by Kōbō Abe
She shook her head slowly, her eyes half-closed. Kyūzō realized then that her face had completely changed. She seemed to want to say something but was unable to speak, with only a gurgling sound rising from her throat. Shining a flashlight on her, the medic pressed his finger to her face. Upon removing it, a gaping indentation remained.
The Russians conferred briefly with one another and left, leaving Kyūzō alone with his mother.
The footsteps that had shaken the entire building like a storm eventually faded, and all the various objects from the rooms that had been thrown out the window were now gathered and a bonfire started in the garden. Someone began playing an accordion. Another began singing in accompaniment.
Alexandrov returned together with a soldier carrying black bread and a large aluminum plate of soup. The soldier was a Mongolian named Punsha with a face that strikingly resembled that of a Japanese. He looked at Kyūzō with curiosity, laughing contentedly. Alexandrov stared hard at Kyūzō until he had finished eating.
Alexandrov passed by Punsha entering the room as he left. Pointing at Kyūzō’s watch, Punsha gestured with his hands, repeating, “Dat’, dat’ [give it to me, give it to me!].” When Kyūzō shook his head no, Punsha suddenly drew the automatic rifle from his shoulder strap. Kyūzō offered up his mechanical pencil instead. With a flick of his hand, Punsha took the object between his two fingers, dropping it in his pocket. Laughing awkwardly, he took the empty plate and left the room while once again glancing enviably at Kyūzō’s wrist.
Kyūzō hurriedly removed the watch and hid it in his pocket.
His mother tightened her lips, producing a sound like a whistle from deep in her throat. At first Kyūzō thought she was joking, but he was wrong. She lost consciousness and began experiencing difficulty breathing. In two hours she took her last breath.
It was the hottest part of the day, so the body could not be left out long. Alexandrov sent Punsha to help. Placing both the body and bedding on a makeshift stretcher, the two of them carried Kyūzō’s mother to a sand dune by the river. Under the midnight sun, only the horizon remained constantly bright. They were digging up the roots of a shrub when a dog suddenly let out a terrifying growl. Two patrol officers approached with raised guns. After Punsha explained the situation, the officers lit cigarettes and watched Kyūzō work. When Kyūzō finally turned around as if finished, Punsha clicked his tongue in disapproval, picked up the shovel, and began digging rapidly. The officers departed, laughing among themselves.
Removing Kyūzō’s mother from the stretcher, they placed the body and bedding at the bottom of the hole. Taking a bottle from his pocket, Punsha sprinkled several drops into the grave. It smelled of alcohol. He began filling the grave with dirt. Kyūzō had the uncanny feeling that it was he himself who was being buried. Tears fell from his eyes, and yet he did not feel all that sad.
Having finished burying her, the Mongolian soldier took out a salt jar and piled a tower of salt about the height of his finger at the head of the grave. On the way back, Kyūzō cried in an increasingly louder voice without understanding why he was doing so. Nevertheless, he did not forget to firmly hold on to his watch from outside his pocket.
By the time they returned to the dormitory, lamps were already burning in the double line of windows and laundry was hanging out to dry. Rooms had been assigned, and things seemed to have calmed down. Someone was still singing.
Punsha called on Kyūzō the next morning. Pointing toward the river, he seemed to suggest that they visit his mother’s grave. In the light of day, Punsha appeared decent and rather engaging. On the way there, he picked some gladiolas that were blooming in a garden. By the time they reached the sand dune, however, the flowers had already wilted.
The salt tower had become moist with evening dew and was nearly gone. Observing this change, the Mongolian soldier nodded contentedly, saying something as he pointed to the sky. He seemed to mean that Kyūzō’s mother had now gone to heaven.
