Death is meaningless.
Nanking was all bomb sites, soot, and ruins. Half-buildings were torn apart and burnt out, a wall or two still standing without a roof, or window glass resting amongst piles of rubble. The telltale odour of rotting flesh told Hideki of what was hidden beneath. He could also smell the familiar cordite and urine emanating from somewhere. He clenched his teeth and muscles as he marched past various wasted parts of the city. Even after nearly three years since the take-over and occupation, about a third of Nanking was still in ruin.
The 10th Division had arrived through the Taiping Gate, basically an arched hole, a ruined architectural feature with bits of blue ceramic tiles as the only testament to a glorious past, in the city wall that surrounded the place. He had heard that the 16th Division, a much larger contingent of soldiers, had entered the city through the same entrance and the Zongshan Gate a few weeks before. Simultaneously, the 9th Division had entered through the Guanghua Gate. That must’ve been a magnificent sight, with fully dressed troops marching smartly and with the towering Zijin Mountain in the background. The summit was partially hidden by its famous purple clouds that day.
Hideki’s division went straight to what was once known as the International Safety Zone in the western end of town. The commanders had not recognized it as a neutral area and so ordered it to be “cleaned out”. Perhaps the first heinous order. Headquarters and barracks were now located there.
The sleeping quarters were like any other Hideki had known, except most of the walls and floors of the commandeered bank building were covered in burnt umber stains. The discolouration soaked into the surfaces and could not be removed by work crews. He could feel tears coming on.
He had heard that mobs of Chinese citizens fled to the Safety Zone for protection with the Japanese advance from the countryside, but they were fired upon without thought and without mercy. Scores of enemy soldiers and young Chinese men were bound and shot by the Yangtze River. As was customary, the bodies were bayoneted and tossed into the water. By the Taiping Gate through which he had arrived, 1300 soldiers and citizens were blown up by artillery fire, doused with gasoline, and burned, alive or dead. Survivors were bayoneted.
Bodies were piled up in six-foot high mounds outside the Yijiang Gate in the north end of town. The young soldier gritted his teeth and walked with his head bent, not wishing to look or imagine. He was no longer self-conscious of his height.
***
How many? How many dead went through his head with no answer coming. He had heard 4,000, but he suspected the alleged 400,000 was more accurate. He knew each victim had a name, an identity, a family, yet they were all unknown to him. Names, identities, families…all erased. A huge number makes the dead anonymous.
Rumours and gossip floated about Hideki’s ears. In the barracks, a small gang of compatriots talked in a circle of camaraderie. They were smoking and drinking sake casually on their beds. Hideki didn’t know their names, but he had seen them in the street from a distance. They had surrounded a poor peasant woman.
“Did you see how scared she was?” one said with a laugh.
“Yeah, especially when we tore her clothes off!”
“Oh, she was a honey.”
“Quit it, she was a Chinese mushi.”
“Good body, you gotta admit it.”
“Ach. Average.”
They guffawed.
“Hey, why didn’t you partake? You know, have at her?” one asked an older soldier.
“I like virgins,” he said with a grin. “She had a daughter.”
“She was a child. Must’ve been six or seven.”
His grin grew wider. “I liked her.”
Hideki turned away as the image of the woman, with legs splayed wide, a stomach sliced open, blood everywhere, and a face full of horror, materialized before him. And the daughter raped, bayoneted, and raised high in the air.
He ran to the latrine to vomit.
***
Surely, none of these acts could be done to honour the Emperor. In his dreams, he swam within the overwhelming numbers of dead. Bodies piled on bodies. He tried in desperation to save even one…but could not.
He dragged about with head hung down, his shoulders hunched and arms limp. He was constantly in a nervous sweat. His eyes always at half-mast. He kept to himself, though he continued to follow orders; he would not, however, engage with others. Except Tsujiyama, the soldier who stood beside him when they buried the mayor before the Double Snake Incident.
Tsujiyama Hideo’s thin body was always perspiring, like Hideki, or so it seemed. The smell of dried sweat was palpable, but no one cared.
