He said nothing.
"Goddammit, Matsuo, I should pull out my .45 right now and shoot you in the leg and drag you on board and save your goddamn life."
"A true friend would never keep another friend from doing what he must do.”
I released his hand.
He untied the mooring ropes, waited till I pull-started the motor, then kicked us out into the gentle current. I opened the throttle to full. We were cutting this awfully close, but we were moving downstream. Hopefully that would give us extra speed.
"Wave to your father," I told Naka in Japanese. I felt as if someone were choking me.
Naka waved. We all waved. Matsuo waved back until he was lost in the shadows and the mist clinging to the water.
* * *
"I have a very bad feeling about this," Hiroki said as he sat next to Shimazu in the rear of the car.
The sun hung like a bright ball over Hiroshima Bay, warming the city. Despite the shady interior of the car and a lightweight kimono, Hiroki was sweating profusely. It wasn't that hot yet.
"Matsuo is playing some sort of game with us. It's not in his character to give up without a fight. There's a catch here, a trick of some sort."
"Possibly," Shimazu said from behind his mask. "That's why we have brought the Kempeitai along."
Hiroki glanced ahead at the eight members of the military secret police marching before the car. Eight more followed. They afforded scant comfort to his already jangled nerves. The howl of the air raid siren shortly after seven o'clock this morning during breakfast at the ryokan had ruined his appetite. Fortunately, only the single warning blast had sounded; the intermittent wails signaling a definite attack never came. The all-clear had sounded while Hiroki was waiting for Shimazu to meet him at the ryokan.
Shimazu continued. "But I doubt there's a trick here. It was a trade on your brother's part. Himself for the children. I read in his face a sincere desire to surrender to you."
"He will be armed and I will not."
"That is your greatest protection. I was glad you were safely away at the ryokan last night. He was looking for you, I'm sure to engage you in combat and slay you. But no matter how much hatred there might be between you, he will not attack an unarmed man. If there is one thing I know about your brother, it is that."
Hiroki had to agree with his master. Matsuo considered himself a samurai, like Nagata. He would follow the code. Still, after seeing the carnage his brother had wrought upon the Order last night, he felt as if he were about to stand naked before a runaway killing machine.
* * *
As Matsuo approached the Aioi Bridge, he spied a patch of wild daisies growing at the northeast corner. He picked one and carried it to the center of the span where he laid it on the railing.
Not long now.
He had had a bad moment earlier when the air raid siren had gone off. He thought LeMay had jumped the gun. But when the single plane had made two passes back and forth over the city at about thirty thousand feet, then flown off, he knew it was a weather-scout checking to see if the target was visible.
It was visible, all right. A clear, bright, beautiful morning with the city awakening to greet it. He wished Hiroshima was still asleep. It would have made these moments so much easier.
But the place was alive and bustling with activity: children going to school, people going to work or to the market, walking, riding bicycles, pushing carts, pulling rickshas, especially here on the Aioi Bridge. The bridge was a T-shaped structure straddling a branch of the Ota River at a crotch where it subdivided into two more channels. It connected three of Hiroshima's five "islands." People passing by glanced at his torn, bloody uniform and looked away. He wondered what they made of him.
As the sun warmed the bridge, Matsuo looked around at the sea of white walls and black-tiled roofs. Two structures dominated the scene. High on a mound, Hiroshima Castle stood dark and imposing inside its moat to the northeast, with Mount Futaba rising behind it. He could hear the sound of the soldiers in the garrison doing their morning calisthenics in its courtyard. Just southeast of where he stood was the domed Industrial Promotion Hall at the water's edge. Someone was opening a row of windows on the second floor. Rising beyond that was the tower of the radio station. To the west a cadre of youths and older men began their day's work clearing the local fire lanes.
Only minutes left to live—all of us.
He felt as much at odds with the world around him as ever, but inside he was strangely at peace. No longer was he warring with the American within. He had at last come to terms with that part of himself. He knew that what he had done in the past week would have been impossible for someone raised as a pure Japan man.
But did I make the right choice?
He looked at the people passing and wanted to weep, wanted to stop each one and apologize for what was about to happen. But he could not apologize to everyone about to die. That was why he was here on the bridge. Not because he wanted to die. He wanted so very much to live.
He had so many things he wanted to do, to see, so many things he would miss—Japan and its spirit, the children he would never have, and Meiko. But he had condemned this city and its people. If not for him, the atomic bomb would be flying somewhere else right now and everyone around him here would go on with their lives through the morning and into the afternoon with only the news of some terrible new weapon destroying a faraway city to disturb them. But their morning was going to end as it was just beginning.
Because of me.
He had done it to ensure the extinction of the Kakureta Kao. He had to share the fate of the innocents of Hiroshima. He owed them that much, at least.
