“I will.” Jimmy paused. “When there are no more battleships.” He cared deeply for Dr. Sakata and knew what a quandary he was in, but saw no easy path ahead for either of them. The president wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, stood up, and walked over to the window. Jimmy joined him observing the students marching in unison.
“Have you registered?”
Jimmy looked at Dr. Sakata. “Registered?”
The school president continued gazing at the students through the window. “All foreigners must register with the Tokkō. I’m sorry, but we have to comply.”
Chapter 9
1935. The California-Nevada Border, twenty-five miles northwest of Alturas, California.
Jake sat hunched over in the saddle and sighed. They were at a standstill – again. He pushed his hat high up on his forehead and twisted to look back at the string of six mules hitched together behind him on the mountain road, saddled with all manner of crates, barrels, and canvas bags. The air was rich with the scent of pine trees which covered the low mountains. After two years at a dollar a day as a ranch hand, he jumped at the chance for this five-dollar-a-day job as a sheep tender delivering supplies to the herdsmen. He called it the biggest hotel in the world, sleeping under an open sky.
“Hey! In the back! Yeah, you!” Jake glared at the last mule in the train who cocked his ears forward. “We’re a team here. You know, mule team?! We all work t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r! You, me, and ...” The mule turned his lip up and pitched his head away.
“Hey! Don’t you look away when I’m talking to you! Maybe you do that at home, but not with me you don’t! Now pick it up back there. Got it?” The mule turned back and shook the dust off his head and neck as if to be saying “no.”
“Well, at least I’m not working with jack asses...” Jake turned back around with a smirk and pulled the brim of his hat down. With a click of his tongue and a kick to his mule, the train lurched forward again, up the gradual mountain path. With few expenses, he was finally enjoying himself and saving up money.
Chapter 10
1936. Tokyo.
Fuchida cupped a crumpled ball of paper in both hands as he knelt on the floor across from his son, Yoshiya, now three years old, who held a thin plank in a fierce baseball stance. “And ... the pitch!” He tossed the ball underhand and Yoshiya whacked it across the room.
“Home run! I did it! I win!” Yoshiya ran wildly around his father who stood up, grabbed his son, and swung him up onto his shoulders.
Haruko, his wife, beamed. “It’s so nice to have you home. Your trips at sea seem to last so long.” Fuchida plucked a cluster of grapes from a bowl on the table and popped a few into his mouth, then handed the cluster up to his son around his neck.
“Well, I’ll be home for a while now. I still can’t believe they selected me.” The Naval Staff College in Tokyo was the next step into the upper echelons of the Imperial Japanese Navy, but of the hundreds of applicants, only twenty-four were selected. He had worked hard to achieve entrance to the program and was excited by the opportunity to hone his knowledge and skills, not to mention the opportunity to gain a little prestige as well.
“I think you wouldn’t have believed it if they didn’t select you. And now my husband is even a lieutenant commander. Now all you need is a daughter ...” Smiling, Haruko looked down at her bulging belly and circled it with her hands.
Reaching up to his son, Fuchida pulled a small branch of grapes off the cluster and held them to Haruko’s mouth. “Then feed the baby ...”
The Naval Staff College, Tokyo.
The class instructor slowly strode back and forth at the front as he continued before the group of officers.
“We are rapidly amassing heavy cruisers, destroyers, and submarines. As I speak, plans are underway to construct the largest, most powerful battleships the world has ever seen – twice the size of the biggest American battleships. With such power, we will be able to negotiate from a position of strength without having to fire a single shot.”
Sitting at attention among fellow officers, Fuchida did his best to follow along, but kept drifting off, thinking what he would say in counter arguments. He knew that the premise of Kantai Kessen or the “decisive victory” doctrine was based on the Japanese Navy’s resounding success in defeating the Russian Navy in the battle of Tsushima, but so much had changed since then. The concept was to lure an opponent into the home waters of Japan, all the while picking off ships with submarines, then ambushing the worn fleet in a single, decisive battle, ending any war in one fell swoop of the sword. But Fuchida felt the naval command was preparing for the battles of the past, not the war of the future.
