That Sunday, Atsugi attended a Sei Kyokai church service in Kobe. He had made it a weekly habit from after the surrender. He found it an enormous relief to step back from the stresses of the everyday and to reflect on life from a temporal perspective. He also enjoyed the signs, symbols and sacred actions of its Anglican liturgy and sung chants. These had been absent from the Seventh Day Adventist services he’d attended in America.
He also had no option but to worship on a Sunday. Even if it meant changing the denomination, due to his Saturday commitments at Kongo Gakuen. Sunday worship was discouraged by the Seventh Day Adventists as it was not seen to be the true Sabbath.
Returning to attend Church services required a considerable degree of spirit for Atsugi. During the war years Christians were viewed by the Japanese state as having divided loyalties and treated with wariness. Many Japanese Seventh Day Adventist leaders had endured prison; some died under suspicious circumstances as they had rejected joining the government approved Church of Christ. Christianity was heavily suppressed and Tokko, a government body, imposed various restrictions. These included dictates that members should bow in the direction of the Emperor’s palace before services. Tokko also provided approved sermon topics to leaders; at one time there had even been a proposal to change the date of Christmas Day.
Before the war there had been several churches, Catholic and Protestant in Kobe. They had been established by missionaries at the end of the nineteenth century. Few of these once resplendent buildings, many following European designs, survived the bombing.
As the new dawn of peace rose, several churches including the Seventh Day Adventists and the Anglicans, which had been forcibly disbanded, emerged from the carnage. They resumed services often underneath simple tents or even in the open air.
Atsugi was far from alone in attending. The food shortages, widespread destruction and the erosion of national identity were creating a social discomfort. These experiences led many to nourish and revitalise their staggered souls through the gospel.
That Sunday there was at least thirty others in the congregation.
The priest at the service had been released from police detainment at the cessation of hostilities. He was a short and balding man, dressed simply in a dark suit covered in a white cassock. Incarnation had not suppressed his ardour, and Atsugi found his deep passion intense and inspirational.
“Satan is God’s adversary. Satan led Adam and Eve into sin. Satan led the Emperor and the military government into sin and a war where millions on all sides lost their lives. Families lost fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters.” The priest wiped his brow with a handkerchief and looked at his congregation who were standing, listening carefully.
“Now we may imagine that Satan has been trounced. But we must be forever vigilant.” He spoke slowly. His voice rose a nocturn. “Even now in Korea, there is a new government in the North, backed by the communists. This is an ideology that denies the existence of God!”
The priest’s voice became louder. “The Communists, directed by Satan, are cracking down on believers. Churches are being forced to close. Many Christians are fleeing south as refugees, desperate to worship in freedom. Kim Il-Sung who was born to proud Presbyterian parents has renounced his faith. The tyranny of colonial rule has been replaced by godless atheism.”
This was a shocking revelation to absorb. It gave an entirely different perspective on Kim Il-Sung. For Atsugi it shattered Pak’s claim Northern Korea was entering a period of enlightenment.
The following week, his mind having churned for days. Atsugi decided once more to write to General Macarthur. He needed to voice his concerns and request the General's personal involvement.
Given the gravity of the topic, and to arrange his thoughts more clearly, Atsugi rose earlier than normal for several days in succession. He mentally wrote the letter paragraph by paragraph, several times over until he was happy with its structure. Finally in early May, composed and settled with his thinking. Atsugi painstakingly typed the letter one evening after classes had finished.
“Dear Honourable and Supreme Excellency General MacArthur,
Private and Confidential
Once more I offer you my sincere greetings from Kobe. My name is Paul Yasuo Atsugi, a music teacher at Kobe First Municipal Junior High School. I also assist at the recently opened Kongo Gakuen Korean school on Saturdays. Your Excellency may recall that I have written previously concerning the severe food shortages which we are enduring and also the tragic plight of Korean nationals in Japan. Here in Kobe there are over 50,000 but treated as a minority and denied their democratic rights. I fear this will have terrible repercussions for the nation’s stability.
