The Image and the Likeness Part 9

General Soo, in particular, insisted on making a long speech in which he declared the Russians to be the true "western imperialists", now unmasked, who since the days of the first Stalin had sought to enslave China with lies and trickery. Baker shook his head over this, and privately opined that Soo was a very poor fence straddler: such remarks went beyond the needs of expediency, and would probably completely alienate him from the Kremlin. However, the crowd thought it was all fine.

Kazu replied with a short, and generally well planned statement of his policy.

"Those who follow me," he concluded, "have no easy path. They must be strong, to throw off the yoke of those who would enslave them, but they must be merciful to their enemies in defeat, even to those who but a moment before were at their throats. For though we win the war, if we at the same time forget what we have fought for, then we have indeed lost all. I proclaim to all China, and to her enemies both within and without our borders, that the faith of Buddha has returned, and that interference in China's affairs by any other nation will not be tolerated."

Colonel Faulkner had landed at the Hankow airport and now, with his crew, shared our private banquet on the terrace of the city's largest hotel, only a few hundred feet from where Kazu squatted. Under cover of the cheering and speechmaking, he relayed to us some news which he had heard on the radio, which was not quite so rosy.

It seemed, first, that the Chinese III Army, under General Wu, had declared itself for Buddha, and was engaged in a pitched battle with the Manchurian First Army north of Tientsin. The communist garrison at Shanghai, where there was a large population of Russian "colonists", had holed in, awaiting attack by a Buddhist Peoples Army a.s.sembled from revolting elements of the II and VII Corps at Nanking. A revolt at Canton, far to the south, had been put down by the communists with the aid of air support coming directly from Russia. The most ominous note, however, was a veiled threat by old Mao himself that if mutinous elements did not submit, he might call upon his great ally to the east to use the atomic bomb. Mao spoke apparently from near Peking, where he was a.s.sembling the I and V Armies.

We digested this news while Kazu finished the last of his 1000 sheep. We all cast anxious glances into the sky. Soviet planes at Canton meant that they could be here also, and Buddha, squatting in a glare of light in the midst of Hankow, was a sitting duck for a bombing attack.

As soon as the main part of the formalities were over, Baker managed to get Kazu's attention, and informed him of the situation. Kazu's reaction was immediate and to the point.

"We do not await attack. We go north to free our brothers, and to instruct our errant General Mao in Buddha's truth."

By the time we were packed and in our travelling box, the time was eight-thirty. Reference to our map showed the airline distance from Hankow to Peking to be about 630 miles, and Buddha, greatly refreshed by the food and rest, promised to reach the capital by eleven.

To make walking easier, Baker plotted a route which avoided the lowlands, particularly the valley of the Yellow River, in favor of a slightly longer course through the mountains to the east. We started northwest, splashing through the swamps and lakes around Hankow at first, and presently reached firmer ground in the Hawiyang Shan. We followed the ridge of these mountains for a time, and then dropped to the hilly country of Honan Province. At first the night was very dark, but presently the light of a waning moon made an occasional fix possible, although navigation was confusing and uncertain at best.

We splashed across the Yellow River at ten o'clock, somewhere east of Kaifeng, and for a time were greatly slowed by what appeared to be thick gumbo.

Our speed improved once we got up into the rugged Taihang Mountains.

Here also we felt safer from air observation or attack, although Kazu was soon panting from the exertion of crossing an endless succession of fifteen to thirty foot ridges. This was indeed rough country, terrain which had protected the lush plains of China for centuries against the Mongols. Here the great wall had been built, and presently, in the moonlight, we saw its trace, winding serpentlike over the mountains.

We followed the Wall for almost two hundred miles--all the way, in fact, to the lat.i.tude of Peking--before we swung east again for the final lap to Mao's capital.

During the last hour we trailed an antenna and listened in on the world of radio. The news was not good. The Shanghai garrison had sprung a trap on their disorganized attackers, and were marching on Nanking. Mao's armies were closing the southern half of a great pincers on Wu's troops, and only awaited the dawn to launch the final a.s.sault. Worst of all, there had been reports of increasing Soviet air activity over the area; a major air strike also apparently would come with daylight.

We were scarcely halfway from the edge of the city to the moated summer palace when a small h.e.l.l of gunfire broke out around Kazu's feet. He jumped, with a roar of pain, and then lashed out with one foot, sweeping away a whole city block and demolishing the ambush. Limping slightly, he made the remaining distance by a less direct route and at last stood at the moat before the palace. The ancient building, and, indeed, everything about, was quite dark. Kazu peered about uncertainly, and then raised our box to ask for advice. Baker was pessimistic.

