Throughout Kyūzō continued speaking. He first asked about the man’s name and profession. The man told him that his name was Ōkane Yasuo, but he was vague and evasive about his profession. Kyūzō then asked if the man knew some way to return to Japan. “But of course you saved my life, and I am extremely happy for all that you have done for me now,” he added, awkwardly mixing in words of thanks. Yet the man again made no reply. Kyūzō now began to speak about himself. He was anxious that everything might turn into a dream and vanish if he closed his mouth. Besides, this man Ōkane was listening quite intently. Ōkane seemed particularly interested in the subject of Kō’s vest. Exhausted, Kyūzō did not find his interest especially suspicious, however, and proceeded to tell him everything as prompted.
Kyūzō awoke the next morning to the sound of Ōkane returning from somewhere. Gazing up at the sky from the window, Ōkane cursed for some reason, and then removed from his rucksack a safety razor, moistened it with saliva, and began shaving quickly.
“Last night you talked about a fellow named Kō. I just went to a friend’s place to check your story and it seems that it’s true.”
“Did you find out where Kō is?”
“That’s not what I said. I just heard about him. But it seems that this guy is a huge faker. It was a good idea to use you as a hiding place. He split the heroin with the guy who gave him information.”
As Ōkane explained, the situation was more or less as follows. Two years ago, having received information about the location of some heroin as well as travel expenses from a crime boss, Kō entered the occupation zone of the Eighth Route Army together with two friends. Two years passed without any word from them before Kō suddenly returned three days ago. He was alone and empty-handed. Rather than talk about the drugs, he harped on and on about his bitter disappointment in failing to sell the freight car. Of course the client sent men over to check Kō’s lodgings and also waylaid him to search his person. Yet it seemed that Kō was telling the truth. Rumors of the train incident had already become well known here. And Kō’s reputation correspondingly increased in value. Apart from the disappearance of his two friends, his failure with the drugs naturally came to be overlooked. Besides, the men who disappeared were, in a word, unlucky. At this point, it was no longer important to speak about those unlucky men.
“So then where’s Kō?”
Silently Ōkane patted his freshly shaven jaw, which was now covered with nicks and cuts, and looked closely at Kyūzō as if sizing him up. Approaching Kyūzō, he squeezed the base of his shoulder.
“You stink,” Ōkane remarked, curling his upper lip. “Now then, you do feel like doing some work, right?”
“Yes, I’ll do anything.”
“All right. Then perhaps I’ll take you along.”
“To see Kō?”
“No, to a seaside town called Shacheng. You can board our ship there.”
Shacheng … Shacheng. Right, that’s the town where smugglers come that Kō and the soldier had been talking about in the truck … Smiling, Kyūzō grit his teeth and tried hard to control the feelings that were twitching inside him.
“Hurry up,” urged Ōkane as he carefully wiped the razor blade on the cuff of his trousers before wrapping it in paper and placing it in his breast pocket. “Fold up the bedding now and return it to the neighbor.”
XXXI
Near dusk, two wagons left the outskirts of Shenyang heading south. The wagon driver cracked his whip, urging on the horses. They had to leave the area under martial law before sunset.
Above the receding town, which was flat and gray, the top of the enormous water tower shone red in the evening sun. Kyūzō’s thoughts dwelled on the dog-catching youth, who was no doubt under the water tower. Perhaps he didn’t know what else to think about.
Gazing up at the sky, Ōkane continued to grumble. Their departure schedule had been moved up a day on account of the weather. A heavy, strangely lukewarm wind had been blowing since morning. There were fears that the ice upstream would melt, causing the river to overflow. Because of this, it seemed that Ōkane had failed to procure some important goods.
In one group, there was a total of six people apart from the wagon driver. Ōkane, Kyūzō, and a whitish, small-eyed Chinese man named Zhao sat in the rear wagon; Zhao’s younger brother and two burly employees rode in the front. Zhao’s Japanese was poor, as was Ōkane’s Chinese, so Kyūzō was forced at times to interpret for them.
