13th November Weather unknown at present. We are silent-running. Ten minutes ago the lookout sounded the alarm a squadron of Lightnings heading straight this way. Rehearsed pandemonium ensued as the crew prepared the I-333 I-333 for diving before we were spotted. 'Lookouts below! Dive! Dive!'Abe, Goto, Kusakabe and I returned to our bunks. 'Hatches secured!' Seawater filled the ballast tank. A high-pitched wail as air was forced out through the topside vents. for diving before we were spotted. 'Lookouts below! Dive! Dive!'Abe, Goto, Kusakabe and I returned to our bunks. 'Hatches secured!' Seawater filled the ballast tank. A high-pitched wail as air was forced out through the topside vents. I-333 I-333 tipped at 10 degrees. Light bulbs exploded. Dull pain rings in my ears. Our lives are in the hands of the crew now. We are down to a maximum of 80 metres. The hull of tipped at 10 degrees. Light bulbs exploded. Dull pain rings in my ears. Our lives are in the hands of the crew now. We are down to a maximum of 80 metres. The hull of I-333 I-333 groans like nothing I ever heard. Nobody dares make a sound. Cpt Yokota has told us of rumours about buoys dropped by the enemy that emit sonar, and allow acoustic-guided missiles to locate and destroy submarines. Maybe Cpt Yokota is right: courage is the highest quality for a soldier, but technology is a fine substitute. I keep thinking about all the water above us. What I detest most about groans like nothing I ever heard. Nobody dares make a sound. Cpt Yokota has told us of rumours about buoys dropped by the enemy that emit sonar, and allow acoustic-guided missiles to locate and destroy submarines. Maybe Cpt Yokota is right: courage is the highest quality for a soldier, but technology is a fine substitute. I keep thinking about all the water above us. What I detest most about I-333 I-333 is the smell: it assaults my senses whenever I return from the bridge. Sweat, excrement, rotting food, and men. Men, men, men. Ashore, surprises are often welcome. They break dull routine and bring excitement. Aboard a sub, surprises can prove lethal. I am writing these words to distract my mind. Abe is meditating. Goto is praying. Kusakabe is reading. A kaiten pilot is the most dangerous agent of destruction in maritime history, but how vulnerable I feel now. is the smell: it assaults my senses whenever I return from the bridge. Sweat, excrement, rotting food, and men. Men, men, men. Ashore, surprises are often welcome. They break dull routine and bring excitement. Aboard a sub, surprises can prove lethal. I am writing these words to distract my mind. Abe is meditating. Goto is praying. Kusakabe is reading. A kaiten pilot is the most dangerous agent of destruction in maritime history, but how vulnerable I feel now.

