No Surrender (28 page)

Immediately after Kozuka died, I told myself that it would not be so different living alone, but whenever I settled down in one spot, I felt the difference acutely. When there were two of us, Kozuka could go for our water while I cooked. Now I had to do both chores. And when I went for the water I now had to carry my rifle with me, even in the rainy season.

Curiously enough, I was less lonely than I had thought I would be. I simply felt no great urge to talk. Actually, Kozuka had never been much of a talker, and I myself am not the sort to take the initiative in conversation.

When I was in the hut, I patched my clothes and repaired utensils and waited for it to stop raining. When I had nothing to do, I deliberated about how far I should go along with the idea of Japanese-Philippine friendship. For the time being, I intended to avoid trouble with the islanders, but I suspected at times that this was a mistake. Just before the rainy season I had seen signs that the islanders were starting to encroach upon what I regarded as my territory.

If I continued to stay quiet after the rainy season, they might decide I had lost my nerve, and this would further embolden those among them who were sympathetic with the enemy. Should that happen, must I continue to hold off?

I had been carrying on an aggressive campaign against the islanders for a long time, because I considered that to be my duty as a guerrilla agent. So far as I could tell, the war was still going on, and the Filipinos, along with the Americans, were still enemies. Was I supposed to sit here and be patient when there were enemies all around me?

Were the Filipinos now really friendly? If they were, then the islanders on Lubang must be friends. And if the islanders were now friendly, I would have to change my attitude and my way of life.

The question that stumped me was how I should go about it. There is a saying that yesterday's enemy is today's friend, but had I not seen my best friend slaughtered before my eyes just six months ago? If Japan and the Philippines were now friendly, why had there been any need to kill Kozuka?

For the first time since coming to this island, I felt that I was reaching a turning point. More and more I sat idly staring at some fixed point and thinking these things over. And as I pondered, I stroked my goatee—the goatee I had started growing when I swore to take revenge for Kozuka's death.

Finally the rainy season ended, and the first anniversary of Kozuka's death grew near. Ordinarily we would have been beginning our beacon raids around this time, but this year I decided against carrying them out. I wanted to avoid unnecessary trouble with the islanders. Anyway, the Japanese strategic command already knew that I was here and in good health. Over and above this, I was afraid that if I sallied forth near the islanders, my yearning for revenge would get the best of me. I kept telling myself that until I made sure how relations between Japan and the Philippines actually were, I should avoid all contact with the islanders.

On the anniversary of Kozuka's slaying, I stood alone in the deep jungle and prayed for his eternal happiness. I wanted to go and make a deep bow before that large tombstone, but if I did, I could not avoid seeing the islanders harvesting their rice, as they had been harvesting it a year ago. I would go some other day.

In late November I visited the mountain hut for the first time in a long time. There was no new information from the strategic command, although I thought it was about time for some secret message to arrive. The only items of interest in the hut were a leaflet written by my younger brother Shigeo, a
special Lubang issue of a journal put out by the alumni of the Nakano School, and a note from someone claiming to be an official of the Japanese Ministry of Health and Welfare. The note said, “I was in Mindoro collecting the remains of Japanese troops who died there. It is now half a year since the search parties were called off. I decided to come and see how you were.”

The fact that the man from the Ministry of Health and Welfare had come indicated to me that my message acknowledging the receipt of the uniforms had been found, but there was nothing in the note about it, nor could I find any comment about it in the alumni group's magazine.

I took this latter to mean that the strategic command was not putting out information about me for the general public. Just as they had suppressed the information about Kozuka's waistband, they were saying nothing in public about the message I had written. The war was still going on after all. There was nothing to do but wait for a further communication.

A new year arrived, and for the twenty-ninth time I celebrated New Year's Day on Lubang.

F
EBRUARY 20, 1974

Wakayama Point was at the confluence of two rivers. There were many
nanka
trees near it, and about three hundred yards downstream, there was a banana field. This was one of the best places on the island for gathering food, but the police knew that, and there were frequent patrols.

On February 16, 1974, I went to a slope from which I could look down on the point. Besides the Japanese flag that had been raised by the search party last year, I saw another, newer Japanese flag.

“I guess they've come again,” I grumbled. “Well, let them come!”

Then I saw somebody in the shadow of a tree. I could not tell whether it was an islander, a policeman or a member of a Japanese search party.

Almost simultaneously I heard voices nearby. About ten islanders who had been up in the mountains cutting trees were running down the slope. I was sure they had spotted me. I crossed the river and hid in the
bosa
trees on the opposite slope. For a while I stayed there holding my breath; then I looked out. There was no one in sight, so I decided to move to a spot above the banana field where I could see anyone approaching Wakayama Point. Two men carrying guns came and went, but nothing else happened that called for alarm.

