“I understand, Mr. Nozaki,” said the Prime Minister, laying his huge, hairy hand on the thin shoulder of the old man. “We will do everything within our power. I promise it. I will speak to the leaders of the other nations of the British Commonwealth also. As far as the Commonwealth nations go, I will undertake the responsibility of obtaining assistance for you. And, of course, as the largest of these and the closest to your nation, Australia, acting on its own, will not stint in our efforts to be of help.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” said the old man, bowing his head. Tears seemed to glisten in his eyes. “I shall be staying at our embassy for a time. I shall ever take comfort in the thought of Your Excellency’s magnanimity and the love of humanity that you manifest to the world.”
“Have you opened negotiations with the Soviet Union?” asked the minister. “Their country is vast and it includes a large portion of Asia.”
“I believe that talks have already begun,” said the old man, nodding, all trace of emotion now gone from his face. “To speak frankly, many things about that country are beyond our comprehension. However, in terms of its history, its record with regard to racial minorities gives grounds for hope.”
“Except for the problem of the Jews, that is,” said the minister quietly. “I suppose that you can’t expect much from Mainland China, with its eight hundred million people. . . . Still, when one considers the historical ties that exist between the peoples of both countries and what the future may hold . . .”
“I have brought a gift for Your Excellency,” said Nozaki, standing up. “Rather than from our Prime Minister, please think of it as coming from our country.”
The old man went to a table in the corner of the room and brought back a wooden box over a foot and a half high. He quietly took off the cover.
“Why, this . . .” The Prime Minister, who had a fair knowledge of ancient Oriental art, was at loss for words. He took his glasses from his pocket. “This is extraordinary. It’s about the thirteenth century, is it not?”
“This is correct, Your Excellency. The beginning of the Kamakura Era. As an image of Buddha, it ranks as a National Treasure. We can’t specify its exact date,” said the old man in a low voice. “It was purchased from a country temple. There are many objects of this sort scattered through every district of Japan. We give it to you, and we would like you to think of it as a remembrance.”
4
“They say there’s been a warning to the Fuji area,” said Kunieda, his face pale. “The steam rising from the Ozawa landslide has become more intense, it seems. And, just below the Hoei crater, steam has started to rise. The meteorological station on the crest has been evacuated except for a small emergency group.”
“I wonder if we’ll be able to see an eruption from here,” said the old man, smiling with anticipation. “If Komagadake or some other mountain in Hakone erupted, we’d get a good view, I should think.”
“There are three cars at your service, sir. The Prime Minister’s strict orders. Please go back to Tokyo as quickly as possible. If, by chance, something should occur . . .”
“Don’t worry. Death and I are on easy terms,” said the old man. “I’m resigned. If I have two or three days left, that will be fine. Besides, that matter of ours should be concluded this evening.”
“The work has been making progress?” Kunieda asked, his tone edged with irritation. “I had the impression, I’m afraid, that they spent most of the day relaxing and strolling about.”
“Yes, and while doing that, they’ve been thinking,” said the old man, giving Kunieda a penetrating glance. “Their whole concern, you see, has been given to this matter. For three days now they’ve gone without sleep. I’m worried about their health.”
They were referring to the group gathered around Fukuhara, the scholar who had come to this mountain villa from Kyoto and remained here ever since. In accordance with Fukuhara’s request, two more men, both rather unusual, had come to the villa. One had a smooth, pale face, which made his age hard to determine, and though he wore an ordinary kimono, his manner was that of a Buddhist monk. The other was rather elderly. He had white hair. And then, in order to keep records, deliver material, and establish liaison, three more men had been sent from Plan D headquarters to join them.
The frantically busy Prime Minister had spent a whole night talking with the three of them. Kunieda had been engaged in conversation in the neighboring room, and sometimes, when a maid slid open the door to bring refreshments, he had casually glanced in. Each time the group—Watari among them—had been casually talking of garden shrubbery, tea-ceremony utensils, and the like as they sipped their tea, not a thing on their minds, it seemed, but pleasant conversation. One of the trio, for example, had been relating an amusing anecdote about his experiences abroad while the old man and the Prime Minister laughed uproariously.
