Daughter of the Sword (45 page)

And Hayano had said if the Intelligence building was destroyed, Japan would lose the war. Now it was half-gone. What did that mean? Would the empire half lose? Was half a building a destroyed building or only half-destroyed? How was he to read his latest failure?

Keiji couldn’t answer any of those questions, so he reported for
duty. He could not find General Matsumori, but a captain on the scene reprimanded Keiji for being late and sent him to help the fire brigade. Keiji considered saying he was late because he’d been doing that very thing, but then he thought better of it.

He spotted a chain of people passing sloshing buckets toward a building wreathed in smoke, so he picked his way through the debris to join them.

“Kiyama,” a gruff voice said behind him. “You’re just in time.”

Keiji turned to see Matsumori standing in the back of a puttering T95. “So, Lieutenant, did you enjoy Okinawa?”

Keiji started to answer but the general cut him off. “I’ve convened the Intelligence boys over there.” Matsumori pointed to an inn across the rubble-strewn road. “Hurry up.”

The recon car rumbled away. Keiji ran to the inn as quickly as he could.

General Matsumori had already begun his speech when Keiji slipped through the front door. “We already have men at work,” he was saying, “making every effort to minimize the damage of this raid. The truth is, this was a desperate stroke. I expect it was aimed more at the hearts of our people than at the emperor’s war effort.

“But the Americans got lucky. They can’t have known our building housed His Majesty’s plans for securing the Pacific. Their target was probably the factory district on the other side of the river. But they got lucky, damn them. We lost two good men today, but only two. The real loss was information.”

Matsumori closed his eyes, breathed, opened them again. “Take a moment to remember our fallen. Lieutenants Okada and Sayakawa will be missed. But the mission comes first. You are soldiers; your duty is to forget them now, forget the losses to our city, and concentrate on your work. Our nation’s success in this war hinges on success in the Pacific, gentlemen, and right now His Majesty’s plans for securing the
South Pacific light the street in a thousand scattered little fires. We move forward on Tulagi. We move forward on Guadalcanal. It is up to you to recall those plans as best you can, and to work quickly to fill in whatever gaps are left. Do you understand?”

“Sir, yes sir!” the intelligence men cried in unison.

“I have commandeered this inn for our use. Next door is a stationery store, not too badly burned in the raid. I have commandeered it as well. Take whatever dry paper you can find. Take pens and ink and whatever else you need. Then write down everything—
everything
—you can remember about your work these past days and weeks. Victory is still within reach, gentlemen. We will work through the night if we must.”

“Sir, yes sir!” they said, Keiji with them.

At a nod from the general the intelligence officers scattered. Matsumori fixed Keiji with his gaze and said, “Not you, Lieutenant. Come here.”

Keiji obeyed. “I won’t work under a civilian roof when so much of our own remains standing,” said the general. “You’ll find me a room in our building and make it spotless. By morning I want a functional office. And you’ll report there first thing.”

69

Not bad,” General Matsumori said the following morning, his eyes roving the room. It was in the southwest corner overlooking the atrium, its tall windows blown out, a light breeze wafting through them. The lightbulbs were blown out too, of course, which hardly mattered since the electrical service had also been destroyed in the bombing. Keiji had swept all the broken glass into the corridor the night before, where for all he knew it still lay in a gray dusty heap, waiting for someone to brush it into a dustbin. He’d labored until oh four hundred hours, then reported back at oh six thirty bleary-eyed and seeing little of his immediate surroundings.

Two small oil lamps did what they could to light the room. They stood on the big steel table that served for the moment as Matsumori’s desk. The general sat on the desk, legs dangling, his belly curving like a pregnant woman’s over his belt. He was halfway toward his usual state of informal dress: his jacket and sword were already removed, but his cap still perched on his closely shaven head and his pistol was at his hip. “We could have used you last week, Kiyama. You’re a man with attention to detail. What was all that nonsense about being deployed to the Philippines? You should have spoken up, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So? Why didn’t you speak up for yourself? Stupid, flying all the way down to Okinawa just so you could fly back. It was your
idea, invading the Solomons, and then you disappear for over a week. What were you thinking?”