14th November Weather deteriorating. I-333 I-333 is about halfway to our destination. Relations between Abe and Kusakabe have worsened. Yesterday evening Abe challenged him to chess, and when Kusakabe declined said, 'Seems strange for a kaiten pilot to be afraid of losing a game.' The accusation was dressed up as a joke, but jokes are usually other things in disguise. I think Abe is jealous of the territory Kusakabe refuses to share. Without a word Kusakabe put his book down and set up the chessboard. He destroyed Abe like you would destroy a six-year-old. He took about ten seconds per move. Abe took longer to move, his face grew grimmer, but he could not bring himself to resign. Kusakabe promoted a pawn to a queen three times while Abe's king waited in a corner for the inevitable. When Abe knocked his king over, he joked: 'I only hope your final mission is as great a success as your chess-playing.' Kusakabe replied, 'The Americans are formidable opponents, Lieutenant.' Goto and I were afraid these insults could only lead to violence, but Abe calmly put the chessmen away. 'The Americans are an effete race of cowards. Without his gun, the Yankee is nothing.' Kusakabe folded the board. 'We have lost this war by swallowing our own propaganda. It poisons our faculties.' Abe lost control, grabbed the chessboard, and flung it across our cabin. 'Then exactly why are you here, kaiten pilot?' Kusakabe stares back defiantly at our superior officer. 'The meaning of my sacrifice is to help Tokyo negotiate a less humiliating surrender.' Abe hissed with rage. 'Surrender? That word is an anathema to the Yamato-damashii spirit! We liberated Malaya in ten weeks! We bombed Darwin! We blasted the British from the Bay of Bengal! Our crusade created a co-prosperity sphere unrivalled in the East since Genghis Khan! Eight corners united under one roof!' Kusakabe was neither angry nor bowed. 'A great pity the Yamato-damashii spirit never figured out how to stop the roof collapsing in on us.' Abe shouted hoarsely. 'Your words disgrace the insignia on your uniform! They insult your squadron! If we were on Otsushima I would report you for seditious thought! We are talking about good and evil! The divine will made manifest!' Kusakabe glared back. 'We are talking about bomb tonnage. I wish to sink an enemy carrier, but not for you, lieutenant, not for the regiment, not for the blue-bloods or the clowns in Tokyo, but because the fewer planes the Americans have raining bombs on Japan, the greater the chance my sisters will survive this stupid bloody war.' Abe struck Kusakabe's face with his right hand, twice, hard, then hooked him under the chin with the left. Kusakabe staggered, and said 'An excellent line of reasoning, lieutenant.' Goto got between them. I was too shocked to move. Abe spat at Kusakabe and stormed out, but there are not many places to storm to on a submarine. I got a damp cloth to bathe the bruise, but Kusakabe picked up his book as if nothing had happened. So calm, I almost suspect him of provoking Abe in order to be left in peace. is about halfway to our destination. Relations between Abe and Kusakabe have worsened. Yesterday evening Abe challenged him to chess, and when Kusakabe declined said, 'Seems strange for a kaiten pilot to be afraid of losing a game.' The accusation was dressed up as a joke, but jokes are usually other things in disguise. I think Abe is jealous of the territory Kusakabe refuses to share. Without a word Kusakabe put his book down and set up the chessboard. He destroyed Abe like you would destroy a six-year-old. He took about ten seconds per move. Abe took longer to move, his face grew grimmer, but he could not bring himself to resign. Kusakabe promoted a pawn to a queen three times while Abe's king waited in a corner for the inevitable. When Abe knocked his king over, he joked: 'I only hope your final mission is as great a success as your chess-playing.' Kusakabe replied, 'The Americans are formidable opponents, Lieutenant.' Goto and I were afraid these insults could only lead to violence, but Abe calmly put the chessmen away. 'The Americans are an effete race of cowards. Without his gun, the Yankee is nothing.' Kusakabe folded the board. 'We have lost this war by swallowing our own propaganda. It poisons our faculties.' Abe lost control, grabbed the chessboard, and flung it across our cabin. 'Then exactly why are you here, kaiten pilot?' Kusakabe stares back defiantly at our superior officer. 'The meaning of my sacrifice is to help Tokyo negotiate a less humiliating surrender.' Abe hissed with rage. 'Surrender? That word is an anathema to the Yamato-damashii spirit! We liberated Malaya in ten weeks! We bombed Darwin! We blasted the British from the Bay of Bengal! Our crusade created a co-prosperity sphere unrivalled in the East since Genghis Khan! Eight corners united under one roof!' Kusakabe was neither angry nor bowed. 'A great pity the Yamato-damashii spirit never figured out how to stop the roof collapsing in on us.' Abe shouted hoarsely. 'Your words disgrace the insignia on your uniform! They insult your squadron! If we were on Otsushima I would report you for seditious thought! We are talking about good and evil! The divine will made manifest!' Kusakabe glared back. 'We are talking about bomb tonnage. I wish to sink an enemy carrier, but not for you, lieutenant, not for the regiment, not for the blue-bloods or the clowns in Tokyo, but because the fewer planes the Americans have raining bombs on Japan, the greater the chance my sisters will survive this stupid bloody war.' Abe struck Kusakabe's face with his right hand, twice, hard, then hooked him under the chin with the left. Kusakabe staggered, and said 'An excellent line of reasoning, lieutenant.' Goto got between them. I was too shocked to move. Abe spat at Kusakabe and stormed out, but there are not many places to storm to on a submarine. I got a damp cloth to bathe the bruise, but Kusakabe picked up his book as if nothing had happened. So calm, I almost suspect him of provoking Abe in order to be left in peace.

