The Grand Way of Heaven and Earth

A

fterward all of us lay in our barracks, sick in body and heart, trying to smother our groans. Two or three men staggered out the door to vomit. My head throbbed, my nose and sinus area still numb. The floor seemed to rock like that of a ship in mild swells as I lay there face down trying to comprehend what had happened. My entire body was bruised and aching. Life was a mass of misery and confusion.

Suddenly, I started. Someone had touched me. “Don’t be afraid,” a voice whispered.

“What?” I blurted.

“Quiet! It’s only me—Nakamura.” He was standing there beside my cot, a faint shaft of light from outside revealing his face and bare shoulders. Taller than I and well built with a rather bad complexion.

“Ah so” I responded. “The one who. . . .” I turned on my side, massaging my battered elbow,” not knowing what to say. “Well. . .” I mumbled uncertainly, “please sit down.” The pain shot through my legs even though I had barely shifted them.

“No thanks,” he replied, “rubbing his hip gingerly with one hand. “My ass still hurts from that first night.” He was actually grinning a little.

I just wanted to tell you, I’m sorry about hitting you so hard, especially that one time, right in the nose.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It was mine. I mean it was that stink­ing hancho.” I almost whispered the last two words. “He hit me on the back of my legs and knocked me off balance.”

“Yes,” Nakamura said, “and you got beaten up more than anybody else.” Oddly enough, I felt a little surge of pride but made no reply. “Those rotten bastards,” he added. “You know, somebody’s going to kill those bastards some day—every last one of them. . . kill them all, smash their stinking heads in.”

“I hope so,” I said but wanted him to leave. The pain was coming in waves, and it took all my strength to suppress the groaning. Eventu­ally the tension became unbearable, and I struggled to sit up. “Well,” I grunted, “I’m sorry that I had to hit you so hard. I hit you pretty hard, and I hope you’ll forgive me because I really hated to. I definitely didn’t want. . . .” At that point, I actually didn’t care much what I said, or what I had done. Anything simply to ease the pain, and the words fell out in a meaningless jumble.

But Nakamurajust stood there, and inwardly I began to berate him. I closed my eyes, bit my lips, clenched and unclenched my hands. Why didn’t the idiot leave? Couldn’t he see what hell I was undergoing? He hadn’t been hurt half as badly as I. Nor had anyone else. “You’d better not let the shuban kashikan find you up,” I said and hated myself. We both knew they probably wouldn’t be back again until morning.

“Hai” he nodded, “I guess you’re right.” Yet still, he remained there. Maybe, I decided, he felt sorry for me, wanted to lend some kind of moral support. Gradually, however, I discovered that by tightening all the muscles in my body then relaxing them I could ease the pain. Tighten muscles and inhale. . . relax muscles and exhale. . . steadily, rhythmically, over and over. Yes, a good system, and it actually worked. I was beginning to feel better. I glanced at Nakamura, suddenly sensing his loneliness. That was why he wouldn’t leave.

“So where are you from? I asked.

“Kure,” he answered. “You know,” he confided, “I always knew this would be rough, but I never thought anybody could be as rotten as

these dirty. . . . They’re all sadists, you know that?”

“Definitely,” I said. “How do you think they pick them? They go out and look all around the country. Whenever they see someone whipping his mother or kicking his little sister in the belly, they say, ‘Come on, come on; we’ve got a great job for you—hancho at Hiro Air Base.”

“Right, and that’s not all,” Nakamura said. “Every one of them is queer as fish in the desert.”

I laughed despite myself then became serious. “Really?” I was very naive in such matters but ready to believe almost anything by now.

“Just wait,” Nakamura warned, “you’ll find out soon enough. My brother’s in the army. He told me all about it. And that stinking Pig! You can tell he’s a pervert just looking at him. He’s also a complete maniac.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Do you think they have it as tough in the army as we do?” I could still barely force out the words. “My brother’s in the army too.”