One night, Tsujiyama sat up talking to Hideki in their side-by-side cots. His face was animated, his voice filled with earnest anxiety. Hideki just saw another soldier serving the Emperor, but there was something more in this one.
“Akamatsu, we got a two-day pass coming. You wanna do something?” Tsujiyama asked.
“No, not really. I thought I’d stay here and clean my bayonet and rifle.”
“Clean…? Are you…? Listen, we may not get another chance to see the city. Not get to see China in our lifetimes. We should get out there—”
“What’s there to see? Everything is in ruins. Only officers live in comfort and luxury.”
“The what?”
“You know, get one of them Jugun Ianfu. I know where to find them.”
There was a Comfort Station or brothel in the Japanese Concession of Shanghai. Hideki had never gone, but many of his fellow recruits did. The idea made him shake and sweat more. He imagined alluring women flashing their thighs and covered with a putrid perfume. In Hideki’s mind, his comrades were fools to open themselves up for disease, theft, and possible murder for a few moments of pleasure. He was teased mercilessly, but no real harm came to him. He was just considered too young, inexperienced, and ignorant of the ways of the world.
He did wonder, again and only for a moment, how Japanese soldiers could treat Chinese women the way they did. The casual conversation by the soldiers in the barracks then came to mind.
***
After much persuasive argument and haranguing by Tsujiyama, Hideki finally agreed. He gave in, but he did consider “knowing” a woman to be of vital importance. Hideki slept nervously with the prospect of the next day.
The Comfort Station was in a hidden and squalid corner of the Security Zone. The single, stand-alone building was one floor high, with a cracked and caved-in roof and scarred wooden walls. All the windows had been boarded. Cracks in the concrete foundation left debris everywhere. The whole place looked ravaged by war. Similar anonymous buildings lined the street, more like a back alley.
There was no one to greet the two soldiers outside, but Tsujiyama confidently opened the front door. Inside, a short and slight man greeted them. He called himself “Kawasaki”, but it was obvious he was Chinese.
“Gentlemen, come in. Welcome to the Comfort Battalion. What is your pleasure?” At least his Japanese, though accented, was clear.
Tsujiyama consulted with him quietly for a bit. Kawasaki with a wide grin pointed the way to the back rooms.
As Hideki walked down the long corridor, he was aware of every footstep he took, aware of the cracks and the peeling paint of the walls, aware of the too few lights trying to pierce the dull darkness. Every wooden door, and there were many, was anonymous. All he felt was Tsujiyama’s hand on his back guiding him to the very back of the hallway. They came to stop before the crude door facing forward.
“Go on in,” Tsujiyama encouraged. He smiled and walked to an adjacent door.
Hideki noticed his breathing quickened as he opened the door. He first thought to knock but decided that would be silly.
The door swung open with a great yawn. What greeted him inside surprised him. A woman, older with creped throat and crow’s feet about the eyes, stood as if waiting for him. Her hair was painted black, ink trails down the back of her neck. Even standing on a soiled mattress, she was slightly shorter than he; she wore a loose-fitting yukata of faded cherry blossoms. She was indifferent to the fact that it gapped open, exposing her naked body.
Her breasts were plump but drooping, like twin hanging pears. Her rib cage thinned out, the bones showing. Her face had no makeup, lined instead with age and abuse, her eyes hollow. The face hung like sad, withered fruit. Her legs were dirty, maybe bruised, definitely spotted and had none of the vigour of a healthy body.
She approached him and, without a word, proceeded to disrobe him.
Hideki remained silent and began feeling dizzy. Once naked, he was pushed to the floor. She soon straddled him and proceeded to perform mechanical intercourse. He breathed even more heavily than he had until he could hold no longer. And just like that it was over.
The experience was all new to him. Guilt came over him; he felt dirty. He wondered if this absurd and awkward exercise was necessary. Yet he knew all his companion soldiers sought women for this precise reason. He then gazed at her as she stood and walked to a corner of the room.
“What’s your name?” he asked. He felt like he should say something. Seemed appropriate given what had just happened.