I must confess that I was not familiar with Communist thinking until recently. During the war years, it was so thoroughly suppressed by the military authorities that most Japanese had only a limited grasp of its teachings. However, it is recently re-emerging and I fear your administration is unaware of the dangers it poses.
I understand Your Excellency is a God fearing man, as I am. I believe that America should be a missionary of democracy and Christianity in Japan, they both have much in common. Communism clashes with man’s fundamental right of freedom of worship and therefore Christianity.
Is Your Excellency aware of the growing interest amongst Korean Japanese in Northern Korea and its communist ideology? I have found that some of the Kongo Gakuen teachers are sympathetic to communism. And contrary to Ministry guidelines openly share some of its teachings with students.
I strongly encourage Your Excellency to keep Coalition Forces in Japan until the country is fully democratised. If there is a Communist takeover in Japan after America leaves, democracy and Christianity will again be repressed.”
Atsugi took a break in typing, exhausted and mentally anguished. It was late and he carefully removed the half written letter from the typewriter not wishing it would be found by a colleague.
The following evening, he resumed typing and decided to share the closing revelation from the church sermon.
“At last Sunday’s address, the priest related a story of a Christian Korean born missionary couple who were conscripted to work in Japan during the war. They escaped and returned to their home in Pyongyang just before the atomic blast. Tragically they have been persecuted in Northern Korea by the new government, told church work is incompatible with communism and forced to flee south, once more! This couple has approached our Church in Kobe asking if we can help them return to Japan. It is difficult without official permission.
Your Excellency, I beg you to stand firm against these Communist threats.
I am your faithful servant
Paul Yasuo Atsugi, Music Teacher, Kobe First Municipal School, Chuo-Ku, Nozaki Dori, Kobe.”
Although none of his letters so far had been acknowledged by the General, Atsugi suspected that the reason was the omission of his address which this time he included.
The rain
Summer 1946
Towards the end of June the seasonal rain front developed hovering over Honshu. It brought new physical challenges to the destitute and homeless. For those who had built extemporary shelters near the steep hillsides to escape the bombed city plains, the risk of landslips was an ever present danger. In the cities, dwellers in cellars and old air raid shelters struggled with leaks, mouldy clothes and food that quickly spoiled. The least fortunate, sleeping under crude canvas sheets or in ruined buildings, were soaked through.
Rivers surged with seething dirty brown water and whirling debris. Bridge foundations already weakened by months of aerial onslaught were threatened. Trains were cancelled or delayed further diminishing the already stretched rail network. There were all the more delays than usual in distributing food rations to the starving population. The exception was the American military whose supplies moved by sea, port to port.
As the rain clouds finally dispersed, the stifling summer heat arrived with a vengeance. It lasted from the middl
e of July into September. There was little electricity to power ceiling fans even in public spaces. The better off walked under parasols or waved uchiwa, folding fans. Everyone sweated. They wore moth eaten caps or hats to protect from the sun’s rays, wiping their brows with old towels or handkerchiefs.
Mi-Chan continued to benefit from small gifts of chocolate and spam from Jared which she traded at Tengoku for cash. Combined with her wages, she was able to buy much needed food and medical supplies for Umma. But as much as she gave the family, their demands were greater still. There were critical repairs to the leaking cellar; the replacement of tattered clothing and bedding; and the purchase of essential cooking pots and pans. All in the context of rapidly escalating prices on the black market.
In a quandary, and unable to explain well to Jared in English, who in any case did not know her family situation, Mi-Chan decided to broach the topic with Oka-san.
Since joining the Rokko Garden Mi-Chan had become closer to Oka-san, who she perceived as trustworthy and accommodating. The opportune moment arrived late in the evening after the mid-summer Bon Odori festival when a special celebration event was hosted at the Rokko Garden.