15th November Weather: rain and wind, tail of a typhoon. I am suffering mildly from diarrhoea, but sickbay dispensed some effective medicine. We have lost contact with I-37 I-37, our sister submarine on this mission. An all-systems kaiten service took up most of the day. Following yesterday's incident, Abe avoided speaking unless he had to. Kusakabe addressed him with rigid politeness. His left eye is half closed by a bruise. Goto told the crew that Kusakabe fell out of his bunk. I asked Kusakabe if his offer to lend me his book of English kabuki was still open, and Kusakabe said sure, and recommended a play about the greatest soldier in Rome. Listen: 'Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a destroyer of men.' Even when Abe came into our cabin I carried on reading it. Western military values are perplexing, however. The soldier, Coriolanus, talks about honour, but when he feels betrayed by the Romans, instead of registering his disapproval by hara-kiri, he deserts and fights for the enemy! Where is the honour in that? This afternoon an unescorted American freighter was sighted, but Cpt Yokota is under strictest orders not to fire a conventional torpedo until the kaiten mission is completed. Goto swore he for one would never breathe a word to Admiralty HQ if Cpt Yokota ignored this directive. I-47 I-47 sent a communique warning of two enemy destroyers SSE 20 kms, so we let the freighter escape. Later, Goto and I fabricated a model warship from card, and practised kaiten approach angles with a mock periscope. Then, as casually as a comment on the weather, Goto said, 'Tsukiyama, I want to introduce you to my wife.' For once, he was quite serious. He wedded her on our final weekend leave. 'If she wants to remarry after my death,' he said, more to himself than to me, 'she has my blessing. She may have more than one husband, but I will only ever have one wife.' Goto then asked me why I volunteered for special attack forces. It may strike you as odd that we never discussed this topic at Otsushima or even Nara, but our minds were too intricated in the 'how' to see the 'why'. My answer was, and is, that I believe the kaiten project is the reason I was born. sent a communique warning of two enemy destroyers SSE 20 kms, so we let the freighter escape. Later, Goto and I fabricated a model warship from card, and practised kaiten approach angles with a mock periscope. Then, as casually as a comment on the weather, Goto said, 'Tsukiyama, I want to introduce you to my wife.' For once, he was quite serious. He wedded her on our final weekend leave. 'If she wants to remarry after my death,' he said, more to himself than to me, 'she has my blessing. She may have more than one husband, but I will only ever have one wife.' Goto then asked me why I volunteered for special attack forces. It may strike you as odd that we never discussed this topic at Otsushima or even Nara, but our minds were too intricated in the 'how' to see the 'why'. My answer was, and is, that I believe the kaiten project is the reason I was born.

Suga lumbers downstairs. 'Hey.'

'Hey.' I close the journal. 'How are you feeling?'

'A ten-megaton headache.'

'My boss keeps a first-aid box somewhere-'

'I have a unique immunity to painkillers. I cleaned your toilet. I never cleaned one before. I hope I used the right cloths and stuff.'

'Thank you.'

Suga sniffs and watches the screen for a while. It is an American movie not many aren't I chose at random called An Officer and a Gentleman An Officer and a Gentleman. From the box I thought it might be about the Pacific war and the navy my great-uncle fought, but I was way wrong. The star he has a pained-rodent face is stuck in boot camp in the 1980s. 'Well,' says Suga, 'I see why you jacked in Ueno. Is this all you do? Sit on your butt and watch movies all day?'

'Same as sitting on your butt and watching computer screens.'

Suga inspects the new-releases rack. 'Living on borrowed time, these video shops. Pretty soon people will download all their videos via the Net, right. DCDI format. The technology is already here, just waiting for marketing to catch up. I meant to ask: what happened with that Korean babe you were chasing?'

'Uh, mistaken identity.'

A kryptonite-green Jeep, throbbing with time-travel music, mounts the pavement. Lolita in the passenger seat spits cherry pips out of the window, while Dalai Lama darts in, nursing a fluffy white ferret it sports a pink-and-lime bow tie in one arm and three videos in the other. 'Jason and the Argonauts thrilled us, thrilled us, Sinbad Sinbad chilled us, chilled us, Titanic Titanic killed us. Myths are no longer what they used to be. I should know I wrote them.' I check the return-by dates and thank him. Dalai Lama moonwalks out and waves the ferret's paw at us. The ferret yawns. The Jeep jets off, red-shifting music into a squashed blur. Suga watches through the door. 'I wish I had a friend like that. I could phone him up every time I felt like a misfit, right, just to remind myself how normal I actually am.' Suga yawns, cleans his glasses on his T-shirt, and steps outside to consult the sky. 'So, a new day.' killed us. Myths are no longer what they used to be. I should know I wrote them.' I check the return-by dates and thank him. Dalai Lama moonwalks out and waves the ferret's paw at us. The ferret yawns. The Jeep jets off, red-shifting music into a squashed blur. Suga watches through the door. 'I wish I had a friend like that. I could phone him up every time I felt like a misfit, right, just to remind myself how normal I actually am.' Suga yawns, cleans his glasses on his T-shirt, and steps outside to consult the sky. 'So, a new day.'

'Audition hall waiting rooms are nurseries for lunatics,' says Ai, the noise of the wind a hazy crackle of static, 'or psychological warfare students. Musicians are worse than those world-class chess players who kick each other under the table. One boy from Toho music school is eating garlic yoghurt and reading French slang from a phrase book. Aloud. Another is chanting Buddhist scriptures with his mother. Two girls are discussing best-loved music academy suicides who couldn't take the pressure.'

'If your music sounds half as good to the judges as it did to me last night, you should walk it.'

