Beasts Head for Home

by Kōbō Abe

The locomotive spewed out steam. With no signal, the wheels suddenly began turning in reverse.

  Kyūzō tried to shake free and run when Wang lightly jumped in front of him, thrusting into his belly a pistol, which had somehow appeared in his right hand. Yet he spoke to Kyūzō in a voice as calm as before: “I won’t harm you. Just stay where you are.”

  Most of the truck was tilting down when, slowly but irresistibly, it rotated to the right, twisting the men’s shoulders, and overturned. Cries rang out as several men were pinned underneath. The second truck sent one soldier and three passengers flying as it continued rolling for one hundred meters before it fell upside down headfirst.

  A solider turned around and took aim at the locomotive. The freight commander stopped him with a stern, dubious expression.

  The train, carrying only Kyūzō and Wang as well as women, the aged, and infirm, gradually gathered speed as it reversed. But no one was able to concern themselves with this for long. Another flare was fired while the sound of gunfire that burst in from the darkness grew even more intense. The passengers groveled on the floor, trembling. They pressed their faces down into the ice.

  Of course these soldiers also fought back. Caught unaware, however, they were at a disadvantage. If they were at all fortunate, it was only because the shots fired at them were largely inaccurate. But the grenades seemed to have caused considerable damage.

  Kyūzō gave up struggling and did as he was told. Wang laughed. “Don’t worry. Things will be fine.” Yet his laughter was hard and stiff with tension. He swallowed constantly while walking restlessly around the train car, which was now nearly empty. It seemed that quite a long time had passed, but also that hardly any time had passed at all. However, exactly twelve minutes and thirty seconds had elapsed.

  A third flare was fired. The sound of gunfire grew even more intense. For some reason, however, it seemed that these were now random shots. Suspicious, the commander bravely rose to his feet to check on the situation when an incredible sound reached his ears. Carried by the wind, it was the sound of an approaching train. The train was coming back, but why?

  When the train came to a sudden stop and began moving south, Kyūzō was rendered speechless. Wang, in contrast, could not contain his excitement. Waving his gun about, he began speaking incessantly. “Serves you right! Do it, do it! All set! Shit! A huge fight! Get them! It’s going well, isn’t it, boy? Run, damn it!”

  In the locomotive cab, the assistant thrust a pistol at the conductor. Crying aloud, the conductor performed his work. The train quickly gained speed.

  Leading Kyūzō back to the sink, Wang told him that they would lie next to one another low on the floor. He grabbed Kyūzō’s arm painfully, his eyes bulging and saliva beginning to drip from the edge of his lips. The lighting inside the train was turned off.

  “The train is coming back!” someone yelled.

  The gunfire grew more intense and yet also more inaccurate. At some point the grenades also ceased.

  The train approached. Yet it showed no sign whatsoever of slowing.

  At once the commander grasped what was happening. They were all in it together. The plan was to have the train fall into enemy hands. Immediately he issued a new order.

  He explained that the truck that had fallen over onto its side at the edge of the tracks must now be moved directly onto them. Keeping only a small part of the firing squad, he had everyone get to work. The commander asked about the number of casualties. Eight dead and twenty-one wounded, came the reply.

  The train echoed painfully. When the wheels touched the tracks, the sparks that flew off glittered like the lamps of a faraway town.

  “All set? Hold on tight. Use your legs for support like this,” Wang yelled.

  The two grasped each other tightly, eyes closed, their legs pressed against the wall in the direction in which they were moving.

  Chapter 2

  The Flag

  IX

  The train approached with its headlights turned off, but the light from the small peepholes on each side of the furnace could still faintly be seen in the darkness. The roadbed shook and the rails echoed.

  Although the freight commander had ordered the soldiers to block the tracks with the truck, he was far from certain whether they should destroy the railroad or allow the train to pass into enemy hands. With no time to hesitate and riven by an unspeakable agony, he simply went ahead and continued signaling the train with his flashlight. The train, however, showed no response.