From the conversation of the two men, Kyūzō was able to learn that the wagon cargo included such things as oil, sugar, cotton fabric, and medicinal alcohol, and that the Zhao brothers were major brokers in Shenyang who were close business associates of Ōkane’s. Yet Zhao didn’t seem to have any good feelings regarding Ōkane’s present visit to Shenyang. “Because if you have control of the sea, then I have control of the land,” he remarked, smiling pleasantly. However, even Kyūzō could immediately see that Zhao was not genuinely pleased. “Then it’s your turn now to come aboard the Tōkōmaru,” Ōkane replied in an attempt at casual evasion. “No, I don’t like ships,” Zhao declared without compromise.
Kyūzō was growing all the more nervous. Looking for a break in their conversation, he quickly cut in.
“What is Japan like now?”
Ōkane looked relieved to escape Zhao’s displeasure. “Let me see …” he began. Removing his glove, he adjusted the large, name-engraved ring on his middle finger. “In short, it’s entirely burned up. When I left, the prime minister was, I think, Katayama. But he might have already quit … Well, there will be Japanese newspapers on board the ship. Lots of things are written there.”
“I suppose the cherry trees have all burned down too.”
“Cherry trees? Who cares about cherry trees?”
“I’ve never seen one yet!”
“Who cares about such things? You’re a strange one.”
Ōkane blew his nose as he smiled. Rather than use his fingers, he took out a handkerchief and blew into it.
Zhao began talking about the market price of fountain pens and penicillin as Kyūzō grew sleepy. He dreamt. As always, he dreamt of Baharin.
The next morning, everyone alighted when they stopped at a small mountain village by a brook. Hiring three coolies, Zhao took out some pistols from beneath the wagon and distributed them to everyone except the coolies and Kyūzō. He then divided up the cargo so that each person carried packages on their shoulders. Kyūzō felt dejected when he realized that the trip was not going to be an easy one. Nevertheless, it seemed that last night they had safely passed through the battle line between the Nationalists and Eighth Route Army, which was the most difficult part of the journey.
The party boarded a train in a town at the bottom of the mountain. The single passenger car was full. Kyūzō climbed up on the roof together with Zhao’s brother. The dirty smoke and soot were annoying, but the train moved slowly and so was not dangerous. After three hours, the sea appeared far off on the right, shining a milky white. Zhao’s brother told Kyūzō that that was Liaodong Bay. He grinned broadly, his cheeks naturally relaxing. However, that was not the sea where they were heading. They traveled another two hours before getting off at a small station called Pingshui.
They stayed overnight at a small inn located in front of the station. Kyūzō slept together with the coolies atop a woven mat spread out on the earthen floor. The group would now finally cross the Liaodong Peninsula, which seemed to be the final part of the journey. Kyūzō was too excited to sleep. As a result, the mountain crossing the next day felt even more painful than all the suffering he had previously endured. They departed at 5:00 A.M. Visibility was poor on the mountain, which contained an unusually large number of trees. Zhao had to put down his packages midway. Ōkane began limping. The back part of Kyūzō’s right shoe completely tore apart, and his foot rubbed directly against the ground. When they arrived at the base of the mountain, it was already near evening.
There they hired another wagon. The backs of e
ach of the horses were adorned with red banners. Everyone was too exhausted to really speak. They were stopped for questioning late at night. Zhao produced what appeared to be a certificate and uttered the name of some long, incomprehensible union, explaining that the goods were to be brought there. They were quickly allowed to pass. The soldier was extremely quiet and mild mannered. Sound asleep, Kyūzō didn’t remember anything else.
Shaken awake, he noticed a strange smell in the air. It was the smell of fish. He thought that he heard the rustling of bushes, but it was the sound of waves. However, he could see nothing. The night was so dark that he had to grope about just to stand still.
The beam of the flashlight slipped on the bellies of the panting horses, circled about, fell to the ground before quickly rebounding, and then jumped to Kyūzō’s face.
“We’re at the sea,” Ōkane announced.
Shivering, Kyūzō nodded in silence.
“You cold?”
Kyūzō shook his head with a toothy smile, but continued shivering.
