The Japanese Corpse

\\\\\ 24 /////

She noticed the slight bulge in the right pocket of his jacket as they dressed again. "Another gun?" she asked. "You have one under your armpit, isn't one enough?"

"A radio transmitter," he said, and showed the small gadget to her. "It has a button, see? If I press it Dorin should come, but he'll need time, I'll be on my own for a while. The daimyo has picked a good location."

She shrugged. "Not so good," she said. "If the daimyo is on that fishing boat or on the island here, he is either protected by one other man or not at all. You should be able to kill him, and if he calls Kono's boat you will see it approach and Dorin can come and help you out."

He nodded. "Yes. So?"

"So I don't know what the daimyo is planning either," she said, "and I don't care so much now. I think it will be all right, maybe he wants to make friends."

"By showing me a dead bird with a large yellow eye, turning on a plastic string? Watched by a dead cat?"

She shrugged again. "They were on the Buddha's hands. The Buddha is not an evil figure. I think the daimyo wants to make friends. He is a very strange man, his behavior often seems erratic, but when his plans come to some sort of fulfillment you can see that there has been a firm line of thought all along. The manager of the Golden Dragon said that once, and he had been with the daimyo for many years. They were in the air force together during the war. The daimyo was a kamikaze pilot."

They had left the cave and were wandering about on the small island, following a narrow path made out of flattopped rocks, set at intervals of about a yard. He stopped and she walked into him. "Sorry," he said, "but I didn't understand you. Kamikaze pilots died as they made their attack, didn't they? They just flew their airplanes straight into their target and blew themselves to little pieces. Isn't that right? But the daimyo is still around."

She laughed and sat down on a low bench. They had a perfect view of the lake again and de Gier sighed with pleasure and sat down next to her. "Beautiful," he said. "Very peaceful. We are even protected from the wind here."

She held his hand as she explained that the island had once been an imperial possession and that the state still looked after it, paying the gardeners who cleaned it at least once a week, pulling out the small weeds, watering the mosses and lichens, cutting dead treebranches and leaves and even washing down some of the rocks. There had never been building on the island and the emperors had used the beaches and the hill as they were using them now; they had strolled about and made love perhaps and had eaten their meals from hampers. The two Buddha statues had been placed to enhance the island's quietness and detachment.

"Two?" de Gier asked. "You'll see the other one soon," she said. "According to the note on the map it sits on the top of this hill. You still want to know about the daimyo?"

"Please."

She giggled. "It's a funny story really. You see, the kamikaze pilots died for the emperor, it was considered to be an honor to be selected to kill the enemy and commit suicide simultaneously, so they would receive a letter signed by the emperor himself and there was a big ceremony before they went to their planes. The daimyo was a young man then, not yet thirty I think, and he marched up to the platform where his commanding officer was waiting for him. He was dressed in his best uniform and he had a white strip around his forehead, white cotton with some special design, maybe the character for death, glorious death. The commanding officer said a few words and bowed and he bowed back and then he marched back to his colleagues, all standing to attention. The commanding officer poured sake, special holy sake, sent by the emperor from Tokyo, and the label was stamped by his seal, a red seal. Each pilot was given a big cup but most of them wouldn't drink for they considered themselves to be unworthy to swallow the sacred alcohol. They left their glasses untouched and the daimyo drank them all. He likes to drink; even now he sometimes gets very drunk although the doctor doesn't want him to drink. He goes to the best heart specialist in Kobe and every time the doctor asks if he has been drinking but the daimyo says no, never. To us he says that sake saved his life once and he hasn't forgotten it. Now it can kill him, if it wants, but it doesn't want to apparently for he is very alive."

"He got drunk on the holy liquor, eh?" de Gier asked, and grinned.

"He did. He staggered to his plane and got it into the sky but he couldn't find the sea, he just flew around for a long time and when he ran out of petrol he came back. Everybody was very annoyed with him for all his colleagues died as they attacked the American fleet but the daimyo had to be carried to bed. I think he would have been punished, but a few days later Japan surrendered and everything changed. Nobody cared anymore and the emperor became an ordinary man, a nice man with spectacles who looks at marine growths through a very expensive and accurate microscope. Even I have seen the emperor, very close, I could have touched him, I cried but I knew he was an ordinary man, not a god. The daimyo always knew the emperor wasn't a god and he refused to die when he was ordered to die. He says he prefers to pick his own time and place."

De Gier was looking at the sea when she finished her story. "Yes," he said. "That's a good tale, even if it isn't true, but maybe it is true. It seems your boss is both original and courageous. I hope he really wants to make friends with us, I'd like to work with him."

