinner, and presently, as we had expected, Major Reidcalled. After a few jocular references to anthropology, for the benefitof the waiter, he got down to business.
"I'll have to be brief," he said, "because I can't spend too much timewith you without stirring up suspicion. You all know the background.They claim that this business is simply a new religion, a revival ofBuddhism modeled to fit new conditions. President Tung claims that thereis no connection between it and the state. We think differently. We havereason to believe that the direction back of this movement is communism,and that its ultimate object is military attack on the western world.What we don't know is the nature of the proposed attack. Some of ussuspect that they are making H-bombs, and have covered up so that wecannot spot them. That's what we must find out.
"The headquarters of New Buddhism is on a small volcanic island calledYat, off the east coast of Celebes. Your job is to reach that island andfind out what's going on, and then bring the information back. Clear?"
We nodded. We had received a similar briefing in Washington, and from afar more distinguished personage than Major Reid, but we felt no need ofmentioning this. In such a business, gratuitous information, even tofriends, serves no useful end.
* * * * *
Our informant in Washington had told us a good many other things,too. In the name of New Buddhism, the priests had been collectingimmense quantities of supplies, and on an increasing scale. Tons offoodstuffs had been gathered and then shipped off to an unknowndestination. Machinery, lumber, structural steel, canvas by thethousands of yards had been purchased, loaded onto ships and barges, andspirited away. It appeared that the New Buddhists were maintaining astanding army, or perhaps a labor force somewhere east of Borneo, butthe picture was very incomplete.
Part of the failure of ordinary methods of intelligence may have beendue to the supersecrecy of the New Buddhists themselves. It was notdifficult to corrupt priests on the lower levels, but all they knew wasthat certain quotas of food and materials were set for their territory,which were then shipped away to Borneo.
The big break had come only a few months ago. One of the OSS men gotthrough to a barge captain, who had been to the headquarters itself. Heidentified the location as an island a few miles off the northeast coastof Celebes. It was, he said, highly mountainous--in fact he believed itto be an extinct volcano, with a water filled crater reached only by anarrow passage from the sea. Boats, he said, could go in and out, buthis barge was not among those permitted. He delivered his cargo, threethousand tons of rice and five thousand raw hides, and was then sent onhis way. Under questioning, he said that there were many people livingon the island--thousands at least. Most of them lived in barracks amongthe trees fronting the ocean, but some had special privileges and wereallowed to go to the top of the crater rim.
Of the activities within the crater our informant knew nothing. At nightthe clouds were often lit by reflections from there, and once he hadheard noises, accompanied by a distinct shaking of the earth, as thoughblasting were being done at a great depth.
This was
the extent of our knowledge. We knew the location, but it wasup to us to find out the rest.
Our departure from Shanghai for the great island of Celebes involved theusual exasperation of delay and red tape. The American Embassy dideverything possible to expedite matters, and brought a little pressureto bear, I think, on the strength of the then impending American SixthLoan to China. In any case we were at last cleared, and boarded theplane for Celebes.
We took one of the six place compartments on the upper deck, andpresently had company in the form of two yellow-clad New Buddhistpriests. Baker, who had the best command of Chinese, engaged them inconversation.
As we had expected, they were very willing to talk, and displayed alively interest in Celebes man. That they were here to watch us wasobvious. Baker bided his time, and then switched the conversation to NewBuddhism. On this subject too the priests were anything but reticent.They described with enthusiasm the great spiritual renaissance that wassweeping all Asia "like a wind, the breath of life from the LivingBuddha." Baker asked a few questions about the Buddha, since to show nocuriosity about such a life subject might excite suspicion. The priestswere ready for them, and gave what was evidently the stock answer: theLiving Buddha was the very incarnation of Gautama himself, a spiritualleader who was being groomed to take over the guidance of all mankind,in east and west alike.
"Where does the Great One live?" asked Baker, alert for a trap.
"In Celebes, where you are going," was the reply.
"Oh," said Baker innocently, "Then perhaps it could be arranged for usto meet him?"
