Murder in the Age of Enlightenment by Ryunosuke Akutagawa

Author:Ryunosuke Akutagawa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2020-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

GiichirōKitabatake

THE GENERAL

1. THE WHITE SASH UNIT

It was the grey of morning on 26th November 1904, in the thirty-seventh year of Meiji. The White Sash Unit of the ——th Division’s ——th Infantry Regiment was setting out from the northern base of 93-Hill to capture the fort at Mount Songshu.

Since the road followed the shelter of the elevation, the unit marched that day in a special formation of four columns. As the soldiers quietly made their way along the barren, twilit path, with their rifle barrels in neat rows and only the white of their sashes showing, they presented a gallant, if tragic, spectacle. Since taking up his place at the head of the unit, the commanding officer, Captain M——, looked much altered: he had grown taciturn, and his face had taken on a subdued expression. The men, however, despite expectations, were keeping up their usual good cheer. This, no doubt, had something to do with the strength of Japanese spirit.

After continuing to march for some time, the unit emerged from the rocky shelter of the hill onto the windswept flat of a dry riverbed.

“Hey, look behind you!” The man who spoke these words was Private First-Class Taguchi, a former paper merchant. He was addressing Private First-Class Horio, a former carpenter who had been drafted from the same platoon. “They’re saluting us.”

Private Horio glanced around. Sure enough, on top of the hill, which loomed a deep black against the reddening sky, the colonel and several officers were giving a farewell salute to the men marching towards their death.

“How do you like that?” Taguchi said. “Isn’t that something! What an honour to belong to the White Sashes.”

“Some honour …” replied Horio bitterly, as he adjusted his rifle over his shoulder. “We’re going to our death. Then again, if you can buy a life with honour and a salute … That’s some bargain.”

“No, you mustn’t speak like that. It’s an insult to the Emperor!”

“You idiot! Insult or no insult, what’s the difference? A salute won’t even buy you a cup of sake in the mess.” Taguchi pressed his lips firmly shut, for he knew well how his comrade inclined towards cynicism whenever he had been drinking. But Horio kept on going:

“Oh, no, they don’t say they’re buying you with a salute. They make it all sound so grand, so noble. Your country, they say; the Emperor, they say. But it’s all a pack of lies. Isn’t that just the way of it, my friend?”

The man whom Horio was addressing was the rather docile Lance Corporal Egi, a former primary school teacher who had also been drafted from the same platoon. On this occasion, however, the ordinarily quiet lance corporal suddenly snapped. He shot Horio a menacing look and threw a sharp reply in his comrade’s face, which reeked of alcohol.

“You’re a fool! Isn’t it our duty to die?”

By then, the White Sashes were already climbing the far bank of the dry riverbed. Seven or eight Chinese mud-plastered huts stood solemnly facing the dawn; high

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