The Cake Tree in the Ruins Page 10

  They hoped the fire balloons would have a similar impact in America: even if they didn’t cause much damage, they would have an enormous psychological impact. Just knowing that what they had thought of as a distant war in the Western Pacific had reached their homeland would have the Americans rattled.

  Even the military knew they had no hope of penetrating as far as Washington and New York to force the President to hold up a white flag. Their hope was rather that the American people, accustomed to luxury, would get fed up with the war dragging on so long and call for a ceasefire. So far, however, there was absolutely no sign of this happening.

  There must be some way of carrying out a direct attack on the American mainland in order to shock the population. They tried shelling from submarines under cover of night and sending planes from aircraft carriers on bombing raids, but it was little more than child’s play and merely had the effect of making the US guard its coastline with ever more vigilance.

  And then they came up with the idea for the fire balloons. An attack from the sky by a host of silent balloons dropping bombs might really spook them. And what’s more, since the jet stream blows eastwards, the Americans wouldn’t be able to reciprocate in kind. Now this was a divine wind, decided the military.

  Even so, Japan didn’t have any rubber strong enough to make these balloons, and even if she did, the priority would be for planes and other vehicles rather than a bunch of balloons at the mercy of the wind. And so it was decided to use paper glued together with konnyaku paste.

  By the end of the war Japan was really scraping the barrel when it came to weaponry with which to defend herself against the expected invasion, using antiquated items like bamboo spears, bows and arrows, matchlocks, blowguns and even metal truncheons. Even the new weapons sounded like things that primary schoolchildren might come up with. And it was mostly schoolchildren who were set to work on making the balloons.

  Of course they didn’t use ordinary paper, but good-quality, strong paper made from the bark of the mulberry tree. Paper-making takes place during the winter, so the schoolgirls assigned to the task suffered from chapped skin and chilblains on their fingers as they worked through the night to produce the 60cm by 180cm sheets.

  The konnyaku paste was made from the devil’s tongue plant, which was ordinarily used as a foodstuff added to stews and other pot dishes. While full of fibre and good for the digestion, it had, however, virtually zero nutritional value. It did help to fill you up, but in wartime it made more sense to produce nutritious food like sweet potatoes and maize. Farmers were therefore rather perplexed when they were ordered to massively increase production of the plant.

  And since the military bought it all up, none of the harvest reached the civilian population. In 1943 and 1944, konnyaku completely disappeared from all kitchens in Japan, although nobody much minded since it made little difference whether they had it or not. Instead it was being boiled up in large vats to produce starch to use as glue.

  To make the balloons they first constructed long, thin, oval-shaped strips of paper with pointed tips, which they then stuck together. But these were no ordinary balloons, since they had to be fitted with bombs and a release mechanism that would kick in as they reached America. In order for them to be capable of carrying such a heavy load, they needed a strong enough buoyant force, which meant that they had to be extremely large and filled with hydrogen.

  It was no easy matter to make such big balloons out of paper stuck together with konnyaku paste. Any hole, even as small as the eye of a needle, would render the thing useless. Not only would it stand no chance of reaching America, but the leaking hydrogen might explode.

  The students drafted in by the military to make the balloons had no idea they were building an important weapon and grumbled about the work.

  “This is such a waste of time. I want to become a pilot as soon as possible and go bomb the Yanks.”

  “I want to join the Navy. Japan has the biggest battleships in the world, and we’ll trounce the Americans.”

  All of them, without exception, wanted to be sent to a factory doing work more directly related to the war effort.

  By this time, the main workforce at factories and farms all over Japan was made up of schoolchildren and students, since all the other young people had already been sent to the front. Students set to work building aeroplanes were full of pride, while the lathe operators and welders were full of enthusiasm for their work even if they did complain about how hard it was. But the children who had to spend their time unquestioningly sticking bits of paper together with konnyaku paste just felt ashamed.

  Meanwhile, from the start of 1943 none of the big theatres was allowed to put on any shows, and it was here where the final touches were made in secret to the balloons. The military needed spaces large enough to inflate the balloons to full capacity, but a regular factory wasn’t big enough and they couldn’t do it in the open air since it was a secret weapon.

  Students were used for this work, too. The audience seating was removed, and a flabby dark-grey object a bit like a jellyfish was placed in the very centre of the theatre and hydrogen pumped into it. They all watched in astonishment as it rapidly inflated until it reached the height of the third floor. Then they checked to see if it was leaking hydrogen at all and, if it passed the test, packed it tightly away and shipped it to the launch site.

  The first fire balloons were launched in spring 1944. By this time, things were undeniably looking bad for Japan, provisions were running low, and the courage shown at the front and at home two years earlier was beginning to flag. The military were all bark and no bite, talking tough despite the lack of raw materials that left the factory machines lying idle and students with nothing to do. Even though they put the best possible spin on the situation, dressing up a retreat as a change of course, or a crushing defeat as a brave sacrifice, somehow the poor outlook communicated itself to the population.