This, explained the priest, was quite impossible. In due time Buddhawould display himself for the world to see and marvel over; meanwhile,while his preparation was yet incomplete, he must remain in seclusion.
By now convinced that the presence of the priests was no accident, Bakersettled down to the sort of verbal sparring match that he enjoyed. Hehad been speaking in the Cantonese dialect, but now he abruptly switchedto English.
"You know," he remarked, "you fellows are using an amazing amount ofmaterial at your headquarters. Enough food to keep a good sized standingarmy."
The two priests, who had professed ignorance of English at the start ofthe conversation, stiffened visibly. Baker returned to Chinese.
The priests recovered their composure with some effort. The olderreplied suavely, "Gossip is a creative art. There is a large monasteryat our central temple, and much is needed to maintain its activities."
"Truth," said Baker pontifically, "is usually disappointing. Theimagination changes a mud hut to a palace, and a sickly priest to ademigod."
The two priests inclined their heads slightly at this. We watched theirexpressions. If Baker's purposely provoking language brought a reaction,it was not visible. But we had learned one thing: they spoke English butpreferred that we did not know it.
* * * * *
Our arrival at New Macassar, the Indonesian capital of Celebes,was attended by the usual confusion and delay. Our Buddhist friendsvanished with a speed which suggested special consideration, while theman from the American Consulate was still getting our equipment throughcustoms.
This business at length completed, we were escorted to a taxi by theattache and whisked up one of the wide avenues of the city without aquestion as to where we were to stay. Baker and Martin stared out thewindow with studied ease--they knew that something was up, but werecontent to await further developments. Now I noticed something else. Thedriver of our cab was a European, not a native. I started to frame aquestion, when, without warning, the car ducked into a side street,swung around two corners and abruptly entered an open doorway in a tallstucco building. Both Walt and I were half out of our seats in alarm,when our guide spoke.
"The American Consulate, gentlemen," he said, with the slightest traceof a diplomatic smile.
The cab had stopped in the ground floor garage of the consulate, andopening the door was the consul himself.
"Good morning, I'm Stimson. Hope Avery didn't give you too wild a ride,but I thought it best not to advertise my interest in you at the frontdoor. Things have changed a bit in the last few days. Well, Avery willshow you to your rooms. I'll be in the upstairs study when you'refreshened up."
There was little to speculate on as we shaved and changed to lessrumpled clothes, but we worked over the available data for what it wasworth.
"Consul takes us in tow," remarked Chamberlin. "That isn't in line withthe unofficial status so strongly impressed on us at Washington."
"And sneaking us in through the back door isn't according to bestdiplomatic form, either. Stimson wants to protect us from something, butobviously doesn't want the local constabulary to know." This fromMartin.
"It seems to me," I ventured, "that they could check the hotels. Itshouldn't take them long to put two and two together when we don't show.I'm blessed if I can see what Stimson has to gain from this maneuver."
Baker turned from the mirror where he had been adjusting his tie."Suppose we ask him," he commented.
The consul was waiting for us in his study. After the briefest greetingwhich his official position permitted, he got down to business.
"Gentlemen, I've had to pull a diplomatic boner of the first magnitude.I refer to the cloak and dagger method of getting you here. But believeme, it was the only way. They're onto your scheme. If you went to ahotel in New Macassar, you wouldn't be alive tomorrow morning."
"But, the taxi--" began Martin.
"It gave us a few hours. If I had sent the consulate car, they'd have ussealed off tight right now. I could keep you safe here, or get you onthe Shanghai plane, but you couldn't make another move. As it is, wehave perhaps two hours--with luck."
The consul settled back in his chair, evidently gathering his thoughts.We waited, more mystified than before, if that were possible. At lengthStimson started again.
"You're well briefed on the general situation. Reid gave me the gist ofhis conversation. But there are some other things that even Reid doesn'tknow." He opened a folding blotter on his desk and drew out an eight byten photographic print.
