Under the Sun Read online

  The Englishman walked over to his bed, picked up his shirt and put it on. He went to the washstand and began to comb his hair, but avoided looking into the mirror. He did not want to catch a glimpse of Ito’s memory. The pilot put the comb down and sat for a while on his bed, trying to make sense of what had happened. But he could not, so he went out into the yard and finding that his shorts were almost dry, he took off his towel and put them on. He looked up and saw the sun descending westwards, the sky deepening. Above him the palms sighed in the breeze, the burnished afternoon light gilding their leaves.

  A goat bleated in the yard as the pilot turned and walked towards Hayama’s quarters. He ascended the steps, pushed open the fly screen and saw the captain dressed for parade, his sword hanging by his side.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Strickland.

  ‘Good. I shall call the men,’ and going outside the captain told a soldier to get the company to fall in. The pilot followed Hayama out onto the verandah and watched as the men lined up in the square, their uniforms buttoned to the neck, their rifles by their sides.

  ‘Present arms!’ shouted the captain and the men all raised their rifles to their shoulders.

  Hayama and Strickland descended the steps and at another command, the soldiers turned and wheeled. With the captain at their head and the pilot on his right, the officers led the way down to the beach. The men were silent as they marched away, there was just the steady tramp of their boots. When they reached the shore the pilot saw the grave had already been dug. Beside it lay Ito, also dressed in his green military uniform. He looked peaceful as he lay on his bier of palm leaves, as though he had died in his sleep. His arms were folded across his chest and in his hands he held an orchid. At the head of the grave someone had fashioned a rough cross from two pieces of driftwood and tied a wreath of forest flowers around it.

  The men lined up opposite the grave and when they were all assembled, the captain began his eulogy. He told them how the orderly had embodied the true spirit of bushido. How he had lived to serve, always happy in his work. Hayama spoke of Ito’s gifts not only as a fisherman and cook, but also as a singer and actor. He described in detail the night he had made everyone laugh as ‘Sweet Pea’ and how his good humour never failed him. Now he was gone. But his spirit would live on in their hearts, as he went to join his ancestors in heaven.

  The company sang the national anthem Kimigayo and a group of men began to lower Ito into the grave with ropes. The firing party then raised their rifles and a fusillade of shots reverberated among the trees, scattering a troop of monkeys and making them scream. Strickland stood there and watched as the body of his friend disappeared into the void. When the men had finished, Hayama bowed his head and began to sing, his voice drifting across the sand towards the sea.

  From Ueno Station to Kudanzaka

  I get impatient, not knowing my way around.

  It has taken me all day, leaning on my cane,

  To come and see you, my son, at Kudanzaka.

  The great gate looming up in the sky

  Leads to a magnificent shrine

  That enrolls my son among the gods.

  Your unworthy mother weeps in her joy.

  I was a black hen who gave birth to a hawk.

  And such good fortune is more than I deserve.

  I wanted to show you your Order of the Golden Kite,

  And have come to see you, my son, at Kudanzaka.

  The captain stopped singing, the sound of his voice replaced by the susurration of the waves upon the beach. Slowly, the burial party began to disperse until only Strickland and Noguchi remained. The pilot watched as the sergeant picked up a spade and began to shovel the ash-coloured earth back into the grave. Strickland took the other and together the two men silently filled the hole. When they had finished, they gathered the palm fronds and laid them on top of the mound of pale sand. His work done, the sergeant bowed and walked away, leaving Strickland alone at the graveside.

  The pilot tried to pray, but no words came and so he stood silently grieving over his dead friend. He could shed no tears, instead there was just a terrible ache within. Finally, he turned away and began walking along the shore. He saw a cluster of ghost crabs feasting on something and, realising that it was a patch of Ito’s blood, he kicked at them angrily and they scuttled away, their mouths bubbling, their pincers raised in defiance. Strickland climbed up the rocks of the promontory and made his way along the spur towards the wreck. He knew he would never walk this way again, but he wanted to say a last farewell to a place which they had both loved. The pilot reached the end of the promontory and looked out towards the booming surf where Ito had met his end and sitting down on the sea-wet rocks, he put his hands to face and wept.

  THIRTEEN

  Ito’s death had a profound effect upon the camp. Whereas before the soldiers had been cheerful and performed their tasks willingly and without complaint, now there was an emptiness in their hearts and although they continued to carry out their duties, they felt no joy or sense of pride in what they did. When they were not working the soldiers hung listlessly about the compound, or else lay moribund in their bunks smoking or staring vacantly into space. There were no more games played on the beach, or horseplay off the end of the jetty. It was as if each man was simply waiting for something to happen, something that would shake them out of their torpor.

  The man most affected by Ito’s death was Hayama. While the captain still kept up appearances and tried to jolly his men along, inwardly he grieved. He blamed himself for the orderly’s death because he knew that if Ito had not gone out to the reef to fish, he would still be alive. The orderly had once told Hayama he had seen a shark there, but said that it was only small and had probably been unable to find its way back to the open sea. The captain had told him not to take any risks and had then forgotten about it. Even so, he felt he should have reminded Ito of the danger and never to venture out as far as the reef. And because he had not, his friend was dead.