A young woman in a rust-colored Yuki pongee kimono appeared at the end of the corridor and came to where the old man was sitting in his wheelchair, gazing out at the garden through the glass doors. She knelt down beside him and whispered something in his ear. The old man nodded slightly. She got to her feet and began to push the wheelchair toward the hall.
“Please come along,” said Watari to Kunieda, turning his head.
Making a right-angle turn from the corridor, they proceeded down a passageway leading to a detached wing concealed by a growth of shrubbery. At the end of this, beyond a foyer four and a half tatami mats in size, there was a room ten mats large. Beside it was another room which seemed to be of about eight mats. The sliding door between the two was open a few inches.
Around the edges of the room were piles of books and documents. Periodicals and the like lay scattered about the floor. Some were in European languages, and there were also Chinese books in their distinctive cases. Yearbooks and dictionaries were conspicuous as well as every kind of map—everything strewn about. A middle-aged man, apparently the recording secretary, sat in a corner, his face worn with fatigue. Two men were sitting at one corner of a table. One, a small man wearing a dark blue Oshima kimono, was gazing at the scenery outside, his arms folded. The other, the man who looked like a monk, was wearing a grayish-blue cotton kimono. Sitting with his fingers linked together over his stomach and one leg folded beneath him, he had his eyes closed. On the table before them were three large manila envelopes, each one designated by Chinese characters written in a bold hand.
The man who had been looking out the window unfolded his arms and, with a slight bow, spoke in a low voice: “As for the fundamental principles, they are here for the most part. ...”
“You gentlemen have completed it?” the old man asked, bowing slightly in return. Assisted by the young woman, he got out of the wheelchair and sat down on the tatami. “What of the Imperial Household—to Switzerland, I imagine?”
“As to that, sir,” said the small man, “one of the Imperial Family to America, one to China, and, if possible, one to Africa. ...”
As he spoke, the small man looked for the first time in Kunieda’s direction. Kunieda swallowed hard at the sight of the pain so evident in the man’s features. In no more than a week Professor Fukuhara’s face had undergone an incredible transformation. Only a short time before, his boyish face had had the glow of youth about it, but now his cheeks were hollow, his eyes were sunken, and his skin grayish, his cheeks covered with a scraggly growth of beard. His face seemed to belong to a man in the last stages of cancer. His eyes alone shone with spirit, but their odd glitter was like that struck from the embers of a dying fire.
“Probably about half will die,” said Fukuhara in a low voice, his tone detached. “And for those who survive, there will be much suffering.”
“You’ve made three divisions?” asked the old man, glancing at the envelopes on the table. “In what way?”
“It’s not according to geographical areas, sir, but rather as to types,” said Fukuhara, clearing his throat. “The first is that portion of the Japanese who might begin a new
nation somewhere. The second is for those who would be scattered among various nations as naturalized citizens. The third is for those who could go to no other country.”
“The example of the Jewish people is not especially relevant,” said the man who seemed to be a monk, his eyes still closed. “The Jews have the experience of a two-thousand-year period of exile. Whereas this island people of ours have had the happy experience of living secure in their own country for a like period. Therefore it would be no easy matter to take on the other role. Would we gain some wisdom from our Diaspora over the course of the years? And throughout such a period, would the Japanese people remain the Japanese people? In that third envelope is enclosed still another envelope. It contains an opinion that is somewhat of a departure,” said the monk. “The truth is that not one of the three of us is averse to this opinion. Since, however, the conclusion it presents is not in line with the purpose of the task set for us, we offer it as nothing more than a variant opinion.”
“In effect, it proposes that the best thing would be to do nothing whatsoever,” said Fukuhara, hiccoughing slightly. “The best thing would be not to lift a finger.”