"What do you do in your own country?" she asked. "Do you sell drugs too, and stolen goods, and do you own restaurants and bars and so on?"

"Yes," he said. "Our business isn't as big as what the daimyo has here. But it boils down to the same thing, I think."

"I don't like the drug business," she said, and moved closer to him. "It isn't so bad here but I saw some of its effects in Tokyo. Tokyo is outside our territory. There are a lot of junkies over there, very sad people. I know the daimyo sometimes sells heroin and cocaine. Hard drugs are for sale in the Golden Dragon too, but the clients have to ask, we don't push."

"Yes," de Gier said, "but the trade is profitable. If you don't sell the stuff somebody else will. Let's go and have a look at that statue."

They climbed the path and she showed him how even the smallest twigs had been removed from the fir needle carpet, how mosses were encouraged everywhere, how the perfect rock formations had been carefully planned, each rock being carried uphill on a specially made wooden frame. But in spite of all the meddling the island looked natural, a gem of great beauty, undisturbed and serene.

They found the statue or, rather, they found an empty shrine, a sloping stone roof resting on thin pillars.

"Didn't you say there was a Buddha statue here?" de Gier asked, stepping back to get a better view of the small structure. "Did somebody take the Buddha away?"

"This is Buddha,' she said. "He has many shapes. This is one of them." He turned and looked down the hill; below them sat the other Buddha.

"So what is this then," he asked, pointing at the pagoda; "the Buddha's mind?"

"I took a class in religion when I studied to become an interpreter," she said. "Our teacher explained that the Buddha trascended mind."

"What does that mean?"

"No idea," she said.

He took her by the arm and they walked back to the beach. "An interpreter makes a lot of money," he said. "Why didn't you stick to your profession? Japan has a big export trade; surely you could have found a job."

"I have a job," she said, "and it pays well. My family is under some obligation to the yakusa and they couldn't refuse when the daimyo dropped a hint. Maybe I could have refused, times have changes a little. If I had been very tactful I might have talked my mother out of accepting the contract. I don't think I wanted to. I don't spend all my time in the Golden Dragon. The daimyo has given me some interesting assignments."

"You like this particular one?" he asked.

"Maybe it is the best one so far," she said. They had come to the beach and she picked up the hamper. "We have to clean up," she said. "I have got the empty plates and the paper cups and the chopsticks but perhaps we left some cigarette butts."

He helped her. They found them all and de Gier found one extra, a filter. He showed it to her.

"Yes," she said, "the daimyo was here, but we knew that already." She pointed at the Buddha.

"Yes," he said, "and he has left again. There's the fishing boat. There are two men in it now. He must have boarded the boat at the other side of the island, the side we couldn't see from the hilltop. He probably sat on thesame bench we sat on just now and then went down another path. Why didn't he wait for us?" he asked.

She shrugged.

When they were back in the cutter they spotted a motor launch, but at some distance. De Gier thought he recognized Dorin at the wheel and counted two more men. The fishing boat was sailing away, but the cutter was making more speed. "I am going to take the initiative for a change," de Gier said. "I want to see the daimyo and I want to see him now, at my convenience, not at his. Now listen carefully."

Her eyes had grown with fear as she watched the whitecaps around the cutter but he kept on talking.

"It's simple, Yuiko, nothing can happen. We are going to sail very close to their boat and I am going to jump into it. You will be alone but you'll be perfectly safe as long as you do nothing. Just remember that you should do nothing at all. Don't grab the tiller, and leave the sheets and other lines alone. This cutter has a good centerboard and she is steady enough. If you do nothing she will turn into the wind and the sails will flap. Maybe she will sail for a few yards but then she'U turn into the wind again. The boom will move about a good deal, but keep your head down so that it can't touch you. You won't be alone for long. There is another man in the fishing boat and I'll see if he can join you. If he doesn't I'll come back. Right?"

"No," she said. "The boat will capsize."

"It won't," de Gier said, and pulled the tiller toward him. His position was just right. The fishing boat wasn't much farther away than half a mile, and the wind was coming from astern. He told Yuiko to pull the jib to port and steady it with a hook stuck through the copper eye at its base while he paid out the sheet of the mainsail so that it stood right out to starboard. The jib filled out and added its full size to the mainsail's surface and the cutter picked up speed. He pulled the centerboard rope, lifting the rectangular sheet of iron right into its case, so That the cutter offered minimal friction. As he fastened the rope, theboat's speed increased even more. They could feel the water's pressure under its thin bottom as the cutter began to plane and Yuiko screamed as the fiberglass hull pushed against her foot soles.