Keiji’s eyes itched. He was sure they were red. He stifled a yawn and pinched his fingernails into his palms to wake himself. Should I tell him the truth, he wondered, or make something up? You’re too tired to lie, came the answer in his mind. And another answer, too: The truth will get you a court martial. Come up with something, you fool.

“I said, what were you thinking, Lieutenant?”

“Sorry, sir.” Keiji looked at the empty window frames, then back at the general. “Permission to speak frankly?”

“Permission? Hell, consider it an order.”

“Sir, do you remember the little blind girl? The one Colonel Iwasaki attacked?” And he took the plunge.

By the time Keiji had finished his story, Matsumori was sitting behind the steel table with his hands folded behind his head. “Kiyama,” the general said, “where were you when the bombers hit?”

“At home, sir. That is, at my parents’ house.”

“How is the folks’ house? Roof fall in? Anything like that?”

“No, sir.”

“And that’s because of this sword of yours, is it?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Kiyama lit a cigarette. “Too bad. I was hoping you’d tell me a roof beam fell and hit you on the head. All this time I’ve been waiting for some reason—any reason at all, really—to believe I should have you thrown in the hospital instead of the brig. You’re telling me you deserted your post—scratch that: you forged documents,
then
deserted your post—to hunt down a decorated officer of this army and murder him? All because a crippled street urchin told you a fairy tale?”

Keiji swallowed and clenched his folded hands behind his back.

“Well? Answer me, Lieutenant! You’re telling me you abandoned your post, what, ten days ago, because you believe this damned blind girl can see the future?”

“I…Well, that would be one way to put it, sir.”

“Oh? Maybe you’d like to tell me another way to put it. Maybe some way you’d put this in a positive light? Because as I see it, you’re either criminally negligent or criminally insane. I thought you had a bright future, Kiyama. Your mentor apparently thought so too—but then I don’t imagine General Itō knew he was giving you a magic sword, did he?”

“No, sir.”

“Shut up. You know what my favorite part of this story is? It’s that you were going to try to kill Colonel Iwasaki because he’s doing his job. He’s on the front lines of this war, Kiyama, and you wanted to fly halfway around the world to challenge him to a duel—
a duel!
—so you could keep him from killing the enemy.”

“Captured enemy, sir. There are rules in warfare.”

“
You’re
going to tell
me
about
rules
?” Matsumori’s voice boomed. He threw his cigarette at Keiji; it bounced off his chest and smoked on the floor. “There are rules against forgery, you stupid son of a bitch, and rules against desertion too. You’re lucky I don’t have you hanged from what’s left of this building. I’d leave you dangling from a rafter for all your friends and relatives to see. Hell, I’d even cart your little blind girl up there so she could get a good whiff of your rotting corpse, if only I didn’t need every man I’ve got.”

Matsumori was an inch from Keiji’s nose now; Keiji could feel the spittle flecking from his lips. “You look like you’ve got something to say, Kiyama. Care to say it?”

“Sir,” Keiji said, “I must protest my innocence. I did all that I did for the sake of the country. For duty, sir.”

“Duty,” Matsumori growled. “Oh, you’re a genuine samurai, aren’t you, Kiyama? Maybe you’d like to slit your belly open on my office floor,
neh
? That’s how they protested their innocence in the old days. How about it?”

“They also protested by challenging their accusers to a duel, sir.”

Matsumori jerked his pistol free and crammed it into the underside of Keiji’s chin. “I’m a
general
, Kiyama. You don’t threaten me lightly.” His face was like a snarling dog’s, furrowed and furious. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t spray your brains all over this room.”

“Honor,” said Keiji.

Matsumori’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He returned the pistol to its holster. His face was still so close that Keiji could feel the heat of his breath. “You actually believe this samurai shit, don’t you? You’re living in a fairy tale. First you rescue the little blind girl, then you charge in on your warhorse and challenge big, bad Matsumori to a heroic duel. Was that it? Is that the future your cripple saw for you?”

