IN THE LONG, NARROW TOWN squeezed in between sea and mountain, numerous tunnels had been dug into the mountainside to serve as air-raid shelters. Nobody bothered to rush to the shelters any more, though, even when an air-raid warning sounded.
This was because the entire town from sea to mountain had been completely razed to the ground a couple of months before, and only a handful of people were now living in the burnt-out ruins. Now and then a B-29 would fly overhead, but even if they’d wanted to drop any bombs there wasn’t anything left for them to target. All that was left was a bleak wasteland with no gas, electricity or water. You could confidently say that it was the safest place in Japan at the time.
This was how nobody noticed that a lone American had set up home deep inside one of the shelters on the mountainside. Or rather he hadn’t so much set up home as, having nowhere else to go, taken refuge here. He sat hugging his knees, unaware of the passage of time from day to night and night to day, like a mole fearful of the summer light.
The American was a prisoner of war captured by the Japanese Army on 8th December 1941, soon after the start of the war. His name was Steve.
At the very beginning of the war the outlook for Japan was good, and they’d advanced throughout the southern Pacific at lightning speed, forcing American, British and Dutch forces to raise the white flag with barely a chance to return fire, and capturing many of their soldiers.
According to Western thinking, there was nothing shameful about being taken prisoner of war. On the contrary, fighting to the bitter end without fleeing, and being taken prisoner only after exhausting every available means, was seen rather as honourable. And under international treaties, POWs had the right to humane treatment, so to begin with Steve and his fellow prisoners had been quite relaxed about it all.
They were confined to a makeshift prison enclosed by a fence in a corner of the island that they had been defending. There was no chance of them escaping as they were surrounded in all directions by the ocean, and the Japanese soldiers guarding them could afford to be generous, so they all got along fairly well.
Half a year later, the POWs were taken to Japan. Japan’s youth were being steadily sent to the front, so there was a lack of workers in the factories at a time when there was a need to make a lot more weapons. Students and schoolchildren were being ordered away from their studies into the factories, and not even womenfolk were allowed to remain idle, so it was unacceptable to have just the POWs languishing at their leisure.
Steve and his fellows were therefore sent to work in a steel haulage warehouse on the seafront of the long, narrow town. The forced labour of POWs was prohibited, but Japan could not afford to have full-grown men lying around idle, and the military had a rather different idea of POWs from other countries. “Never accept the shame of being taken prisoner!” they ordered their own soldiers. If they were taken prisoner they would bring disgrace not only on themselves, but on their entire family.
This way of thinking was actually quite recent. Centuries ago, in the Warring States period, for example, even if a warrior surrendered to the enemy, became his ally and fought against his former lord, he wasn’t considered a traitor. Since the beginning of the Meiji period, however, Japan had been a poor island nation striving to conduct itself as a world power. To do this it had to force soldiers to go to war. Once they realized that not just they would be affected, but their parents and children would no longer be able to show their faces in public if they disgraced them, they couldn’t hold their own lives too dear.
Even if they knew a battle was lost they had to charge to their deaths, and it was this brave spirit that made up for their diminished numbers and poorly armed forces. Each successive war—from the Sino-Japanese, Russo-Japanese and China-Japan wars to the Pacific War—reinforced this way of thinking in the Japanese military. If they had only forced it on their own troops it might have been okay, but they started viewing the POWs from the countries they were at war with in the same way.
The first town that Steve saw in Japan was still relatively untainted by the shadow of war, and he was relieved at how peaceful it looked. And after all, life on the small southern island had been monotonous with no women or children in sight. Arriving in port and disembarking from the ship, he felt quite relaxed and even smiled and waved at the people they passed on the way to the barracks that had been prepared as a prison.
“Look at that POW grinning like a monkey. The nerve!”
“If that’s what these damned Yanks are like, they’re bound to lose.”
Steve and the others had no idea that the townspeople were whispering such things about them. At the same time, it was natural for the townspeople to think this way. In the early summer of 1942, a woman who had shown sympathy towards some POWs had been branded a traitor and harshly berated by the military before the entire nation.
The POWs were put to work right away. They might have been big and strong, and so were highly valued, but they were also despised in equal measure. For one thing they were considered stupid for working so hard for their enemy captors, and for another they were feared for their ability to dispatch their work far more efficiently than any of the Japanese workers.