'I think you may be biased, Miyake. They don't give points for necks. Anyway, nobody walks it to a Paris Conservatoire scholarship. You drag yourself there by your fingernails, over the corpses of slaughtered co-hopefuls. Like the Roman gladiators, except when you lose you have to simper politely and congratulate your nemesis. Playing over the phone to you is not the same as performing for a panel of dug-up A-class war criminal look-alikes who control my future, my dream, and my meaning as a human being. If I blow this audition, it will be private lessons to cutey-cutey Hello Kitty daughters until the day I die.'

'There will be other auditions in the future,' I point out.

'Wrong thing to say.'

'When are the results announced?'

'Five o'clock today, after the final candidate has performed the judges fly back to France tomorrow. Hang on someone's coming-' I get an earful of static swish and covered mumble. 'That was my on-in-two-minutes call.'

Say something powerful, encouraging and clever. 'Uh, good luck.'

Her breathing changes as she walks. 'I was thinking earlier...'

'About?'

'The meaning of life, of course. I changed my mind again.'

'Yeah?'

'You find your own meaning by passing or failing a series of tests.'

'Who passes or fails you in these tests?'

Her footsteps echo and static breezes. 'You do.'

Customers come, customers go. A steady stream of movies about the end of the world get rented must be something in the air. I wonder how Ai is doing in her audition. I thought my guitar-playing was okay, but compared to her I am a no-fingered amateur. A hassled mother comes in and asks me to recommend a video that will shut her kids up for an hour. I resist the temptation to slip her Pam the Clam from Amsterdam Pam the Clam from Amsterdam 'Well, madam, it 'Well, madam, it did did shut them up, didn't it?' and suggest shut them up, didn't it?' and suggest Sky Castle Laputa Sky Castle Laputa. I go to the door the sky is one of those opal marmalade sunsets. A Harley Davidson growls by, a strolling lion. Its chromework is cometary, and its driver is a kid with leather trousers, a designer-gashed T-shirt saying DAMN I'M GOOD DAMN I'M GOOD and an army outrider helmet with a cartoon duck stencilled on. The girlfriend, her perfect arms disappearing into the T-shirt, blond hair catching amber sunlight, is none other than Coffee. Love hotel Coffee! Same pout, same time-zone-straddling legs. I hide behind a Ken Takakura poster, and watch the motorbike weave through the clogged traffic. Definitely Coffee or her clone. Now I am not so certain. Coffee has millions of clones in Tokyo. I sit down and open my grandfather's journal. What would Subaru Tsukiyama say about Japan today? Was it worth dying for? Maybe he would reply that and an army outrider helmet with a cartoon duck stencilled on. The girlfriend, her perfect arms disappearing into the T-shirt, blond hair catching amber sunlight, is none other than Coffee. Love hotel Coffee! Same pout, same time-zone-straddling legs. I hide behind a Ken Takakura poster, and watch the motorbike weave through the clogged traffic. Definitely Coffee or her clone. Now I am not so certain. Coffee has millions of clones in Tokyo. I sit down and open my grandfather's journal. What would Subaru Tsukiyama say about Japan today? Was it worth dying for? Maybe he would reply that this this Japan is not the Japan he did die for. The Japan he died for never came into being. It was a possible future, auditioned by the present but rejected with other dreams. Maybe it is a mercy he cannot see the Japan that was chosen. I wonder what angle to take when I meet my grandfather next Monday. I wish I could do angles like Daimon. I wish Admiral Raizo had given me a pointer. Should I applaud the samurai spirit stuff? Does it matter? All I want is for my grandfather to introduce me to my father. Nothing more. I wonder how I would have fared in the war. Could I have calmly stayed in an iron whale cruising towards my death? I am the same age as my great-uncle was when he died. I guess I would not have been 'I'. I would have been another 'I'. A weird thought, that I am not made by me, or my parents, but by the Japan that did come into being. Subaru Tsukiyama was made by a Japan that died with surrender. It must be tough being a product of both, like Takara Tsukiyama. Japan is not the Japan he did die for. The Japan he died for never came into being. It was a possible future, auditioned by the present but rejected with other dreams. Maybe it is a mercy he cannot see the Japan that was chosen. I wonder what angle to take when I meet my grandfather next Monday. I wish I could do angles like Daimon. I wish Admiral Raizo had given me a pointer. Should I applaud the samurai spirit stuff? Does it matter? All I want is for my grandfather to introduce me to my father. Nothing more. I wonder how I would have fared in the war. Could I have calmly stayed in an iron whale cruising towards my death? I am the same age as my great-uncle was when he died. I guess I would not have been 'I'. I would have been another 'I'. A weird thought, that I am not made by me, or my parents, but by the Japan that did come into being. Subaru Tsukiyama was made by a Japan that died with surrender. It must be tough being a product of both, like Takara Tsukiyama.

