by Kōbō Abe
As if obliged to do so, Kyūzō continued for a long time to gaze at this landscape that was fleeing from him. No doubt half his thoughts were dominated by the conventional emotions about the past that had been instilled in him. Yet the other half derived from the physical pain he felt in being wrenched from the twenty years that served as the basis of those emotions. However, even that appeared insignificant when considering the anxieties and expectations he bore toward the future, which was now approaching at a speed of fifty kilometers per hour.
Opposite Kyūzō, an old man in a padded jacket whose eyelids were caked with mucus lit a cigarette as the passengers around him hurriedly took out their own tobacco to request a light. There were a total of eight people in the deck, including Kyūzō. A sickly old woman escorted by a young man sat beside him in front of the door. By the aisle a hunchbacked middle-aged man who looked like a merchant sat on a trunk, and there was also a huge man over six feet tall with such a protruding chin that his forehead appeared to have been scraped off. Occupying the lavatory, which was broken, with no running water, was a man in his thirties wearing a stand-up collar who had a blank face with thick lips and a flattened nose. Upon seeing the badge on his chest and the strange hat on his head, which seemed to be a remodeled military cap, Kyūzō suspected that he must be a civilian employee or something similar.
The cold was piercing. Even the guard was trembling, moving away from the cutout aisle exit as he muttered to himself while squatting in front of the old man with the eye mucus. He was a young soldier about the same age as Kyūzō. When the old man offered him a cigarette, he held up his hand in refusal. His lips had turned a deep blue.
Even if all went well, the train would take fifteen hours to reach its destination. He should settle in for the long journey. Unfolding his blanket, Kyūzō separated it from the wrapping cloth inside. With that, the Dania spoon that he had stuffed into the side of the bag fell out, and he quickly pushed it back in. (“Someone might have noticed this.”) Spreading out some of the blanket beneath him, he draped the remaining part over his head, placing the bag on his knees. The knife handle pressed against his chest, forcing him to move it slightly aside.
Grabbing a handful of sunflower seeds, Kyūzō offered some to the guard, who happily accepted. Kyūzō also began chewing on them. The seeds tasted like grass. While not at all delicious, they were the perfect thing to help relieve the boredom. The sick woman began sucking on a steamed bun, which was black and very hard looking. With a scrunched-up face, the hunchback noisily bit into some kind of fried food. Taking a sip of water, Kyūzō closed his eyes. He felt as if he were wearing a hat made of heavy stone that covered him all the way down to his nose. But he was unable to sleep.
Under the blanket, Kyūzō secretly counted the bills that he had received from Alexandrov. It was exactly ten thousand yen.
The aisle door opened and someone came into the lavatory. Although Kyūzō was not directly in the way, he was forced to stand up in order to move the hunchback’s bag, which was blocking the lavatory door. Someone slightly tugged on his blanket, causing it to slip off. Quickly he hid the roll of banknotes. (“Damn! Someone might have seen that, too.”)
The guard stood up, proposing that either Kyūzō use the baggage for a seat or that he and the hunchback trade places. Otherwise Kyūzō would have to stand up every time someone entered or exited the lavatory. Of course the hunchback immediately opposed this idea. He had taken this place for himself, he explained, and his weak constitution made it uncomfortable for him to sit somewhere windy. Also his baggage contained fragile items, making it unsuitable for someone to sit on. The discussion began to get heated when the man who had staked out space in the lavatory intervened to offer Kyūzō a place. He himself was sitting above the sink, so proposed that Kyūzō sit beneath it. The hunchback looked dejectedly at the man and Kyūzō. Clearly this was the premium seat in all the deck. The guard nodded in satisfaction, as if he himself were going to sit there.
From the start, however, Kyūzō had the unpleasant feeling that he couldn’t let his guard down with the man. He noted with apprehension that the man’s eyes strangely darted around as if searching for something. Having adjusted his seat, the man put on his glasses and began reading a book. Seeing this, Kyūzō suddenly felt relieved. Those everyday black frame glasses he wore gave the man the appearance of a schoolteacher. Moreover, any Chinese person who could read a book at moments like this had to be someone very important. During these past two years, Kyūzō had not read a single book. With the high cost of paper, he had sold nearly all his books when he moved. The only two that remained were a crude world map for students and Tales of Inventions around the World. Before Kyūzō had been able to reread this latter for a third time, however, it had been used as fuel for the stove. So it was that he felt a kind of hunger for books and reading.
Casually, Kyūzō tried to glimpse the spine of the book the man was reading when the latter held it out for him. The title, Journey of Vengeance along the Tōkaidō Road, was written in Japanese. Startled, Kyūzō looked up to find that the man had removed his glasses and was faintly smiling at him. He had an artificial left eye.
“So you’re Japanese. I thought you might be,” he whispered in a low, dry voice while shooting a glance outside. He spoke Japanese easily. When Kyūzō looked at him again, the features of a Japanese person rose to the surface on the man’s face.
“Are you Japanese, too?” Kyūzō couldn’t help but whisper back.