Not lift a finger? Kunieda cried out within himself, feeling his flesh tingle with icy shock. It would be the best thing to let 110 million Japanese die? Was that it? What sort of men were these scholars anyway?
“I see,” said old Watari. He bent his trunk slightly, his hands on his lap, as he looked down at the envelopes upon the table. “So that opinion, too, has come forth, has it?”
“That it should has its source, perhaps, in the Japanese people’s differing decisively from other peoples.” His eyes now half opened, the priest whispered as though talking to no one but himself.
“When you three gentlemen formulated this opinion, could it be that your years affected your thinking?” The old man’s eyes peered keenly as he put the question to them.
“True, sir,” murmured Fukuhara, once more looking out at the garden.
“Hanae . . . come here,” said the old man, gesturing to the young woman, who was sitting in a corner of the room. “Take a good look at this girl, gentlemen. She’s twenty-three. She hasn’t known any man yet. She’s a fresh young girl with her life in front of her. Girls such as she . . . and children, too . . . were they in your thoughts?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Fukuhara.
“In any case, that opinion represents a departure,” said the monk, his eyes closed again. “Moreover, had we not gone so far, we would have been remiss.”
“Our fundamental thought throughout has been that the Japanese people are to make no demands, are to claim nothing as their right from other nations,” said Fukuhara, his voice low and hoarse. “For there is simply no way that we can do so. Human society is not ready to recognize the right of the people of any nation to live upon land that lies outside their borders. We must acknowledge as a fundamental truth that this situation will persist for a very long time to come. Thus, the Japanese people, dispossessed of their homeland, will have to ask the nations of the world for corners in which to live. But if we ask this as our right, we’ll not get it, so making demands is out of the question.”
“Even if our race lives on, then, our descendants, it seems, will have bitter times ahead of them,” whispered Watari as he nodded slowly. “From now on, whether it’s a matter of going on being Japanese or ceasing to be Japanese, whatever the case —we have to leave Japan out of our consideration. The problems to come will be those dictated by outside elements. Once this Japan of ours is gone forever, once it is taken from the Japanese, then our identity is simply that of human beings, it would seem, but in truth the problem cannot be reduced to terms so simple. For we have our karma—in our culture, our language, our history. And that karma will be resolved when this nation called Japan and its culture and its history—when all alike are swept away with the land itself. But the people of Japan will still be a young people, a people uniquely gifted. And this other karma, a living karma, is one that will go on.”
“Begging your pardon ...” A dry voice came from the corner of the room. The secretary, silent till now, was speaking. “If you would be kind enough, sir, it would be desirable, I believe, to allow these gentlemen some rest. For, having been without sleep or rest, as you see ...”
“Kunieda, the envelopes,” said the old man, signaling the young woman with a wink. “Thank you, gentlemen, for giving so much of yourselves. Please take a good rest.”
The three men remained as they were while Kunieda and the girl helped the old man to his feet and into the wheelchair.
“Are you going to leave for Tokyo soon, sir?” Kunieda asked as he pushed the wheelchair. “If possible, these gentlemen might go with you, perhaps. There are cars enough. For, as you know, it seems to be gradually growing more dangerous here.”
“Hanae,” said the old man, turning his head and speaking in a surprisingly strong voice, “call the doctor right away. See that the three of them in there get examinations.”
The old man decided to use one of the three cars for an immediate return to Tokyo with the plans, Kunieda going with him. The preparations made, Kunieda pushed the wheelchair out to the car as snowflakes were beginning to flutter down from a chill sky. Just as he was about to push the chair up the ramp of the specially equipped Mercedes-Benz 600, an echoing roar like that of a cannon seemed to make the gray sky tremble. When Kunieda turned, he saw a cloud of white smoke rising from the slope of Fuji at a point near the crest.