I stayed in the same place for three days, and then my food gave out. Turning my hat and jacket inside out, I covered them
with a camouflage of twigs and leaves. I was planning to go nearer the point and pick some
nanka
.

When the sun began to set, I crept silently toward the
nanka
grove. When I was nearly there I spotted something large and white next to the river. Squinting at it for a time, I made it out to be a mosquito net. It seemed to be big enough for two, and I was sure I had stumbled across a couple of policemen camping out.

This was more than I could take. They were camping on my territory, between me and the food I needed, and I resolved to attack them. It would have to be a surprise attack, but if I knocked out one of them at the beginning, the rest would be man-to-man combat, which I was confident I would win. I released the safety lock on my rifle.

Going forward five or six paces, I sighted a man with his back to the river. He was building a fire, obviously to cook his dinner. After ascertaining that there was no gun nearby, I called out to him.

He stood up and turned around. His eyes were round, and he wore a T-shirt, dark blue trousers and rubber sandals, He faced me and saluted. Then he saluted again. His hands were trembling, and I would have sworn his knees were too.

The islanders almost always fled the minute I called out to them, but this man stood his ground. True, he was shaking, but he was also making a proper salute. It flashed through my mind that he might be the son of a soldier in the Japanese occupation force.

He opened his mouth and stammered, “I'm Japanese. I'm Japanese.”

He said this two or three more times in a high-pitched voice. My first thought was that he was a Japanese-speaking Filipino, and that the police had put him on to me. I quickly looked around to see if I had walked into a trap. There must be another one somewhere.

Keeping my rifle ready, I asked, “Did you come from the Japanese government?”

“No.”

“Are you from the Youth Foreign Cooperation Society?”

“No.”

“Well, who are you?”

“I'm only a tourist.”

Tourist? What could he mean by that? Why would a tourist come to this island? There was something fishy about this character, and I was fairly sure he had been sent by the enemy.

He asked, “Are you Onoda-san?”

“Yes, I'm Onoda.”

“Really, Lieutenant Onoda?”

I nodded, and he went on.

“I know you've had a long, hard time. The war's over. Won't you come back to Japan with me?”

His use of polite Japanese expressions convinced me that he must have been brought up in Japan, but he was rushing things too much. Did he think that he could just make the simple statement that the war was over, and I would go running back to Japan with him? After all these years, it made me angry.

“No, I won't go back! For me, the war hasn't ended!”

“Why?”

“You wouldn't understand. If you want me to go back to Japan, bring me my orders. There must be proper orders!”

“What do you plan to do? Die here?”

“I will if I don't have any orders to the contrary.”

I said this gruffly and straight to his face. This was my first meeting with Norio Suzuki.

If he had not been wearing socks, I might have shot him. At the very least, I would not have let him take my photograph.
But he had on these thick woolen socks even though he was wearing rubber sandals. The islanders would never do anything so incongruous. The ones who could afford to wear socks would have had on shoes too. I came to the conclusion that the young man must really be Japanese.

He offered me a Marlboro cigarette, and I took it. It was the first foreign cigarette I had had for a long time. Still, I remained suspicious.

When he said he would like to talk, I replied, “In that case, let's go someplace else. It's dangerous for me to stand around like this in the open for a long time. Come on over into that clump of trees.”

“Wait a minute,” he said.

He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a novel, which he gave to me. I put it in the large pocket of my trousers.

“I'll go first,” I said, or rather commanded.

It was not simply a case of not wanting to stand here long enough for the enemy to surround me. Any minute an islander might happen by on his way up the river to fish. The young man hurriedly grabbed his camera and flash attachment, then put out his hand to pick up his bolo knife but thought better of it and stopped midway.

We went across a rice field and started up the slope on the north. As we climbed, the young man said, “If I tell the embassy that I met you, they won't believe me. Will you let me take a photograph for proof?”

Pointing to his flash attachment, he added, “This will make

light.”

I answered, “It ought to. It's a flashbulb.”

“Oh, you know about flashbulbs?” He seemed surprised.

We went about fifty yards farther, then sat down. It was dark now.

The young man said, “Onoda-san, the emperor and the people of Japan are worried about you.”

“Did you bring any orders for me?”

“No.”

“In that case, they'll have to keep on worrying.”

He started telling me how Japan had lost the war and had been at peace for many years. What he said corresponded perfectly with what I had long regarded as enemy propaganda and was completely different from the way I had sized things up myself. If what he was saying was true, I would have to change my way of thinking. This idea upset me, and I remained silent.