Hiroshima Sunset

by John Kelly

Amanda sat at the table against the window in the restaurant, her eyes glued to Quentin Avers, her mind swimming in a sea of wonder and intrigue. What benefactor had overtaken her world and placed her here, receiving instructions from some agent of the arcane? He sat opposite, speaking softly, passing note upon note across to her as he rambled off her itinerary. She nodded dutifully as he spoke, trying to absorb all the instructions he was spinning out, pretending they were things she already knew from months of hard training as if she'd just graduated from spy school. It was the detail she paid most attention to, the nuts and bolts of her journey. These she absorbed carefully.

  'On the 17th of April,' he began, 'you will fly to Tokyo on a 9.30 am flight out of Melbourne with Qantas. You will arrive at Narita International airport around 6.30 in the evening. It will be dark and I don't want you trying to find your way into Tokyo at that time. Just getting through Narita will be harrowing enough. You are booked into the Marroad International for the night. It is close by, and they have a hotel shuttle bus you can catch at stop 27, just outside the main entrance to the terminal. The following morning go back to the airport and take the train into JR Tokyo Station. Spend your first day in Tokyo. I have included in your documents a 30-day rail pass voucher which you will hand in at the station for a proper pass. It will take you anywhere you want to go for the next month using JR rail. The second day you will travel to Hiroshima. You take the Shinkasen, the bullet train. One leaves every 40 minutes or so. It gets you there in less than five hours. However, on your first day in Tokyo you need to make contact with someone.'

  Lunch time crowds were passing by outside, but she didn't notice any of them. It was all so exciting and stirring. She should have been afraid, she thought, but she wasn't. Somehow the overpowering charisma of this man, who was sending her into the unknown, overtook any sense of fear. Likewise, the reassuring knowledge that her employer, George Balwyn and Janet Ryan, would be tracking her every move, helped to maintain a calm exterior and inward confidence. But over and above that, she was ecstatically aroused. She had never been to Japan.

  'What about a visa?' she asked.

  'You'll be going as a tourist for a stay of less than 90 days so you won't need one,' he answered.

  'What about the language?'

  'I've included a Japanese phrase book in the package. Just learn the obvious one's?hello, good morning, afternoon, do you speak English, thank you, that sort of thing. You will always find someone who speaks enough English to help you. The Japanese are very friendly, very helpful when asked.'

  'Who do I meet and where?'

  'When you arrive in Tokyo, stay on the JR line and find the platform that will take you to Ikebukuro station. It's a busy place but don't be intimidated. Don't allow yourself to be overcome by the mass of people rushing everywhere. Follow my directions and you will find your way to Rimi Rykoban. It's a small traditional Japanese-type accommodation house not far from the station. When you get there, ask for Yoshiko.'

  'Yoshiko?'

  'Yes. Tell her you are from Australia, and that Quentin sent you. She will look after you and get you on the train to Hiroshima the next day. Ask her anything you need to know. Keep her phone number handy in case you need to call her.

  She will also arrange for you to meet your contact in Hiroshima. Write everything down as you see and hear it. I want you to live the experience, feel the energy as you move around, and use your writing skills to articulate exactly what is happening.'

  'All of this is very well, Quentin,' Amanda interrupted, 'but you still haven't told me what you actually want me to do. I think I'm entitled to know a little more about why you are asking me to do this.'

  He paused for a moment as if unsure what to say.

  'Quentin,' she said assertively, 'I need to have some idea why I'm doing this. I've been prepared to go along with you up to this point, but there's just so far one can stumble along in the dark. Sooner or later you have to confide with me.'

  'Isn't the lure of the story enough? Haven't your people given you permission to proceed? Why can't you be satisfied with that for the time being?'

  'My people are concerned for my safety. They have a right to know.'

  'I'm concerned for your safety too. The less you know at this stage the more you will learn through your own experiences,' he countered.

  'I still need more. I need to have something that will satisfy me and them that this proposal is not the product of some silly geriatric fantasy.'

  'Is that what you think?'

  'No, I don't. But if my safety is an issue here I think I have a right to know if the reason is worth the risks.'

  Deep down he knew she was right. Deep down he realized he had to give her something more. He looked at her, wondering if she had what it takes, wondering if in fact it would be too much for her, if the reasons he was drawn to her, were little more than an exaggerated impulse that over-shadowed his good judgement. He had brought her this far, and didn't want to risk losing her trust. Equally, he did not want to jeopardize the mission.

  'Have you ever heard of the British Commonwealth Occupation Force?' he asked. Amanda looked at him blankly and shook her head.