“No, I’m Chinese.” The man patted the red badge on his lapel. “I’m a communications agent, so can speak several languages. I can speak Japanese, Korean, Mandarin, and Fujianese more or less interchangeably. And I can get by in Mongolian and Russian. But it’s best to avoid speaking Japanese too loudly. There’s a lot of anti-Japanese, anti-imperialist sentiment now.”
“Are you like the secret police?”
“Who, me? You must be joking. I’m more like a newspaper reporter.”
“But your Japanese is excellent.”
“It’s because my mother was Japanese.”
“Then you’re half Japanese,” Kyūzō remarked, rubbing his hands together under the blanket.
“I guess that’s true. But my name is Wang Muzhen. What’s your name?”
“Kuki Kyūzō. The characters are “long time” and “tree” for Kuki and “long time” and “three” for Kyūzō.”
“That’s an odd name,” Wang replied, closing the book noisily. “Shuijiao ba”—let’s go to sleep, he said in Chinese, turning on his side.
Kyūzō felt himself giving in to a sweet sense of exhaustion, one that gradually dissolved the anxiety in his body. Where could this fellow Wang possibly be heading? Since he of course must be a journalist for the Eighth Route Army, he’ll hopefully travel all the way to Andong. Still, it’s not impossible that he’ll go as far as North Korea. There should still be Russki forces there. I’ll ask Wang as soon as he wakes up. But seeing that Journey of Vengeance along the Tōkaidō Road book was really surprising. I wonder what time it is now …
It was exactly 11:33. Before he could confirm that, however, Kyūzō was already fast asleep.
VIII
Belching white steam as they heaved along, the twelve connected freight and passenger cars ran slowly on the rusted rails at a speed of fifty kilometers per hour. Vast grasslands, covered entirely in snow and ice, extended as far as the eye could see. Even after ten minutes—or even one hour, or indeed ten hours—the landscape showed no sign of change at all.
This was the eastern edge of the wetlands that cut across the plateau that stretched from Hungary to Central Asia. Here the black soil belt as transected by the Taklimakan and Gobi deserts appeared once more.
Weeds with stems over a meter in thickness grew densely. They supported a thin layer of snow and ice that accumulated atop them, but there were still areas that had folded in, unable to withstand the pressing winds. These features appeared as caves from up close; slightly farther aw
ay they became a pockmarked face; and even farther they were like whitecaps in the sea. Wild beasts would pass below these areas and run through them.
From midday the clouds faded and the sun began to shine. The ground glittered and yet the sky would grow dark.
They passed by a small village or hamlet every hour or hour and a half. But this train was traveling nonstop to Baicheng, where it would connect to a line heading toward Changchun. Every so often the train’s whistle would frighten a flock of crows. The tracks provided a good hunting ground for these birds. Animals that were unable to walk on the snowy plains—humans, horses, and dogs—would walk on the rails. When attacked by those beasts that could roam the area freely—hunger, cold, wolves, and field mice—the crows would have their meal. Nevertheless, there seemed to be slightly even more crows than usual. At times the black vortex made up of thousands of these birds covered nearly half the sky, forcing the conductor to slow down and sound the horn.
The train continued on its way.
The sun was beginning to set as they approached the foot of the divide, which could neither be seen with the eye nor felt by the body—only water was perceptible. Far to the west the forest of the Great Khingan Range became fringed with red, rising up like a greenish shelf.
Far in the distance there could gradually be heard the sound of a whip. The ground was freezing, the snow was freezing, and even the ice had begun to freeze. It was the cold that awakened Kyūzō. Opening his eyes, he saw that Wang Muzhen rolled over at the same time. Kyūzō took a slice of dry bread and slowly bit into it, then began sucking a piece of sugar candy he had in his bag before also chewing on a bit of cheese and rind. Like an adult, he did not forget to finally take a swig of vodka. He waited for some time for Wang to wake up, but at some point fell back to sleep.
When night came and the temperature dropped even lower, the train’s steam pressure also dropped, causing the vehicle to lose speed. The conductor’s assistant was forced to add coal at twice the usual speed.
7:47—the conductor stared into the darkness on his right. Based on the report from headquarters, he knew that they were now passing through the most dangerous area. This was the number twelve railway bridge zone. The Khingan Range forest drew close, like an extended arm, while the upper course of the Sungari River branched out in several directions where it cut across the tracks before disappearing.
It was then that a dark, crawling shadow appeared exactly between the tracks and the forest. Of course the conductor did not see it. Even if he had, he would have imagined that it was a wolf roaming about. It was common in this area for wolves to emerge from the forest. Often there was more prey to be found near the tracks than within the forest.
The next instant, however, the conductor saw it—a red light flickered two or three times in the darkness, and then an orange beacon blew a pillar of sparks high into the air. Fearing that he would be blinded, he lowered the visor of his cap and pulled the brake. Raising his eyes again as he pulled, he now saw in the restored darkness the clear beam of a flashlight repeating a fixed signal. Three flashes and then, after a pause, two flashes, and then once again three flashes followed by two flashes.
The conductor applied the emergency brake and then in quick succession rang the alarm. The train shrieked, grinding to a halt. The alarm continued ringing for some time as the signals in the darkness continued even longer.