“If forced into war, we’ll do the same with the United States as we did with the Russians.” The instructor leaned onto his desk and looked over the room with authority. “We soundly defeated their navy by drawing them into one decisive battle. Our superior battleships and tactics will quickly crush them. They’ll never bother us again.”
Fuchida downed a shot of sake in the smoke-filled officer’s dining area that evening. “Ridiculous!” Sitting with Genda and friends, he continued. “What, are we going to hand the enemy our script and tell them to follow it? What if they don’t do exactly what we expect?”
Genda ate the last noodles and soup from his bowl held to his mouth, then slammed it down. “Even if everything went to plan, both navies would lose a lot of ships, and the U.S. has a much greater capacity to replace their ships than we do.”
“To control the outcome, we must dominate the sky and focus on building more planes and aircraft carriers ...”
“... instead of battleships,” Genda chimed in. “Better used as piers or scrap iron.”
The fellow officers chuckled nervously.
Genda shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. “They live in the past, in the glory days of the big gunships ruling the seas.”
The other officers at the table listened intently. Fuchida leaned forward and spoke more quietly, “Deputy Navy Minister Yamamoto agrees that we should prepare more aircraft carriers.”
“Yes, but Vice Admiral Nagumo disagrees.”
One of the other officers wedged his way into the conversation. “Why don’t you teach on this, Genda? It’s a valid point.”
Genda exhaled a cloud of smoke and smirked. “The admirals won’t allow fliers to teach at their naval college. They don’t understand. The world’s changed – but they haven’t.”
Chapter 11
Spring, 1937. The Kanto Gakuin School, Yokohama.
In a recreation shed among volleyball nets, baseball bats, and shelves of musty tarps and balls, Jimmy sat at a workbench rubbing oil on an old baseball mitt like a doctor with a wounded patient. A fourteen-year-old student stood beside him, looking impatiently outside through a window to the rest of the students throwing baseballs and shouting to each other.
“So,” Jimmy said in his best Japanese, “you think the students can take the staff at baseball, eh?”
The boy shrugged.
“We’re not going to play easy, you know.” Jimmy always made a point to try to connect in some personal way with his students and wasn’t one to give up easily. The steady sound of bats cracking balls echoed outside.
The student observed Jimmy’s meticulous oiling of the glove. “Mr. Covell ... excuse me for asking ... but why do the Western nations dislike the Japanese people?”
Jimmy pushed his glasses back up, poured more oil on his rag, and continued without looking up, not revealing his joy in the boy opening up. “This is a good question.” It was a question that troubled him deeply and one he’d long contemplated, written about and spent a great deal of time working toward answering. “Why do the Japanese dislike the Koreans and the Chinese – and even the Burakumin, the Ainu people, and the Ryukyuans, all people of Japan?” He quickly glanced up over his glasses. Jimmy’s sensitivity to others led him to research these people within Japanese society, the Burakumin, Ainu, and Ryukyuans, who had endured centu
ries of outcast status due to occupation, the region they came from, or even their looks. People who were loyal citizens of Japan but with Korean or Chinese ancestry were equally shunned. He routinely suppressed his anger at the Japanese for loudly complaining about how the world treated them while they mistreated others in their own nation just as badly – or worse.
He looked up at the student who looked back intently. “It’s easy to see the faults in others, but not so easy to see our own,” he said, “isn’t it?”
The student nodded.
Jimmy pulled the glove on and smacked his fist into the pocket. “We’re all a little proud. We think we’re better than others. But if everyone thinks they’re better than everyone else, then doesn’t that make us all the same?” He grinned realizing his impromptu logic.
Pulling off the glove and handing it to the boy, Jimmy spoke with a glint in his eye. “We all have the same Father. We’re made in his image. We’re all brothers.”
Standing up, Jimmy flipped a baseball to the student who wasn’t quite prepared to catch it. “Now,” Jimmy said, “let’s see who has the most team spirit, eh?” Seeing the boy’s bashful grin, he patted him on the shoulder, pulled on a baseball cap, grabbed a few bats, and escorted him into the sun onto the grassy field.