  'No,' she answered. 'Is it something well known?'

  'No, sadly, it's not very well known at all. After Japan surrendered in 1945, the Americans moved in, assumed control and occupied the country. They allocated a part of the responsibility of dismantling the Japanese military to the British Commonwealth Occupation Force which was a force made up from various units from Great Britain, India, New Zealand and Australia. The Australian contingent was the largest and given responsibility for what was known as the Hiroshima Prefecture. My father, Derek, was a part of that force. For years afterwards, he never spoke of what he did there. Only recently, when he was diagnosed with leukaemia, did he start to open up and tell me things. I suggested that he put everything down on paper. That's when he told me about the journal.

  'The journal?' Amanda queried.

  'Yes. Someone else it seems, had written a journal. Unknown to me at the time, my father had received it anonymously from a fellow member of the force.

  'What sort of a journal?' Amanda asked

  'He didn't tell me at first, but as the leukaemia gradually worsened, he showed me what he had been given. It was an account of events as they unfurled during the early part of their stay in Japan. After I read it, he then began to tell me things, refuting some of the claims made in the journal. He also told me other things before he finally passed away. I wrote down everything he told me. It's a very complicated story, and I will give you the journal today so you can begin reading it and familiarizing yourself with what has been written. The crux of the matter is that my father disputes the assertions and the negative claims this other person has levelled at him. I want you to investigate the claims, interview the people who knew him and learn the truth.'

  'Who is this other person?' Amanda asked.

  'That's part of the problem,' he answered. 'The author hasn't identified himself. But it's the content that is more important. We are not sure if it was written to either frighten or blackmail my father. He said it could be one of a number of men. Whoever wrote it used the alias Ned Kelly. It was a bit of a joke around the units that if anyone got into trouble with the Japanese, they would say their name was Ned Kelly, so that when the authorities came looking for them, they would find it very difficult to track them down. My father remembered an incident with some starving Japanese where one soldier tried to supply food from the supply depot. When my father sought to identify who it was, they said his name was Nedkelly-san.'

  'Sounds like a typical boys club,' Amanda interjected.

  'Yes, I suppose it does,' Avers replied, relaxing a little. 'They did get up to a bit of mischief at times. He remembers some of the events described in the journal but not all of them and he isn't sure who he was with at different times. I will be up-front with you and tell you that he was involved in some black market dealings. Once you read the jo
urnal you will understand. I don't want to burden you with too much information at this stage or with my take on things; and I don't want you to start developing any pre-conceived ideas based on what I tell you. I want to let your reading of the journal do that. There is one other thing, however.'

  'What's that?' Amanda asked.

  'I also want you to recover something for me; it's a small item my father wants returned to its rightful owner. It's a Meijji artefact. I want you to recover it from a safety deposit box at the Bank of Japan in Kyoto,' he said.

  'Who do you want me to return it to?'

  'Her name is Masako Yamada. My father first met her when he was part of the occupation force stationed at Ujina, the port of Hiroshima. He was attached to the repatriation centre where non-Japanese were returned home and Japanese soldiers brought back from the Pacific islands. At Ujina, they were processed, de-mobilized and allowed to go back to their homes. My father was stationed at Kaitaichi, about ten miles from Hiroshima and travelled to Ujina every day.

  'What was that like?' Amanda asked, suddenly imagining something quite depressing.

  'It was a primitive place when he arrived. The accommodation at Kaitaichi was appalling. They were set up in empty warehouses and facilities were very basic; no heating, no windows even, and no latrines. But that was nothing compared with the plight of the Japanese civilians. They were in a terrible state. They were in many cases, homeless and starving, and relied on the occupation force for food and the most basic supplies. Most of them were hibakusha, bomb affected, badly scared and suffering radiation sickness. Masako was a hibakusha. You will need to acquaint yourself with the circumstances surrounding the bombing of Hiroshima. It will give you better empathy when you meet Masako.'

  'What's to know? It brought about Japan's surrender, didn't it?'

  'That question is too simplistic. The decision to drop the bomb in the first place was highly political, given that Japan had already offered to surrender months beforehand.'

  'I didn't know that.'

  'It's true nevertheless. And if you use the time between now and when you leave to research that very subject, I think you will be quite shocked at what you find.'

  Amanda found herself feeling quite disturbed at what she was being told, especially if it were true. On the other hand, if it wasn't true, then her interest in associating herself with Quentin Avers would be questionable.

  'Why can't you go there, and get this artefact yourself?' Amanda asked.