  The truth was that the orderly had a special place in the camp. Not only on account of his gentle nature which endeared him to everybody, but also because he was the only soldier who had a personal relationship with Hayama. Although Ito was only a private, he was also the captain’s orderly and therefore privy to his personal thoughts and occasional doubts. Hayama kept himself apart from his men on purpose, but he could not do so with his own orderly and in any case he enjoyed Ito’s company. He had relied on him even more after Ensign Aoki’s death, when he became the only officer in the camp. Then there was the arrival of the pilot. At first Hayama felt that his inability to execute his enemy was an unforgivable sign of weakness, but his orderly had told him that it would have been wrong to have killed the Englishman. Hayama had always wondered why, but then what cause would the pilot’s death have served? Nothing. No, Ito had been right about so many things.

  Strickland too felt the orderly’s loss keenly and in the days after his death, he and the captain were inseparable. They shared out Ito’s duties between them: Hayama cooked and washed the dishes, while the pilot tended the chickens, milked the goats and weeded the vegetable garden. He no longer went fishing by the promontory and instead he would take his rod and cast from the wooden jetty. There were fewer fish there and the ones he caught were smaller, but the other place held too many memories for him.

  A week after Ito’s death the pilot and the captain were sitting on the tatami finishing their breakfast with the radio playing behind them. Suddenly the music stopped and an announcer came on. Hayama was refreshing their cups of tea when he dropped the pot with a crash, the tea spilling onto the table. He leapt to his feet and going to the radio, he turned up the volume.

  ‘What is it?’ asked the pilot as the tea spread in a pool across the table.

  The captain frowned and raised a finger to his lips, as he listened intently to the voice. Strickland did not understand a word of what was being said, but was aware from Hayama’s exp
ression that it was serious. Eventually the captain turned and faced him.

  ‘They have bombed Hiroshima!’

  The pilot was still unable to comprehend fully what had happened. Many Japanese cities had been bombed and were still being bombed, what was so special about Hiroshima?

  ‘Is it bad?’

  The captain shook his head and realised that the pilot had not understood the announcement.

  ‘One bomb. The Americans have dropped a single bomb and annihilated a city.’

  It was impossible, thought Strickland. Such a weapon simply did not exist.

  ‘What do you mean? What sort of bomb?’

  ‘They described it as a “hydrogen” bomb. It exploded with such force that it has destroyed everything.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘In the vicinity. For a radius of two or three miles. An entire city reduced to ashes.’

  ‘Are you sure … I mean perhaps it’s not true. It could be propaganda.’

  The captain let out a long sigh.

  ‘No, I am sure it’s true. The announcer also repeated the Allies’ demands. They have insisted upon Japan’s unconditional surrender.’

  The pilot got to his feet and stood there for a moment not knowing what to say.

  ‘Hayama …’

  The captain remained motionless, his face blank, his mind still numb from shock.

  ‘I just don’t understand it,’ he muttered. ‘Why?’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Hayma shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

  ‘I shall await orders. And until I receive anything to the contrary, I shall continue with my duties here.’

  ‘But the Allies have demanded that Japan surrender.’

  The captain faced his friend, his eyes blazing with anger.

  ‘The land of Yamato will never surrender! If the Allies want peace then they must negotiate. If they want to subjugate us they will have to invade and they will have to fight for every inch of territory!’

  Strickland realised his friend was upset, but what he was suggesting was insanity.

  ‘You cannot fight against this weapon.’

  ‘If the same had happened to you. If Manchester or Liverpool had been destroyed, would Britain surrender without a fight?’

  Hayama looked at Strickland, an honest question in his eyes to which the pilot already knew the answer.

  ‘No,’ he replied.

  ‘Of course not! No country would.’

  The captain turned and went over to the window and looked out across the compound. The camp was quiet and peaceful, and not a breath of wind stirred the green canopy of palms. The air moved in waves above the trees and the cicadas sang madly in the heat. His gaze wandered across the forest towards the mountain, which rose above the island. How he wished he was back in Japan! He hated his country suffering while he remained isolated thousands of miles away. More than ever before the captain wanted the war to be over, so that he could go back home and see his beloved parents.

  ‘Will this madness ever end?’ he sighed.

  Hayama turned away from the window and faced the pilot once more.

  ‘I must tell my men what’s happened.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Stay here. I won’t be long,’ and he went towards the door.

  ‘Hayama …’

  ‘Yes?’

  Strickland hesitated, but while the captain had been at the window, he too had been thinking. He was unsure as to how he should put it, but he knew that he had to say what was on his mind.

  ‘I realise I owe you a debt which I cannot repay. You saved my life and have kept me here as your guest …’ The pilot paused, trying to find the right words. ‘Under the Geneva Convention an officer is entitled to disobey an order, if he feels it jeopardises his life or the lives of those under his command. You do not have to wait for your government to make an announcement. Tell your men that you have decided to surrender.’