Abruptly awakened, the fallen passengers rose to their feet and looked at one another with pale faces as they silently strained their ears listening. Scraping the ice from the windows, several clearly saw the flashlight signals. Kyūzō, lying facedown, had struck his forehead hard against the foot of the sink. Had he not been wearing a hat, he would certainly have been injured. Wang was partly on his feet, his gaze fixed on something, examining the situation. His calm demeanor was such that it didn’t seem as if he had just suddenly woken up.
The freight commander and several soldiers who had been riding in the front of the train immediately jumped down and ran to the locomotive. At the same time, the conductor and his assistant started running in this direction. The two groups met at the open freight car, where the trucks had been loaded.
“What happened?” the commander called out.
“Did you see it?” the assistant asked in a trembling voice. The conductor merely gasped roughly for breath.
“I saw the signal,” the commander nodded.
“We must head back immediately,” the assistant coughed violently. “The signal was three, two, three, two. It’s dangerous.”
“There’s no need to panic. We have troops on this train. Also, the signal station is about one kilometer away. Let’s wait until the messenger comes.”
“We have no idea if he’s coming or not. We don’t know what the situation is there.”
“Even so, the two of you blew the steam whistle for too long.”
The assistant became silent. The commander turned around and issued orders to his subordinates.
“Have squads one, two, and three assume battle positions immediately. Squads four and five should get to work unloading the cargo. Also, I want you to take two men from squad three and scout the area.”
The subordinates ran off.
“We must go back immediately,” the assistant repeated.
Silently the commander turned on his heels, returned to the passenger car, and began addressing the general passengers.
“Unforeseen circumstances have taken place. The train must immediately turn back. The troops have changed their destination and will now head toward Changchun. For those of you who wish to turn back, however, please remain where you are. For those wishing to go to Changchun, please come with us. We will walk for four hours and then board another train. This is a message from headquarters.”
No one could decide immediately. The passengers had waited two years to make this journey. For a while there was utter confusion. Some people crouched down, burying their heads in their hands. Finally, however, one person made up his mind and headed out. Someone followed, and then another, until finally most of the passengers (with the exception of the weak and infirm) changed their plans and would now travel on to Changchun. Once there, they would then try to figure out how to continue their journey.
Kyūzō also intended to get off the train. Now he had a certificate as well as money. It was all the same to him whether they traveled on the main line or a branch line. He hurriedly spread out his blanket, tied it with rope, and rearranged his things, gazing expectantly at Wang.
Wang nodded, holding Kyūzō back as if to say, “Just wait a bit.” He remained still, sitting cross-legged above the sink, coldly watching the passengers as they scrambled past one another in their rush to exit the train. Kyūzō regarded Wang as one of the leaders, and so didn’t view his calmness as particularly unusual.
The troops were already in position. However, the unloading of the cargo was proving extremely difficult. Trucks were the very life force for these troops, but the lack of any scaffolding posed problems in removing the vehicles from the train. The only thing to do was to have the men provide the necessary support. Twenty of them bent over below the freight car, steadily bearing the weight of the trucks as they were pushed out.
“We must leave now,” the assistant called out once again. The conductor seemed to have returned to the cab of the train and was no longer in sight.
The commander did not remain silent. “It is because of the laziness of you station workers that no scaffolding was prepared for a case like this!”
“That is not the locomotive crew’s responsibility.”
“Then keep quiet.”
“We’ve received orders from headquarters. This freight car is carrying important materials that absolutely must not fall into enemy hands. This is a request from Soviet Relations. That’s precisely why advance troops were sent to protect this train. In any case, seeing a three, two, three, two signal means that we must return immediately.”
“We’re the ones w
ho have received orders from headquarters. If one receives a three, two, three, two signal, then the cargo must immediately be unloaded and the troops deployed. But none of this makes sense to me. Why hasn’t the messenger come? And you talk too much. You’re an assistant. It’s my understanding that only the conductor should receive signal orders.”
“Then speak with the conductor. I might be the assistant in the locomotive, but I outrank him as vice-chairman back at the union. In any case, I’ll call him for you, so please speak with him quickly!”
As if completely beside himself, the assistant bounded out and began running toward the locomotive.
The passengers began helping unload the trucks. Half the first truck had already been pulled out. The remaining passengers took hold of the second truck.
Kyūzō was about to run out after the last passenger when Wang reached out, grabbing his shoulder.
“They said that there’s no need to panic. Let me handle this.”
His tone was a bit strange, and Kyūzō was shocked, suspecting that his initial hunch may have been correct. Wang stared outside, keeping a strong grip on Kyūzō’s shoulder.
Returning to the locomotive cab, the assistant found the conductor in front of the furnace, his head buried in his hands. Quaking visibly, the assistant addressed him.
“Get ready! Any moment now.”
“Are we really going to do this?” the conductor groaned.
“Of course,” replied the assistant, removing the furnace cover.
The conductor stood up, trembling. “Looks like I’m coming down with a cold,” he muttered, wiping away the sweat.
Suddenly the outside lit up brightly as if it were midday. A flare had been fired. At the same time, the furious sound of gunfire rang out from all sides. A grenade had exploded.