“I doubt it,” Nakamura replied. “Maybe, though. Some of those forced marches they go on probably take a lot of guts—a lot of endur­ance. They take their beatings too, so maybe there’s not much difference in the end.”

The pain had eased now that I was concentrating on something else, supplanted by the need for sleep. I wondered how Nakamura could remain standing there so long. “On the other hand,” he continued, “we probably don’t have it as rough as those navy pilots do. The ones that make it through basic training in the navy air force—they’re real tigers, believe me. Nothing can stop them.”

How could anybody have it worse than we do? I wondered and drifted into a death-like sleep while Nakamura was still talking.

When I awakened it was six in the morning. I groaned, feeling, re­membering, as the awfulness of our situation asserted itself. Momentarily it was impossible to believe that I was away from home, that Hiro was now my reality. The others were stirring, and reveille had just sounded. The groans became general as the badly-cropped heads emerged from the blankets. Yes, it was all real enough, and for an instant I closed my eyes, praying, striving with all my power to will it otherwise. For a flickering instant I was home, there in my own special room, warm and

secure, Mother and Tomika preparing breakfast.

The vision shattered as Kakuda and Sakigawa, “The Snake”, clumped into the barracks, shouting and slamming doors, cuffing and kicking the slow risers, even dumping some of them from their cots onto the floor. One recruit landed with a thud in a tangle of blankets. It was Nakamura.

I had to rise—fast, but suddenly could not move. My legs were like wood, refusing to bend, and I felt a wild spasm of terror. My right arm throbbed at the elbow and seemed completely paralyzed. With a violent wrench I rolled from my cot, the pain coming like splinters of glass as I struck the floor. But the shock brought life to my limbs, and somehow I made it to my feet. Hobbling and limping into my pants and shirt, I vaguely realized that my face and chest were still caked with dried blood. Frantically, I laced my boots, fully expecting more punishment as The Snake approached, but he passed by, apparently distracted by someone else, shouting, “Get a move on!”

Beds made in record time, we rushed to the first formation grunting and grimacing at every step. We fell into our ranks, staring rigidly ahead, but every man had welts and sores. Glancing about once or twice, I saw swollen faces, black and blue marks.

“Eyes straight ahead!” Kakuda bellowed, but The Pig was smiling with great beneficence as he surveyed us.

“Stiff?” he inquired “Sore?” His eyebrows vaulted toward his hair­line in mock disbelief. “Ah, what a pity!” He shook his head, staring at the earth, then glanced up. Now his expression was stern, solemn, even noble like that of a samurai.

“You have. . . . no—stamina!” Japan’s valiant sons! How disappoint­ing. How distressing! Well. . . .” He stroked his jaw. “Perhaps twenty or thirty minutes of running will at least limber you up a little.”

He glanced at the other hancho. “Naturally, we would enjoy running along with you, but as you know, we hancho are sadly discriminated against. Casting his eyes downward long-sufferingly, he added. “We are forced to ride bicycles.”

Then, having us form single file, he commanded, “Forward march!” Every step was torture. We moved like crippled old men. “Terrible, ter­rible!” our hancho shouted. “Since you don’t know how to walk we must try running. Double time, march!” Something cracked, and the rear man blundered forward, crashing into the one ahead. Slowly, achingly,

our column moved out, like a row of lame ducks.

As we hobbled down the airstrip, our glorious friend and mentor, circled on his bicycle, alternately screeching, cursing, cackling, and cracking jokes, periodically flailing us with a length of bamboo.

Within a mile some of the men were straggling badly. One of them had fallen to the rear some distance. Glancing behind, The Pig caught sight of him and circled back full speed. As we reached the far end of the strip and headed the opposite direction, the man was down, and The Pig was flailing him with his rod. His efforts were fruitless, however, for his victim had fainted.