Most of the American officers were unfamiliar with Buddhist ceremonies and traditions. So instead a decision was made to call it, ‘The Flowing Lantern Garden Party.’
In the sumptuous grounds of Shioya, the organisers revolved to centre the event around the largest fishpond in the gardens. It was home to bright orange, yellow and red Koi, water lilies, iris and hyacinth. As had become a hallmark at the Rokko Garden, planning and preparation of food, beverages and the musical entertainment had been extensive.
Oka-san’s musume had practised and perfected a gracefully choreographed Bon Odori dance; dressed in loose and traditional yukata robes. It culminated in the lighting of a small fleet of floating lanterns. They were set sail on the pond. Their winking candles drifting in the night air, a symbol to commemorate the souls of the dead, both American and Japanese. The Amphibious Eighth Dixie band trotted out an suitably titled tune called ‘Melancholy’ in the background.
The evening’s festivities finished with an elaborate and ear shattering firework display, organised by a platoon from the Amphibious Eighth.
Colonel James had been in two minds whether to approve their use. He feared it would provoke angst amongst the local population, plus at the time fireworks were still banned in America. Yet a delegation of officers convinced him it would boost military morale. They argued it was associated with Independence Day which had been celebrated three weeks earlier.
The fireworks were provided by Jared’s supply group through a local merchant who had contacts in Macau.
After the party had wound up, just before day break, as she was returning to her quarters, Mi-Chan came across Oka-san sitting in the dimly lit shadows of Rokko’s kitchen garden. She was alone, seated on a low brick wall next to a line of burgeoning tomatoes, quietly smoking a cigarette.
“Do you think I can join you?” asked Mi-Chan.
Oka-san smiled, did not say anything immediately but gestured her approval with her right hand upturned. Reaching into her Yukata she produced a curled pack of Camels and offered one to Mi-Chan.
“Thank you very much,” said Mi-Chan politely bowing her head. There was a few minutes of silence as they puffed away. Slowly the sky became lighter and they could see the wind gently rustling the fragrant lavender and basil plants that were growing around them.
“There’s nothing like a quiet cigarette,” mused Oka-san. “They’re also useful for keeping the mosquitos away.” She chuckled wryly to herself, patting away an insect. “These Camels are the soldier’s favourite,” continued Oka-san, “or at least that’s what Colonel James tells me.”
Mi-Chan having enjoyed a few drinks, responded casually, “that’s not surprising, given the amount he smokes!” Colonel James was seldom seen without a cigarette dangling from his lips. Reliable sources claimed that he smoked up to three packs a day.
Oka-san laughed. “They’re everywhere,” she added, asking rhetorically, “did you know they’re included in the men’s ration packs too?”
Mi-Chan liked and looked up to Oka-san. She was not just a typical Kansai character, business-like, mercurial and to the point, but she was also approachable and genuine. Oka-san also spoke very good English, which put her in a very unique position as a go-between. It earned her great respect from the musume and Americans.
According to one of Mi-Chan’s fellow courtesans, she had emigrated to America in the 1920s as a very young child with her family. She had only returned to Japan before the outbreak of hostilities. But no one knew precisely. So she understood better than anyone the customs and conventions of both Americans and Japanese. She was equally canny, in a position of significant influence, and Oka-san used it to her full advantage.
“Have you something you wish to share with me?” asked Oka-san presciently.
Mi-Chan was taken aback. She felt unmasked and naked. Pausing for a moment she gathering her thoughts and decided to be frank.
“As you know my family is Korean. My parents came here before the war and my father worked as a barber until he was killed in last summer’s bombing.” Mi-Chan rushed her words. “My mother was wounded, is in urgent need of medical help. This is why I came to work here. I give almost all of my wages to my family and in addition,” she stopped to catch her breath, “I’m lucky to receive presents from officers like Jared-san which I’m exchanging on the Yam’ichi for some extra money.” She slowed down and said solemnly, “it all goes to help my family.”
