Number9Dream (37 page)

Windy conditions. Sea choppy. The perimeter fence of the kaiten base encloses an area of approximately six baseball grounds, and accommodates between 500 and 600 men. Security is tight – even the islanders are unaware of the true purpose of the base. The base includes a barracks, refectory, three torpedo factories, a machine-shop to convert the mark 93 torpedoes to kaitens, an exercise yard, a ceremony square, administrative buildings, and the harbour. From the machine-shop, a narrow-gauge railway enters a tunnel blasted through 400 metres of rock to the kaiten launch pier, where training began tonight. I jankenned with Takashi Higuchi, a classmate from Nara, for the privilege of the first kaiten run co-piloted with Sub-Lt Kuroki. His stone beat my scissors! Never mind, my turn will come tomorrow.

Sultry, humid, hot weather. Tragedy has struck so soon. Last night, Sub-Lt Kuroki and Lt Higuchi failed to return from their run around the northern body of Otsushima. Frogmen spent the night searching for their kaiten. It was finally found shortly after dawn, a mere 300 metres from the launch pier, embedded in the sea-floor silt, 16 hours after launching. Although kaitens have two escape hatches, these may only be opened above water. Underwater, the water pressure clamps them closed. A kaiten contains enough air for about 10 hours – with two pilots, this time was halved. They ensured their sacrifices were not in vain by writing 2000 kana of technical data and observations, pertaining to the fatal malfunction. When their paper was used up, they scratched words on the cockpit wall with a screwdriver. We just returned from their cremation ceremony. Ens Nishina has sworn to carry the ashes of Kuroki aboard his kaiten when he meets his glory. The atmosphere on the base is one of mourning, obviously, but tempered with a determination that the lives of our brothers shall not be lost in vain. My own heart was burdened with guilt. I begged a private audience with Commandant Ujina and told him about how I felt a special responsibility to Higuchi’s soul. Cmdt Ujina promised to consider my request that I be included in the first sortie of kaiten attacks.

Weather extremely hot. Forgive the long silence, Takara. Training has swung into full gear, and finding even ten minutes to sit down with my journal during the day has been impossible. At night, I am asleep as my head touches my pillow. I have wonderful news. During the morning roll-call, the names for the first wave of kaiten attacks were announced and ‘Tsukiyama’ was among them! Kikusui is our unit emblem. This is the floating chrysanthemum crest of Masashige Kusunoki, champion of Emperor Godaigo. Kusunoki’s 700 warriors withstood an onslaught of 35,000 Ashikaga traitors at the Battle of Minatogawa, and only after sustaining 11 terrible wounds did he commit seppuku with his brother, Masasue. The symbolism is obvious. We are the 700. Our devotion to our beloved emperor is ultimate.

Four fleet subs will each transport 4 kaitens.
I-47
, captained by
the
Lt-Cdr Zenji Orita, will carry Ens Nishina, Sato, Watanabe, and Lt Fukuda.
I-36
will carry Lt Yoshimoto and Ens Toyozumi, Imanishi and Kudo. Aboard
I-37
will be Lt Kamibeppu and Murakami, and Ens Utsunomiya and Kondo.
I-333
, captained by Cpt Yokota, will transport Lts Abe and Goto, and Ens Kusakabe and Tsukiyama Subaru. After the announcement we were reallocated dorms, so members of the same sortie can sleep in the same room.
I-333
is on the second floor, at the end, overlooking the rice terraces. At night the croaking of frogs drowns out the foundries. I remember our room in Nagasaki.

Weather cool and calm. Sea as smooth as Nakajima river where we sailed our model yachts. Today I will write about our training. After breakfast we divide into Chrysanthemums and Drys. Because there are only 6 kaitens available for training, we are given priority practice privileges. At 0830 we proceed through the tunnel to the kaiten pier. After boarding, a crane lowers us into the sea. Usually we sail two to a cockpit. Of course, we have no room, but this doubling up helps to save fuel, and ‘a drop of petrol is as precious as a drop of blood’. Our instructor knocks on the hull, and we knock back to show we are ready to embark. First we run through a series of descents. Then we solve a navigation problem, using a stopwatch and gyrocompass. We locate a target ship, and simulate a hit by passing under the bow. One must be careful not to clip the upper hatch on the keel – two kaiten pilots died in Base P this way. We also dread being stuck in silt, like Sub-Lt Kuroki and Lt Higuchi. If this misfortune occurs, one is supposed to blast compressed air into the warhead (filled with seawater rather than TNT) which should, in principle, buoy the kaiten to the surface. None of are eager to be the first to test this flotation theory. What we dread most, however, is surviving the loss of a training kaiten. This occurred to a hapless trainee from Yokohama five days ago. He was dismissed, and his name is never mentioned. After returning to the pier or the base harbour, depending on our course, we attend debriefing sessions to share our observations with the Drys. After the worst of the afternoon heat is over, we practise sumo wrestling, kendo fencing, athletics, rugby. Kaiten pilots must be in prime physical condition. Remember our father’s words, Takara: the body is the outermost layer of the mind.