As the grind continued, others dropped out. One stumbled, pitch­ing to the concrete. Two comrades helped him to his feet, but his legs collapsed, feet dragging as they bore him forward. It was impossible, of course, for them to keep up, and shortly The Pig returned to flog all three of them. Having finished, he sped down the entire line thrash­ing at us wildly. “This is how a fighter plane attacks!” he yelped. “Fast. . . unexpected. . . deadly!” Synchronizing his blows with each word, he powered forward steadily, striking at each man’s head with his rod. “One. . . two. . . three. . . four. . . five. . . six!” Fortunately his aim wasn’t always accurate.

I felt the stick glanced off my shoulder, and an instant later, intent on his role as fighter pilot, The Pig ran into one man and pitched over with a magnificent crash. “You clumsy idiot!” he squawked.

How I rejoiced! Our vainglorious and intrepid fighter pilot had just been shot down.

As the run became more grueling, men began collapsing one after another until there were only a few of us left, but The Pig had disap­peared, apparently having sustained a few, well-deserved bruises of his own. It was our friend The Snake who eventually brought the ordeal to a halt. All of us were panting and gasping, in great distress, but I had to admit a lot of my stiffness was gone. Our formation was badly decimated, pitifully sagging. The Snake, however, apparently decided to exercise compassion. “Nothing like a brisk walk before breakfast, right?” His smile was almost kindly. “Fall out for chow!”

It was the beginning of an eventful day. Following our noon meal Kakuda introduced us to more games, the last of which involved squirm­ing along on our bellies beneath our cots, around and around the bar­racks. This, because the floor was allegedly “dirtier than a pig pen.” I squirmed my way forward in abject misery, eyes upon the man’s boots just ahead. Contact with the floor had drugged me, and I was overwhelmed with the urge to sleep. The desire welled in a great, languorous whirl, and a voice shouted, “Move it, move it!” I flinched, blinking and nearly rammed my face into the flailing heels of the man ahead.

Afterward, Kakuda departed and the KP’s brought our chow in the usual wooden buckets. Ravenously I attacked my bowl of rice, feeling my face throb and ache with each chew. “Hello Kuwahara, old friend,” a voice said.

I glanced up, startled. It was Nakamura. “Hello,” I replied. “Please sit down.” Nothing but a stereotypical greeting, and we were too hun­gry to converse much, but it was good to have a comrade. Nakamura had been among those who had not succumbed out during our “brisk walk” that morning.

“That rotten son of a bitch,” he said quietly. “He really looks like a pig. Got some of his own medicine this morning, though, didn’t he?”

“Hai,” I agreed, “came down right on his stupid head.”

“He really did,” Nakamura said. “Maybe it will knock some sense into him.”

“Not likely,” I laughed. Neither of us had actually witnessed The Pig’s great downfall, merely heard it, but it was gratifying to imagine that he had landed on his head. Before long, in fact, several men were gleefully repeating our assertion that it had occurred in that manner.

“You wait,” Nakamura assured me, “that fat-faced idiot will really get it one of these times. Some dark night. . . .”

“He’ll be getting it, all right,” I concurred. Again, only wishful think­ing but it was enjoyable. Merely reflecting upon such possibilities and knowing that others were doing the same provided a sense of camaraderie and lifted our spirits. Initially we had been alone and highly reticent, but as brothers in suffering we rapidly became friendly. Having someone to commiserate with, someone to hate with, was very therapeutic.

Following our brief noon hour respite, however, we were back at it, learning more games. Upon failing to perform our calisthenics ac­ceptably, we were forced to lie on our sides, then raise ourselves off the ground, balancing on one hand and foot with the opposite limbs extended upward at forty-five-degrees. An interesting experiment and rather easily performed at first, but with each passing second it became more difficult. Time after time we strove to balance ourselves in that absurd position, forming X’s with our bodies, feeling our arms quiver and shake, more every second, then losing our balance and collapsing. All this, of course, accompanied by threats, commands, cuffs, kicks, and raucous laughter from our task masters. Within half an hour we were lying on the floor almost paralyzed.

