Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Boris may have been cruel, but he was also very careful, which is how he survived all the plots and purges. Beria loved him as a son. But this may have been what led him to become a little too sure of himself and to overstep his bounds. The mistake he made was a fatal one. He arrested the commander of an armored battalion on suspicion of his having communicated secretly with one of Hitlers SS armored battalions during a battle in the Ukraine. He killed the man with torture, poking hot irons into every opening- ears, nostrils, rectum, penis, whatever. But the officer turned out to be the nephew of a high-ranking Communist Party official. Whats more, a thoroughgoing investigation by the Red Army General Staff showed the man to have been absolutely innocent of any wrongdoing. The party official blew up, of course, nor was the Red Army just going to withdraw quietly after such a blot on its honor. Not even Beria was able to protect Boris this time. They stripped him of his rank, put him on trial, and sentenced both him and his Mongolian adjutant to death. The NKVD went to work, though, and got his sentence reduced to hard labor in a concentration camp (though the Mongolian was hanged). Beria sent a secret message to Boris in prison, promising to pull strings in the army and the party: he would get him out and restore him to power after he had served a year in the camp. At least this was how Nikolai had heard it.

So you see, Mamiya, Nikolai said to me, keeping his voice low, everybody thinks Boris is going back to Moscow someday, that Beria is sure to save him before too long. Its true that Beria has to be careful: this camp is still run by the party and the army. But none of us can relax. The wind direction can shift just like that. And when it does, anybody who's given him a tough time here is in for it. The world may be full of idiots, but nobody's stupid enough to sign his own death warrant. We have to tiptoe around him. Hes an honored guest here. Of course, we cant give him servants and treat him as if he were in a hotel. For appearance sake, we have to put chains on his leg and give him a few rocks to crack, but in fact he has his own room and all the alcohol and tobacco he wants. If you ask me, he's like a poison snake. Keeping him alive is not going to do anybody any good. Somebody ought to sneak in there one night and slash his throat for him.

Another day when I was walking by the station, that big sergeant stopped me again. I started to take out my pass, but he shook his head and told me to go instead to the stationmasters office. Puzzled, I did as I was told and found in the office not the stationmaster but Boris Gromov. He sat at the desk, drinking tea and obviously waiting for me to arrive. I froze in the doorway. He no longer had leg irons on. With his hand, he gestured for me to come in.

Nice to see you, Lieutenant Mamiya. Its been years, he said cheerily, flashing a big smile. He offered me a cigarette, but I shook my head.

Nine years, to be precise, he continued, lighting up himself. Or is it eight? Anyhow, its wonderful to see you alive and well. What a joy to meet old friends! Especially after such a brutal war. Don't you agree? And how did you manage to get out of that well?

I just stood there, saying nothing.

All right, then, never mind. The important thing is that you did get out. And then you lost a hand somewhere. And then you learned to speak such fluent Russian! Wonderful, wonderful. You can always make do without a hand. What matters most is that you're alive.

Not by choice, I replied.

Boris laughed aloud. You're such an interesting fellow, Lieutenant Mamiya. You would choose not to live, and yet here you are, very much alive. Yes, a truly interesting fellow. But I am not so easily fooled. No ordinary man could have escaped from that deep well by himself- escaped and found his way back across the river to Manchuria. But don't worry. I wont tell anyone.

Enough about you, though. Let me tell you about myself. As you can see, I lost my former position and am now a mere prisoner in a concentration camp. But I do not intend to stay here on the edge of the earth forever, breaking rocks with a sledgehammer. I am as powerful as ever back at Party Central, and I am using that power to increase my power here day by day. And so I will tell you in all frankness that I want to have good relations with you Japanese prisoners of war. Finally, the productivity of this mine depends on you men- on your numbers and your hard work. We can accomplish nothing if we ignore your power, and that includes your own individual power, Lieutenant Mamiya. I want you to lend me some of what you have. You are a former intelligence officer of the Kwantung Army and a very brave man. You speak fluent Russian. If you would act as my liaison, I am in a position to do favors for yourself and your comrades. This is not a bad deal that I am offering you.

I have never been a spy, I declared, and I have no intention of becoming one now.

I am not asking you to become a spy, Boris said, as if to calm me down. All I'm saying is that I can make things easier for your people. I'm offering to improve relations, and I want you to be the go-between. Together, we can knock that shit-eating Georgian politburo son of a bitch out of his chair. I can do it, don't kid yourself. I'm sure you Japanese hate his guts. Once we get rid of him, you people will be able to have partial autonomy, you can form committees, you can run your own organization. Then at least you'll be able to stop the guards from dishing out brutal treatment anytime they like. That's what you've all been hoping for, isn't it?

Boris was right about that. We had been appealing to the camp authorities about these matters for a long time, and they would always turn us down flat.

And what do you want in return? I asked.

Almost nothing, he said, with a big smile, holding both arms out. All I am looking for is close, friendly relations with you Japanese prisoners of war. I want to eliminate a few of my party comrades, my tovarishes, with whom it seems I am unable to achieve any understanding, and I need your peoples cooperation to accomplish that. We have many interests in common, so why don't we join hands for our mutual benefit? What is it the Americans say? Give-and-take? If you cooperate with me, I wont do anything to your disadvantage. I have no tricks up my sleeve. I know, of course, that I am in no position to ask you to like me. You and I share some unpleasant memories, to be sure. But appearances aside, I am a man of honor. I always keep my promises. So why don't we let bygones be bygones?

Take a few days, think about my offer, and let me have a firm reply. I believe its worth a try. You men have nothing to lose, don't you agree? Now, make sure you mention this only to people you are absolutely sure you can trust. A few of your men are informers working with the politburo member. Make sure they don't catch wind of this. Things could turn sour if they found out. My power here is still somewhat limited.

I went back to my area and took one man aside to discuss Boris' offer. This fellow had been a lieutenant colonel in the army. He was a tough man with a sharp mind. Commander of a unit that had shut itself up in a Khingan Mountain fortress and refused to raise the white flag even after Japans surrender, he was now the unofficial leader of the camps Japanese prisoners of war, a force the Russians had to reckon with. Concealing the incident with Yamamoto on the banks of the Khalkha, I told him that Boris had been a high-ranking officer in the secret police and explained his offer. The colonel seemed interested in the idea of eliminating the present politburo member and securing some autonomy for the Japanese prisoners of war. I stressed that Boris was a cold-blooded and dangerous man, a past master of deceit and trickery who could not be taken at face value. You may be right, said the colonel, but so is our politburo friend: we have nothing to lose. And he was right. If something came out of the deal, it couldn't make things any worse for us than they already were, I thought. But I couldn't have been more wrong. Hell has no true bottom.