And Hiroki had to share that fate as well.
He glanced at his watch. Almost eight o'clock. Where was Hiroki? The bomb would be overhead at any moment.
And then he saw the marching Kempeitai and the car. They stopped at the edge of the bridge. Hiroki got out. Before he closed the door, Matsuo spotted a masked figure in the backseat.
Shimazu, too. Excellent.
* * *
We waited on the bottom of the Inland Sea about twenty-five miles out of Hiroshima. I spent the time with Naka and the boys. They were awed and thrilled by the sub. I managed to lose myself in their excited smiles until a quarter to eight when we surfaced.
This is it.
Lookouts were posted on the conning tower and movie cameras were set up on the deck pointing due west toward Hiroshima. Nobody on board knew what was supposed to happen. All they had been told was that a new "superweapon" was going to be used on Hiroshima at 8:00 A.M. and they were to record the event from out here.
Only it wasn't going to happen precisely at eight. The Enola Gay was running about fifteen minutes late. The first mate handed me a pair of Polaroid welder's goggles and invited me up to see the "big bang." I left the kids with a couple of seamen who had taken to them and went on deck. I couldn't believe a single bomb could yield a blast as powerful as the one Matsuo had described. I wanted to see this for myself. Besides, I felt I owed it to Matsuo.
As I stood on the deck and waited, I wondered how I was going to explain this to Meiko, and wondered what my future with Naka would be. I wanted to get to know him, be a father to him. He'd need one. And despite all that had happened, I wanted to be near Meiko, too. Maybe we could work something out.
The men on the deck grew quiet. The breeze died. Even the usually noisy gulls, wheeling, dipping, and gliding over the sub, became silent. Nature sensed the coming cataclysm. The only sound was the gentle lap of the Inland Sea against the hull, and the laughter of Naka and the boys playing below.
* * *
Hiroki swallowed hard as he approached Matsuo. He tightened his hands into fists to hide the trembling of his fingers. At least he had sixteen Kempeitai with ready rifles behind him. He had almost failed to recognize his brother among the people thronging across the bridge. Leaning on the railing in his torn, bloody Navy tunic with all its insignia cut off, a smile on his
lacerated, blood-smeared face, and a daisho in his belt, he looked deranged.
"I see you've brought company," Matsuo said, bowing with exaggerated respect. "Welcome to my new office."
He's a madman.
"You—you wanted to surrender?"
"Yes, dear brother."
The Kempeitai raised their weapons and Hiroki could not help flinching as Matsuo reached for his swords. But he left them in their scabbards as he removed them from his belt. He presented the daisho to Hiroki with both hands, holding it horizontally, scabbards first. Hiroki took the swords and quickly tucked them under his arm. He should have felt safe now, but he did not.
He saw Matsuo glance quickly at his watch and frown.
"I am now your prisoner."
"This is not like you.”
Matsuo shrugged and smiled. "It doesn't matter anymore."
"Very well."
He could not understand his brother's attitude. Something was wrong here. He wanted to be away from Matsuo as soon as possible. Hiroki turned to motion the Kempeitai forward. They would escort Matsuo back to the tin factory where the Order would deal with him.
"Wait," Matsuo said. "Let's talk a minute. About Father."
Hiroki stiffened. "What is there to say? He could not face the disgrace you brought upon him."
"I brought? Or you brought?" Matsuo was not smiling now. "He wanted me to see the Emperor. You betrayed us both."
That stung. It was not his fault Father had committed seppuku—it was Matsuo's. But he kept his face expressionless. He wanted Matsuo calm until the Kempeitai led him away to a safe distance.
"I suppose I am partially to blame," he said in a mollifying tone. "I have had the advantage of knowing how this war will end since long before it began."
"Oh, really? How did you know that?"
Hiroki saw him glance at his watch again.
Why does he keep doing that? What's he waiting for?
"The Seers have predicted it."
Matsuo smiled again. "The Seers are wrong."
"The Seers are never wrong. They predicted the initial victories, the ensuing defeats, the return of the Kuroikaze, and then, in our darkest hour, the blazing light from above, bright as the sun—the Emperor ascendant in final victory."
His brother's eyes widened. " ‘Blazing light from above'? ‘Bright as the sun'?" He began to laugh, a harsh sound, tinged with hysteria, devoid of humor.
"Do not mock what you cannot comprehend."
"I'm not mocking your Seers—only your interpretation. I congratulate them. They foresaw the atomic bomb."
He laughed again, derisively. The sound nudged Hiroki past fury into rage. His hand found the grip of the katana Matsuo had handed him.
"Be silent or I'll cut you down where you stand."
Matsuo grinned and threw his arms wide. "Yes! Go ahead! Do it!"
Hiroki unsheathed the blade half its length.