“I’m aware of this,” replied Oka-san. “A few small gifts here and there isn’t a major issue. But if it becomes substantial there will be a crackdown.”
By now, the sun had risen and they could both feel the air heating up. “Colonel James is aware that a large amount of PX stock is ending up on the Yam’ichi. And there are a few soldiers, and officers, who are making vast amounts of money.” She looked around, “so discretion is important.”
“Can you give me a hand please Oka-san?” asked Mi-Chan her voice rising. “There is a trustworthy trader call Tengoku in Osaka and they are keen to buy more chocolate and spam. I don’t have access to the PX and it’s not easy to discuss with Jared-san.”
Oka-san nodded her head. “Ok, I can help and this is what I think we’ll do. As you may know I have access to the PX as we have to buy various foodstuffs and other items for use here at the Rokko Garden. The PX only takes Red Dollars a special currency only for use by the military. I can sell you a few extra cases per month of chocolate, you can pay me in Yen and I’ll manage the exchange.”
Mi-Chan smiled and said with relief, “thank you so much Oka-san.”
“Now it goes without saying, this is completely confidential and just between the two of us. Jared-san is not involved at all.”
Oka-san kept to her word and in the following month Mi-Chan travelled twice to Tengoku to exchange more chocolate and chewing gum for Yen. As the business grew so too did the risk of pilferage on the trains leading Mi-Chan to get an elaborate disguise for her cargo. She finally invested in a sturdy hessian made shoulder bag that carried the words ‘danger sodium hydroxide!’ on it in red. Another issue was the summer heat which caused some of the chocolate to melt and discolour, lowering its value. Consequently Mi-Chan persuaded Oka-san to sell her more tobacco and some higher priced liquor products. These increased her earnings substantially. True to her word, Mi-Chan did not reveal any of these transactions to Jared.
At the same time Mi-Chan continued to enjoy Jared’s attention at the weekly jazz dances and in addition twice a week in the late afternoons they would stroll aimlessly around the Rokko Garden’s grounds, arm in arm, smoking and giggling. Their relationship was not deep, language barriers prevented wholehearted and serious conversation, but they were both good looking, found each other physically attractive and enjoyed teasing each other.
Purity had always been an attribut
e on which Mi-Chan’s family had placed enormous value. At dinner time her father often repeated the old Korean ode. ‘Chastity for a women is more precious than life.’
He was acutely aware that his daughters were pretty and in wartime Japan particularly vulnerable as they were seen as third class citizens. On a number of occasions when he had seen customers paying her compliments, he had warned Mi-Chan about the dangers of being, ‘a flower on the roadside for any man to pick.’
These messages had sunk home with Mi-Chan and on several occasions when Jared’s playful cavorting had breached her sensibilities, she had gently but firmly pushed back. She limited their physical interactions to cuddling and some longer lasting kissing.
One Tuesday afternoon in early August they strolled around the grounds and went inside the old monkey house. It was a wood framed structure with panelled sides and a thick rice straw roof, and sat on an antiquated bench. The inside was musty, so Jared removed his jacket and Mi-Chan started fanning herself to cool down.
“Let me do that!” exclaimed Jared and waved the fan frenetically in front of Mi-Chan’s face.
“That’s great,” said Mi-Chan after a while, “I’m so cool.” They both laughed. Jared reached into his jacket for tobacco and simultaneously produced a small package packed inside a purple velvet bag.
“This is for you,” said Jared. He smiled and handed it to her.
Mi-Chan blushed and savoured the feel of the velvet as she rotated the package in her hands. Carefully she untied the string, reached inside and pulled out a dark brown and cream mottled leather purse. Its bright metallic clasp with the neatly etched letters ‘Hermes’ caught Mi-Chan’s attention.
Mi-Chan was stunned, it was an incredible gift, the like of which she had ever seen before.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeated.
The Naked Blood of the Cherry Blossoms Page 7