In front of a long, gentle slope lay a small, rotting dock, and a large, wide barge sat level next to it. Hurried footsteps soon made their way back and forth. Low, sharp rallying cries were exchanged, weaving their way through the darkness. Wet, heavy footsteps treading on the wooden floor of the barge. Slapping waves blocked by the gunwale. Packages were piled atop packages. Wooden boxes, jute bags, and woven baskets that could only be packages for moving. It was incredible that they had carried so much stuff! Kyūzō lost his footing, and one of his feet plunged into the sea. He instinctively screamed out at the cold, but this scream turned to laughter. Roughly dragging him back up, Ōkane struck him on the ear with the back of his glove. “No playing around!” he yelled.
XXXII
The ship should be waiting on the other side of the island, about one hour away. Kyūzō no longer knew which direction was east or west. Soon a dark, flat silhouette appeared in front of them: that might be an island. A small yellow light suddenly flashed to the right. Turning around, Kyūzō thought that he faintly heard the sharp rhythm of an engine. In both directions, there appeared a gap in the clouds that was somewhat higher than the horizon. The gap was a dark gray inside, around which could be seen a faint tinge of red. That was probably east.
A gentle wind blew in spurts. The gap in the clouds gradually expanded, increasing the reddish tinge, and as the darkness settled and grew in color, it came to be absorbed within the shape of things. Suddenly, Kyūzō realized, the sea surrounded them on all four sides. Its color had become even darker, and only the crest of the waves took on the same gray as the gap in the clouds. It was not unlike dawn in the wasteland. However, the waves of the wasteland were the claws of wild beasts. In comparison, the waves of the sea were like a woman’s hair. In the wasteland there was not enough air; here, however, there was more than enough. Kyūzō felt so unsettled that he wanted to scream, to sleep, to laugh uncontrollably.
The ship came into sight. It was obviously small and insubstantial. “What is its tonnage?” “A bit over one hundred tons” came the reply, but Kyūzō didn’t understand what that meant. Yet he was concerned that the steamboat of his fantasies was far too flimsy and tarnished with a corrosive agent. Nevertheless, he settled down by telling himself that such a ship was perfectly suited to him.
“Hey!” hailed a voice from the ship.
“Hey!” Ōkane called back as loudly as possible.
“Everything all right?”
“Hey! Has the cargo arrived from the first delivery?”
“Yes.”
“Here’s the rope!”
“Hey, lower the water pipe!”
The sound of the winch engaging the chain, the sound of the ship planks banging together, the light of the square hand lantern illuminating the ship’s side, the filthy gray surface of the ship that appeared not to have been repainted in years, the shouting, the rhythm of the engine as it accelerated in spurts, the sound of whistling … The zeal for work reappeared, overwhelming the listless slapping of the waves. Kyūzō ambled about, wondering what he might do to help. Yet everyone’s actions were linked together like a machine that was interconnected by joints, and he had no idea how he might contribute. Besides, if possible, he probably wanted to remain still. He wanted to stay right where he was and savor the wonderful taste of being alive.
The gangway was lowered.
“You’re fine. Come on,” Ōkane urged, grabbing Kyūzō by the arm. At the top of the ramp he turned to Kyūzō. “Take one step up and you’ll be in Japanese territory. Still …”
Kyūzō couldn’t make out what Ōkane said after that. Yet he felt quite somber. He set down his right foot, the one without a shoe heel. I’ll never forget this moment, he thought to himself.
“Good work,” greeted a large, hunchbacked man, leaning against the wall of the bridge. He spoke in an extremely deep, shapeless voice. He appeared quite unenthusiastic, which was ill suited to such a place.
“Hello, doctor,” Ōkane replied in a lively voice, approaching the hunchback and whispering something in his ear. It was probably about Kyūzō, as the man peered at him from behind Ōkane’s shoulder.
“Good work!” sang out someone who looked like a sailor, running in between the two men.
(“How about it? Look! Everyone’s Japanese!”)
From the stern came angry shouts like the spewing of gathered spit. “Turn it more slowly!” “Idiot, the draft in front is too low!” “Remove the pipe, and turn that large one to two. Two!” “Idiot!”