“The Hoei crater has finally erupted, it seems,” said the old man tranquilly. “But if it’s no more than that, it will be all right for the present, I would think.”
At that moment there was the sound of frantically hurrying footsteps, and the girl named Hanae came running up to them, a distraught expression on her face.
“Master ...” said the girl, stopping beside the wheelchair. “Professor Fukuhara . . . he . . .”
“What is it?”
Turning abruptly back toward the house, Kunieda saw the monk walking slowly toward them, a Buddhist rosary at his wrist and his palms pressed together.
“All right,” said the old man to Kunieda, indicating he was to push the wheelchair into the car. “Hanae—inform the Professor’s family immediately. Mr. Tatsuno, I beg you to take care of everything.”
The monk bowed slowly, his hands still pressed together. Yet another boom echoed from the direction of Mount Fuji. Ashes fell with a light rustling sound, blending with the snow which was beginning to cover the top of the Mercedes.
5
Onodera had not been in Kansai for a long time. In comparison to the quake-scarred condition of Tokyo, everything here seemed to be far closer to normal. Nevertheless, when Onodera’s plane was circling Osaka before landing, there was something about the scene below that struck him as odd. What it was he learned later in a conversation with his brother, after they had accompanied their mother’s body to the crematory in the Nada section of Kobe.
“I’ve been thinking about changing jobs,” said his brother as they were driving back. “Here in the Kansai, you see, all kinds of projects have been suspended or else put off. And in my work, too, there’s not much at all going on.”
“Why is that? The effect of the Tokyo quake?”
“Don’t you know the reason? Why, the land in the Kansai is sinking at an alarming rate.” His brother’s face was grim. “Sinking land is not something new in the Kansai, of course, but now it’s at the stage where it’s no joke—in economic terms, you see. The fact of the matter is that in some places it’s sinking at an average rate of nearly an inch a day.”
“Really?” murmured Onodera, at a loss. Though he worked at Plan D headquarters, he had been so taken up with the exploration of the Japan Trench that he hadn’t seen any reports about the general state of things.
“Really. This started about a year ago, and it’s gradually gotten worse. And it’s not just in one or two places. The tide levels throughout Western Japan have got
ten higher. They’re building emergency sea walls, but if the sinking should keep increasing as it has been, in six more months it will pass four inches a day and there’ll be no keeping up with it. That would be three feet every nine days! They say they’ll find some way to deal with it before it gets that bad. But at what point are they going to be able to stop it, I wonder?”
Onodera clenched his fists.
“Take us to the airport.” Onodera’s brother spoke to the driver. “The company has a helicopter. Let me give you a look at the sort of thing that’s happening.”
“But, dear ...” Onodera’s sister-in-law turned around in her seat beside the driver. “You’re in mourning, remember.”
“That’s all right. The public ceremony’s not till tomorrow morning. You go home and get things in order. We’ll come right after.”
When he gazed down at the Osaka waterfront from the air, Onodera was able to see clearly where the sea had made its inroads. Aside from the places where the dikes had been especially high beforehand or else made higher by emergency measures, the Osaka waterfront section and the strip of filled-in land that fronted Kobe were already half awash. The work on the landfill in Kobe Harbor, meant to extend Kansai International Airport, seemed to have been abandoned. The tide swept over the mud flats, and streams of yellow-brown water flowed far out into the Inland Sea.
“You see? The job isn’t an impossible one, but it’s going to take a lot of money. And because the Kanto area is still recovering, we can’t expect much to be available for a while. Take my company—the stoppage of work on the new airport has left us high and dry.”
“You talked about changing jobs. What would you do?” asked Onodera, looking down morosely at the scene below.
“Well, there’s no need to worry about taking care of Mother any more, and so what I’ve been thinking about is work in Canada.” His brother’s voice had a trace of sadness in it. “There’s a development under way in the oil fields of Manitoba. I’ve been intending to take the family and go, but my wife is not enthusiastic.”
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