"You're aware of the efforts that have been made to look into the crateron Yat. To date we have not succeeded in getting an eye witness to therim. We have flown over Yat, of course, and have taken pictures fromevery altitude from 5,000 to 70,000 feet, but so far they haveoutsmarted us. They have smoke generators all around the rim, which theyfire up night and day whenever the natural clouds lift. We've used everycolor, including infra red. We've taken stereo pairs, and flash shots atnight, but, with one exception, all we've ever gotten are beautifulpictures of clouds and smoke. The exception I have here. It was takentwo weeks ago, during a brief break in a heavy storm. Before I sayanything more, I'd like to have you look at it and form your ownopinions."
He placed the print on the desk, facing us, and leaned back while wefour crowded around. My first glimpse was disappointing. Fully twothirds of the picture was occupied by clouds. But gradually I made outthe details. There seemed to be several buildings of uncertain size inthe lower part, and a fringe of brush extending up to the left. Halfvisible through the mist were several structures which seemed to me, incomparison to the larger buildings, like chicken houses or perhapsrabbit hutches. No humans were in sight, evidently because of the storm.But in the center of the picture was the thing which fixed our attentionfrom the first, leaving the other details for later scrutiny. This wasan immense human figure, lying on its side with the head pillowed on itshands in the attitude of the colossal figures of the reclining Buddhafound in the mountains of China. The body was partly covered by a robe,but whether this was part of the figure or a canvas protection againstthe rain, was difficult to tell. Only the head, hands and feet showed.The face was partly in shadow, but enough could be seen to identify thetypical Buddha countenance: closed eyes and lips curled in an enigmaticsmile.
* * * * *
We stared at this peculiar picture for a good
minute, taking inthe details, while Stimson watched us. Then Baker looked up.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Before I tell you our guesses," replied the consul, "I'd like to hearyour reactions."
"It would appear that the New Buddhists are doing the obvious--settingup a Buddhist temple. Although, except for the statue, you'd never guessit." This from Chamberlin.
Martin squinted closely at the print. "Yes, the buildings look more likeairship hangars than a temple."
Stimson raised his eyebrows slightly. "That's an interestingobservation," he commented.
"Wish there were some humans, or something else to give a scale," saidBaker. "For all we can tell, it could be anything from doll houses and alife sized statue, all the way up to an air base, and a reclining Buddhato end all reclining Buddhas."
There was an expectant pause. Stimson, seeing that we had nothing moreto add, cleared his throat, glanced briefly out of the window behind hischair, and hunched forward.
"This picture was made from an F-180A, modified for photoreconnaissance. The plane was on a routine flight from Singapore toMindanao, over a solid deck of clouds. The pilot swung south over Yatjust out of curiosity. He approached the island at 50,000 feet, usingradar, and was about to pass over when he spotted a hole in theovercast. Time was 1800--just sunset--but the edge of the crater waswell lighted, although the bottom was in deep shadow. More important,the smoke generators had been turned off. Obviously the clouds had justparted, and would close in again in a minute. The presence of the F-180Aat this particular instant was just one of those one in a million luckybreaks. The pilot realized this. He put the ship into a dive and orderedhis photographer to ready the cameras.
"The plane approached Yat at a speed above Mach 1.2, so there was noaudible warning, and evidently the island's radar was off, for thesurprise was complete. Within 90 seconds the F-180A closed level justover the crater and shot past with only a thin stratus layer between itand ground. Time over the crater was hardly 10 seconds, and neitherpilot nor observer saw anything, but the synchronous vertical camera wasoperating and four flashes were made during the middle four seconds.Then the plane was in the clouds again at a 45 degree climb and a dozenmiles towards the Philippines before anyone on Yat could even getoutdoors.