18th November Weather: tropical heat, blinding sunshine. This morning I spent thirty minutes on the lookout platform fore of the periscopes. The lookout lent me his binoculars. Our position is 60 kilometres west of Ulithi atoll. A high-altitude reconnaissance plane from Truk reported 200 enemy vessels including 4 carriers. Enemy radio transmissions grow ever busier. Cpt Yokota made the decision not to wait for I-37 I-37, as 5 days have elapsed since last contact. Hailing her on VLF radio would be hazardous so close to an enemy stronghold. I hope she has only been delayed. Being sunk so close to the target area would be a cruel irony for the kaiten pilots. We wished I-36 I-36 and and I-47 I-47 good hunting and turned east towards the Palau Islands. good hunting and turned east towards the Palau Islands. I-333 I-333 approached Peleliu around 1800. The archipelago is as beautiful as places from old stories, but as outlandish as the landscapes I used to doodle on my copybook. I saw coral islets, twisted outcrops, gorges, peaks, swamps, and sandbars. Recent battle damage was much in evidence. The 14th Division of the Kwantung Army will have made the enemy pay dearly for the invasion of these islands. The bases and airfields were among the most battle-ready in the war, because the Palaus were Japanese territory since the League of Nations mandate of 1919. But the enemy cannot guess the true price of anchoring in the Kossol Passage. The lookout spotted an enemy scout plane and we dived. As tonight's meal will, in all probability, be our final one, Captain Yokota produced his wind-up gramophone and two records. I instantly recognized a tune which father used to play, before jazz was banned because of its corrupting influence. The musician's name is Jyu Keringuton. How strange to be listening to American jazz before setting out to kill Americans. approached Peleliu around 1800. The archipelago is as beautiful as places from old stories, but as outlandish as the landscapes I used to doodle on my copybook. I saw coral islets, twisted outcrops, gorges, peaks, swamps, and sandbars. Recent battle damage was much in evidence. The 14th Division of the Kwantung Army will have made the enemy pay dearly for the invasion of these islands. The bases and airfields were among the most battle-ready in the war, because the Palaus were Japanese territory since the League of Nations mandate of 1919. But the enemy cannot guess the true price of anchoring in the Kossol Passage. The lookout spotted an enemy scout plane and we dived. As tonight's meal will, in all probability, be our final one, Captain Yokota produced his wind-up gramophone and two records. I instantly recognized a tune which father used to play, before jazz was banned because of its corrupting influence. The musician's name is Jyu Keringuton. How strange to be listening to American jazz before setting out to kill Americans.

19th November Weather: fine, calm conditions prevailing. A quiet last night. I-333 I-333 conducting submerged periscope watch. Slick has promised to visit Nagasaki and hand this journal to you personally, Takara. My co-Kikusui pilots are composing their final letters. Kusakabe asked Abe's advice regarding an obscure kanji for a haiku he was composing. Abe answered without rancour. I have little talent for poetry. Slick is presently servicing our kaitens for the final time, and the kaiten release mechanisms are being tested. Captain Yokota is approaching the mouth of Kossol Passage in a slow curve. We prayed at the special shrine and left incense as gifts to the god of the shrine. Goto burned his card aircraft carrier and offered the ashes. We studied a cartographical chart of the target zone, with depth soundings. At our final supper we thanked the crew for bringing us here safely. We drank banzai toasts to the success of our mission and to the emperor. I went up to the bridge one final time to see the moon and stars, and shared a cigarette with the ensign on duty. The moon was full and bright. It reminded me of the mirror Yaeko and Mother use to apply cosmetics. This moon will allow me to choose my target in under three hours from now. Three hours. This is all my lifeline has to run, if all goes well. My thoughts are now occupied with how I can best utilize my training to be sure of making a lethal hit. I will now entrust this journal to Slick. conducting submerged periscope watch. Slick has promised to visit Nagasaki and hand this journal to you personally, Takara. My co-Kikusui pilots are composing their final letters. Kusakabe asked Abe's advice regarding an obscure kanji for a haiku he was composing. Abe answered without rancour. I have little talent for poetry. Slick is presently servicing our kaitens for the final time, and the kaiten release mechanisms are being tested. Captain Yokota is approaching the mouth of Kossol Passage in a slow curve. We prayed at the special shrine and left incense as gifts to the god of the shrine. Goto burned his card aircraft carrier and offered the ashes. We studied a cartographical chart of the target zone, with depth soundings. At our final supper we thanked the crew for bringing us here safely. We drank banzai toasts to the success of our mission and to the emperor. I went up to the bridge one final time to see the moon and stars, and shared a cigarette with the ensign on duty. The moon was full and bright. It reminded me of the mirror Yaeko and Mother use to apply cosmetics. This moon will allow me to choose my target in under three hours from now. Three hours. This is all my lifeline has to run, if all goes well. My thoughts are now occupied with how I can best utilize my training to be sure of making a lethal hit. I will now entrust this journal to Slick.