  Shooting still continued off in the distance, but the shots were now random, and the soldiers ignored them in order to focus on hoisting the truck up onto the tracks. Suddenly the bottom of the truck caught on the edge of the embankment. The vehicle stopped moving, its rear wheels suspended in the air. Four or five soldiers crawled underneath the vehicle to begin breaking up the frozen ground.

  Sparks flew from the locomotive as it gained even greater speed.

  Hurriedly putting away his flashlight, the commander yelled out in what seemed to be both an order and shriek. He jumped in among the soldiers, who were tightly lined up shoulder to shoulder, and joined them in their snapping cries of encouragement. The light that he had forgotten to turn off shone faintly through the cloth of his pocket.

  The truck suddenly moved. Slipping sideways, its front left wheel crossed over the rails.

  “Run for it!” the commander yelled.

  At that moment, the front of the locomotive hit the truck with a terrible sound, appearing to hang over it. The train cut into the vehicle, bending it in two. Two soldiers who could not escape in time were thrown to the ground.

  The locomotive slowly reared up as it continued running for another twenty meters, screeching as it dragged the truck behind it. Twisting to the right and coming to a halt, the train suddenly tumbled over onto its left, tearing up the frozen ground. A horrific sound echoed forth as steam spouted out.

  The hobbled freight car behind it fell on the rails at a perpendicular angle, its front twisted to the right. The next car struck it as it veered toward the left. The train roared out as its cars crashed into each other, protruding from the tracks in a zigzag, and stopped. Suddenly everything fell silent. Then there was only the interminable rattling of wheels turning in midair.

  Various groans began to be heard. From inside the passenger cars, voices weakly called for help.

  The impact had caused Kyūzō to lose consciousness. He was largely unhurt, however, being in the last car and having braced himself for the crash. His only injury was a small cut on his finger caused by some shards of glass. A black stain formed at the tip of his glove. Grimacing, Wang stood up and tried to grab his fallen pistol only to quickly pull his hand back. He felt a burning pain on his left wrist. Using his foot to draw the gun closer, he picked up the weapon with his right hand. His body staggered slightly.

  It suddenly grew bright. The fourth freight car had begun burning. The flame was at first a brilliant orange before changing to green. With a sound of ripping air, the entire car became engulfed in a vortex of flame.

  “Hey, run for it, kid!” Wang called out. Yet Kyūzō did not move. “Hey, get a hold of yourself!” Wang repeated as if pressing down on him, but Kyūzō remained still. Shifting the pistol to his injured left hand, he began to slap Kyūzō hard on each cheek.

  The soldiers had completely broken formation. Wandering from their posts, they stood in random positions, transfixed by the flames. Some distance away, the passengers clustered together frozen-faced around their belongings. Several of the wounded squatted or lay stretched out nearby. Some injured people also appeared to be lying flat by the side of the embankment. Perhaps they were not injured, however, but already dead.

  Sensing danger, the commander turned around to issue an order when he suddenly collapsed, his upper jaw shattered by a bullet. This was a signal for the shooting to recommence all at once. Unlike the previous instance, however, the shots were now terribly precise. Men were quickly wounded, and while the s
oldiers on this side immediately sought cover and returned fire, they appeared to be overwhelmed. Assuming command, the aide-de-camp issued an order for the remaining trucks to be readied. Two vehicles seemed to be in working condition. Assigning the wounded and general passengers to each truck alongside five soldiers, he ordered them to cut directly east across the snowfields toward the station at Guoerluosiqianqi.

  “Shit, get a hold of yourself! We’re getting out of here now!” Wang shouted at Kyūzō, whose eyes were barely open. “We’re leaving, so hurry!” Shaking him by the collar, Wang suddenly changed his tone and hurriedly asked him, “You were carrying a Russki certificate, right?” Kyūzō stared back at him in silence. “I know because I saw it!” Wang said, brushing away any objections as he forcibly thrust his pistol inside Kyūzō’s pocket. Staying close to the floor, the two linked their bodies together as they crawled out from the deck, dragging their belongings behind them.