De Gier patted her back and smiled encouragingly. "It's all right, the bottom will hold. We are skimming over the lake now, you see, you are feeling the tops of the waves under us." Behind them a long line of white bubbles came off the trembling rudder; the tiller was vibrating in his hand and the sails were stretched to bursting point. The cutter began to roll, its mast veering crazily, but the movement didn't interfere with the boat's still growing velocity. The fishing boat was very close now and he could see the two men jump up and wave frantically and their shouting mouths stood out like black O's. The cutter's steel-tipped bow was aimed straight at the beam of the fishing boat. When the two vessels were almost touching each other and a collision seemed unavoidable, de Gier pushed the tiller, released the centerboard rope so that the metal shield dropped with a clang, steadying the cutter, and dived under the boom. He jumped over the rail as the cutter's beam grazed the fishing boat's stern. Although caught unprepared, the younger of the two men, a short heavily built fellow with a low forehead and sleek hair which hung over his yellow plastic coat, turned and steadied himself to break de Gier's jump. De Gier had pulled his pistol before he left the cutter but it didn' t occur to him to use it. The man was holding a long knife and was bringing it down as de Gier's left arm blocked his wrist. De Gier's fist hit the man's chin sideways and the yakusa began to fall over backward, trying to support himself with his free hand. His right foot was off the deck, and de Gier grabbed it and lifted the foot with both hands, dropping his pistol. He didn't see the man hit the water, for he knew that he still had to deal with the daimyo, but when he came up, the pistol in his hand again, the daimyo was sitting quietly on a small wooden bench attached to the fishing boat's cabin. The fishing boat was out of control, its small mainsail flapping and its high boom jerking. De Gier slid over to the tiller, aiming the pistol at the daimyo. He rested his waist against the tiUer so that the boat turned and the sail could catch the wind, and got hold of the sheet which he tied loosely to a cleat on the boat's portside. The engine was idling and he moved the lever a notch so that the diesel began to throb. They had drifted closer to the shore and the wind's power had lessened and the engine helped the sail to move the boat into free water again.

The daimyo hadn't moved and de Gier put the pistol back under his jacket. He could see the cutter still forcing its bow into the wind, and the man in the water had almost reached Yuiko who was hanging over the side, ready to help him to climb aboard.

"Good," de Gier said aloud.

The daimyo was staring at him and, when de Gier looked back, bowed, lowering his head and shoulders slightly. De Gier bowed too, and smiled, the polite noncommittal smile of the Japanese male who finds that he will have to deal with a stranger.

The daimyo patted the pocket of his leather coat. "Gun," he said. "You want gun?"

De Gier hesitated. He should take the gun, of course, and he shouldn't have put his own away. He might still reach his opponent before the old man could draw, but he also had to steer the boat and would be forced to divide his attention. To leave the daimyo in possession of a weapon was asking for trouble. But he shook his head and smiled, a warm smile this time. "No. Keep the gun."

"Abunai," the daimyo said. "Dangerous." The daimyo smiled too. His eyebrows were indeed very black and grew forward, bending off in sharp points at the sides of his face which gave the round head a whimsical expression. The face was red, almost purple, due to a web of small burst veins. De Gier guessed the man to be in his late sixties but he still seemed to have strength. He sat heavily on the little bench, the short legs spread and the chest pushed out. The folds of the bull neck showed under the open collar of his coat and thick shirt.

"You speak English?" he asked.

"Little. Some words." The daimyo turned and pointed at the cutter, which was following the fishing boat with the young man at the tiller. The cutter was making more speed than the fishing boat.

"Yuiko-san," the daimyo said. "She has many words. We get her, yes?"

"Sure." De Gier pulled the lever back into neutral and the diesel idled again. He paid out the sheet and the mainsail flapped. The cutter, sailing smartly under its heavy load of cloth, would overtake them in a few minutes.

The daimyo was still smiling and nodding. De Gier suddenly grinned. The daimyo had reminded him of the fat Chinese god which hung in the cheap eating house in the old city of Amsterdam where de Gier would eat his favorite meals, once or twice each week. The god, painted on silk and framed in cheap tinsel, tooked benevolent and also somewhat childish, but de Gier, as he ate his fried noodles or sweet and sour pork, had thought other characteristics into the deity. Cunning, and indifference. An indifference based on insight into a mystery which de Gier, during his wanderings through the maze of Amsterdam's alleys and canals, had often approached but never grasped. But now the god was close and had assumed a form of flesh and bones and arteries pumped full of blood. Maybe he could ask the god about the mystery sometime.