The Naked Blood of the Cherry Blossoms Page 9

  Sakamoto armed himself and his patrol with weapons, like an American army pistol, acquired through contacts in the Yam’ichi, to enforce discipline. As his reputation of the ‘man who takes cares of things’ grew, so too did the bounty on his head, first a few thousand yen and by the end of 1946 over twenty thousand. Slowly but surely the Hachiman’s sphere of influence expanded. In one sense Sakamoto became like a feudal lord wielding power through the sword, but in another he also became to be regarded as a benefactor.

  He found the large number of orphans in Umeda and the Yam’ichi in particular, galling. Even for a jaded war veteran it was hard not to. A friendly police officer whom Sakamoto knew claimed orphans accounted for about ten percent of all the homeless in the area.

  There were no birth certificates, many of the children knew little about their family backgrounds or where they came from. They were all under nourished and spent their days scavenging. Their faces were grim. Few smiled, saved from the horrors of bombing; destitution was their new enemy.

  It was a primeval existence, squatting under railway arches or in abandoned buildings, often amongst other vagabonds and beggars, clustered in small groups for safety.

  Yet in spite of their trauma, the orphans were for the most part desperate to help and anxious to please. Even if some saw them as rascals and thieves. They were after all children and craved love and attention. The Hachiman would not have survived without Jun and his quick witted friends. Their eyes and ears everywhere, their enthusiasm unfading.

  Sakamoto knew that Jun was one of the lucky ones. He had found a shelter ‘Peace Bridge,’ albeit one which was struggling to cope with demand. Sakamoto felt a moral obligation to provide for the orphans. It seemed unjust that in this boiling cauldron of capitalism, vendors who were making profits, as some undoubtedly were, should not contribute to assist the less fortunate. After all, he could see the black market was growing daily in space, number of merchants and transaction volumes.

  He recalled his aunt’s old saying, ‘one kind word or deed can warm three winter months.’

  Consequently Sakamoto encouraged members of the Hachiman to contribute a percentage of their profits to orphans’ welfare. Unlike the Gokudo he did not stipulate an amount, it was not obligatory.

  It became known as ‘pass the hat’ day. It commenced when a Sister from the Peace Bridge joined Sakamoto on his patrol, with Jun and other orphans. They took a round of the merchants, and explained the idea. The Sister was jovial and laughing. Through grace her spirit shone through and vendors warmed to her.

  Peace Bridge was a charity founded in the 1930s and before the war they had constructed a school and a hospital in Osaka. Under the military government its activities had been severely curtailed. Yet at the end of hostilities, in agreement of the occupation authorities, it reopened catering only for orphans.

  It was a Catholic institution and run by a mixture of Sisters, some Japanese, and others who had moved to Japan after the war finished. Peace Bridge survived on donations from the American military and overseas, so as Hachiman became one of its first local donors, Sakamoto soon met its leader Sister Francine.

  Sister Francine was French, but had been raised in Japan and spoke the language fluently. She had spent the war years in Indochina. Their first meeting took place at Peace Bridge’s orphanage. It was a collection of old wooden army barracks, abandoned at the war’s end, that had now become a temporary dormitory for orphans.

  “We’re so grateful for your donations Sakamoto-san,” she said smiling, “do you know the orphans have nicknamed you Papa-san?”

  Sakamoto laughed, “it’s the least we can do, you're welcome.” He did not know about the nickname and felt humbled.

  “You know there is so much more we have to do,” Sister Francine continued. She was in a hurry. There was a blaze of children and Sisters running everywhere. “Another recent challenge we are encountering is mixed race babies.”

  Sakamoto looked perplexed. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well, there are just an increasing number of children born to Japanese mothers whose fathers are in the American military. Many of the mothers are living in poverty, making raising a baby difficult. So they give up the child. There is further discrimination against these children because of their eyes and skin colour.” Sister Francine looked sad, “if these infants are left on the streets they will die.”

  Sakamoto looked aghast. “Is it many?”

