The Sky, the Wind, the Stars and Poetry.
Scenes from his former life flashed past his eyes: the blue sky outside the windows of a lecture hall, the wind brushing tree branches on a hill, the stars filling the night sky, and the poetry he read, copied down and created.
‘Nice lifestyle you’ve got there,’ Koroki spat out. ‘Patriotic young men are dying on battlefields while you scribble poems like a little girl. Translate these into Japanese! Your poems will prove your ideology. The original manuscript will be destroyed.’ He smiled, his face crinkling like Mephistopheles.
Hiranuma gazed at the dry pen, black ink and his mother tongue. The poor-quality government-issue paper was waiting for something to be written on it. But writing his poems in Japanese was to trample on his own soul. At the same time, he was starving to write something, anything. Like a famished young man grabbing a spoon, he snatched the pen and dipped it in ink:
EASILY COMPOSED POEM
Night rain whispers outside the window
Of a six-mat tatami room in a foreign country,
Though I know a poet follows a sad calling
I write down a line of poetry,
With the tuition envelope sent
Imparting the warm scent of sweat and love
I hold a notebook under my arm
And go to a lecture by an old professor.
When I think about it
I lost
One, two, all my childhood friends.
What do I wish for?
That I alone sink?
They say life is difficult
But it is embarrassing
That this poem is so easily composed.
A six-mat tatami room in a foreign country.
Night rain whispers outside the window,
Turning on the light to drive away a sliver of darkness
My final self waits for morning, a new epoch.
I offer a small hand to myself
The first handshake of tears and solace.
After they were translated, Hiranuma’s poems were burned. He was sent to a solitary cell in the prosecutor’s office. On 22 February 1944 the prosecutor indicted him and his cousin as leaders of the incident. The trial began on 31 March, with Judge Ishii Heiyo of the Second Criminal Investigation Department at the Kyoto Regional Court presiding. Judge Ishii found the prisoners guilty of violating Clause V of the Maintenance of Public Order Act, which stated: ‘Individuals who organize an association with the purpose of changing the forms of state, support such an association, or consult, instigate or propagandize to implement such a purpose, or act in order to carry out said purpose, will be subject to a sentence of no less than one year, but no greater than ten years.’ Hiranuma received a sentence of two years. His release date was 30 November 1945, taking into account the 261 days he spent in detention prior to his conviction. He was no longer free, but he hadn’t ever known how it felt to be free; no Korean was free. Hiranuma stepped into Fukuoka Prison, counting the remaining days of his sentence.
Sugiyama opened the door to the interrogation room. He approached Prisoner 645 stiffly, wanting to appear rock-solid, and sat down across from him. 645’s lips were dry and cracked, as though they’d been salted. His thin, wrinkled red prisoner uniform, its collar threadbare, looked like a piece of dirty, cast-away cloth.
‘645! You brought this in with you.’ Sugiyama tossed a leather-bound book onto the desk. Its title, The Complete New Testament and Psalms, was embossed in gold on the black leather cover.
With trembling hands, Prisoner 645 grabbed the book and inhaled its scent of leather.
Sugiyama snapped, ‘This was allowed in only because it’s in Japanese!’
645 flipped through the book like a starving child. The thin pages of the Bible fluttered. He found the page he was looking for and read feverishly:
Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
Blessed are the mercifuclass="underline" for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
— MATTHEW 5:3–10
He was a different person when he lifted his head; he was no longer haggard or nervous. His gaze was peaceful. Who had consoled him? What had brought him peace?
Sugiyama took his hand off the club by his waist. ‘Unbelievably foolish. Believing in God in times like these. ’
‘It’s better than not believing in anything.’
Sugiyama shook his head. In his mind, God was merely an excuse. The powerful killed and launched wars in His name and the weak closed their eyes to injustice, telling themselves it was God’s way. ‘I would think it’s better to believe in yourself before God.’
‘I believe in God in order to believe in myself.’
‘So you’re not seditious. You’re just stupid.’
‘If believing in God is stupid, then you are, too. You believe in God, just like me.’
Sugiyama was suddenly afraid that he might tumble into the darkness of 645’s eyes. ‘I’ve never believed in God. Not for one second!’ He slammed his club onto the table, shattering the dry air.
645 flinched, but forged on. ‘You hate God as much as I love Him. Or maybe you actually hate Him more than that. We each love or hate God in our own ways. If He didn’t exist there would be no reason for you to hate Him.’
Sugiyama didn’t want to get tangled in showy sophistry. ‘Maybe that’s true. God may exist. But not here. Because this is Fukuoka Prison. If God existed here, then He’s not loving. He’s cold and cruel. Because He let you live. Here, staying alive is a curse.’
‘No matter where you are, no matter which side you’re on, being alive is a blessing.’
Sugiyama gave him a sharp look. ‘Don’t yammer about death to me. Even I don’t know about death, and I spent my life with an arm around it.’