Weather fine at first, clouding over by midday. As my training session was cancelled today owing to engine failure, I have a spare hour to write to you about my
I-333
brothers. Yutaka Abe is our leader, aged 24, of old Tokyo stock and a graduate of Peers. His father was aboard
Shimantogawa
at the glorious Battle of Tsushima back in 1905. Abe is a superhuman who excels in every field. Rowing, navigation, composing haiku. He let it slip that he has won every chess match he has played for the last 9 years. The motto on his kaiten is to be ‘Unerring Arrow of the Emperor’. Shigenobu Goto, aged 22, is from a merchant family in Osaka and has a wit that can kill at twenty paces. He gets love letters nearly every day from different girls, and complains about the lack of women on the base. Abe responds with a single word: Purity. Goto can impersonate anybody and anything. He even takes requests: Chinaman attacked by snake in privy; Tohoku fishwife being blown through tuba. He uses his voices to distract Abe when they play chess. Abe wins anyway. The message on Goto’s kaiten is to read: ‘Medicine for Yankees’. Our third member is Issa Kusakabe. Kusakabe is a year older than me, quiet, and reads anything he can get his hands on. Technical manuals, novels, poetry, old magazines from before the war. Anything. Mrs Oshige (our ‘mother’ on Otsushima, who believes we are testing a new type of submarine) arranged for a boy to bring Kusakabe books from the school library every week. He even has a volume of Shakespeare. Abe questioned whether the works of an effete Westerner were appropriate for a Japanese warrior. Kusakabe explained that Shakespeare is English kabuki. Abe said Shakespeare contained corrupting influences. Kusakabe asked which plays Abe was thinking of. Abe let it drop. After all, Kusakabe would not have volunteered to be a kaiten pilot if his ethics were in any way questionable. He is inscribing not a slogan, but a line of verse on his kaiten. ‘The foe may raise ten thousand shouts – we conquer without a single word.’ I must not neglect Slick, our unit chief engineer. His nickname is derived from his hands, which are always oily and black. Slick is one of the oldest men on the base. He is vague about his age, but he is old enough to be our father. Goto jokes that he probably is our father. Slick’s real children are his kaitens. By the way, I have elected to leave my kaiten without a motto. My sacrifice shall be its motto and its meaning.

I put the journal under the counter of Shooting Star to give my eyes a rest – the pages are laminated, but the pencil marks are fading away to ghost lines. Plus, many of the kanji are obscure, so I have to keep referring to a dictionary. I open a can of Diet Pepsi and survey my new empire: video racks, stacks, shelves. Mucus aliens, shiny gladiators, squeaky idols. Soft rock pumps away. In my week away the old shoe repairer next to Fujifilm has been turned into a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet. A spooky life-sized statute of Colonel Sanders stands outside, under a limp ‘Opening Fayre’ banner. He is as fat and grinny as a statue of Ebisu in a temple. Does KFC make you that fat?

Buntaro and Machiko will be on their JAL airplane now, somewhere over the Pacific. Buntaro was in a near-frenzy when I got back from my meeting with Mr Raizo, even though he had ninety minutes before the taxi came. What would happen if the computer crashed? If the monitor broke down? If it rains tap-dancing conger-eels? Machiko hauled him into the taxi. I I can watch anything on the monitor, but there are too many films to choose, so I leave the same Tom Hanks movie running all day. Nobody will notice. Between two and five, business is pretty quiet; once offices and schools start winding up I get much busier. The regulars gape when they see me – they immediately assume that Machiko has suffered a miscarriage. When I tell them the Ogisos are on holiday, they act as if I said Buntaro and his wife turned into teapots and flew to Tibet. The question of who I am is a trifle delicate – my scuzzy landlord sublets my capsule without troubling the tax office. Schoolkids cluster around horror, office ladies hire Hollywood movies with blond stars, salarymen hire titles like
Pam the Clam from Amsterdam
and
Hot Dog Academy
. Several customers bring videos back late – you always have to check the dates. Mrs Sasaki arrives at 7.30 – I dash upstairs to feed Cat, and then across to KFC to feed myself. Colonel Sanders’ chicken is made of sawdust. Mrs Sasaki tells me about my replacement at Ueno, which makes me sort of nostalgic for my old job. She leaves me the
Tokyo Star
– Monday has the jobs pages. If I want a career in kitchen portering, telesales, shelf-stacking or mailbox-stuffing then Tokyo is heaven on earth. Cat appears on the stairs – during my week in hiding she learned how to open my capsule door. I tell her to go back but she ignores me, and after replacing a stack of returned videos I find her settled on the counter chair, so I have to make do with a wobbly stool. Fujifilm says 10:26. Business drops off.