They went directly on to the warehouse by the river. Already there a red flag was waving and a Soviet soldier stood guard. Canvas-topped trucks had arrived, from which stretchers of casualties had been unloaded. Perhaps the site was being transformed into a field hospital. All was quiet and there was no sign of anyone around. Hurrying back, they came across a group of Japanese at the bridge leading to the old part of town. All were covered in sweat as they marched past, pulling their carts and carrying rucksacks. In front they held aloft a small red flag, and everyone had placed red ribbons on their chests. Yet this group was not from the company. Even if asked, they would of course know nothing about those from the company. Kyūzō tried to ask about their destination, but they themselves seemed unsure of anything beyond traveling to Changchun or perhaps Harbin. Upon watching them pass, Kyūzō suddenly noticed that they were being followed by ten or so powerfully built Chinese men. Unable to shout out a warning, however, he merely saw the group off in silence. Heavy cannon shots suddenly rang out in rapid succession, shaking the ground.
Kyūzō rushed back to the dormitory, stuffing as many of his belongings as possible into a rucksack, and dashed outside. He searched throughout the town for any Japanese people. For half a day he ran about looking for them. But where were the 865 Japanese who had lived there? They were now completely gone. Kyūzō alone was left, like a pool of water that remains on the tideland. Overwhelmed by fear and exhaustion, he sought support against the roadside wall when several Chinese youths appeared and wordlessly pushed him aside, putting up a poster in the very place where he had been leaning.
“Dongbeiren de Dongbei,” it read in Chinese—northeast China for the northeast Chinese.
Lacking the energy to go elsewhere, Kyūzō remained motionless next to the poster, staring fixedly at the dried, whitened road. Tanks and trucks filled with soldiers passed by during this time, one after the other. Kyūzō would often find himself dreaming about that scene long thereafter.
It was close to dusk when First Lieutenant Alexandrov happened to drive past. Kyūzō called out to him, explaining the situation and requesting help in locating the whereabouts of the people from the company. Rather than replying, Alexandrov reached out for the red ribbon on Kyūzō’s chest, asking suspiciously what it meant. When Kyūzō answered that it was the red of Russia, Alexandrov snatched it away with a faint smile and motioned for him to climb into the car.
The next day he was told by the Russians that the war was over. They sang with great joy throughout the night. Of course there was some fighting as well. Yet nothing dangerous happened to Kyūzō. At that time, hundreds of thousands of Japanese living in remote areas shook hands with death as they swarmed together to begin their desperate march toward the southern cities. Here, however, in the calm eye of the typhoon, there was no such desperation. Yet two years and seven months after these events, Kyūzō was forced to make his way through the remains of that devastating storm as well as through a storm of even greater ferocity.
In any case, these were the circumstances that led to Kyūzō’s present situation of staying with Alexandrov. It was only much later that he realized that Alexandrov had misunderstood his explanation on that day. Alexandrov seemed to have misheard that Kyūzō’s mother had been wounded and her belongings stolen by the fascist Kita. Of course that would explain why Kyūzō didn’t know the whereabouts of the people from the company. However, this misunderstanding did not necessarily work against him.
For example, despite the fact that Alexandrov was cold and selfish and did not directly look after Kyūzō himself, he nevertheless appeared to take great pleasure in this mistaken fairy tale. With considerable sentiment, he told everyone around that Kyūzō had been a victim of fascism, and for some time Kyūzō became quite popular as a result. Furthermore, Alexandrov seemed to enjoy the fact that Kyūzō had become so popular. Thus even when Kyūzō later learned to speak some Russian, he never bothered to correct that misunderstanding.
In late March of the following year, the Soviets began t
heir frantic troop withdrawal. The region now came to be occupied by the Eighth Route Army. Nonetheless, Alexandrov and a dozen or so others remained behind as radio engineers. Kyūzō hinted several times of his desire to return to Japan, but Alexandrov flatly refused to discuss this. “After all, it’s best for you to stay with us,” he seemed convinced beyond doubt. Outside there are fascists with bared teeth roaming about.
(1946)
April 5: The United States, England, Soviet Union, and China commence discussions regarding the fate of Japan.
April 7: The Foreign Affairs Office reports that a total number of 4,039,447 Japanese remain unrepatriated.
May 1: The Chinese Nationalist government transfers the capital from Chongqing to Nanjing.
May 3: Convening of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East.
May 7: The Chinese Communist Party establishes a people’s government in Changchun.
May 12: Residents of Setagaya Ward in Tokyo attempt to enter the Imperial Palace as part of the “rice demand” demonstrations.