At that time, many people had been drafted from their regular occupations into the war effort, and put to work in factories and warehouses. Skilled craftsmen were made to push trolleys, barbers to wield hammers and clockmakers to dig holes. However, they could never throw themselves into the work, however much they were told it was for the good of their country. After all, if they injured their hands they wouldn’t be able to make a living back in peacetime, and so they were very careful not to crush their fingers.
The regular workers, too, were annoyed by the military who knew nothing about the factory yet came and threw their weight around, acting as if they were the only ones doing anything for the war effort. And what’s more, there was a shortage of electricity and materials. Even if ordered to work through the night, it wasn’t as if they could build aeroplanes and ships on the Japanese spirit alone.
There were also some unscrupulous workers who were so fed up that on cold winter days they burned machine tools for warmth, and stole paint, wire and oil to exchange for food.
The hardest workers of them all were the POWs and also the schoolchildren, who believed that Japan would definitely win the war as they’d been taught at school. Steve and his fellow POWs were increasingly given the toughest jobs, while their food rations became more and more meagre by the day, although this was true for everyone.
They were all reduced to skin and bones, with just their eyes bulging, but never for a moment did any of them ever doubt that America would win the war. They had been completely shocked when they were first taken prisoner in an ambush, and were so impressed by Japan’s Zero fighter planes that they thought Japan must be an incredibly strong country. Once they saw the reality on the mainland, however, they felt almost disappointed.
Just about all the machinery had been manufactured in America or Britain, and most of that was so old it wouldn’t be out of place in a museum. All the factory workers were sickly, and they still used horses and cows to transport materials. On the whole they were rather to be pitied.
The POWs were never given any news but, piecing things together from what they happened to see around town, they could get a general idea of how things were going. People were beginning to construct air-raid shelters on the roadsides, and their clothing was becoming more and more ragged, while the soldiers guarding them were replaced by increasingly doddery old men.
“Looks like Japan’s finished, eh?”
“I’m already dreaming of ice cream floats…”
“Wonder what’s happening in the baseball league?”
“I don’t want to see another grain of rice as long as I live!”
They all felt homesick, and fervently longed for the day when the Allies would land in Japan and rescue them.
Then, in the late autumn of 1944, the B-29s began flying reconnaissance missions. Steve and his fellows cheered loudly at the magnificent sight of a plane trailing a cloud as it flew west to east over the town, only to be berated by their irritated guards.
“Let them drop their bombs! We’ll make sure you lot are right underneath.”
“We’ll execute ten of you for every Japanese they kill.”
They knew these were just empty threats, but nevertheless they felt a twinge of discomfort knowing that their factory was producing weapons and could very well be targeted by the Allies. If they were in Europe they might consider escaping, but in Japan they had nowhere to escape to. As the day of victory drew closer, if anything their unease grew.
At the start of 1945 the air raids finally began in earnest. Steve and the others were strictly confined to the factory to prevent them from sending signals to the B-29s, but otherwise they weren’t treated any more harshly in retaliation for the attacks.
One night in early summer the town was hit by an air raid for the second time. The first time the POWs had clapped their hands and cheered, but this time incendiary bombs rained down all around them. There was no shelter in the prison, but ironically the guards consoled them, “Don’t worry, those B-types know you’re here, don’t they? We’ll be okay.”
That might be so, but if the flames reached them they would have no means to get away, so the POWs searched desperately for an escape route. As they were doing so, a small bomb fell right next to them and blew a hole in the prison fence.
They ran out through it but, surrounded by flames, they didn’t know which way to run. Even if they did manage to escape the blaze, they’d probably be lynched by townspeople whose houses had burnt down. Some ran for the sea, and others returned to the prison. Steve went off on his own in search of refuge.
Soon the entire area was razed to the ground and was like a dreamscape, with fires glowing like fireflies all over. He didn’t meet a soul as he walked the streets. It was the first time in years he had been unsupervised, and he became quite carried away roaming around. By the time he came to his senses, he had reached the foothills.
