A Snow, on Cherry Blossoms - 8

A novella

4

Roped together on a dusty road, my companion was being moved. Seeing the map very briefly, and march was going to take a great deal of time – obviously, they had other important matters, or so it seemed to the constabulary forces. With great efficiency, they had a sergeant take minimal notes, and dispatch us to a junior member to take to the main site for us. It was clear that they did not believe us, but there were signs that we might be right – so care was taken. If it was a lie, then the penalty would be extracted, and by members who delighted in torturing people. By now it was, and we were marching – to the quizzical nature of numerous passes by, both Chinese and Japanese. The Chinese were wondering why we were going to be punished, the Japanese were wondering what our fate was. There is a fine line of distance between the two – the Chinese were occupied, even though they still thought of themselves as rulers of the land – the Japanese were occupying power, and wanted to be sure that the Chinese knew that.

Dust grew ever greater, and we must have been a sight – to Japanese men in chains, escorted by one police officer who was also Japanese. But as we got to larger and larger crowds, are impact was ever smaller: until we merged into the great unwashed hordes that were doing their business. Here the buildings were Japanese, as opposed to the civil administration which was Russian. We had been forced out of this area by the demands of several of the European powers: it was too large a thing to pass by, even after the rape of Pyongyang – where common history tells us that the Japanese were massacred.

Three hours – or more – that we were herded like this, only to stop for a little foal of water. I realized that there was no mercy – it was an entirely different view of our gendarme, from below rather than from above. It taught me a lesson, which I would remember.

Hill from which we saw the giant harbor, enclosed in a semicircle: on the 1st side were a slew of industrial wharves, and on the near side there was the place of business maintained – gradually the activity was from the work to the commerce, with all of the distinctions that would be found – for example the industrial side had large kitchens or large numbers of people discussing the work they had to do - while the commercial side had small restaurants ends to discuss various aspects of the present and the future. You could tell much by the quality of tea that would be served with the meal – and industrial folk needed to be held up – while people who had its wish to be enlightened. Here and there, especially where we came from, there were outcroppings of natural foliage in groups – it was not intentional, merely that some places were left undeveloped for the interim, but that was only because no one had thought how best to use them. As of yet, there was no paraphernalia of a deal cityscape – was all business, and the business was occupation. The sweep of the harbor was a fist within the glove of the land. And one could see the train station, which with many treaties said that the Chinese had to give the treaty power a connection to the railways. It was phrased more politely, but the raw power sowed through the pages. There was an agreement, on the Chinese had no part in this.

Whipped into submission, we headed down the road on footsteps, into the bizarre which was the head of the city. The heart was the docks, which were still being built, but were already being lined up with ships – both merchant and military. The whole way up and down, there was a distinct progress being made, even though it had only been if you weeks since the harbor was conquered. This was because inland, there were Russian infantry and cavalry to be contended with – there was still a war to be finished, and the signs of military uniforms were all around us, even if we did not look for them. This was part of my hope because I hoped that a more senior member would see us as part of the vast machine, which had taken over the port. Eventually, I wanted to make contact with the secretive parts of the military police. The police had a wide range of responsibilities, not just police actions but also to issue ordinances, regulating business, health, and construction – in effect the police force was the arm of the civilian government. But this is why you had to get to the right people.

Home ministry delivered these services on the main islands – but here the outside it was strictly military operations – through a model on the same lines. But the people whom I needed to reach our known as the Kempeitai, and were feared because they had powers which could loosely be described as “intelligence” and “counterintelligence”. Many of the targets of their investigation simply disappeared – and they were not covert in all of their dealings. Technically they were not supposed to be here, but that is not the way it was. Once dragged in, we were pointed to a cell that had numerous prisoners of war, hence we looked out of place among the Westerners. Other cells help ordinary prisoners – largely Chinese or Korean. So we both stood – there was no place to sit down except the floor, and neither of us would allow that. The bars were the only thing that we could rest our arms around. We were immediately marked as needed, and the Russians poked and prodded us when they could – but a guard came in and stopped that, then looked at the 2 of us with extreme contempt. We were not well regarded by the locals – who were giddy enough at taking the port, and willing to make examples out of anyone who stepped out of line. Then we watched, hanging on to the grate. There was only slow movement among the prisoners and relatively rapid movement among the various Japanese policemen. The Russians hung their heads down, defeated. The Chinese were, however, more inscrutable.

Once a guardsman came over and took names, and then was gone. It seemed like, just as with the station, there were other things to do. Even food was not a priority for the prisoners – over a Chinese man threw up some black blood – this at least was intended to. But other than that it was a waiting game.

Then a senior officer, one could tell by the saber, came up to the sliding door. He was different from the other people there, in a green uniform with red attached to his military hat and in Chinese a white armband with the words “peace and order”. He looked at me hard and determinedly and motioned for me to step out of the cell. Immediately he took my arms, which were still cuffed, and pushed me forward to a small hallway with many doors. The wood was dark, though I could not see which kind it was, and there were numbers on the doors, but no windows. The only thing of decoration was a calendar, rather faded into ivory and not white – from last year – that showed a woman, whose head was obscured by her personal, tromping through the snow – with cherry blossoms budding around her. He stood in the way of this particular and pointed for me to get in. Erectly, in my best posture, I went to the small office – with a desk and one chair. It was obvious that I was supposed to stand.

“So, you are part of 2 men who claim you were hounded by a Russian vessel.” Looked at me with a faint air of disgust.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have more to say to me?”

“My assignment is with the Navy, and I am en route to a mission, sir.”

“Is that so? And what if I do not believe you, do you have any papers?”

“No, I do not have any papers, sir.” I was never going to be standing in your office – or anyone's for that matter. But then the concept of the operative moving in like an onryō, not operative. Now I had to convince him that I had a mission, and he should – in code – verify that that mission was still good. I had passwords and codewords for this, but 1st I had to get out of the situation I was in. A very simple result would happen – I would be beaten until dead, as probably would my companion. would be made, We have a rich vocabulary for it, but that would be what we wanted. But I flinched, even without thinking, because at that moment his sword in his scabbard drew back and prepared to hit me.

All I could do was the impact. The scabbard went directly across my cheeks – and it caused convolution in its wake. My head bent at the neck as the pain rippled out from the point of impact. But then I was correct and facing him again.

“You may observe that I do not take any countenance which bears even the hallmarks of dissembling. “ He took a half step towards me, with his face almost touching mine. “The next one will be truly a sign of distress.” While it was painful, I can certainly imagine that the next one would be far worse. My only problem was I was telling the truth, but it was clear he was not going to believe that. His uniform was crisp but bulging underneath it were muscles – that were twitching to inflict more damage. I had to get out of this cycle – he would simply be me on any pretense. Any pretense at all, not worrying about what the contents of what I said were. You a spider and I a fly. And he was no longer talking to me, but in a paroxysm of his creation – dealing misery with each stroke.

He would delight in caressing with the cane several more times. At 1st I stood erect, but gradually I fell to my knees – and then was crouching on the ground. Many strikes occurred – I stopped counting. On I could not keep my eyes open, and blissful unconsciousness took me and I do not know how long it held me.

Only the pain gripped me until nothing pervaded my mind. I dreamt as a wave would and then drain away to the tumult of excitation.

And then to oblivion.

And beyond.