"I don't think you'll find General Mao here. But at this stage of things, I don't believe it would matter if you did. The decision will be made tomorrow by the armies."

Kazu stepped carefully over the moat and wall, and sat down wearily in the gardens of the summer palace. We peered with interest at the foliage, marble bridges and the graceful buildings, illuminated only by ghostly moonlight. With Kazu squatting among them, they looked like models, a toy village out of ancient China. I wished that a picture might be taken, for surely never before had Buddha been in so appropriate a setting.

While Kazu rested, we examined his feet. A number of machine gun bullets had entered his foot thick hide, and there was one wound a yard long from which oozed a sticky gelatinous blood. There did not appear to be any serious damage, although the chances of infection worried us. In any event, there was nothing we could do except douse it with buckets of water from the moat. Kazu thanked us formally, as befitted a deity, and added, as though talking to himself,

"Now is the most difficult time. How can I bring peace without the use of violence? I can appear before these armies and command them to stop.

But what if they do not obey? Should I use force? Oh, that I were really the Great Lord Buddha--then I would have the wisdom, the knowledge that is a thousand times more potent than giant size. Oh Buddha, grant me wisdom, if only for a moment, that I may act rightly."

Presently the giant stretched out full length in the garden and, while we kept guard, slept for a time.

The first pale glow of dawn appeared soon after five, and we were preparing to awaken Kazu when Martin held up a warning hand. We listened. At first we heard nothing, and then there came a deep drone of jets. Not a single plane, not even a squadron. Nothing less than a great fleet of heavy aircraft was approaching Peking from the west. Baker fired his automatic repeatedly near Kazu's ear, and presently his rumbly breathing changed and he opened his eyes.

"Planes," said Baker briefly. "It's not safe here. Better get moving."

Kazu sat up, yawning, and we climbed into the box. The giant took a long draught from the nearest fishpond and tied our cage to his neck and shoulder so that both of his hands would be free.

By this time the noise of the planes had increased to a roar, which echoed through the silent city. Kazu arose to his full height and waited. A pinkish line of light had now appeared along the eastern horizon which, I realized with consternation, must silhouette the mighty tower of Kazu's body to whomever was coming out of the western shadows.

And then we saw them. A great fleet of heavy bombers, flying high, far beyond even Kazu's reach. Baker seized the gla.s.ses to look, and then gave a cry of warning. The leading plane had dropped something--a black spherical object above which blossomed a parachute. I think that Kazu realized what it was as soon as we, but he still stood quietly. Baker lost whatever calm he had left and screamed, "Run, run--it's the H-bomb!" but still Kazu did not move. In a moment another of the deadly spheres appeared, directly over us, and then a third. Now at last Kazu moved, but not toward safety. He walked slowly until he was directly beneath the first bomb, and reached up, until his hand was a thousand feet in the air. Down came the bomb, quite rapidly, for the parachute was not very large.

"What's the matter with the fool," yelled Martin. But now Baker seemed to get Kazu's idea.

"It has barometric fusing--it's set to detonate at a certain alt.i.tude.

If that's below a thousand feet, and Kazu can catch it, it won't go off!"

Martin started something about detonation at two thousand feet, when Kazu gave a slight jump and his hand closed about the deadly thing, as though he had caught a fly. We cowered, expecting the flash that would mean the end, but nothing happened. In Kazu's crushing grip the firing mechanism was reduced to wreckage before it could act. When Buddha opened his palm, it contained only a wad of crumpled metal inside of which was a now harmless sphere of plutonium.

In quick succession Kazu repeated this performance with the other two bombs, wadded the whole together and flung it to the ground. Then he turned to the north.

By the time we had cleared the city, it was quite light, and we could see a dark pall of smoke in the northeast. The armies which had been poised last night had finally met, and a great battle was underway. Kazu hurried towards it, and presently we could hear the crackle of small arms fire and the heavier explosions of mortars and rockets. It took a moment or so for Kazu to get his bearings. Evidently we were approaching Mao's legions from the rear. Still keeping from the roads to avoid killing anyone, Kazu advanced to near the battle line, and there stopped.

"My brothers," his voice thundered above the heaviest cannon, "my poor brothers on both sides, listen to me. Stop this killing. Stop this useless slaughter. No one can win, and all will--"

Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light, a thousand times brighter than the newly appeared sun. It came from behind us, and in the terrible instant that it remained we could see Buddha's enormous shadow stretching out across the battlefield. Kazu stopped speaking and braced his shoulders for the blast. Subconsciously I was counting seconds.

