A middle-aged man with a sunburned face came to Tadokoro’s laboratory one night a week later.
“I understand, Professor, that you’re in the market for a sub marine,” he said without standing on ceremony. “How would the French submarine the Kermadic suit you?”
“How would it suit me? What do you mean by that?” said Tadokoro, frowning. “I’d like to use a Japanese submarine. However . . .”
“I’m not talking about chartering it. I’m talking about buying it and letting you use it. Furthermore, we’ll supply the money for your research. Whatever amount is necessary—it doesn’t matter. And you may select whomever you wish for colleagues. We ask only that you entrust to us the means for preserving the secrecy of your operation.”
“Who are you? What connection do you have with Yukinaga?”
“We’ve requested Professor Yukinaga’s cooperation, too, of course. As for me . . .” The man took a card from his wallet and presented it.
“The Cabinet . . . Department of Research . . .” Tadokoro mumbled, not at all happy.
At that moment there came the loud thumps of hurrying footsteps from the stairway outside the computer room, and a young technician burst into view.
“What is it?” asked the startled Tadokoro. “Can’t you be quiet?”
“Professor!” His face showing his distress, the young man held out a note. “It happened again. In the Kansai. . . .”
✦ ✦ ✦
For the first time in some years, Onodera was in Kyoto for the Daimonji Festival, watching from the veranda of an inn in Ponto-cho overlooking the Kamo River. The veranda was packed with people. And the bridges as well as the banks of the river were lined with a massive outpouring of spectators. So thick was the crowd that the auto traffic going from the west bank to Minamiya and the Keihan Railroad Station along brightly lit Yonjo Avenue was blocked entirely.
Etched in fire on the side of Mount Higashi, Dai, the Chinese character for “greatness,” had been blazing brightly for some twenty minutes, together with the other traditional fires of the Bon Festival, all alike requiems offered for the souls of the departed.
Onodera listened with half an ear to his friends’ conversation as he leaned against the railing watching the now subdued burning of the Daimonji fire. He had extended his vacation from two to three weeks and had not only attended Goh’s funeral service but had gone to the trouble of traveling to Shikoku for the formal ceremony at his home place. The Dai monji fire flickered softly, Goh’s requiem flame. In this country nothing was destroyed, nothing died, Onodera mused. Was it really so? Kyoto, for example. In it lived a thousand years of history. Today in this ceremony the past was alive, alive within the present. But what of the future? What of the next thousand years?
“Would you like a bit more?” A no-longer-young geisha was standing beside him. “Aren’t you enjoying things? You seem a bit out of sorts. Let me fill your sake cup.”
After the geisha had gone her way, someone began to play a samisen in the neighboring room. The breeze died abruptly, and the muggy heat became more oppressive.
“Is Mr. Onodera here?” From the main room of the inn, a waitress put her head through the doorway. “You have a phone call from Tokyo, sir.”
Surprised, Onodera got up from where he had been sitting by the rail. He left the veranda and walked to the desk, where he picked up the receiver.
“Onodera? This is Yukinaga,” said the voice on the other end. “I would like to get together with you as soon as possible. Are you coming back to Tokyo tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir. I intend to. If there’s a great hurry, I can get a Super Express tomorrow morning. What is it about, sir?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I have the utmost need of your cooperation. And so . . .” Yukinaga faltered. “The truth is that it’s work that pertains to Professor Tadokoro.”
At that moment the line went dead.
“Hello, hello,” Onodera shouted into the receiver. “Hello, hello.”
As though he had suddenly become drunk, he felt his body begin to sway back and forth. A young geisha screamed shrilly. Sliding doors began to vibrate loudly, setting up a fearful racket. Before Onodera could even gasp with surprise, an awful, thundering roar seemed to roll up from the earth below, and at the same time the entire inn seemed to whirl about with terrible force. Wrenched from its frame, the crossbeam of a doorway came crashing down. Dust fell in thick clouds from the ceiling and walls. Together with the creaking of the building and the rumbling of the earth, cries of agony began to rise on every side. Onodera grabbed a doorpost to keep his feet. In the hall opposite the inn office a closet door came open, and what looked like a stoutly made desk bounced into the corridor. When he saw the desk, Onodera took hold of it. He tipped it on its side against the wall and then dived beneath it. A fraction of an instant later the inn was plunged into darkness, and something hit the top of the desk with a thunderous crash. Onodera glanced at his watch and noted the time. Since there had been almost nothing in the way of warning tremors, the center of the quake must be very near. How long would it go on? Onodera wondered. A thought struck him that chilled the back of his neck. Twisting his head, he took the risk of looking out from the shelter of the desk. A glimmer of light from the outside showed through a black jumble of door frames, walls, sliding doors, and other debris. Where the veranda had been, there was nothing at all.
✦ ✦ ✦
The Great Kyoto Earthquake, coinciding as it did with a massive influx of people for the Daimonji Festival, claimed a large number of victims. Of the vast crowds gathered along the Kamo River, many were hurled in tangled masses from the bridges and from the houses lining the banks down into the riverbed, others were crushed beneath collapsing buildings, and still others were trampled to death beneath the feet of the terrified crowd. In one brief moment 4,000 people perished and 13,000 were severely injured. Whole sections of Kyoto were leveled. The effect upon the nation was profound. The plague of earthquakes had spread to long-tranquil Western Japan.