  In an attempt to raise everyone’s spirits, the balloons were released from the launch site beside the Pacific Ocean into the dawn sky. They were seen by farmers scanning the sky as they headed to the fields, fishermen checking the wind conditions, women going to the shrine to pray for their husbands’ safe return from the war and elderly women up early.

  “What on earth is that?”

  “Maybe some blimps cut loose from their moorings…”

  It never occurred to anyone they were witnessing a new weapon, but they all felt a sense of foreboding as they watched them go, and clamped their mouths firmly shut. During the war there were many odd sights, but any careless gossip would inevitably either incur the wrath of the military police or attract the attention of the regular police, which never did anyone any good.

  Of the 2,000 balloons released at this time, only ten per cent reached America, and most of those fell in mountainous territory and caught fire. There was still snow in the mountains and so they didn’t cause any major damage, but they did have the effect of shocking the American government and putting them on the alert.

  As summer approached and the jet stream weakened, the balloon launches were put on hold and instead the focus was on producing more. The military were obsessively secretive about their weaponry, but the population was demoralized after a string of defeats; and so, to bolster everyone’s spirits, they had started releasing snippets of information on their new aeroplanes and warships. They didn’t go public with the fire balloons, but they did inform the children who were making them: “These balloons are a new weapon we can be proud of! Unfortunately we have not yet perfected a transoceanic bomber capable of crossing the Pacific, but in the meantime these fire balloons will enable us to bomb the Americans on their home soil.”

  This had a galvanizing effect. None of the students had summoned much enthusiasm for what they’d considered mere girls’ work, but now they realized they were making a weapon that would send those beastly Americans scurrying about in panic, they threw themselves into the monotonous labour, undaunted even when they were
burnt by drips of hot konnyaku paste.

  Then Saipan fell, and it was only a matter of time before the air raids would begin. Important factories were advised to evacuate to the countryside, including the one making the fire balloons. A plain wooden structure was hastily erected in the mountains, and schoolchildren were drafted in from all over the country to work around the clock without a break in three shifts.

  “Hasn’t that paste boiled yet? I’ve finished my bit.”

  “Hang on! It won’t stick properly unless it’s boiled. Give us a hand stirring it.”

  “It’s a bit thin here. How about sticking another sheet on to make it stronger?”

  The children worked so hard that even their supervisor was surprised. But it was natural for them to want to avenge their family members who had died at the front, and their determination became all the more intense when the air raids finally started and they could see the flames from the burning city below.

  The schoolchildren gritted their teeth and imagined the flames engulfing American skyscrapers. We’ll rain down bombs on New York and Washington, just you wait and see! Trembling with anticipation, they threw themselves into the paper-making, and were extra diligent pasting the sheets together. Despite their display of enthusiasm, however, the military were already beginning to give up on the fire balloons.

  America had kept quiet about the damage caused by the first wave of fire balloons and so the military doubted their effectiveness. At the start of 1945, then, even during the winter months when the jet stream was at its strongest, no more balloons were launched. They kept making more, but now that they weren’t considered a priority the children weren’t treated so well. Instead of three meals a day they were given only corn and a light fish broth, and were soon reduced to skin and bones, but still they weren’t disheartened.

  They gazed at the thousands of balloons they had completed: they might look like deflated jellyfish lying there, but just imagining the majestic sight of them filled with hydrogen and descending from America’s skies was enough to take the edge off their hunger. Even those who had lost their families and houses in the air raids were firm in their resolve, believing they would get their revenge with the balloons.

  And on 15th August, Japan announced her surrender. Fearing retaliation should the fire balloons be discovered, the military personnel at the factory destroyed the hydrogen-producing equipment and other instruments, and escaped as quickly as they could.

  Left behind and in shock, the schoolchildren looked at the balloons now lying there like dead bodies, and all at once felt limp with exhaustion. “The poor things,” said one girl, in tears as she stroked a balloon she’d made with their own hands. Despite their betrayal, she felt more pity for the balloons that would now never fly than she did for herself. All the children shared her feelings. They regretted the fact that the balloons would no longer secure their revenge, but more than that they couldn’t bear to see them lying there unused.

  One boy blew into the hydrogen nozzle. He knew it was futile; no way could they inflate a ten-metre balloon like this, but it was better than doing nothing. One by one, the other children took turns blowing into the balloon, and little by little it began to inflate. The children blew for all they were worth until they collapsed blue in the face, but with several thousands of them joining in the effort, eventually by evening the balloon was fully inflated. As if it had understood the children’s feelings, the balloon began to float upwards.

  Nobody cheered banzai! Nobody clapped their hands, or shed tears. They just watched as the balloon was sucked up into the sky. It seemed too beautiful to be a weapon. It was the colour of mud, ungainly and useless, but it looked very gentle floating there.

  As they watched it receding into the distance, the children recalled how balloons always used to be released at the end of sports day at school. They vaguely remembered how sad they’d felt upon inadvertently letting go of a balloon they’d bought at a night stall at their local festival, or how they had cried when one they’d been given at the summer clearance sale went pop as they fought over it, or how they’d tried to blow up a balloon that had shrivelled up but it didn’t float the way it had when the old man at the fair blew it up for them.