Live my life for me, Takara, and I will die your death for you.

Live long, little brother.

I never heard Ai sound miserable. I never thought it was in her repertoire. I stroke Cat. 'Your father knows how much the Conservatoire means to you?'

'That Man knows exactly how much it means.'

'And he knows how few scholarships get awarded?'

'Yes.'

'Why has he forbidden you to go? Why isn't he brimming over with pride?'

'Niigata was good enough for him, so Niigata will be good enough for me. He refuses to use the word music. He says "tinkling" instead.'

'What does your mother think?'

'My mother? "Think"? Not since her honeymoon. What she says is "Obey your father!" Over and over. She let him finish her sentences for her for so long that now he starts them too. She actually apologizes to my father for making him yell at her. My sister married the owner of the biggest concrete works on the Japan Sea coast because our father told her to, and now she is turning into my mother. It's creepy. She heard they have big ozone holes over Austria so-'

'Austria? Doesn't she mean Australia?'

'Their knowledge of the world outside Japan only extends as far as they can swim offshore. Sorry if I sound bitter. Then my brother was drafted. He runs That Man's branch office, so you can imagine how sympathetic he was. I am wrecking the family harmony, he said. French food will play havoc with my diabetes as if he he ever cared about my diabetes and the sheer worry will cause my mother's blood pressure to rise, and she may actually explode. Then I will be guilty of blowing up Mother as well as disobeying That Man. What's making that noise? Not Suga again?' ever cared about my diabetes and the sheer worry will cause my mother's blood pressure to rise, and she may actually explode. Then I will be guilty of blowing up Mother as well as disobeying That Man. What's making that noise? Not Suga again?'

'Cat, this time. She feels sorry for you, but doesn't know what to say that wouldn't sound feeble. She hopes it will all work out okay.'

'Thank her. At times like this I wish I smoked.'

'Hold your mouth to the receiver I'll blow smoke down the line.'

'Teenagers often fantasize that their parents are not their real parents. After this evening I can see the appeal. Truth is, That Man hates the idea of me not needing him. He wants to hire and fire the world as he sees fit. He is afraid of his employees finding out he can't control his daughter. What a family of sand fleas I come from! I swear, sometimes I think I would be better off as an orphan. Oh. Oh... sorry, Miyake...'

'Hey, don't worry.'

'Today has blown my tact chip. I should switch myself off and leave you in peace. I've done nothing but whinge for thirty minutes.'

'You can whinge all night. Isn't that right, Cat?'

Cat, bless her, miaows right on cue.

'See? So whinge.'

'You look five years younger,' I tell Buntaro when he gets back from Okinawa on Sunday evening, and he really does. 'So if I go on four holidays do I get to look like a twenty-year-old?' He presents me with a key-ring of Zizzi Hikaru like most idols, Zizzi is Okinawan who sheds her clothes when you breathe on the plastic casing. 'Hey, thanks,' I say, 'this will be a family heirloom. Good to be back?'

'Ye-es.' Buntaro looks around Shooting Star. 'No. Yes.'

'Right. Did Machiko-san enjoy herself?'

'Way too much. She wants to move there. Tomorrow.'

Buntaro scratches his head. 'Kodai being born soon... it changes the way you see things. Would you want to be brought up in Tokyo?'

I remember my mother's first letter, the balcony one. 'Maybe not.'

Buntaro nods and checks his watch. 'You must have a thousand things you want to do, lad.' I don't, but I can see he wants to catch up on paperwork, so I climb up to my capsule and round up dirty laundry. I try calling Ai, but nobody answers. Netherworld noises vibrate down the apartment building tonight. Husband bawling, baby screaming, washing machine spinning. Tomorrow is Monday grandfather day. I lie on my futon and begin decoding the final three pages of the journal. These are written on different paper, in cramped letters that get harder and harder to read. Across the top of the paper is stamped in red ink, in English: 'SCAP' which is not in my dictionary and 'Military Censor'. These half obscure a pencil inscription in Japanese: '... these words... moral property...... Takara Tsukiyama...' An address in Nagasaki is illegible to me.