Hot weather, but cooler in the evenings now. I received your letter today, Takara, and the parcel from Mother and Yaeko containing the thousand-stitch belt. Given the special attack nature of my mission, the five-sen coins sewn into the belt will not avert death, but I shall wrap it around my middle every time I climb aboard my kaiten. Abe, Goto, Kusakabe and I read aloud our letters from home, and I was proud as Tengu when I told them my younger brother is already a junior squadron leader at the bullet factory. Your games resemble authentic military training – charging at Roosevelts and Churchills with bamboo bayonets. My thoughts are also with Yaeko at the parachute factory. Her stitches may save the lives of my former classmates at Nara Naval Air Academy. It must pain Mother to trade Tsukiyama family treasures for rice, but I know Father and our ancestors understand. War changes rules. It is wise of you to tape Xs over the windows, to guard against bomb blasts. Nagasaki was ever a most fortunate city, and if raids come the enemy will target the shipyards rather than our side of town. All the same, every precaution should be taken.

I will write a reply to your letter very soon. By now, you will understand why my reply fails to provide answers to all the questions you asked.

Weather: warm, mild, balmy. I am 20 years old today. To celebrate my birthday in a time of national emergency is inappropriate, so after a warhead study session I sneaked away before supper. I gratefully accepted the sunset as my birthday present. Inland Sea sunsets are special. Tonight’s was the colour of Yaeko’s plum preserve. Do you remember the story of Urashima Taro? About how he saved the giant turtle, and stayed in the undersea palace for three days, but upon his return three generations had come and gone? I wondered about how this place will look in ninety years, when the Greater East Asian War is but a distant memory. Bring your children to Otsushima when the war is won. The local sea bream is delicious, as are the Inland Sea oysters. I was about to return to the refectory, when Abe, Goto and Kusakabe appeared. Somehow Abe had found out about my birthday and told Mrs Oshige, who managed to prepare chicken skewers on a stick. Kusakabe built a fire and we had supper on the seashore and some home-brew sake which Goto appropriated from a canteen assistant. The drink was rough enough to paralyse our faces, but no meal ever tasted better, with the exception of Mother’s.

A warm morning, a muggy afternoon. An attack of flu has been around the base. I myself have been in the sickbay for 24 hours with a temperature of 39 degrees. I am recovering now. I suffered from strange dreams. In one, I was in my kaiten cruising around the Solomon Islands in search of an enemy aircraft carrier. Everything was so blue. I felt indestructible, like a shark. Suddenly Mrs Shiomi’s son, the boy who threw himself under a Russian tank with a bomb at Nomonhan, was in my kaiten. ‘Did nobody tell you?’ he said. ‘The war is over.’ I asked who won, and I saw than Shiomi’s eyes were missing. ‘The emperor entertains the Americans with duck shoots in the palace grounds. In this fashion he seeks to save his skin.’ I decided I should sail into Tokyo harbour and sink at least one enemy vessel, and pointed my kaiten north. The acceleration forced my body back, and when I woke I felt I was remembering being born, or perhaps dying, the last time or the next time. Kusakabe and Goto visited me later, to share notes they had taken in our navigation class, but I said nothing about my dream.

Drizzle all day. The Kikusui target sites were announced at a secret meeting this afternoon.
I-47
and
I-36
will head for Ulithi, a vast lagoon in the Philippines captured by the Americans only 10 days ago.
I-37
and
I-333
will simultaneously attack Kossol Passage anchorage in the Palau Islands. The purpose of a dual-site attack is to ensure maximum damage to enemy morale. Find the Palau Islands in Father’s atlas, Takara. You can see how vividly blue the seas are. When you wonder where I am, remember: your brother is the blue of the sea.