Hiroyuki Agawa - Burial in the Clouds

With that, the front and rear ranks of each division were made to face one another, and each of us was ordered to strike the man opposite him. If an officer determined that anyone was cutting corners, or going easy on his partner, he would say, “Hit him like this!” and damn well show you how till you collapsed. I faced Wakatsuki, a fellow who packs quite a punch. Curiously, the good beating had made me trigger-happy, and, at the command “Rear rank, go!” I smashed Wakatsuki’s face in. Both of us left with bloody cuts on our lips.

They made the rounds at 2215, an hour and a half behind schedule.

Father has written. Our goat gave birth to a kid. I guess they’ll have plenty of goat’s milk to drink. Also, the peas in the kitchen garden are doing well, and they’ll be ready to eat sometime next month. I can picture the butterflies fluttering around the pea-flowers in the yard. There’s been no word at all from my brother Bunkichi.

In the morning, we had a lecture on aerial ordnance, with particular attention to guidance systems. The instructor was Lieutenant Washimura, who barely escaped death during the strategic “advance” in New Guinea. Japanese ordnance, he tells us, is marred by defective instruments that were rushed into production, and which lag far behind American equipment. His words sank deep into my heart. Just think about our radar and our bombsights, he says, and you see how long a road Japan still has to travel. As for the battleship Kirishima , which went down in the Third Battle of the Solomon Islands: Unquestionably this was due to the unerring accuracy of our enemy’s radar-assisted firepower. Our men were flustered, the lieutenant explains, not knowing where the shells were coming from, and in the confusion they lost the rudder, and, with it, control of the ship. Thus the Kirishima sank, all too easily.

“True, the navy expects much of you,” Lieutenant Washimura said. “But in my view it’s regrettable that the press bureau at Imperial Headquarters sees fit to keep us all intoxicated with the results of the Battle of Hawaii and the Malay campaign, trumpeting our successes with such fanfare, as if to the very crack of doom.” Generally speaking, the instructors who have been in battle, and had a tough go of it, are quite unassuming, and there is nothing fanatical or desperate about them. Lieutenant Washimura, though, seems particularly philosophical. Really bad are the instructors who stay behind in the training units. They get used to being instructors and wind up like bitter old maids.

Lieutenant Washimura also told us a story about so-called “Australian pig.” They were marching through the jungle of New Guinea in retreat, with nothing to eat or drink, when they stumbled across an army unit. These soldiers possessed a rare store of mouthwatering meat. They had gotten hold of an “Australian pig,” they said, and would be happy to share it with the navy men. At first, the sailors were grateful for the windfall, but then they noticed a number of dead Japanese soldiers, whose bodies lay scattered here and there, along the path of retreat. Flesh from their backs and thighs had been carved out. The lieutenant did not say whether or not he ate any of the meat. He may have. What must it feel like to discover that you’ve just eaten human flesh? If I am starving to death, will I think, “Now that I have eaten it once, it doesn’t make any difference if I do it again”? Will I?

Air defense training this afternoon, and then again this evening. We had to conduct it inside the building, on account of the rain.

I feel gloomy, which probably has something to do with that story about “Australian pig.” Ordinarily, I should have been celebrating the Kanbutsue today, the anniversary of the Buddha’s birth, with hydrangea tea. For the Kanbutsue, we build a little “flower temple” (so called because its roof is bedecked with blossoms) and enshrine a figure of the Baby Buddha inside it. Then we fill a bowl at its base with hydrangea tea, to be sprinkled over the Buddha with a dipper. That sort of thing is so remote from us now. Come to think of it, though, the Kanbutsue might be celebrated on April 8 of the old lunar calendar. I’m not sure about these things anymore.

Antiaircraft drills immediately followed reveille. We were on Defense Condition 1 throughout the morning.

Glider training proceeded, while we maintained the high alert. My left foot is still stiff and gets tense easily, making the plane tilt leftward. This is no good. I still hope somehow to make the grade as a pilot. The word is that our scores in Morse code weigh heavily, and I do better at that by the day. So if I can remember to do my gliding with due care, I’ll probably be okay. As for Morse code, I can now understand without difficulty the flashing signals that the Red Dragonflies out of Kasumiga-ura Naval Air Station exchange with ground control during their night flights.

The cherry buds are swelling. They appear much later hereabouts than they do in Tokyo and points further west, but nevertheless it is spring. We may not live to see another one, but I’d be content if only my chapped skin would heal, as it has been killing me each time I do the laundry. I saw the first swallow along the lake today.

Mail call was at lunchtime. I received four postcards in total, from Professor E. at Kyoto University, from father, from K. in Shizuoka, and from Kashima in Takeyama. Every card spoke of cherry blossoms, inadvertently bringing me tidings of flowers from scattered parts of the country. According to Professor E., the whole university is now poised for the decisive battle. The Law and Economics Faculties have gone to Shimane Prefecture, and the Science Faculties to Shiga, to do their labor service. The Faculty of Letters alone remains in Kyoto, having completed its service in March. In the morning, the students attend lectures in the core curriculum. Afternoons are devoted to military drills, after which students audit lectures on topics of their own choosing. Three acres of fallow ground on campus have been dug up, and the tennis courts will be reclaimed as potato fields. Cherry blossoms are in bloom where K.’s Chubu 3rd column is stationed in Shizuoka. Kashima sent me a heartfelt letter, not exactly in his usual tone.

“The Miura Peninsula is a stretch of hilly terrain,” he wrote, “with a few copses scattered here and there. The cherry blossoms are out. To my right lies the ever-blue Sea of Sagami, over which I can see Mt. Fuji on a sunny day. There are no cherry trees on the barracks grounds, but kirishima azaleas, torch azaleas, tulips, pansies, daisies, and other such things grow riotously in the newly built beds. Looking at these flowers blooming in the sun comforts my weary heart. I’m always thinking about you guys. I suppose I now regret a little that I was judged ‘not flightworthy’ and ended up here alone, separated from you all.”

I showed the postcards from Professor E. and Kashima to Fujikura. He looked dismayed and said he hadn’t received any. Well, what can I say? He doesn’t write to anyone. He did say, however, that he plans to write a long letter to Professor E., once his assignment as a pilot comes through. He intends to send it through some back channel in order to avoid the censors, who would by no means approve it.

After dinner I went to see the newsreel, ditty box in hand. It’s just like the military to make us all run twenty minutes’ distance simply to watch a ten-minute film. But what I saw in the newsreel was very interesting: commencement ceremonies at the Naval and Army Academies, young tank-men undergoing training, a report on the progress of the war along the India/Burma border. Jogging back to my quarters, I met Fujikura again.