No, Keiji was going to say, but then a puzzle piece fell into place. Matsumori. The name meant “pine grove,” but “grove” was not the only meaning of
mori
; with a different kanji, it could mean “protect” or “defend.” Matsumori would then mean “protector of the pines.”

“You’re the forest spirit,” Keiji whispered, not even meaning to say it aloud. “She saw you from the beginning. You’re the one who destroys everything.”

“What?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“No, do tell, Kiyama. I’m all ears.”

“Hayano told me about you. She said the defender of the trees might destroy its friends as well as its enemies. You’re the defender of the trees.”

Matsumori didn’t even dignify Keiji with a response. He turned his back and walked over to sit behind his desk. “I’ve given you every opportunity to save your career,” he said. “Do you know what I’m going to do now? I’m going to fulfill your wish.” The general removed his cap and slapped it flat on his desk. “You want to be a samurai? You want to fly around the world to some damn island far away from your little blind girl and your sick mom? Fine. Consider yourself demoted, Sergeant Kiyama. I’m making you a platoon leader. You’re going to take Guadalcanal. Then you’re going to jump to every island after that, and you’re going to raise my flag on every last one of them. I’m going to teach you the meaning of the word ‘duty,’ Sergeant. I’m going to teach you ‘honor’ and ‘glory’ and ‘victory’ even if I need American bullets to drive the point home. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

70

18th May, Shōwa 17

Dear Father,

Thank you for your last letter. I was so very sorry to hear about Mother’s death and am sorrier still that I could not be home for you and for her. Lately I feel every decision I make leads me further astray, and this failure is the most painful of all.

It gladdens me to know that Hayano-chan is a buoy for you in these sad times. I would thank you for continuing to care for her, but it seems perhaps I should also thank her for continuing to care for you. Let me say instead that I am grateful that both of you can support each other, since I am so far away and cannot do my part as a filial son.

My lone success is one you will be happy to learn of: we have taken Guadalcanal. The nearby islands are expected to fall in the coming days, but my platoon has been reassigned to the construction of an airstrip, so I will see no more fighting. I will not write of combat this time; the brutality of it is still too near for me, and there is already too much death at home.

I have heard rumors that my former commanding officer, General Matsumori, will be promoted thanks to our victory here. I am told he will serve directly under General Tōjō.
Obviously this is the highest honor for him, but I fear things will go poorly for our country because of it. Hayano-chan foresaw that Matsumori would either destroy his enemies or destroy his friends, and I now fear it will be the latter, for she also saw that Japan would not see victory in this war. It sickens me that I was so slow to decipher her message; I could have changed the future if only I had been quicker to see what she showed me.

Now I fear matters will become worse. Since my demotion I no longer receive all the intelligence I once did, but I would be very surprised if the Americans make no plans to oust us from these islands. I do not know how that will go. If we have time enough we may be able to fortify our positions, but their country is so large, and their people so many. Their factories will be producing weapons of war every day. While I still served under General Matsumori, I read terrible things about how they treat the Japanese within their own borders; it frightens me that I may become their prisoner.

More frightening still is the thought that the homeland should fall and the emperor be unseated. I left my sword at home so that you and Mother and Hayano would be protected. Now it seems the air raid that struck all around our home was indeed an act of desperation, not to be repeated anytime soon. (How long ago was it since we heard the bombs falling? Only a month? Is that possible? It seems so long ago—so much has happened since then!—but the calendar tells me it is so.) I am of two minds now, and since these days all of my choices go awry, I ask you to choose for me.

I should like my sword to remain at home, to protect you and Hayano-chan and anyone else who might take shelter there in the event of another air raid. I am quite convinced it will keep any building safe so long as it stays there.

But I should also like the sword to find a place in the imperial household. If Hayano-chan is right, and the empire is to lose this
war, then at the very least I do not want the Americans and Russians and British to choose what government Japan shall take. This has been their habit all across Asia, and I do not want Japan to go the way of all the other European and American conquests. Our national spirit is the samurai spirit. If the enemy should depose our emperor, I fear that our homeland’s spirit may be broken, and I believe the power of Tiger on the Mountain may protect against that dreadful day.