20th November Weather unknown. Dead but still alive. Alone in kaiten. Last 6 hours. At 0245 Cpt Yokota came to cabin announced the kaiten attack commence 15 mins. Stood in a circle and tied hachimaki of brother before us. Goto: 'Just another training run, boys.' Abe to Kusakabe: 'You are a demon chess player, Ensign.' Kusakabe: 'Your left hook is the demon, Lieutenant.' Toured I-333 I-333 thanked crew for bringing us here safely. Saluted, man by man. Shook hands before entered kaitens via chutes. Slick sealed the hatches on us. His face last I saw. thanked crew for bringing us here safely. Saluted, man by man. Shook hands before entered kaitens via chutes. Slick sealed the hatches on us. His face last I saw. I-333 I-333 dived for final approach. Radioman First Class Hosokawa maintained telephone link until release, providing last-minute orientation. Abe released 0315. Heard clamps fall loose. Goto released 0320. Kusakabe floated free 0335. Next 5 minutes I thought many things, focus difficult. Hosokawa in Nagasaki dialect: 'I'll be thinking of you. May glory be yours.' Final human words. Foreclasps released. Started engine. Rears released. Floated free. Thrust sharp left avoid conning tower/periscope shears. Proceeded ESE heading, holding depth 5 metres. Surfaced 0342 confirm position with visual fix. Enemy fleet clearly silhouetted harbour lights. Troop carriers, transport ships, fuel tankers, at least 3 battleships, 3 destroyers, 2 heavy cruisers. No carriers, many fat targets. Eating, asleep, shitting, smoking, drinking, talking Americans. I, their executioner. Strange sensation. At strategy meeting on dived for final approach. Radioman First Class Hosokawa maintained telephone link until release, providing last-minute orientation. Abe released 0315. Heard clamps fall loose. Goto released 0320. Kusakabe floated free 0335. Next 5 minutes I thought many things, focus difficult. Hosokawa in Nagasaki dialect: 'I'll be thinking of you. May glory be yours.' Final human words. Foreclasps released. Started engine. Rears released. Floated free. Thrust sharp left avoid conning tower/periscope shears. Proceeded ESE heading, holding depth 5 metres. Surfaced 0342 confirm position with visual fix. Enemy fleet clearly silhouetted harbour lights. Troop carriers, transport ships, fuel tankers, at least 3 battleships, 3 destroyers, 2 heavy cruisers. No carriers, many fat targets. Eating, asleep, shitting, smoking, drinking, talking Americans. I, their executioner. Strange sensation. At strategy meeting on I-333 I-333 agreed first kaitens should target distant vessels guesswork required. Used kids choosing-chant: Do re ni shi ma sho ka? Ka mi sa ma no iu to explosion. Shock waves rocked kaiten. Steadied periscope, saw fuel tanker, plum-blossom fire, smoke already obscuring stars. Secondary explosion. Orange. Beautiful, terrible, could not tear eyes away. Flares climbed, lit Passage brighter than day. Hunted, I dived. Waking dream. Being, not doing. Chose nearest large naval ship and manouevred to appropriate angle. Klaxons, engines, chaos. Another major explosion kaiten, nearby depth-charge, no knowing. Patrol boat? Vibrations nearer, nearer, nearer dived to 8 metres passed over. Sizable explosion to starboard. Loneliness afraid brothers leave me here among hostile strangers not my race. Slowed to 2 kph, surfaced for position check. Fires/smoke/after-explosions 2 locations. Chose large outline due west light cruiser? 150 metres. Eyes dazzled by searchlight, but cloaked by chaos on-shore. Dived to 67 metres. Throttled to 18 kph. Flying, strange air. Cut to dead halt. Surfaced, final check. Cruiser filled the night. 80 metres. Saw figures streaming. Ants. Fireflies. Dived 5 metres. Primed warhead. One thought: 'This is my final thought.' Opened throttle lever to maximum velocity. Acceleration shoved me back, hard... 70 metres closing, 60, 50, 40, 30, 20, impact next moment, impact now agreed first kaitens should target distant vessels guesswork required. Used kids choosing-chant: Do re ni shi ma sho ka? Ka mi sa ma no iu to explosion. Shock waves rocked kaiten. Steadied periscope, saw fuel tanker, plum-blossom fire, smoke already obscuring stars. Secondary explosion. Orange. Beautiful, terrible, could not tear eyes away. Flares climbed, lit Passage brighter than day. Hunted, I dived. Waking dream. Being, not doing. Chose nearest large naval ship and manouevred to appropriate angle. Klaxons, engines, chaos. Another major explosion kaiten, nearby depth-charge, no knowing. Patrol boat? Vibrations nearer, nearer, nearer dived to 8 metres passed over. Sizable explosion to starboard. Loneliness afraid brothers leave me here among hostile strangers not my race. Slowed to 2 kph, surfaced for position check. Fires/smoke/after-explosions 2 locations. Chose large outline due west light cruiser? 150 metres. Eyes dazzled by searchlight, but cloaked by chaos on-shore. Dived to 67 metres. Throttled to 18 kph. Flying, strange air. Cut to dead halt. Surfaced, final check. Cruiser filled the night. 80 metres. Saw figures streaming. Ants. Fireflies. Dived 5 metres. Primed warhead. One thought: 'This is my final thought.' Opened throttle lever to maximum velocity. Acceleration shoved me back, hard... 70 metres closing, 60, 50, 40, 30, 20, impact next moment, impact now Clang like temple bell. Wild spinning up = down, down = up, drilling, flung left right up down, loose objects flying, me too. Lungs empty. So this death, I think, then I think, Can dead think? Pain rings from head erased further thought. Lurching crunch > hung downwards > judder halt. Engines howling, rudder control dead and free in hand, scream noise from engines, heat climbing, burning oil smell same moment I realize not dead and must cut engines, engines die. Failure. Warhead did not detonate. Kaiten glanced off hull = bamboo spear off metal helmet. Periscope sights slashed face, broke nose. Sat, listened to noises from surface. Tried to ignite TNT manually, strike casing with wrench. Tore off fingernail in attempt. Impact broke chronometer. Minutes or hours, cannot tell. Periscope blackness> blueness now. Flask of whisky. Will drink, put these pages into flask. Takara. Message in bottle in dead shark. Learn this song, Takara?

