When the Emperor Was Divine

CONFESSION

Everything you have heard is true. I was wearing my bathrobe, my slippers, the night your men took me away. At the station they asked me questions. Talk to us, they said. The room was small and bare. It had no windows. The lights were bright. They left them on for days. What more can I tell you? My feet were cold. I was tired. I was thirsty. I was scared. So I did what I had to do. I talked.

All right, I said. I admit it. I lied. You were right. You were always right. It was me. I did it. I poisoned your reservoirs. I sprinkled your food with insecticide. I sent my peas and potatoes to market full of arsenic. I planted sticks of dynamite alongside your railroads. I set your oil wells on fire. I scattered mines across the entrance to your harbors. I spied on your airfields. I spied on your naval yards. I spied on your neighbors. I spied on you— you get up at six, you like bacon and eggs, you love baseball, you take your coffee with cream, your favorite color is blue. I crept into your house while you were away and sullied your wife. Wait, wait, she said, don’t go. I touched your daughters—they smiled in their sleep. I smothered your firstborn son—he did not struggle. I stole your last bag of sugar. I took a swig from your best bottle of brandy. I pulled out the nails from your white picket fence and sold them to the enemy to melt down and make into bullets. I gave that same enemy your defense maps for free. The Boeing assembly plant is here. The oil refinery, there. “X” marks the spot where they make the camouflage nets. I sent him aerial photographs of your major coastal cities. I radioed to his submarines the location of your troop ships. I leaned out my second-story window and signaled to his aviators with my red paper lantern. Come on over! I left my lights on during the blackout. I went out into the yard and tossed up a few flares just to make sure he knew where to find you. Drop that bomb right here, right here where I’m standing! I cut arrow-shaped swaths through my tomato fields to guide him to his next target. Straight ahead to the air force base! I told him all about you. Tall and handsome. Big eyes. Long nose. Broad shoulders. Perfect teeth. Nice smile. Firm handshake. Solid family man. A joiner. Member of the Elks. The Kiwanis. The Rotary. The local Chamber of Commerce. Mows his lawn every Saturday and goes to church on Sundays. Pays his bills on time. Enjoys the occasional night out with the boys. Wife stays home and takes care of the kids. I revealed to him your worst secrets. Short attention span. Doesn’t always remember to take out the garbage. Sometimes talks with his mouth full.

Who am I? You know who I am. Or you think you do. I’m your florist. I’m your grocer. I’m your porter. I’m your waiter. I’m the owner of the dry-goods store on the corner of Elm. I’m the shoeshine boy. I’m the judo teacher. I’m the Buddhist priest. I’m the Shinto priest. I’m the Right Reverend Yoshimoto. So prease to meet you. I’m the general manager at Mitsubishi. I’m the dishwasher at the Golden Pagoda. I’m the janitor at the Claremont Hotel. I’m the laundryman. I’m the nurseryman. I’m the fisherman. I’m the ranch hand. I’m the farm hand. I’m the peach picker. I’m the pear picker. I’m the lettuce packer. I’m the oyster planter. I’m the cannery worker. I’m the chicken sexer. And I know a healthy young rooster when I see one! I’m the grinning fat man in the straw hat selling strawberries by the side of the road. I’m the president of the Cherry Blossom Society. I’m the secretary of the Haiku Association. I’m a card-carrying member of the Bonsai Club. Such a delightful little people! Everything so small and pretty! I’m the one you call Jap. I’m the one you call Nip. I’m the one you call Slits. I’m the one you call Slopes. I’m the one you call Yellowbelly. I’m the one you call Gook. I’m the one you don’t see at all—we all look alike. I’m the one you see everywhere—we’re taking over the neighborhood. I’m the one you look for under your bed every night before you go to sleep. Just checking, you say. I’m the one you dream of all night long—we’re marching ten abreast down Main Street. I’m your nightmare— we’re bivouacking tonight on your newly mowed front lawn. I’m your worst fear—you saw what we did in Manchuria, you remember Nanking, you can’t get Pearl Harbor out of your mind.

I’m the slant-eyed sniper in the trees.

I’m the saboteur in the shrubs.

I’m the stranger at the gate.

I’m the traitor in your own backyard.

I’m your houseboy.

I’m your cook.

I’m your gardener.

And I’ve been living here, quietly, beside you, for years, just waiting for Tojo to flash me the high sign.

So go ahead and lock me up. Take my children. Take my wife. Freeze my assets. Seize my crops. Search my office. Ransack my house. Cancel my insurance. Auction off my business. Hand over my lease. Assign me a number. Inform me of my crime. Too short, too dark, too ugly, too proud. Put it down in writing—is nervous in conversation, always laughs loudly at the wrong time, never laughs at all—and I’ll sign on the dotted line. Is treacherous and cunning, is ruthless, is cruel. And if they ask you someday what it was I most wanted to say, please tell them, if you would, it was this:

I’m sorry.

There. That’s it. I’ve said it. Now can I go?