Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Never, I replied. Have you ever shot anyone? Never, I said again. I had no idea what kind of impression my answers made on him, nor did I know what his purpose was in asking me those questions. This contains a document that has to be delivered to headquarters, he said, placing his hand on his saddlebag. If it cant be delivered, it has to be destroyed-burned, buried, it doesn't matter, but it must not, under any circumstances, be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Under any circumstances. That is our first priority. I want to be sure you understand this. It is very, very important.

I understand, I said.

Yamamoto looked me in the eye. If the situation looks bad, the first thing you have to do is shoot me. Without hesitation. If I can do it myself, I will. But with my arm like this, I may not be able to. In that case, you have to shoot me. And make sure you shoot to kill. I nodded in silence.

When we reached the ford, just before dusk, the fear that I had been feeling all along turned out to be all too well founded. A small detachment of Outer Mongolian troops was deployed there. Yamamoto and I climbed one of the higher dunes and took turns looking at them through the binoculars. There were eight men-not a lot, but for a border patrol they were heavily armed. One man carried a light machine gun, and there was one heavy machine gun, mounted on a rise. It was surrounded by sandbags and aimed at the river. They had obviously stationed themselves there to prevent us from crossing to the other bank. They had pitched their tents by the river and staked their ten horses nearby. It looked as if they were planning to stay in place until they caught us. Isn't there another ford we could use? I asked.

Yamamoto took his eyes from the binoculars and looked at me, shaking his head. There is one, but its too far. Two days on horseback. We don't have that much time. All we can do is cross here, whatever it takes.

Meaning we ford at night? Correct. Its the only way. We leave the horses here. We finish off the sentry, and the others will probably be asleep. Don't worry, the river will blot out most sounds. I'll take care of the sentry. Theres nothing for us to do until then, so better get some sleep, rest ourselves now while we have the chance.

We set our fording operation for three in the morning. Corporal Honda took all the packs from the horses, drove the animals to a distant spot, and released them. We dug a deep hole and buried our extra ammunition and food. All that each of us would carry would be a canteen, a days rations, a gun, and a few bullets. If we were caught by the Outer Mongolians, with their overwhelmingly superior firepower, we could never outfight them, no matter how much ammunition we might carry. Now the thing for us to do was to get what sleep we could, because if we did make it across the river, there would be no chance to sleep for some time. Corporal Honda would stand sentry first, with Sergeant Hamano taking his place.

Stretching out in the tent, Yamamoto fell asleep immediately. He apparently hadn't slept at all the whole time. By his pillow was a leather valise, into which he had transferred the important document. Hamano fell asleep soon after him. We were all exhausted, but I was too tense to sleep. I lay there for a long time, dying for sleep but kept awake by imagined scenes of us killing the sentry and being sprayed with machine gun fire as we forded the river. My palms were dripping with sweat, and my temples throbbed. I could not be sure that when the time came, I would be able to conduct myself in a manner befitting an officer. I crawled out of the tent and went to sit by Corporal Honda on sentry duty. You know, Honda, I said, were maybe going to die here.

Hard to say, he replied. For a while, neither of us said anything. But there was something in his answer that bothered me-a particular tone that contained a hint of uncertainty. Intuition has never been my strong suit, but I knew that his vague remark was intended to conceal something. I decided to question him about it.

If you have something to tell me, don't hold back now, I said. This could be the last time we ever talk to each other, so open up.

Biting his lower lip, Honda stroked the sand at his feet. I could see he was wrestling with conflicting feelings. Lieutenant, he said after some time had passed. He looked me straight in the eye. Of the four of us here, you will live the longest- far longer than you yourself would imagine. You will die in Japan.

Now it was my turn to look at him. He continued: You may wonder how I know that, but it is something that not even I can explain. I just know.

Are you psychic or something?

Maybe so, though the word doesn't quite seem to fit what I feel. Its a little too grandiose. Like I say, I just know, thats all.

Have you always had this kind of thing?

Always, he said with conviction. Though I've kept it hidden ever since I was old enough to realize what was happening. But this is a matter of life and death, Lieutenant, and you are the one who's asking me about it, so I'm telling you the truth.

And how about other people? Do you know whats going to happen to them?

He shook his head. Some things I know, some things I don't know. But you'd probably be better off not knowing, Lieutenant. It may be presumptuous of someone like me to say such big-sounding things to a college graduate like you, but a persons destiny is something you look back at after its past, not something you see in advance. I have a certain amount of experience where these things are concerned. You don't.

But anyhow, you say I'm not going to die here?

He scooped up a handful of sand and let it run out between his fingers. This much I can say, Lieutenant. You wont be dying here on the continent.

I wanted to go on talking about this, but Corporal Honda refused to say anything more. He seemed to be absorbed in his own contemplations or meditations. Holding his rifle, he stared out at the vast prairie. Nothing I said seemed to reach him.

I went back to the low-pitched tent in the shelter of a dune, lay down beside Sergeant Hamano, and closed my eyes. This time sleep came to take me-a deep sleep that all but pulled me by the ankles to the bottom of the sea.

What woke me was the metallic click of a rifles safety being released. No soldier in battle could ever miss that sound, even in a deep sleep. Its a- how can I say it?-a special sound, as cold and heavy as death itself. Almost instinctively, I reached for the Browning next to my pillow, but just then a shoe slammed into my temple, the impact blinding me momentarily.

After I had brought my breathing under control, I opened my eyes just enough to see the man who must have kicked me. He was kneeling down and picking up my Browning. I slowly lifted my head, to find the muzzles of two rifles pointed at my face. Beyond the rifles stood two Mongolian soldiers.

I was sure I had fallen asleep in a tent, but the tent was gone now, and a skyful of stars shone overhead. Another Mongolian soldier was pointing a light machine gun at the head of Yamamoto, who was lying beside me. He lay utterly still, as if conserving his energy because he knew it was useless to resist. All of the Mongols wore long overcoats and battle helmets.

Two of them were aiming large flashlights at Yamamoto and at me. At first I couldn't grasp what had happened: my sleep had been too deep and the shock too great. But the sight of the Mongolian soldiers and of Yamamoto's face left no doubt in my mind: our tents had been discovered before we had had a chance to ford the river.

Then it occurred to me to wonder what had become of Honda and Hamano. I turned my head very slowly, trying to survey the area, but neither man was there. Either they had been killed already or they had managed to escape.