  “Well we are getting about four or five a week now, and it’s increasing.” She paused and Sakamoto looked around, Peace Bridge was sparse with few furnishings. “I don’t wish to burden you Papa-san,” she smiled again, “but even to spread the word about this issue is very important.”

  A couple of days later, Sakamoto was with Jun standing twenty or so metres away from the Tengoku stall. They watched as a young woman approached carrying a heavy hessian bag. It had letters emblazoned in red, ‘danger sodium peroxide’ on its side. The woman quickly went inside Tengoku and spoke to Ishida, her back was turned, so Sakamoto could not see her face.

  “Who’s that?” he asked Jun.

  “She’s a Pan-pan girl,” came the reply. Sakamoto chuckled wryly. Jun was using a recently invented phrase for Japanese women who were boyfriends of American soldiers. He wondered for a second who he had learnt that from.

  “Does she have business with Ishida-san?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, she comes here at least every two weeks,” Jun replied. “She works at an officer’s club in Kobe area, I heard, she sells chocolate and other American goods to Tengoku.”

  “Do you know her name?” asked Sakamoto.

  “No I don’t, but I once heard Ishida-san say to his sister that she was a Korean Japanese.”

  The young woman had finished her business and left walking briskly in the direction of the station. Sakamoto noticed her hair was curly, she wore red lipstick. The canvas bag she carried now looked empty.

  Akahata

  Mi-Chan placed the newspaper in a corner, unread and forgot about it. It was at least a week before she picked it up by chance when taking a break. Then its bold and black masthead of two kanji reading ‘Akahata’ or red flag caught her attention.

  Mi-Chan had not been an avid news reader, although her father had encouraged her to be interested in current affairs.

  Akahata was an unfamiliar title but having a few moments spare, she started to read the front page.

  It concerned the food shortages facing Japan which according to the report were worsening. The article blamed the US occupation forces, who were described as ‘Imperialists,’ for the problem.

  The author argued that General MacArthur had not devoted enough resources and energy to rebuild Japan’s bridges and railways. The consequence was food supplies were caught up moving around the country, creating delays in ration distribution.

  It was a sentiment Mi-Chan concurred with. Her own bi-weekly trips to Osaka were proving fractious with frequent train delays and cancellations. She had heard other passengers grumble that it often took up to 20 hours to travel to Tokyo by train. Before the war, it was a journey that took no more than 10 hours.

  The article went on to disclose that the Imperialists were shipping in massive supplies of food for their own troops.

  The journalist explained that to avoid the Japanese railways, supplies were being sent directly to ports all over Japan straight from America. Not only that, the article cried, the Imperialists had established twenty special zones, off-limits to Japanese citizens, where there were special shops selling a wide variety of fresh food and other luxuries at discounted prices!

  Mi-Chan assumed this was a reference to the PX to which Oka-san had privileged access. Mi-Chan had no idea there were so many across the country believing the one in Kobe constituted an exception.

  This fact made her feel guilty. By trading on the black market was she being selfish and making things worse?

  The article concluded by stating that a key Imperialist
objective was to deny people their fundamental rights to food, water and housing. Only by keeping the masses poor and starving could they be controlled, it said. Whilst the Japanese military government had been criminal and war mongering, its replacement was as corrupt.

  Whilst Mi-Chan found the article’s tone direct and accusatory, a style she had not seen in other Japanese newspapers, it was hard for her to disagree with its assertations. Later she ran into Hana who had first given her the copy of Akahata, and after they had exchanged pleasantries, Mi-Chan asked.

  “The Akahata, is it a well-known newspaper, I’d never seen it before?”

  “Well, they only started publishing it again late in 1945,” Hana replied. She looked over her shoulder to check they were not being overheard. “The newspaper was banned by the militarists in the war.”

  “I’ve never seen it on the newsstands,” said Mi-Chan.

  “That’s because it’s not allowed there,” replied Hana. “It’s only available by donation, which is why I gave you a copy.”

  “I’m surprised the Americans are allowing it,” commented Mi-Chan.