  The passengers scrambled to hold on to the truck’s side panel, fighting with one another to secure a place. The grenade struck this panel at its very center. The truck burst into flame and people fell to the ground screaming. The fire then spread to the other vehicle. The shooting grew even more intense. Although unseen, the enemy’s approach could now be felt close by. The aide-de-camp realized that their only chance lay in finding an opening out to the plains. Until then, they had no choice but to wait out this time of terror. There was nothing to do but trust the soldiers. Turning around, the aide-de-camp saw something faintly shining in the pocket of the dead commander. He reached inside and turned off the light. The spurting blood on the lower half of the commander’s face had now frozen, giving him the appearance of a child whose features had become messy from eating. The fire from the trucks had subsided, the freight cars were now burnt out, and darkness descended once again. The aide-de-camp quickly rose to his feet.

  Kyūzō and Wang crawled beneath the train, lying flat on the ground as they intently surveyed the situation. The troops retreated and began to move out to the plains. Panicking, Kyūzō found himself about to start running.

  “Fool!” Wang grabbed on to his bag, pulling him back. “Do you want to die?”

  Rifle fire flew just past them. Kyūzō tried to say something, but the chattering of his teeth made it difficult to speak. He was not simply afraid, however. In his own way, he had assessed the situation. Those who occupied the south appeared to be in a superior position. Although Wang of course couldn’t be trusted, he did seem to have some secret connection with those in the south. While things had not gone well, Wang had clearly grasped this chance and possibility. For Kyūzō, anyone who might help open up a path to the south was an ally.

  Sparks flew from the rails as they were struck by bullets. Gradually, however, the gunfire tapered off as the fighting shifted to the east.

  “What should we do?” Kyūzō asked. Discovering that the area around his mouth had grown numb, he rubbed his lips with his palms so much that they grew itchy. Also, his eyes had become so chilled that he could not open them all the way.

  “We wait,” Wang replied. His voice had frozen over so much that his words sounded like, “We way.”

  “For what?”

  “Comrades.”

  A plane approached from the northwest. All at once the firing stopped. The plane passed by and then returned, swooped down with a sharp, metallic sound, and then flew off with a heavy roar.

  “A Soviet plane,” Wang said hoarsely.

  The battle ceased for some time. The groans of the wounded sounded just like the call of beasts. Although cold dulls the pain, those who cannot move from loss of blood soon freeze if they don’t scream and warm the body. A cry like a large-throated bird rang out two or three times from the passenger car above. Perhaps it was a baby. The wind began to pick up.

  Suddenly, the shooting recommenced. The battlefield was far on the other side, and it seemed as if the two forces had now drawn close. Battle cries rose up as grenades exploded. The fighting continued for twenty minutes before the shooting abated, and it seemed as if things were coming to an end.

  “I wonder who won,” Kyūzō asked in a murmur.

  Staring into the darkness, Wang gave no reply.

  The shooting continued for some time, but there were now large intervals between the shots, making it impossible to grasp what was going on.

  “This is too much. Let’s go over there.” Wang felt around and poked Kyūzō in the back, and the two crawled to the western side of the embankment. “This cold is like December. It has to be forty-five degrees below.”

  Kyūzō didn’t think it was that cold. At most, it was probably around thirty degrees below. Maybe twenty-five. Urged on, he climbed down together with Wang and found a comfortable place safe from the wind. The two sat down alongside one another facing the unseen forest, instinctively pressing their bodies together. They seemed to hear the sound of wolves calling out, but perhaps their ears were playing tricks on them. The wind, pounding in their ears, carried with it all manner of groans. Yet the cries from the train were certainly those of a baby.

  “Strange …” Wang turned around and partly got up before sitting back down again in resignation.

  “Hmm, maybe you should give me back my pistol now.”

  Kyūzō moved sluggishly but finally did as instructed. He didn’t have any ulterior motive. It was simply that his body had grown so cold that it was too much trouble to move his limbs.

  Someone gave a brief yell slightly beyond the embankment. The shooting stopped.

  X

  “Don’t go to sleep.” Perhaps two hours had passed since Wang had begun poking Kyūzō in the ribs.

