Burial in the Clouds by Hiroyuki Agawa

children of Kyushu, all tanned and barefoot, and then the bright sea beyond.
    They say Komenotsu used to prosper as the point of export for rice produced all over these plains, but now it is a little fishing port renowned for its fine tiger prawns. We decided to leave the prawns for a later date and catch a train to Minamata. I heard that to the east of Komenotsu lies the site of the barrier of Noma, which runs along the northern border of the old Satsuma Clan, but we decided to save that for another day, too. Incidentally, as we walked from Izumi to Komenotsu, Fujikura started in with his constant complaint, claiming that Sakai and I had changed, and disagreeably, too.
    â€œYou say Japan will rally once we toe the line,” Fujikura said. “You say you will die honorably. Is this really, honestly, what you both think?” Who wouldn’t feel antagonized when challenged like this? So we fell to arguing. Essentially, all Fujikura wants to convey is his general opposition to the war, or at any rate his extremely pessimistic outlook as to its progress. He maintains that there is no good reason why we, having been drawn into this conflict through no choice of our own, should believe we must die for our country. His attitude also seems rather irresponsible and apathetic, and he basically says that nothing good will happen to Japan anyway, whether we die honorably or not.
    â€œYou despise fanaticism. You hate the foolish opportunism of all the scholars,” Fujikura continued. “But you fail to recognize that you are losing your own minds.” He does go on and is devious in the way he expresses his estimable opinions, though, and he didn’t used to be like this. Fujikura, too, may be losing his mind.
    â€œBut we can carry the war through,” I argued, “precisely because we are all just a little bit mad. That’s what the circumstances require.” Fujikura shot me a contemptuous look, but what does he believe we ought to do? This conversation makes me want to know, for once and for all, just how he thinks we should live—just how he thinks we should conduct ourselves, given our present situation.
    â€œIf you can figure out a way to save your own life,” he says, “then you can make it through. Don’t lose your head. Hold to your beliefs, and if there really is no way out of this mess, at least never give up your consciousness and your pride. When I say ‘consciousness,’ I have something rather different in mind from what you mean by the word.” I understand that Fujikura can really let loose only when he is alone with the three of us. We mustn’t cut him off, only to end up completely at odds with one another. But still, I feel a little angry.
    We arrived in Minamata at around eleven o’clock, having managed to make our peace again on the train. A little up the slope near the station, along the Kagoshima Main Line, we spotted what appeared to be the old house of an illustrious family. Attached to it was a tranquil, luxuriant garden, with a mountain standing off to the back. We were intrigued, and after talking it over a bit, we decided to ask the family to let us see the house, knowing well how rude we were being.
    â€œWe are from the naval air station in Izumi,” we said, introducing ourselves. “And we were wondering—that is, if it’s no inconvenience to you—if we might enjoy your garden while we take a rest.” And they graciously ushered us in.
    We found ourselves treated to a subtle infusion of powdered tea, which we rarely have a chance to drink, along with some cakes from Kagoshima called harukoma. The head of this household is a Mr. Nobunori Fukai. The family served the lords of Minamata Castle for generations. Mr. and Mrs. Fukai appear to be in their fifties, and they have a gentle, pleasant daughter, probably a few years younger than we are. She made the tea for us. There was a discreet garden pond among the bushes,