  “Well they’re being careful what Akahata prints,” Hana said evasively. “That edition I gave you was unauthorised, so you should keep it well hidden. MacArthur has very strict censorship rules you know.”

  Mi-Chan didn’t know. “As I said earlier, please keep this between us only.” Hana went on, “if you would like another copy, let me know, otherwise when there’s something of interest, I’ll share it with you.”

  So over a period of months Mi-Chan became a regular Akahata reader. Hana did not bombard her with copies every week. Instead she deliberately spoon-fed Mi-Chan with editions she felt would resonate.

  There were two subjects in particular which received extensive coverage in Akahata that Mi-Chan found absorbing. One concerned Korea.

  Despite the fact that she had little direct connection with her homeland, for some reason her interest in it grew after her father’s passing. Whilst she had never been there, Mi-Chan was astounded that Akahata devoted significant coverage to Korea. Especially the North and its new leader.

  She read voraciously about its social development, how workers’ committees had taken back control of factories; the road network expansion; and the building of new schools, universities and hospitals. Akahata’s correspondents explained how land held by the wealthy was returned to the people and debts cancelled.

  Akahata lauded there were extra funds allocated to a massive literacy programme for over two million impoverished farmers! The newspaper credited these initiatives to the communal zeal of the people who had overthrown the colonial invaders. Now they were busy establishing a workers’ paradise!

  By contrast, in an editorial, Akahata gravely informed its readers that the Imperialists were completely opposed to these developments. They had established a border on the 38th parallel, were supporting a puppet government in the south. Moreover they would make every effort to prevent Japan turning into a worker’s paradise.

  As she read these articles, Mi-Chan’s mind began to question whether her family’s long term future would be better secured in Korea, rather than Japan. There was little improvement in living standards. Her mother was only just surviving in a cellar, reliant upon her eldest daughter for income. She was almost penniless. Would they not face a better and brighter future back in Korea?

  The second series of articles that absorbed Mi-Chan’s attention, and which she read over and over again, concerned crime committed by the occupation forces. According to Akahata, these ranged from black market activities to theft and violence, including murder and rape.

  The newspaper claimed that the levels of corruption inside the American military were so high that vast profits were being made by trading commodities like sugar and flour on the Yam’ichi. All at the expense of war weary and impoverished Japanese citizens.

  Besides, some American units had robbed and pillaged stocks that were once controlled by the Imperial army and were profiteering. And so weak was the occupation law enforcement, shouted the Akahata headline, that right wing mobs, Yakuza and other nationalists had emerged taking the law into their own hands!

  Mi-Chan’s mind immediately flashed back to Oka-san’s comments about Jared and his shady dealings. It reinforced the credibility of Akahata’s allegations. It also made Mi-Chan wonder who else in the Rokko Garden club was engaged in racketeering. For the first time it kindled a suspicion about Oka-san and her motives.

  Akahata devoted significant coverage to the persistent abuse, sexual harassment and rape of Japanese women by the Imperialists. One article claimed that when US Marines landed in Sendai, an orgy of looting, sexual violence and drunken fighting ensued. Another said that in Hiroshima, Australian soldiers had gang-raped women in the mountains. Akahata claimed that whilst some arrests had taken place at the request of the local authorities, suspects were almost always released due to lack of evidence.

  What especially distressed Mi-Chan, bringing back floods of tears, was that according to Akahata, the vast majority of sexual assaults and rapes went unreported.

  Moreover there were even cases of victims committing suicide through shame.

  Mi-Chan could not understand why the mainstream Japanese papers never gave any coverage to this topic. By contrast, whenever she read them, they were full of praise for MacArthur and his troops.

  Mi-Chan wondered whether her decision to remain silent about her rape was a mistake and decided to seek Hana’s opinion.

  “The Rokko Garden is an officer’s club, where the standards of behaviour should be higher. Don’t you think Oka-san or even Colonel James would at least listen?”