  “Damn it!” Wang screamed as he tried to stand up before staggering to his knees. Crawling over to Kyūzō, he thrust his face at him and gasped weakly, “Hit me, hit me. Hey, I said hit me!”

  Kyūzō raised his hand as requested, but the pain in his joints made it difficult to generate any strength. Rather than strike him, Kyūzō stumbled over and pushed Wang down. Grappling, the two rolled around for some time on the frozen ground. They grew winded and nauseous, but it now became easier to move. Standing up next to each other, they began stamping their feet.

  “I’ve got some vodka,” said Kyūzō.

  “Let’s have a sip. I’d be grateful,” Wang replied excitedly.

  While Kyūzō unfolded the blanket and fumbled around for the alcohol, Wang continued to make strange cries. He bit on the bottle to uncork it, making a snapping sound as if breaking a tooth. Without pausing for breath, he seemed to choke down three swigs. Kyūzō took only a mouthful before sitting down. He felt as if he had imbibed a stick of fire.

  “Vodka is the best thing for the cold. Take good care of this bottle.”

  Dissolving, the stick of fire spread throughout his body in five minutes. Wang let out a groan. The pain in his left wrist had returned. Kyūzō suddenly remembered the question that he had wanted to ask since the afternoon.

  “Mr. Wang, where are you going?”

  “It’s not a question of where. I receive new assignments wherever I go. A newspaper reporter is not well paid.”

  He still wants to insist that he’s a correspondent. (“He’s underestimating me.”) Of course there’s no way he can be trusted.

  “It’s quieted down. I wonder if everyone’s dead.”

  “I’m sure the engineer is dead.”

  “That baby is probably dead, too.”

  “There was absolutely no reason to go back that far. He was too scared.” Wang then began cursing in a language unfamiliar to Kyūzō.

  “Why isn’t anyone coming?”

  “It’s absurd!”

  “Mr. Wang, which side are you on?”

  “Which side? Oh, I see … But that’s no simple question, something that could be easily explained. Damn it, the air pierces all the way to one’s teeth. One’s mouth gets frostbitten by speaking too much. In any case, there’s no need for you to worry about such things. Shit, once we
join them, there will be fire and hot soup.”

  “But what if they don’t come?”

  “They’ll come.”

  “But still …”

  “Believe me, they’ll come. The deal is too big.”

  For some reason, Wang suddenly began walking toward the locomotive. Kyūzō hurried after him. The joints in his knees had stiffened and his body felt three times heavier. Wang fell over with a scream. There was a ditch. “Be careful,” he said, making a sound as if striking a thick wall. This was the roof of the livestock freight car, which had tipped over and derailed. There was the smell of something burning.

  Wang was trying to reach the third freight car. This was the covered car that was directly in front of the car in which Kyūzō first tried to hide. It was leaning over to the right, its front plunged into the ground below the embankment, with its bottom half alongside the slope projecting out into the black sky like a shadowy tower.

  “It’s completely wrecked.”

  Wang tried to open the door, but it had become bent and would not move. A sickening odor rose up. He passed below and emerged on the other side. Although the door had broken off, the unusual stench prevented one from looking inside.

  “What is that smell?”

  “Well, it’s just as I thought.” Yet Wang appeared to be devastated. “Had everything gone well, it would have been a huge job worth at least five hundred thousand.”

  “What was inside?”

  “Polytar. It’s a special paint coating made from copper line.”

  That’s right, Alexandrov and the others had mentioned something about that. Yet Kyūzō remained silent. It no longer concerned him. He stamped his feet while striking his earlobes.

  “We can’t just stay here,” Wang said, blowing his nose with his fingers.

  “Shit, my nose feels like it’s being ripped off!”

  “What should we do, then?”

  “I’m saying that we can’t just stay here. A Russian plane just flew by. In four or five hours a train full of soldiers will be coming.”

  Kyūzō turned around to look at the town of Baharin from which he had finally escaped. A slight rift appeared in the white clouds. The air fluttered in the distant wind. He suddenly felt afraid.