  'I'd like to, but there's no point in me going just for that. I'm getting on a bit and the rest of your trip will not be easy. There will be a lot of travelling, and I suspect some strenuous walking. My health is not the best and I don't feel I could handle it,' he answered, and added, 'but also because there is a story to be told, my father's story. It's an important story, not just for him or me, but for the world and no one would listen to me, anyway. You are the one to tell the story.'

  'When did your father die?'

  'Two months ago. I only learnt of the existence of the artefact a couple of days before he died and the story that goes with it. My father was a member of the 34th Infantry Brigade. He and a friend, a fellow soldier were given an item of interest to take care of, when they were in Hiroshima. They thought it might be radio-active, and said they would take it to their people to find out.'

  'What happened to it?'

  'They took it back to their base at Kaitaichi and made some enquiries. Then they were told that items found in Hiroshima were not to be collected, stored, or hoarded and no one should touch anything or keep anything found there, so rather than return it, they waited until they were on leave, and hid it in a forest near Kamakura. Then sometime later, it was dug up and put in a locked canister and then in a safety deposit box in the Bank of Japan in Kyoto. I have a key I will give you that will open the canister.'

  'How did you come by this key?' Amanda asked.

  'My father gave it to me. He told me that Masako has the key to the main safety deposit box.'

  'What? Are you saying your father has held on to this key for the last sixty years?'

  'No, he has been back to Japan on a few occasions, but the last time was about ten years ago, so he's had it since then. I will give you more instructions when you arrive in Tokyo, and there will be others who will help you, but that is all you need to know at this stage.'

  'Is the artefact likely to be radio-active?' Amanda asked cautiously.

  'No. All the evidence suggests not. But, we believe my father's leukaemia was caused by his exposure to atomic radiation. This artefact may have caused it, but proving that would be impossible now,' he answered.

  'Okay, as long as you are sure?' she persisted.

  'Yes, you have nothing to fear in that respect,' he said slowly, hesitating, but deciding that Amanda should know at least one other part of the problem.

  'There's a strong chance that the person who wrote this record or his agents are lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to see what happens.'

  'Why?'

  'Because it's possible there is something else enclosed inside that other container.'

  'Like what?'

  'Well, like money I suppose,' Quentin answered.

  'What? Money that has been sitting there for the last ten years, you mean?'

  Quentin shrugged his shoulders. 'I don't know. It's possible.'

  'So, will the key you have, open the container with all the money in it?' Amanda asked.

  'Yes,' Quentin replied vaguely, 'if there's any money there!'

  Suddenly the prospect of adventure and perhaps some small element of danger mixed together in Amanda's thoughts. The idea was potent and irresistible. She checked herself inwardly, not wanting the adventurous girl within to display a disconcerting immaturity.

  'When do I get to read the journal?'

  'I was hoping you would ask,' he answered, flicking open his briefcase and retrieving a large brown envelope.

  'Here it is,' he added, passing the bulky envelope to her. 'As a writer yourself, I guess you know what it means to put your innermost thoughts down on paper, and then ask someone to read it.'

  'Yes, I do. It places you in a vulnerable position, which can be uncomfortable, but you don't care. You long for an opinion, hoping, expecting that the person reading it, won't find too much wrong with it.'

  'This is not for publication,' he said. 'This is for you to absorb. It's your primary research document. You may use as much of it as you need in your story of course, but the story will be yours.'

  Amanda took the envelope and held it in her hands. 'I'll need an email address to keep in touch with you,' she said. He nodded to her, feeling relieved. At last she was acting as if she was ready to go. She was behaving as if she would take on the assignment.

  'Yes, I will have everything you need delivered to your office before you leave. Can I take it that we are agreed then?'

  Amanda didn't want to sound too anxious in her reply. She hesitated a moment before looking back at him and nodding her head.

  'Yes, Quentin. We are agreed. I'll also do my research and acquaint myself about the decision to use the Atomic Bomb.'

  Quentin Avers heaved a sigh of relief. He had placed a great deal of faith in asking Amanda to be his agent. She on the other hand was hugely excited and trying desperately not to show it.

  'Then let's drink to it,' he said, raising his glass.

  'Let's,' she agreed, raising her glass.

  As they toasted the success of their plans, little did they realize that seated across the other side of the restaurant, someone observed their every move; a lonely figure, partly hidden behind a newspaper, unable to hear the conversation, but nevertheless vitally interested in their meeting together. From the moment he observed them raising their glasses together, he knew that Amanda had agreed. From this point on, he would shadow her. The anonymous man with the dark rimmed glasses had learnt all he needed from Derek Avers. Amanda was now his primary objective.

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