  Hana looked straight at Mi-Chan and whilst she felt empathy for her plight, knew she had to be honest. “We are Yujo, Mi-Chan,” Hana used an old phrase to describe courtesans and prostitutes, “that’s what we’re here for.”

  “But Oka-san expressly forbade any physical relations when we first arrived,” replied Mi-Chan.

  “I’m sorry but you are being naïve.” Hana paused, “the incident happened several weeks ago and you have been silent. Even if Oka-san is sympathetic, which I doubt, she will ask what evidence exists. And there is very little, unfortunately.”

  Hana reached out and held Mi-Chan’s hand. "Jared was a real bastard. They're all the same. They're the victors. They think they own us!”

  It was true. Mi-Chan wondered for a moment if she had been the only one. Hana went on, seizing the opportunity, “we can’t let them beat us Mi-Chan. I am with you completely,” she hesitated, “there is another way.”

  “What's that?” asked Mi-Chan.

  “We just have to spread the message, that’s why I’ve shared Akahata with you. You can now see this whole place is rotten. For the sake of Japan,” her thumb pressed and rubbed Mi-Chan’s palm, “and Korea, we have a duty to tell others. That’s the only way we can bring about real and lasting change.” Hana spoke quietly but with passion and energy.

  There was a further pause. Mi-Chan did not yet make the connection. So Hana continued, “by sharing Akahata with your trusted friends and family. This is the way for the truth to emerge and for us to prosecute the guilty.”

  In the following weeks, encouraged and schooled by Hana, Mi-Chan began to distribute Akahata. At first it was to her mother and other close contacts in Kobe’s Korean community. Hana explained that since the newspaper, or at least the version she was sharing, was printed clandestinely, discretion was paramount to make sure it remained well hidden from the occupation authorities and the police.

  Whilst Mi-Chan had been taken in by the pretence of the Rokko Garden, Jared and the role of the musume, she came to realise her own activity in the Yam’ichi was antithetical to the values and beliefs espoused by Akahata. So decided to again seek Hana’s counsel.

  “I have a confession to make,” Mi-Chan admitted.

  “What’s that?” asked Hana.

  “Well, I am also involved in the Black Marke
t.” Mi-Chan’s voice went up a pitch and she hurriedly explained how she was selling chocolate and other goods to Tengoku to pay for her mother’s welfare. She went on, adding, “my sister is fourteen and I’m paying for her to attend a newly opened Korean school. That’s very important. “ Mi-Chan slowed down, “it’s not wrong is it?”

  Hana was supportive. “I can understand why you are here, the financial pressure to provide for your family.” She smiled at Mi-Chan. “It is natural,” she continued and then said in a matter of fact way, “it’s actually well known that you have been doing this.”

  Mi-Chan was taken aback, she had believed her dealings had been well concealed. She wondered how Hana knew, was Oka-san the source?

  Hana went on and said plainly, “actually that is one reason why complaining to Oka-san or even Colonel James would have gone nowhere. I didn’t want to tell you that before.”

  There was a prolonged silence as Mi-Chan digested Hana’s words. It dawned on her that she was caught.

  “Akahata also needs money to continue its good work,” revealed Hana. “Maybe you could donate some of those black market earnings to them?” she suggested.

  It was January 1947 and cold once more gripped the country. Mi-Chan continued to supply chocolate and other small luxuries to Tengoku.

  One day as she exited Umeda station, Mi-Chan turned right and headed into the Yam’ichi, following her usual route.

  Just before she reached the stall, she was obliged to stop by a mobile cart selling Yaki-imo. The cart was very primitive in design. Its wheels were rimmed metal without tyres, and the sweet potatoes were baked in steel cauldron lit by a crude wood burning fire. There was a tall chimney with a conspicuous cylindrical t-shaped cowl on its head. The vendor was a tired old man wearing gita sandals and he shouted periodically, “achi achi,’ to attract attention and tell customers how hot the food was. Mi-Chan was prompted to try one.

  As she stood paying, another man, much younger and athletic appeared at her elbow and smiled. He suddenly clasped her wrist in an iron grip. The old man had vanished.