And as the fires were finally extinguished and darkness fell, people began appearing here and there. Steve suddenly felt afraid, like a child who had become separated from his mother at a festival. But even if he wanted to return to the prison, he didn’t know how.
He lay down on a gentle slope and thought to himself that it would be fine if the night would never end, but before long the sky in the east grew light. Looking down at the town he saw that not a single building was left standing. Everything had burnt down. But there was no time to feel either shocked or happy at the Allied forces’ success. The military police and civil guard must be out and about, and already aware that the POWs had escaped.
For the time being, Steve sneaked into one of the abandoned tunnel shelters. As long as he was in a darkish place, he could feel at ease. He recalled playing in old gold mines as a child, fascinated by the damp air in the shafts, despite his mother scolding him that they were dangerous.
“Mama!” he murmured. He felt as scared and helpless as a child.
As if in answer, a girl appeared and, sobbing, cried out as he had done, “Mama!”
Steve was about to make a run for it, but then realized that she was only about six or seven years old. She looked so sad that he asked her, “Hey, what’s up?”
Of course he spoke in English, but the little girl seemed to understand, for she sobbed, “Mama’s gone.”
Steve didn’t know any Japanese, but he understood her perfectly. “Cheer up!” he said, stroking her hair. “She’ll be back soon.”
“No, she won’t. She’s dead, and our house burnt down.”
Steve was at a loss how to comfort her. Hundreds or even thousands of people must have burnt to death in those flames. The little girl didn’t seem to have any qualms about Steve being American, and she sat quietly beside him clutching her doll.
If he stayed here, it would only be a matter of time before he was discovered. On the other hand, he couldn’t just abandon the little girl. Most importantly, he had to find food and water. The war would soon be over, and he wanted to stay alive until then. He glanced around, wishing that he had a pair of wings.
“Um, there’s a bigger shelter farther up,” the little girl told him, as if reading his mind.
When he went to check it out, he found that it extended much farther back into the mountain, and was well kitted out with emergency food rations. That in itself meant that people would surely come, but if he hid himself away right at the back, nobody was likely to notice anyone there in the darkness unless they were specifically looking.
Steve and the girl decided to make their nest there. The girl’s father had been a pilot, and had died in battle two years before, so she was an orphan.
“When the war ends, I’ll take you to America with me.”
“America? But that’s a bad country isn’t it?”
“No, no, it really isn’t.”
And so he did his best to describe America to her. As he told her about the wide-open plains, deserts, huge rivers, skyscrapers and cars everywhere, pieces of the life he’d once led in America all those years before began coming back to him.
Everyone from the ruined town had fled to the countryside, and nobody came to check up on the air-raid shelters. In all the chaos, even if one of the POWs had gone missing, they’d probably assumed he’d been burnt to death. Many people must have been reduced to mere lumps of charcoal, and an American body would be indistinguishable from a Japanese one.
Steve and the little girl became as close as brother and sister. From time to time she would go down to the spring to fetch water in a charred bucket. When at night she cried for her mother, Steve would hold her close and sing her to sleep with American lullabies. The war seemed far away, and the two of them thought only of going to America.
And then it was 15th August. The girl went to fetch water as usual, and happened to overhear an elderly couple passing by say angrily, “The war’s over. Japan lost.”
“What? Is the war over?” asked the girl. She didn’t really know what this meant, but if it was true then she’d be able to go to America. That’s what Steve was always telling her. “Well, I guess I can go to America, then.”
“Don’t be silly, America’s coming here.”
“No, no—my friend said he’d take me to America!”
Wondering what she was talking about, the old man questioned her further, and finally realized that there must be an American POW hiding in the old air-raid shelters.
Now that they had lost to America, it might cause problems if it became known they’d been mistreating POWs. He rushed to tell the military police and the local policeman, who were quite taken aback and decided to go and fetch him.
Hearing the noise of the big procession making its way to the mountainside, and not knowing the war had ended, Steve thought he’d finally been discovered and immediately took to his heels, heading into the mountains at a sprint.
“Hey, the war’s over! We can go to America!” the little girl called after him in Japanese, but Steve could no longer understand her.
“The war’s over. It’s ended!” called out the townspeople in unison.
But Steve ran deeper and deeper into the mountains, as if pursued by their voices, and that was the last anyone ever saw of him.