July 1: The United States conducts its first nuclear tests at Bikini Atoll.
July 16: Formation of the first Yoshida Cabinet.
August 19: The Chinese Communist Party issues a mass mobilization order, initiating a full-fledged attack on the mainland. Formation of the Japanese Congress of Industrial Organizations; labor increasingly goes on the offensive.
November 3: Promulgation of the new Japanese Constitution. Renunciation of war.
December 30: Announcement of the 6-3-3 education system.
(1947)
January 31: MacArthur orders the suspension of a general labor union strike.
February 28: Mass riots in Taipei result in over 1,000 casualties.
April 1: Promulgation of law banning private monopolies.
June 1: Formation of Katayama Cabinet.
July 18: The Chinese Nationalist government declares mass mobilization.
July 30: New York stocks plunge.
September 12: The Chinese Communist Party announces a mass counteroffensive.
December 14: Soviet currency is reduced to 1/10 its value.
(1948)
January 30: Assassination of Gandhi.
February 10: Record plunge of the Chicago market.
March 10: Formation of Ashida Cabinet.
During these two years, Kyūzō also experienced several changes. Without realizing it, what was once alien to him now became familiar.
Reckless joy and loneliness, undisguised desire and sadness … A sense of unyielding freedom that radiated throughout his life … These feelings were unpleasant at first, but at some point became easy to accept.
There was a continuity of crassness, simplicity, and boredom. At night, however, the restlessness of being left behind appeared in his dreams. He dreamt that he had turned into an insect roaming across a map or that he had boarded a train with neither ticket nor destination.
VII
A loud sound rang out and his body was sent flying. Numb with cold, he was unable to move for a while. Soon there was the sharp odor of smoke, the hard echoing of footsteps going to and fro, the groaning of iron, and the choking sound of steam … Finally Kyūzō remembered that he was concealed in a freight car, recalling also the circumstances that had led to this.
But what was that jolt just now? What of those hard footsteps? (“It seemed that people were walking on concrete. That might be a train platform.”) And how much time had passed? Slowly he stretched his legs and approached the peephole.
First he saw a sign marked “Baharin.” Then he glimpsed the dark red roof of the station. Kyūzō felt dejected. The time was 8:32—only an hour and a half had passed. Thirty minutes remained, and possibly a quite dangerous thirty minutes at that.
To his left he was able to see the ticket gate. Like dried-out caterpillars, two armed Eighth Route Army soldiers stood next to a station attendant, comparing the individual faces of passengers to their certificates. Fully sixty percent of the passengers were ordinary Chinese citizens. Waiting in a separate line for a routine baggage check, they carried their belongings in blue cotton wrapping cloths that were larger than they were. The other half of passengers consisted of administrators and civilian personnel, wearing stand-up collars with badges and armbands, while the rest were Eighth Route Army soldiers.
There also appeared to be some activity near the freight car. In the open door of the stationmaster’s office directly behind the “Baharin” sign appeared Alexandrov, Bear, and Shiver. The stationmaster and a young Eighth Route Army officer stood immediately behind them, speaking animatedly. Alexandrov nodded, pulling down the brim of his hat with his left hand while pointing toward the train with his right.
Kyūzō jerked back, sensing that he was the one being pointed at. Had he been spotted? That didn’t seem possible. Those three had probably come to the station on their own business. Hadn’t they discussed something like that last night? Yet by now they would already have discovered that Kyūzō was missing. Assuming he had escaped, the first place they would search would be this train. Lying flat down in his hiding place, Kyūzō felt himself trembling as he awaited the attack.
Quite a bit of time passed. It was nothing more than fear, he thought to himself, when suddenly rough footsteps approached and the door was pulled open. Light spilled in, overturning the darkness.
“Kyuuzou,” Alexandrov called.
Kyūzō remained motionless.
“Kyuuzou,” Alexandrov called again far more gently, apparently locating him now. Yet still Kyūzō did not move.
Alexandrov climbed into the freight car. Kyūzō raised his head, staring at him in terror.
“Come,” said the first lieutenant in a low voice, extending his arm.