Four, five, six, seven--A sudden, insane hope gripped me. If we were far enough from the burst--and then the blast hit us, and with it, the sound. Kazu pitched forward a hundred yards, and stumbled on as far again. Then he recovered. One hand reached behind him, to the back that had taken the full brunt of heat and gamma radiation, and a half animal cry escaped from his lips. Over his shoulder we got a glimpse of the fireball, of the fountain of color which would presently form the terrible mushroom cloud. The thunder of the explosion reverberated, and was replaced by silence. The crackle of rifles, the thud of field pieces had ceased. From our perch we looked down at a scene straight from Dante's Inferno. About Kazu's feet was a shallow ravine in which a thousand or so communist troops had taken cover. These were now scrambling and clawing at the sides like ants trying to get away.

Vehicles were abandoned, rifles thrown away. A few had been burned, but it seemed that for the most part the soldiers had been sheltered from direct radiation by the wall of their canyon, and by Kazu's great shadow.

For an eternity, it seemed, Kazu stood there, swaying slightly, one hand still pressed against his back, while the little men writhed about his ankles. Then, quite slowly, he raised one foot. I thought that he was going to walk away, but instead, the foot moved deliberately until it was directly over the ravine, and then, like a tremendous pile driver, it descended. A faint and hideous screaming came up to us, which abruptly ended. The foot came up, and again descended, turning back and forth in the yielding earth. Slowly Kazu brought his hand up, and lifted our box so that he could look at us. As he did so, I saw that half of his hand was the color of charcoal, and I smelled a horrible odor of tons of burnt flesh. Now at last he spoke, in a voice that we could scarcely understand.

"Guide me," he said, "Guide me, Baker. Guide me to Moscow!"

VII

Kazu walked quite slowly from the battlefield. His gait was unsteady, and at first we feared that he would collapse. We could not tell how deep the burns were, nor whether he was internally hurt by the blast. He appeared to be suffering from some kind of shock, for he did not speak again for a long time. But gradually he seemed to gather himself together, and we became almost convinced that the shock was more psychological than physical, and that even the atom bomb was powerless against his might.

We did not remain to see the outcome of the battle, but presently Martin turned the radio on. The news at first was fragmentary. Word that a Russian plane had atom bombed the new Buddha spread across China, and with it ended the last shreds of communist prestige. The armies which had been pro-communist turned on their officers. Mao himself was murdered on the battlefield before Kazu was out of sight. The former red defenders of Shanghai ma.s.sacred twenty thousand hapless Russian emigrants. All across Asia the story was the same, a terrible revulsion.

At first it was believed that Buddha had died instantly; later rumor had it that he had crawled off to Mongolia to die.

Radio Moscow at first was silent. The horror of what had been done was too much even for that well oiled propaganda machine. At last a line was patched together: the bomb had been dropped by an American plane, bearing Russian markings. Then Radio Peking announced that Chinese fighters had shot it down and that the crew was Russian. To this Moscow could think of only one reply: Radio Peking was lying; the station had been taken over by the Americans! A little later another Moscow broadcast announced solemnly that the whole story was wrong--Buddha hadn't been there at all!

All the time that this confused flood of talk was circling the globe, Kazu Takahashi, still clinging to the battered steel projection room, was striding across Siberia, staggering now and then, but still maintaining a pace of better than three hundred miles per hour.

At first he simply walked westward without any directions from us. By ten o'clock he had put a thousand miles between him and the coast and was well across the southern Gobi desert. Now Baker, who had been almost as stunned as Kazu, began to look into his maps. He had nothing for central Asia as detailed as the charts we had used in Borneo and Celebes, but he presently found a small scale map that would do. With this he identified the snowy range of mountains now towering on our left as the Nan Shan, northernmost bastion of Tibet. He hurriedly called to Kazu to turn northwest before he entered the great Tarim Basin, for the western side of that vast desert was closed by a range of mountains 20,000 feet high. Even with the new course, our alt.i.tude would be above six thousand feet for many miles.

At noon we were paralleling another mighty range, the little known Altai Mountains, and at one o'clock we pa.s.sed the Zaisan Nor, the great lake which forms the headwaters for the Irtysh River. Here Kazu paused for a drink, and to rinse his burns with fresh water. Then we were away again, this time due west over more mountain tops, avoiding the inhabited lowlands. At three-thirty the hills dropped away and there appeared ahead the infinite green carpet of the Siberian forest. Kazu stopped again at another lake, which Baker guessed might be Dengiz. At four-thirty we crossed a wide river which we could not identify, and then at last commenced to climb into the foothills of the southern Urals. Just in time Baker discovered that Kazu's course was taking him straight toward the industrial city of Magnetogorsk. We veered north again into the higher mountains and then turned east to the forests.

We were sure now that Kazu must be delirious, but after a while he stopped at the edge of a lake.

"How far are we from Moscow?" he asked.