  The balloon hovered low in the sky for a while as if reluctant to leave them, then was suddenly sucked high up, before descending once more and lingering a little longer, but eventually it shot up and out of sight.

  On 15th August, in the cloudless blue evening sky, a single giant balloon left Japan and rode the jet stream headed for America. It carried no bomb or any other instruments and, unable to land, is probably still floating around somewhere filled with the breath of schoolchildren.

  THE SOLDIER AND THE HORSE

  The 15th of August 1945

  IN THE THICK GRASS near where a stream had been dammed to make a small reservoir to irrigate the rice paddies, there lay a horse.

  Reflected in its big eyes, wide open but unseeing, was the cloudless blue sky. Countless horseflies clustered over its body, but it lacked the strength to flick them away with its tail. Its belly was criss-crossed with wounds where it had been hit by bomb shrapnel.

  A young soldier came and crouched down before the horse’s muzzle and stroked its long face. Noticing the lack of reaction, however, he stood up again and looked around. It wouldn’t be of any use now, but still he wanted to get help for it. But he was a deserter and had to avoid being spotted, so going for help was out of the question.

  It wasn’t that he’d run away from the barracks because he hated the army. On the contrary, he was a keen soldier second to none in his devotion to his country. His was not a case of desertion by a dishonourable soldier fearing the impending American invasion. It was for the sake of the horse that he had committed this, the worst of all crimes.

  The soldier’s unit was stationed in a small city about ten kilometres away. They were more or less okay for numbers, but with their mismatched uniforms and shortage of weapons they were not in any condition to wage war properly.

  They spent their days either digging holes on the beach or unearthing pine roots in the mountains. The holes were for ambushes against enemy tanks during the expected invasion: soldiers would hide in the holes and, when the tanks passed overhead, would poke rods fitted with explosives into their undersides, where they were said to be most vulnerable. Of course the soldiers in the holes would be blown up along with the tanks.

  The kamikaze pilots who flew bomb-laden aeroplanes into enemy ships cut more gallant figures, and were the ones to be glorified and held up on a pedestal, but in fact there were many more soldiers who showed far more courage than they did in the face of certain death.

  And the pine roots the soldiers collected were in order to extract turpentine oil, which increased the octane rating of gasoline and enabled the planes to fly faster. It was a pathetic measure, but they had no choice but to work hard, fired with zeal for the glory of Japan.

  The soldier’s unit kept six horses, which were considered part of the soldiers’ equipment. They were all old farm horses, but they were a huge help in digging up and moving the heavy pine roots.

  “You lot are easily replaceable, but the horses aren’t,” their commanding officer told them. “They’re just as important as your weapons. If they fall ill or get injured it’s the same as breaking your rifle, so make sure you look after them as well as you can.”

  Coming as he did from a farming village, the young soldier was accustomed to handling horses and was pleased to be chosen for stable duty. In his village, people and horses lived under the same roof, and treating them well came naturally to him without being ordered to do so.

  Horses could plough the fields with the strength of several men, and were invaluable for carrying the harvested rice. When a foal was born it was sold to bring in more money, and whenever a horse was unwell a greater fuss was made of it than over any person falling ill. As a boy, the soldier had put a lot of effort into caring for his family’s horse, rubbing it
down with straw through the night to make it better again, or taking it to the river so it could stand in the water to cool off after a hard day’s work.

  Being assigned to horse duty didn’t mean looking after the horses all the time, however. You did your duties just the same, and on top of that you had to tend to the horses’ hooves and prepare their fodder. The other soldiers on horse duty all grumbled about it. “How can a horse be like a weapon? It might be all right to say that about the cavalry horses, but not about these farm beasts. Bloody stupid, if you ask me.”

  They went through the motions of taking care of the horses, but only the young soldier poured his heart into the task. They were indeed stumpy-legged workhorses that were only good for pulling things. They were such clumsy-looking things that you couldn’t imagine taking them out into the countryside for a gallop.

  But the young soldier felt sorry for them, without a thought for how overworked he himself was. Back in the farmhouse they would have occasionally been given treats of salt or carrots, and even have had their muzzles stroked, but here in the army all anyone cared about was how strong they were.

  Humans could put up with the harsh conditions for the sake of their country, but the horses had no idea what was going on. They would shake their heads and seem to be wondering what on earth had befallen them. Why had they been marched from the comfort of their fresh straw litter, and taken somewhere far from the fields where they could eat fresh grass to their hearts’ content?

  As summer approached and they were made to work hard from first light to dusk, some of the horses even collapsed. They were valued as important weapons only while they were strong enough to drag the pine roots. If their legs seized up and they toppled over frothing at the mouth, they were nothing more than an encumbrance.

  “Get up! Stop behaving like a spoilt brat. Do you think we’ll win the war like that?” yelled the soldiers mockingly, and beat them with sticks. The words they used were the very same ones their officers yelled at them. Bullying the fallen horses was their way of taking their minds off things.