“Hey, captain.” Ōkane called out to that voice. “I brought an interesting guest.”
“Save it for later.”
The hunchback snickered. As the captain was about to pass by, Ōkane used his weight to push him back, quickly whispering something. The captain shone his flashlight in Kyūzō’s face for an instant before turning it off. “It’s bright enough now that you don’t need to do that,” thought Kyūzō disagreeably. In fact, he could see the captain’s face quite clearly. He was a young man, thirty-two or -three years old, small, with no distinguishing features. The only things that stood out were his dark-blue uniform with gold stripes and his regulation cap, which he wore so slanted that one of his ears was bent. Kyūzō somehow found himself deep in thought as he gazed at the way the captain wore his cap. That’s right, the war’s over, he reflected. The captain, too, appeared quite curious. “That’s fine,” he remarked. Making no reply to Kyūzō’s bow, however, he impatiently fidgeted, banged his hand abruptly against the wall of the bridge, peered at the ship’s side, and, as if recalling something, walked off toward the stern. “But make sure that the stranger doesn’t come on deck when we’re working!” he warned.
“That’s why I’m now going to …” Ōkane began to say, but the captain had already left. Ōkane and the doctor looked at each other with a smile.
As Ōkane opened the door of the bridge, the hum of the engine suddenly shot up. The sticky smell of fuel oil and paint mixed together, penetrating all the way to the back of one’s eyes. As the two men descended the narrow iron ladder, a heavy echo resounded throughout the surrounding walls, appearing to bounce back from several kilometers ahead. A drowsy yellow lamp. Heat that was so sticky that it could not be properly absorbed.
“Is that person a real doctor?”
“You could say that.”
“When is the ship leaving?”
Making no reply, Ōkane peered into the engine room and seemed about to say something when he suddenly closed his mouth in surprise. In the middle of the room, which was covered with oil, surrounded by machinery, and had a low ceiling, a man stood motionless, a shirt wrapped around his head and a cigarette in his mouth.
“You looking at this?” Stopping the engine, the man waved the cigarette between his fingers. There was the trace of a cruel smile on his lower lip. “I plan to blow up this ship.”
“Stop joking.”
“I’m the one who decides things here. Hurry up and ca
ll the southern barbarian. Is there no one in the bridge?”
“In any case, I’ll tell the captain.”
“About what?”
“About the southern barbarian,” Ōkane replied with a contemptuous snort. “In any case, will you look after this kid until we weigh anchor? He’s a pretty interesting guest.”
The man said nothing. Gazing idly at Kyūzō, he merely thrust out his lower lip.
“I’m counting on you,” Ōkane reminded the man before turning to Kyūzō. “Don’t be so eager to ask questions. The chief engineer isn’t one for chatting.”
As soon as Ōkane left, the man pinched the lit end of his cigarette, carefully stubbing it out as he collected the sparks in his palm so that they wouldn’t scatter. Kyūzō waited for the man to begin speaking to him. However, the man placed his hand inside a tangle of pipes, loosened some valve, and listened closely to the hiss of the released air. He repeated this action, never bothering to turn around. Kyūzō removed his coat but, still unable to bear the heat, undid the buttons of his jacket. Unconsciously he thrust his fingers into his pants and began scratching the area around his hipbone, which was now completely covered in scabs. Damn it, he said to himself, doesn’t this man realize how happy I am? It would have been nice if he had listened more carefully to Ōkane. Look, didn’t Ōkane say that I’m an interesting guest? If you knew all the things I’ve been through, then you’d realize how lucky you are now … “Stand by!” The bell rang, and the captain’s irritated voice could be heard through the speaking tube. “Hey!” Casting a quick glance around the machinery, the man shouted back, “The southern barbarian hasn’t come yet!” He opened a spigot, removed a valve, closed the right handle, adjusted the left handle, pushed a button, and then spun the flywheel. The entire room began to shake as the engine started. Slowly turning the handle, the man reduced the engine speed. Kyūzō gasped, his forehead dripping with sweat.