"As might be expected there was a considerable protest over thisviolation of Celebese territory, although oddly, it was based on moralgrounds rather than national integrity. The protest was signed by theLama of Macassar, and demanded neither indemnity nor punishment of thepilot, but asked merely that incense be burned in Washington to appeaseBuddha. Now of course the Lama isn't that naive, or devout. As you mayknow, Phobat Rau was educated at Harvard and CIT, and is a thoroughlytrained and tough statesman who knows his way around anywhere, anddoesn't believe the theological hogwash in Pan-Buddhism any more than Ido. So it was a question of getting behind his motives. Of course, itcould be a cover, but our final guess was that the protest was reallymade for the benefit of the faithful in Asia. This opinion wasstrengthened, at least as far as I am concerned, about a fortnight agowhen Rau attended the British Embassy reception for Lord Hayes. Hedidn't avoid me, but actually seemed to single me out as a foil for someof his witty small talk. Asked if I was much of a student of Buddhistarchitecture and carvings, and if I had seen the Kyoto Buddha, or thereclining Buddha on the Yangtze. He was fishing, of course, but I playedit dumb, and presently he gave up.
"Well, there you have it, at least as far as the picture is concerned.The Buddhists were considerably upset, for they tightened up securityall over the islands. And then you came into the scene. Naturally nobodybelieved that you were just after Celebese man, but the governor grantedpermission--so easily, in fact, that we got suspicious. Americans are nomatch for oriental subtlety, but we do have a few tricks, one of whom isa code clerk in the Macassar foreign office, and from her we learnedthat you were set for the preferred treatment: to be let in easily, andthen knocked off in some painless way. Hence the taxi, and the sneakride here."
He paused. "That's the situation to date, gentlemen. Any questions?"
Martin had been studying the photograph. "At what altitude was thistaken?"
The consul shook his head. "The autorecorder was off. The observerforgot to set it, in the rush."
"Well, couldn't they estimate?"
"They did, but it's obviously way off. The pilot swears that he levelledat 9,000, but that would make these buildings a quarter of a mile long,and the Buddha at least five hundred feet. Unless you want to believethat they have another Willow Run on Yat, you can't take that figure."
Another pause. Finally Baker spoke. "You said you had a guess."
"Yes, I have." Stimson seemed reluctant to speak. "But it sounds sodamned fantastic I hate to tell it to you--well, to be short, I don'tthink that this Buddha is a statue."
We all sat up. "Then what is it?" This from Martin.
"I mean, not a statue of stone or masonry in the usual sense of theterm. I think that it is a portable image of Buddha--an inflated gas baglike they use in the Easter parade. I think they intend to float it inthe air--perhaps tow it--to impress the faithful. If the thing's really500 feet long, it may be a blimp or a rigid airship with its own motors.But, whatever the details, I think our mystery is just a piece ofpropaganda for Neo-Buddhism, although a damned good one, from the nativestandpoint."
We all relaxed. This was an anticlimax. Stimson had built us up tosomething--just what, we were not sure--and then had pricked the bubble.
"Well, it sounds reasonable," Baker finally remarked, returning theprint to Stimson, "although not particularly dangerous, and certainlynot worth risking our necks to spy on. However, I don't think it's goodenough to explain all of the supplies that have gone into Yat."
The consul nodded. "Yes, that's the rub. If they hadn't taken such painsto conceal the thing, I'd be inclined to call it just a cover forsomething else."
"Maybe it still is," said Baker.
Stimson looked at us carefully, as though making up his mind.
"That is where you gentlemen come in," he said finally. "I have reasonto believe that our picture has tipped their hand, that they are goingahead with whatever they have planned in the next few days. Someone'sgot to get to Yat first--someone who can observe intelligently, andspeak the language. My staff is all clerical, and there is no chance toget any CIA men now. You're the only ones available."
He paused. We looked at each other, and then at Baker. He cleared histhroat a couple of times, took another squint at the photo, and thenspoke.
"Speaking for myself, Stimson, when do we leave?"
"That goes for me too," said Martin. Chamberlin and I nodded.
Stimson seemed relieved. "I'd hoped to hear that. In fact, I'd have beenconsiderably embarrassed if you gentlemen hadn't come through, because Ihave a seaplane waiting right now to take you to Yat."
The Image and the Likeness Page 1