  The captain stared intently at the pilot, his face expressing concern rather than contempt.

  ‘I cannot make such a decision. Only the Emperor can do that.’

  ‘You can surrender …’

  ‘And who exactly should I surrender to?’

  The question remained unanswered and the two men stood facing each other, just a few feet apart. But they may as well have been on opposite sides of the world, such was the chasm that lay between them. The silence was profound, like a great bell that would not toll. Eventually the Japanese officer spoke.

  ‘Captain Tadashi Hayama does not understand such language,’ and turning his back, he left his cabin and strode across the compound to the men’s quarters.

  The captain ascended the steps of their hut and stood at the open door. The soldiers immediately leapt from their bunks and chairs and standing before him, they all bowed in unison.

  Hayama surveyed them, his hands clasped behind his back. They looked a sorry bunch, their uniforms were unbuttoned and some of them had not even bothered to shave. It had all been so different before Ito’s death. Well, things were going to change.

  ‘Honourable gentlemen,’ he began. ‘I have some sad news to report. The city of Hiroshima has been bombed by the Americans. They have dropped a weapon of such ferocity that virtually the entire city lies in ruins …’

  The men stood there silently, trying to take in the terrible news that Hayama had just told them. Like the pilot they wondered how a single bomb could destroy a city, but they did not doubt the veracity of the captain’s words. Their officer looked at them, knowing that what he would say next would be an even greater blow.

  ‘The Allies have also demanded that Japan surrender.’

  The soldiers gasped and turned to each other. Surrender? Such a thing was impossible. They still had a navy and an air force and millions of men remained under arms. The loss of the islands in the Pacific was unfortunate, but it was not irrevocable. They would get them back. Japan had never been defeated in its history. Why should they surrender now? As the men pondered these questions, Noguchi stepped forward and bowed before his captain. Unlike the rest of the men, he was immaculately turned out as always. His uniform freshly ironed, the brass buttons of his tunic polished and gleaming.

  ‘Captain-san, is what you say true?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then … we are to surrender?’

  The men held their breath as the senior NCO uttered the fateful word and they all kept their eyes upon their commanding officer, waiting for his answer. Hayama looked at them and slowly shook his head.

  ‘Only the God Emperor has the authority to demand such a thing and he has issued no such decree. Until he does the land of Yamato shall continue its glorious fight against the enemy. Long live Japan!’

  ‘Long live Japan!’ shouted the soldiers and for the first time since the orderly’s death, a cheer went up and gladness returned to their faces. Once again they had something to fight for. They would fight to the end. They would never surrender!

  Hayama smiled and watched them celebrate. But he still had something else to say. He waited until they had finished shouting and slapping each others’ backs, and when a semblance of order returned, he began gently to admonish them, telling them it was time they returned to their old ways. He understood why they had all slackened in the past few days, but they must put the tragedy of Ito’s death behind them, since they still had important work to do for the Motherland. Again the men started cheering and with the shouts still ringing in his ears, the captain left the hut and returned to his own quarters.

  The officer walked across the compound and ascending the steps, he pushed opened the door of his cabin. The place was empty apart from Chamberlain who sat in a corner chittering on the end of his chain and he wondered where Strickland was. It did not matter particularly and he assumed the pilot had taken a walk or gone fishing. He had not been offended by what the Englishman said, he was sure that had the circumstances been reversed, he would have done the same. The pilot was
an honourable man, he just did not understand the Japanese way of thinking. Nor was he the first Occidental to do so.

  The captain took off his cap and went over to his bed. The macaque rose to its feet and he bent down and stroked its head. Then he picked up his violin and began to play, the music rising up and drifting out of the window like some exotic scent. He played until he felt his heart swell with longing, and he closed his eyes as he thought of the valleys and streams of his native land. He remembered the pines twisted and bent by the wind and the mountains capped with snow. Hayama hoped that one day soon he would be back among his own people. He made a promise that when he returned to Nagasaki, his first duty would be to pay a visit to the Suwa shrine and make an offering to the gods.

  FOURTEEN

  After Hayama’s announcement, life in the camp returned to the rhythms and echoes it had when Ito was alive. The soldiers regained their humour and discipline and went about their tasks with their customary vigour, and the shocking news of Hiroshima and the Allies’ ultimatum was, if not forgotten, then at least ignored.

  That afternoon the men took their siesta as usual, playing cards and chatting and smoking cigarettes. A trio asked Noguchi if he wanted to make up a four for poker, but he declined with a smile and a shake of his head and instead remained on his bed, writing a letter to his wife. On the table beside him were two photographs, one was a formal portrait of him and his spouse taken on their wedding day and the other was of her holding a small white bundle in her arms, their son Shinzo. Noguchi had not seen him for four years. The boy was almost six now and he imagined him running and playing and doing all the things that small boys liked to do. The sergeant wondered what he would think when he met his father again. He would not recognise this strange man and perhaps he would reject him. At the very least the child would hide behind his mother’s skirts.