shape than he is; he is afraid that
Still, it is good just to be under canvas, and standing in the presence of someone who has authority, who is taking charge. Clerks enter the tent carrying message decrypts, which means that somewhere around here is a functioning radio station, and a staff with codebooks. They are not totally cut off.
'What do you know how to do?' says the officer, when Goto Dengo is finally granted the opportunity to introduce himself.
'I am an engineer,' says Goto Dengo.
'Ah. You know how to build bridges? Airstrips?'
The officer is engaging in a bit of whimsy here; bridges and airstrips are as far beyond their grasp as intergalactic starships. All of his teeth have fallen out and so he gums his words, and sometimes must pause to draw breath two or three times in the course of a sentence.
'I will build such things if it is my commander's wish, though for such things, others have skill far better than mine. My specialty is underground works.'
'Bunkers?'
A wasp stings him on the back of the neck and he inhales sharply. 'I will build bunkers if it is my commander's wish. My specialty is tunnels, in earth or in rock, but especially in rock.'
The officer stares at Goto Dengo fixedly for a few moments, then directs a glance at his clerk, who nods a little bow and takes it down. 'Your skills are useless here,' he says offhandedly, as if this is true of just about everyone.
'Sir! Also, I am proficient with the Nambu light machine gun.'
'The Nambu is a poor weapon. Not as good as what the Americans and Australians have. Still, useful in jungle defense.'
'Sir! I will defend our perimeter to my last breath-'
'Unfortunately they will not attack us from the jungle. They bomb us. But the Nambu cannot hit a plane. When they come, they will come from the ocean. The Nambu is useless against an amphibious assault.'
'Sir! I have lived in the jungle for six months.'
'Oh?' For the first time, the officer seems interested. 'What have you been eating?'
'Grubs and bats, sir!'
'Go and find me some.'
'At once, sir!'
He untwists some old rope to make twine, and knots the twine into nets, and hangs the nets in trees. Once that is done, his life is simple: every morning he climbs up into the trees to collect bats from the nets. Then he spends the afternoon digging grubs out of rotten logs with a bayonet. The sun goes down and he stands in a foxhole full of sewage until it comes up again. When bombs go off nearby, the concussion puts him into a state of shock so profound as to separate mind from body entirely; for several hours afterwards, his body goes around doing things without his telling it to. Stripped of its connections to the physical world, his mind runs in circles like an engine that has sheared its driveshaft and is screaming along at full throttle, doing no useful work while burning itself up. He usually does not emerge from this state until someone speaks to him. Then more bombs fall.
One night he notices that there is sand beneath his feet. Strange.
The air smells clean and fresh. Unheard of.
Others are walking on the sand with him.
They are being escorted by a couple of shambling privates, and a corporal bent under the weight of a Nambu. The corporal is peering into Goto Dengo's face strangely. 'Hiroshima,' he says.
'Did you say something to me?'
'Hiroshima.'
'But what did you say before you said 'Hiroshima'?'
'In?'
'In Hiroshima.'
'What did you say before you said 'in Hiroshima'?'
'Aunt.'
'You were talking to me about your aunt in Hiroshima?'
'Yes. Her too.'
'What do you mean, her too?'
'The same message.'
'What message?'
'The message that you memorized for me. Give her the same message.'
'Oh,' Goto Dengo says.
'You remember the whole list?'
'The list of people I'm supposed to give the message to?'
The corporal has an accent from Yamaguchi, which is where most of the soldiers posted here came from. He seems more rural than urban. 'Uh, your mother and father back on the farm in Yamaguchi.'
'Yes!'
'And your brother, who is-in the Navy?'
'Yes!'
'And your sister, who is-'
'A schoolteacher in Hiroshima, very good!'
'As well as your aunt who is also in Hiroshima.'
'And don't forget my uncle in Kure.'
'Oh, yeah. Sorry.'
'That's okay! Now tell me the message again, just to make sure you won't forget it.'
'Okay,' says Goto Dengo, and draws a deep breath. He is really starting to come around now. They are trudging down to the sea: he and half a dozen others, all unarmed and carrying small bundles, accompanied by the corporal and privates. Below, in the gentle surf, a rubber boat awaits them.
'We're almost there! Tell me the message! Tell it back to me!'
'My beloved family,' Goto Dengo begins.
'Very good-perfect so far!' says the corporal.
'My thoughts are with you as always,' Goto Dengo guesses.
The corporal looks a bit crestfallen. 'Close enough-keep going.'
They have reached the boat. The crew shoves it out into the surf a few paces. Goto Dengo stops talking for a few moments as he watches the others wade out to it and climb in. Then the corporal prods him in the back. Goto Dengo staggers out into the ocean. No one has started yelling at him yet-in fact they reach for him, pulling him in. He tumbles into the bottom of the boat and clambers up to a kneeling position as the crew begin to row it out into the surf. He locks eyes with the corporal, back on the beach.
'This is the last message you will receive from me, for by now I have long since gone to my rest on the sacred soil of the Yasukuni Shrine.'
'No! No! That's totally wrong!' hollers the corporal.
'I know that you will visit me there and remember me fondly, as I remember you.'
The corporal splashes into the surf, trying to chase the boat, and the privates plunge in after him and grab him by the arms. The corporal shouts, 'Soon we will deal the Americans a smashing defeat and then I will march home through the streets of Hiroshima in triumph along with my comrades!' He recites it like a schoolboy doing his