Charma couldn’t help herself from glancing over to Jimmy at the kitchen table as she dried plates and stacked them in the cupboard. He was huffing, sighing, and fidgeting as he flipped pages of a new book. Every now and then the children playing in the next room let out a squeal or a thump on the floor.
“New textbook?” Charma asked.
Jimmy didn’t look up. “More like wholesale propaganda. But then, what would you expect from the Ministry of Education, Bureau of Thought Control?!” Jimmy removed his glasses and with the other hand reached across his forehead to massage his aching temples. How they got him to do their dirty work was beyond him, and pushing him to his limits. When he looked up, he noticed that the overcast afternoon sky was quickly darkening.
Restoring his round-rimmed glasses, he looked over at Charma and spoke in “full teacher” mode. “In 1870 all the Shinto shrines in Japan were nationalized and came under state control. The office of emperor was elevated to a position of, well, to more than just the national leader – the spiritual leader as well. In the last decade or so, all the outlets of communication have come under complete government control as well – you know, radio, newspapers, magazines, and, of course, education. So this,” Jimmy held up the book, “is the new required reading for the schools.”
Charma picked up another wet plate from the rack. “For which grades?”
“All college and upper level students in the entire nation have to study it. Teachers, too. Every day. Kokutai No Hongi - The Principles of the National Essence of Japan.” He set the open book down on the table with a slight plop. “It’s taken me a while to get the translation straight. It’s kind of difficult in places, so bear with me.”
Jimmy twisted his head and shrugged his shoulders like a fighter getting ready to enter the ring. “Listen to this, quote: ‘The unbroken line of emperors, receiving the ... the oracle of the founder of the nation, reigns over the Japanese Empire eternally.’” He flipped forward a few pages and slid his finger down to his penciled notes. “Quote: ‘His majesty set forth the great policy of returning to the spirit of ancient times which had as its nucleus the Emperor, who is a humanly manifested deity in keeping with the great significance of the “god-handed” founding of the Empire.’ Keep in mind this is a school textbook, of all things.”
As he ruffled the pages to find another spot, Peggy, fifteen, crept up behind him, putting her arms around his shoulders, hugging him with her face pressed against his while clutching a bright, yellow-bordered National Geographic in one hand. “What’re you reading, Daddy?”
Jimmy sat back and grasped her arm, his face lightening. “I’ve been promoted to a position in the ministry of propaganda. Isn’t that great?”
Peggy wrinkled her brow. “Dad, you’re being sarcastic again. Mom said you should just speak your mind or say nothing at all.”
Charma grinned.
“OK. The government is trying to force teachers to spread their idea of the divinity of the Emperor in order to tighten their grip on enforcing their military ambitions. Is that better?”
“What do you mean?”
“They, the government, that is, want total control of the people, so they’re essentially conscripting the teachers to tighten that control. It’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”
Peggy smiled and nodded. “Sorry, dad. You’ll figure it out. You always do!” She gave a quick kiss on his cheek, stood up, and opened the magazine she’d been holding. “The 1936 Olympics were marvelous last year. Look at these pictures from Berlin!” She spread the magazine flat over his book and began flipping pages and pointing out photos. “The excitement of the crowds. Look at this stadium! The parades ...”
Like every normal parent, Jimmy knew exactly what was coming next.
“So ... in three years the Olympics will be in Tokyo! Can we go?”
Looking at Charma, Jimmy could only think of how tight their money was, yet he loved to please his children. “I think there might be a possibility of that.”
“Oh Daddy!” Peggy gave another hug to Jimmy, then jumped back to the color photos in the National Geographic. “Look at the pageantry on the boulevards, Daddy! It’ll be just like that here!” She opened to a spread of strikingly colorful photographs of throngs of smiling people on streets decorated with national flags and dozens and dozens of huge red banners ... emblazoned with swastikas.