Corpses adrift and corpses swollen,Corpses abed in the swollen sea,Corpses adream in the mountain grasslands,We shall die, we shall die, we shall die for the emperor, and we shall never look back.

Abed in the swollen sea. Air thinner. Or imagine air thinner. Now? Divers may discover me typhoon shakes me loose, beaches me remain here end of time. Kaiten was not way to glorious death. Kaiten is urn. Sea is tomb. Do not blame us who die so long before noon.

'No hope,' answers the woman who is not Ai. It is after midnight but she sounds more amused than angry. She has a brick-thick Osaka accent. 'Sorry.'

'Oh. Can I ask when, uh, Miss Imajo is expected back?'

'Feel free to ask, but whether I answer is another Q.'

'When is Miss Imajo due back? Please?'

'And tonight's top news story: Ai Imajo is summoned to the ancestral seat in Niigata in a last-ditch attempt to break the diplomatic deadlock. When reporters asked the defiant Miss Imajo how long the summit would last, we were told: "As long as it takes." Stay tuned!'

'Days, then?'

'My turn. Are you the karate kid?'

'No. The head-butt kid.'

'Same kid. Nice to meet your disembodied voice at last, karate kid. Ai calls you head-butt kid, but I think karate kid sounds wittier.'

'Uh, for sure. When Ai gets back could you-'

'I inherited my granny's psychic powers. I knew it was you calling. Don't you want to know who I am?'

'Are you Ai's shy, retiring flatmate, by any chance?'

'Hole in one! So. Is Ai dating a human being, or are you another psycho gremlin?'

'Not exactly dating...' I take the bait. '"Psycho gremlin"?'

'Fact. Eighty per cent of Ai's admirers go on to successful careers in the horror movie industry. The last one was the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Webby, floppy, water-resistant, caught bluebottles with his tongue. Phoned at midnight and croaked until dawn. Drove a Volvo, wore blazers, gave out CDs of himself singing madrigals, and confided unsolicited fantasies when Ai begged me to say she was out. He and Ai would marry at Tokyo Disneyland, tour Athens, Montreal and Paris with their three sons, Delius, Sibelius and Yoyo. One time his mother called she wanted Ai's parents' number in Niigata so she start marriage negotiations directly with the manufacturer. Me and Ai had to concoct an ex-boxer boyfriend in prison who half strangled Ai's last admirer.'

'I can promise, my mother will never call. But-'

'Ever worked in a pizza kitchen, karate kid?'

'A pizza kitchen? Why?'

'Ai says you need a job as from tomorrow.'

'True, but I never worked in a kitchen before.'

'No worries. Chimpanzees could do the job. In fact, we have hired lots of furry, tree-dwelling higher primates in the past. The hours are lousy midnight to eight a. m. the kitchen is hotter than the core of the sun but on the graveyard shift the money is good. Central location the Nero's opposite Jupiter Cafe, site of legendary head-butt. Plus, you get to work with me. Has Ai mentioned my name?'

'Uh...'

'Obviously I am the last thing on her mind. Sachiko Sera. As in "Che Sara, Sara, whatever li-lah, li-lah." Well, almost. Can you start tomorrow evening? Monday?'

'I don't want to talk you out of giving me a job I need so badly, Ms Sera, but, uh, don't you want to meet me first?'