Refusing his help, Kyūzō stood up by himself and then stumbled. With burly fingers, the first lieutenant caught hold of Kyūzō’s flailing elbows. Wordlessly, the two men exited the freight car. Bear offered a hand in helping Kyūzō get down. With a faint smile, Shiver patted his trembling arms. Several eyes stared at him in the distance.
Surrounded by the men, Kyūzō began walking toward the stationmaster’s office. “Don’t you like being with us?” Alexandrov asked. Kyūzō silently shook his head. They wouldn’t understand even with an explanation.
A stove burned noisily. His limbs felt hot and itchy. The stationmaster took out a scrap of paper, requesting from Kyūzō a signature and thumbprint. Alexandrov then signed underneath. Once the stationmaster had affixed a large stamp to the paper, the procedure was concluded. Yet it was unclear what kind of procedure this was.
Giving the stationmaster several bills, Alexandrov took the piece of paper and handed it to Kyūzō. “This is a special travel certificate,” explained the Eighth Route Army officer beside him in surprisingly fluent Japanese.
“This train will go very close to Tieling. The city of Shenyang is occupied by Nationalist puppet forces, so please detour far around it to the east. This certificate will allow you to travel anywhere in the liberated areas. The train is heading to Andong. Please be careful not to show this certificate to anyone from the puppet forces. That might well prove dangerous. As for anything else, you’ll need to actually see things for yourself.”
This was the first Japanese that Kyūzō had heard in two years. “Are you Japanese?” he blurted out.
“Korean,” the officer replied curtly.
Alexandrov gestured for Kyūzō to put away the certificate.
“Say thank you,” prompted the Eighth Route Army officer.
“Spasibo”—thank you—Kyūzō answered in a small voice.
“It’s nothing. Things will be fine wherever you go,” laughed Bear as he slapped Kyūzō’s shoulders. Kyūzō drew back in fear.
(“I wonder if they found out about the map. And also about Shiver’s knife and the Dania spoon.”)
Once outside the office, Alexandrov stuffed into Kyūzō’s pocket a wad of red military bills that was approximately o
ne centimeter thick. Kyūzō stammered something, gesturing vaguely, but could only swallow hard. As the group walked toward the rear passenger car, Shiver gently held out a bag of sunflower seeds.
“This fellow can’t get over the idea of revenge. It’s because you’re Japanese,” Alexandrov wistfully remarked.
“Well, a lot goes on,” replied Bear lightly, shaking his head. “In any case, I hope you arrive safely.”
Shiver followed several steps behind, chewing on his sunflower seeds and spitting them out, oblivious to the people around him.
“Three minutes until departure,” announced a station attendant, hurrying past. The train exhaled heavily, shaking all over.
“All right, then,” exclaimed Alexandrov, pushing Kyūzō toward the passenger car.
Kyūzō hesitated for a moment and then began running. Turning halfway around in his stride, he uttered in a small voice that they could just barely make out. “Spasibo!”
Both cars were already full. There was still some room on the rearmost deck, as people disliked the constant wind blowing there. Turning his head, Kyūzō glimpsed over his shoulder the retreating figures of Alexandrov and the others as they made their way past the ticket gate. He found a place beside the lavatory and sat down on the floor. A guard stood on the exposed deck, his back turned to the passengers. Between his legs the rusted rail continued on indefinitely. On the right there was visible half a storage tank from a milling plant, while on the left a sea of hills stretched out, gentle and frozen white, for as far as the eye could see. High among the waves soared a large acacia tree, below which the walls of farmhouses appeared like black boxes.
The whistle blew. The connecting gear interlocked noisily as the wheels slowly began turning.
The station attendants waved frantically alongside those people who had come to bid the passengers good-bye. Seeing this, Kyūzō recalled that the train was the first long-distance carrier traveling southbound on this line. Surely being watched over by others was in and of itself a guarantee of safety. Eventually the platform receded in the distance like a soiled scrap of paper. In no time at all, the town of Baharin was sinking within the swell of the ground. Reduced to a black stain, all that remained of it were a gas tank and the pulp factory chimney.