A tingle of fear shot through his body. He’d read enough of Germany’s repeated disregard of treaties by rearming and their massive buildup of weapons to know it could only lead to one place. He leaned back in his chair, gently closed the magazine, and handed it to Peggy with a disarming smile and a pat on her hand. “Let’s talk about this more a little later, all right?”
Peggy looked at him with her innocent eyes, oblivious to the omens of death she had just seen. “OK, Dad. Thanks.” She picked an apple from a bowl of fruit on the table and trotted off with her magazine.
After a few seconds to recompose himself, Jimmy sighed deeply and cleared his throat. He really wanted Charma to hear this. “All right,” he continued. “Let me get to the heart of the matter. Quote: ‘Loyalty means to revere the Emperor and to follow him implicitly ... The land of Japan stands high above the other nations of the world and her people excel all the peoples of the world ....’” Jimmy looked over to Charma and raised his eyebrows.
Though holding a damp handful of utensils, she’d stopped drying and looked disturbed and frightened. Thunder shook the windows.
“Our imperial forces have a duty to make our national prestige greatly felt within and without our country, to preserve the peace of the Orient in the face of the world powers, and to preserve and enhance the happiness of mankind ... It is when this harmonious spirit of our nation is spread abroad throughout the world to every race that true world peace and its progress and prosperity are realized ...”
Jimmy rolled his eyes and sat back, lifting the book off the table. “‘The annexation of Korea and the efforts exerted in the founding of Manchukuo are one and all but expressions of the great august will promoting the peace of the country and the advancement of the great task of love for the people, thus radiating the grace of the Imperial Throne.’” Jimmy muttered under his breath. “Yeah. Try telling that to the Koreans.”
Shaking his head he flipped past a few more pages. “OK, OK, here it is. ‘The warrior spirits work inseparably with the spirits of peace. It is in subduing those who refuse to conform to the magnificent influence of the Emperor’s virtues that the mission of our Imperial Military Forces lies.’” Jimmy threw the book in the air and let it land on the table with a thump.
Charma winced.
“The Emperor is divine, the people owe total loyalty to him
alone, and the destiny of Japan is to expand and conquer,” Jimmy said, then waited for some reaction from Charma. “They’re using the schools to build a world class military machine!” Jimmy jumped up from his chair and angrily swung around behind it. “I’m perfectly fine with people giving this kind of loyalty and obedience to God in the name of peace, but to a man in the name of war? No one should render unto Caesar what belongs to God alone!”
The room was invaded by David, now twelve, and his Japanese companion, both in white headbands furiously clacking wooden samurai swords. David twisted, quickly raising his sword, and chopped down at his friend who parried the swing with his own sword and an accompanying grunt. As David lifted his sword for a new swing, Jimmy quickly reached out and grabbed the wooden blade mid-air. He looked into his son’s smiling face, then over to Charma with dead seriousness. Glancing back at David, he gently eased the sword down, then from his son’s hand. “Son, we don’t do that in this family. Swords are for killing.”
Jimmy slid the hachimaki off David’s head and smiled, trying not to cause him to be afraid. “If you want to fight, why don’t you boys go play some Shogi,4 all right?” The boys darted back out of the room as fast as they’d come in. Thunder cracked outside as a hard rain began to fall. Jimmy stared out into the backyard and spoke as if to himself. “I told the president I wouldn’t be attending their ceremony tomorrow.”
Putting the last cup away and closing the cupboard cabinet, Charma turned around. “What ceremony?”
Standing in a light drizzle, the entire student body of Kanto Gakuin lined both sides of the paved street from the school gate leading up to the main castle-like building, all at attention, evenly spaced, perfectly silent – the only sound being of rain dripping between the leaves and an occasional cough.
Eventually, a perfectly polished black sedan arrived at the gate and slowly made its way to the front building, an ivy covered tower, and came to a slow halt with a dull squeal of the brakes. An administrator at the curb dressed in his finest black suit and tie shouted out at the top of his voice, “Saikeirei!” literally, “profound bow,” the deepest bow generally reserved for the Emperor alone.
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