By now The Snake and Kakuda had introduced a new element— whips, and once I felt the lash across my quivering back, a flick along my neck that burned like acid, but I merely cringed, huddled there helplessly trying to protect my face with my hand.

Other, equally innovative forms of punishment followed, and that night at final formation The Pig was back at the helm, bringing the day’s activities to a fitting climax. I noted with satisfaction a bruise on one side of his forehead and the fact that his left arm appeared rather stiff, but my pleasure was short lived, for we had failed to recite the five main points of the “Imperial Rescript to Soldiers and Sailors.” This rescript was issued by the Emperor Meiji in 1882 and was regarded as sacred—a document several pages long which every military man had to learn verbatim. All were required to absorb its complex rules and philosophy through continual study and meditation, to memorize, also recite it completely or in part at a moment’s notice.

Sometimes Japanese fighting men had to recite The Rescript in full at each night’s formation, the chanting going on for about fifteen minutes. Fortunately, we at Hiro were only held accountable for the five main points or precepts as follows:

1. The soldier and sailor should consider loyalty the essential duty. . .

. A soldier or a sailor in whom the spirit is not strong, however, skilled in art or proficient in science, is a mere puppet; and a body of soldiers or sailors wanting in loyalty, however well-ordered and disciplined it may

be, is in an emergency no better than a rabble With single heart fulfill

your essential duty of loyalty, and bear in mind that duty is weightier than a mountain, while death is lighter than a feather.

2. Inferiors should regard the orders of their superiors as issuing directly from the Emperor. Always pay due respect not only to your su­periors but also to your seniors, even though not serving under them. On the other hand, superiors should never treat their inferiors with contempt or arrogance. Except when official duty requires them to be strict and severe, superiors should treat their inferiors with consideration, making kindness their chief aim, so that all grades may unite in their service to the Emperor. . . .

3. The soldier and sailor should esteem valor. Ever since the ancient times valor has in our country been held in high esteem, and without it our subjects would be unworthy of their name. How then may the soldier and the sailor, whose profession it is to confront the enemy in battle, forget even for an instant to be valiant?. . .

4. Faithfulness and righteousness are ordinary duties of a man, but the soldier and sailor, in particular, cannot be without them and remain in the ranks even for a day. Faithfulness implies the keeping of one’s word and righteousness the fulfillment of one’s duty. If then you wish to be faithful and righteous in anything, you must carefully consider at the onset whether you can accomplish it or not. If you thoughtlessly agree to do something that is vague in its nature, bind yourself to unwise obliga­tions and then try to prove yourself faithful and righteous, you may find yourself in dire straits from which there is no escape. . . .

5. The soldier and the sailor should make simplicity their aim. If you do not make simplicity your aim, you will become effeminate and frivolous and acquire fondness for luxurious and extravagant ways; you will grow selfish and sordid and sink to the last degree of baseness, so that neither loyalty nor valor will avail to save you from the contempt of the world. . . . Never do you, soldiers and sailors, make light of this injunction.

These precepts were termed “The Grand Way of Heaven and Earth, The Universal Law of Humanity,” and men who made a single mistake in their recitation have sometimes killed themselves.

Thus it was understandable that The Pig laid such stress upon this aspect of our training, for it was supposedly that very “soul of soldiers and sailors” and, of course, of our airmen. Simultaneously, it seemed a bit ironic that he and his cohorts should have such a curious way of complying with the injunction about treating inferiors with kindness and consideration.

That night because of our inability to memorize the requisite pre­cepts with sufficient speed, we were lined up facing the barracks, and this time there were no ball bats. One by one, our faces were slammed against the wall, resulting in several bloody, broken noses, split lips, and loose teeth.

“Recruits,” The Pig later informed us jovially, “this has been a most eventful day. A few more like it and you will start to become men!”