She said nothing; instead, she took a piece of soiled fabric and cleaned herself. She appeared uncomfortable, but not embarrassed at all. Still, Hideki decided it was necessary to connect somehow.
Before she could answer, if she were going to, a scream came from somewhere down the hall. It sounded like a woman being murdered. Hideki came to his feet immediately and clumsily put on some of his clothes. As he made for the door, the Comfort Woman grabbed him with her hands and said something incomprehensible. He pushed her aside and entered the hallway.
The screaming continued along with convulsive crying. Once he got to the door, he didn’t hesitate, he opened it and witnessed a naked muscular man grinding against a young girl beneath him, her thin legs splayed apart. She was pushing and striking against him but to no avail. She screeched in his face. Tears filmed her contorted face.
Hideki could instantly see she was young, undernourished, and weak. The tormentor suddenly grabbed her by the throat to quell the screams, no doubt. She started gasping, clawing for air. Her eyes looked ready to burst.
Hideki yelled, “Stop! You’re going to kill her.” His face was flushed, his hands outstretched and shaking.
The man stopped momentarily and looked around him. Hideki gulped in surprise. “Sergeant Hayashi…” was all he could say.
Hayashi stood and faced Hideki. He was nude but not self-conscious.
“Mind your own business,” he hissed.
The girl had curled into a ball and tried to recover and hide her nakedness. She wriggled to a corner.
“But she’s a little girl! Leave her alone.”
The Sergeant burst out laughing. “What do you care? I paid for her.”
Hideki would not be deterred. “There must be a hundred Comfort Women here. Why her?”
“She’s a virgin, a Korean virgin,” he said as if to say she was worthless in every other sense. “I paid extra.” With those words, he turned his back to reclaim his prize.
The girl shrieked again and cowered in the corner as the sergeant approached her. “Come here, you little mushi.”
Hideki reached out and grabbed his Sergeant to put a stop to it. Hayashi was momentarily stopped but twisted around and struck Hideki across the face, his cheek instantly red. Hideki fell backwards and to the ground.
In the next split-second, Hideki grabbed a nearby weapon, Hayashi’s sword, resting against the wall next to him, and, in one swift motion, unsheathed it and blindly swung the raw blade and caught the sergeant in the abdomen. Sukesada, a samurai’s sword.
Hideki gasped at Hayashi as he realized what he had done. Hayashi stood for a moment as if stunned by what was happening. Blood gushed forward and Hayashi fell to his knees. With contorted face, he looked up at Hideki. He then toppled over in a dead fall, still gripping his wound, the blood oozing between his fingers.
Hideki took two steps back, dropping the sword at the same time. The girl leapt to her feet and ran out of the room, screaming with her hands in the air. He was vaguely aware he had sullied the blade, the Emperor’s sword. He dropped it with a rattle and clang. And in the next moment, someone held Hideki by the shoulders and pulled him out. It was Tsujiyama.
Neither said anything. His friend made sure Hideki was soon out of the building and out of the district quickly. No one yelled at them, no one gave chase.
***
Back in the barracks, Hideki sat on his cot, shaking in the darkness. Tsujiyama brought him a cup of water and told him to drink, which he did quickly.
“What am I going to do?” Hideki fretted. “I should give myself up. Confess everything.”
“That would be signing your death warrant. No, don’t say a thing. They won’t come for you. No one knows your name there…No one’ll say anything at the Comfort Station.”
“But most of my stuff is there. I left it behind.”
“Yeah, a generic uniform? And army equipment? In a place full of military personnel? No one’ll trace it back to you.”
“But—”
“Trust me,” he said with a confidence that inspired acceptance. “The Chinese’ll sell all your stuff.”
***
Tsujiyama was correct. No one came to accuse and arrest him. A captain announced that Sgt. Hayashi was killed by a young Comfort Girl, who was apprehended and quietly put to death. No trial, just put against a wall and shot. Or worse, Hideki imagined.
Sgt. Hayashi was given full military honours; his body cremated and sent to his family in Japan for commemoration. The sword had disappeared.
Hideki was left quietly crying, remorse hanging over him like a cloud of sadness.