'I was trying to explain that.'
'Oh, do excuse me.'
'I was going to tell you that this woman realized I might get into some trouble if the Americans discovered I was not a citizen. To avoid this, she also had papers made up indicating a Russian nationality, so I could show them to curious American MP's and avoid questioning.'
'And how often have you been driven to this baroque expedient?'
'Never.'
'Hardly a frequency that justifies the effort. And why Russian? Why was not some other nationality selected from that crowded cradle of yours?'
'As you have pointed out, I do not look convincingly Oriental. And the attitude of the Americans toward German nationals is hardly friendly.'
'While their attitude toward Russians, on the other hand, is fraternal and compassionate? Is that it?'
'Of course not. But they mistrust and fear you, and for that reason, they do not treat Soviet citizens highhandedly.'
'This woman friend of yours was very astute. Tell me why she went to such efforts on your behalf. Why did she take such risks?'
Nicholai did not answer, which was sufficient answer.
'Ah, I see,' Colonel Gorbatov said. 'Of course. Then too, Miss Goodbody was a woman no longer burdened with her first youth.'
Nicholai flushed with anger. 'You know all about this!'
Gorbatov tugged off his glasses and redistributed the sneer. 'I know certain things. About Miss Goodbody, for instance. And about your household in the Asakusa district. My, my, my.
'And you have believed me all the while, haven't you.'
Gorbatov shrugged, 'It would be more accurate to say that I have believed the details with which your story is garnished. I know that you visited Captain Thomas of the War Crimes Tribunal Staff last...' He glanced at the folder. '...last Tuesday morning at seven-thirty. I presume he told you there was nothing he could do for you in the matter of General Kishikawa who, apart from being a major war criminal guilty of sins against humanity, is also the only high-ranking officer of the Japanese Imperial Army to survive the rigors of reeducation camp, and is therefore a figure of value to us from the point of view of prestige and propaganda.' The Colonel threaded his glasses from ear to ear. 'I am afraid there is nothing you can do for the General, young man. And if you pursue this, you will expose yourself to investigation by American Intelligence—a title more indicative of what they seek than of what they possess. And if there was nothing my ally and brother-in-arms, Captain Thomas, could do for you, then certainly there is nothing I can do. He, after all, represents the defense. I represent the prosecution. You are quite sure you will not take a glass of tea?'
Nicholai grasped for whatever he could get. 'Captain Thomas told me I would need your permission to visit the General.'
'That is true.'
'Well?'
The Colonel turned in his desk chair toward the window and tapped his front teeth with his forefinger as he looked out on the blustery day. 'Are you sure he would want a visit from you, Mr. Hel? I have talked to the General. He is a man of pride. It might not be pleasant for him to appear before you in his present state. He has twice attempted to commit suicide, and now he is watched over very strictly. His present condition is degrading.'
'I must try to see him. I owe him... very much.'
The Colonel nodded without looking back from the window. He seemed lost in thoughts of his own.
'Well?' Nicholai asked after a time.
Gorbatov did not answer.
'May I visit the General?'
His voice distant and atonic, the Colonel said, 'Yes, of course.' He turned to Nicholai and smiled. 'I shall arrange it immediately.'
* * *
Although so crowded into the swaying elevated car of the Yamate loop line that he could feel the warmth of pressing bodies seep through the damp of their clothing and his, Nicholai was isolated within his confusion and doubts. Through gaps between people, he watched the city passing beneath, dreary in the chill wet day, sucked empty of color by the leaden skies.
There had been subtle threat in Colonel Gorbatov's atonic permission to visit Kishikawa-san, and all morning Nicholai had felt diminished and impotent against the foreboding he felt. Perhaps Gorbatov had been right when he suggested that this visit might not, after all, be an act of kindness. But how could he allow the General to face his forthcoming trial and disgrace alone? It would be an act of indifference for which he could never forgive himself. Was it for his own peace of mind, then, that he was going to Sugamo Prison? Were his motives at base selfish?
At the Komagome Station, one stop before Sugamo Prison, Nicholai had a sudden impulse to get off the train—to return home, or at least wander about for a while and consider what he was doing. But this survival warning came too late. Before he could push his way to the doors, they clattered shut, and the train jerked away. He was certain he should have gotten off. He was equally certain that now he would go through with it.
* * *
Colonel Gorbatov had been generous; he had arranged that Nicholai would have an hour with Kishikawa-san. But now as Nicholai sat in the chilly visiting room, staring at the flaking green paint on the walls, he wondered if there would be anything to say that could fill a whole hour. A Japanese guard and an American MP stood by the door, ignoring one another, the Japanese staring at the floor before him, while the American devoted his attention to the task of snatching hairs from his nostrils. Nicholai had been searched with embarrassing thoroughness in an anteroom before being admitted to the visiting area. The rice cakes he had brought along wrapped in paper had been taken from him by the American MP, who took Nicholai for an American on the strength of his identification card and explained, 'Sorry, pal. But you can't bring chow with you. This—ah—whatshisname, the gook general—he's tried to bump himself off. We can't run the risk of poison or whatever. You dig?'
Nicholai said that he dug. And he joked with the MP, realizing that he must put himself on the good side of the authorities, if he was to help Kishikawa-san in any way. 'Yeah, I know what you mean, sergeant. I sometimes wonder how any Japanese officers survived the war, what with their inclination toward suicide.'
'Right. And if anything happened to this guy, my ass would be in a sling. Hey. What in hell's this?' The sergeant held up a small magnetic Go board Nicholai had thought to bring along at the last minute, in case there was nothing to say and the embarrassment should hang too heavily.
Nicholai shrugged. 'Oh, a game. Sort of a Japanese chess.'
'Oh yeah?'
The Japanese guard, who stood about awkwardly in the knowledge of his redundancy in this situation, was glad to be able to tell his American opposite number in broken English that it was indeed a Japanese game.
'Well, I don't know, pal. I don't know if you can bring this in with you.'
Nicholai shrugged again. 'It's up to you, sergeant. I thought it might be something to pass the time if the General didn't feel like talking.'
'Oh? You talk gook?'
Nicholai had often wondered how that word, a corruption of the Korean name for its people, had become the standard term of derogation in the American military vocabulary for all Orientals.
'Yes, I speak Japanese.' Nicholai recognized the need for duplicity where sensibility meets stony ignorance. 'You probably noticed from my ID card that I work for Sphinx?' He looked steadily at the sergeant and tipped his head slightly toward the Japanese guard, indicating that he didn't want to go into this too deeply with alien ears around.
The MP frowned in his effort to think, then he nodded conspiratorily. 'I see. Yeah, I sort of wondered how come an American was visiting this guy.'
'A job's a job.'