* * *
Shimazu started forward in his seat in the rear of the car as he saw the partially bared blade of the sword gleam in the sun at Hiroki's side.
"No!"
The younger Okumo seemed to be taunting Hiroki, daring him to kill him.
It mustn't happen!
And then suddenly the gleam died as the blade was thrust back into the scabbard. Shimazu slumped back in the seat, drenched with perspiration. He tapped the driver on the shoulder.
"Get out and tell the Kempeitai I said to take him into custody now. Immediately!"
* * *
"I . . . can't," Hiroki said as he slammed the sword back into the scabbard.
Matsuo noted that his brother had to force himself to let go of the grip. He realized with a pang that he should have sent Nagata's daisho back with Frank, to save them for Naka. Now the swords would be melted to slag in the coming atomic fire.
He glanced at his watch again: 8:13.
Where is that plane? Isn't it coming?
He had to keep Hiroki here, keep him talking. And he had to keep his rage and loathing under control. That was the hardest part. Visions of those paralyzed, eyeless, tongueless, mutilated children flashed before him, and he felt murder blow through his heart like a blast of arctic wind.
His own brother…how could he have been a party to such a thing?
"Why can't you?" he said, blandly. "Brotherly love?"
"I am forbidden—by another vision."
"Really? How interesting. What did this one say?"
"That if either of us killed the other, the Order would be doomed. But enough of this. It's time to go."
Suddenly Matsuo heard the sound of a plane. He looked up and saw a high-flying B-29, a black speck in the blue. A mile behind it came a second plane, and a mile behind that, a third.
Better late than never, as the Americans say.
Matsuo stepped toward his brother. In a single seamless motion he pulled his katana free, leaving its scabbard still clamped under Hiroki's arm. The blades strange, mottled surface reflected the morning sun as he drew it back over his right shoulder. This was the moment. No turning back.
"This is for the children!"
He put all his strength into the stroke, bringing the blade around in a horizontal arc and severing his brother's head cleanly from his body.
As twin geysers of crimson shot from the stump of Hiroki's neck, Matsuo swung his blade in the faces of the astonished Kempeitai and charged the car where Shimazu sat. With luck, he would make it that far before—
—blazing light from above turned all the world intolerably white, intolerably hot.
* * *
Across twenty-five miles, through the shaded thickness of my welder's goggles, I winced at the brightness of the flash. I saw the gigantic rising fireball, heard the rolling thunder that followed, watched the water ripple with the shock wave.
I was staggered by the incalculable fury of the weapon. But not so the other men with me. They were whooping, cheering, and dancing about on the deck. I stood there like a Puritan minister at a wild New Year's Eve party, clenching my jaw as I watched the mushroom cloud that held the ashes of my boyhood friend, Matsuo Okumo.
Nothing left to say, nothing left to do but begin healing the wounds. I tore off the goggles and pushed through the revelers as I headed below to be with my son.
Our son.
October 1985–September 1987
San Francisco
Oahu and Maui
The Jersey Shore
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Credit for the accuracy of the facts and figures used in the novel, the descriptions of people, times, and places that no longer exist, belongs to the authors of the following books. Black Wind is much richer as a result of their work.
Bauer, Helen, and Sherwin Carlquist. Japanese Festivals. Tokyo: Tuttle, 1974.
Benedict, Ruth. The Chrysanthemum and the Sword. New York: Meridian, 1967.
Campbell, J. W. The Atomic Story. New York: Henry Holt, 1947.
Costello, John. The Pacific War 1941-1945. New York: Quill, 1982.
Fuchida, Mitsuo, and Masatake Okumiya. Midway. New York: Ballantine Books, 1958.
Guillain, Robert. I Saw Tokyo Burning. New York: Doubleday, 1981.
Hershey, John. Hiroshima. New York: Bantam, 1948.
Hoehling, A. A. December 7, 1941: The Day the Admirals Slept Late. New York: Zebra Books, 1983.
LeMay, Curtis E. Mission With LeMay. New York: Doubleday, 1965.
Lord, Walter. Day of Infamy. New York: Bantam, 1958.
Mosley, Leonard. Hirohito. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1966.
Prange, Gordon W. At Dawn We Slept. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1981.
Reid, Howard, and Michael Croucher. The Fighting Arts. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1983.
Sheehan, Ed. Days of '41. Honolulu: Pearl Harbor—Honolulu Branch 46 Fleet Reserve, 1976.
Thomas, Gordon, and Max Morgan Witts. Enola Gay. New York: Pocket Books, 1978.
Toland, John. The Rising Sun. New York: Random House, 1970.
Varle
y, H. Paul. Japanese Culture. Tokyo: Tuttle, 1974.
Copyright © 1988 by F. Paul Wilson
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