The Swiss diplomat was right. Germany surrendered to the Allies on May 7, and in Karuizawa, all the talk turned to what Japan was going to do next. The German soldiers in town had started to disappear, though the citizens were permitted to stay. Of the soldiers, it was said by the diplomats that they were going into hiding, headed to Gora in Hakone. With them went Emi’s fears of getting arrested for theft from their farm. Japan had not yet found peace, but she could put one of her fears to rest.
The hopes that Japan’s surrender was imminent were shot down by firm statements issued by the government soon after Hitler’s death and Germany’s surrender. The prime minister had implored the people of Japan to keep fighting like kamikaze pilots. Shigenori Tōgō, the minister of foreign affairs, made it clear that Germany’s defeat would make no difference in Japan’s fight against America and Britain. Japan was not dropping their weapons.
“Not yet,” said Ayumi to Emi and her children, who were gathered in the store to listen to the radio announcements. “Not quite yet.”
CHAPTER 36
EMI KATO
AUGUST 1945–JANUARY 1946
At precisely twelve noon on August 15, the radio crackled in the lobby of the Mampei Hotel. First, there was nothing but static, then the voice of Emperor Hirohito, which most of the Japanese people had never heard, came over the airwaves. For the first time in Japan’s history, the emperor was addressing the entire nation.
“To our good and loyal subjects,” he said, barely audible, even on the hotel’s expensive radio. “After pondering deeply the general trends of the world and the actual conditions obtaining in Our Empire today, we have decided to effect a settlement of the present situation by resorting to an extraordinary measure. We have ordered Our Government to communicate to the Governments of the United States, Great Britain, China, and the Soviet Union that Our Empire accepts the provisions of their Joint Declaration.”
The emperor kept speaking, in his formal way, so formal that even Emi and Ayumi could barely understand a word. The little that Emi could understand was being drowned out by the bad connection, but the foreign diplomats in the room assured the crowd that what the emperor had announced was Japan’s surrender.
“Finally,” said Emi to Ayumi, who was holding her children tight against her legs. “It’s finally over.” She soon felt the embrace of Claire Ohkawa, the only person in the room who ignored every cultural norm.
“All those poor dead boys,” said Claire crying. “Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Tokyo. Why didn’t we surrender sooner?”
“I don’t know,” said Emi, hugging her back. “But it’s over now.”
She needed to talk to her parents, to finally see them after so long. And maybe now she could find out about Christian and put to rest the fear she’d been carrying that he was dead. Maybe she could confirm that the Hartmanns were safe in Shanghai. She could write a letter that might get delivered. Her life, the one she had put on hold, felt nearly within reach.
“Mr. Mori survived,” said Ayumi, looking at him. He was sick, but still with them. “My daughter survived. There were too many dead,” she said. “But look how many are still here.”
After the Moris were home safe, Emi walked to the shrine behind the hotel, the one on the hill leading to the Germans’ farm, which had been raided down to the grass seeds after they left town, and said a prayer for her parents, thanking them for sending her away from Tokyo, for helping her survive the war and allowing her to discover the strange, charming enclave of Karuizawa.
Two weeks after the emperor’s broadcast, their town was in the hands of the Americans. Emi stood by the side of the ginza with Claire as the Americans flooded the town, driving slowly through the streets, hanging out of their military jeeps. One car stopped in front of Claire and its occupants honked and howled. When Claire yelled a profanity at them, a young soldier climbed out and asked her whether she spoke English or just cursed in it.
“Of course I speak English,” Claire said, as the soldiers whooped at her Aussie accent. “So does she,” Claire said, nodding at Emi. “And German.”
“And Japanese,” said Emi. “But so does she,” she said, pointing at Claire. The boy talking to her was tall and blond, far more confident than Christian, but reminded her so much of him that she could almost smell the oranges in Crystal City. She had sent a letter to the address Christian had given her in Pforzheim, hoping that now the letter might make it overseas, and that if it did, that there would be a house left standing to receive it and people inside. She knew now that the Americans had bombed Shanghai. The Swiss delegation had again produced that information, but they’d informed her that it had been almost all Chinese who’d died. But about Christian, she struggled not to think the worst. She was sure the war would not feel over until she knew he was alive.
The baby-faced soldier who was flirting with Claire said, “I don’t even want to know why you girls speak all those languages. Hell, I don’t even care if you’re spies at this point.” He turned to the other men in the jeep and told them to make room for the two women. “’Cause we could use your help. Come on. Jump in,” he said, reaching for Emi’s hand. “Help us out, will you?”
“I will not,” said Emi, pulling her hands behind her back. She wasn’t ready to start working for the Americans, who had come close to charring her parents while their allies had possibly killed Christian Lange. “Why should we help you?”
“Because we’re going to open the German warehouse,” he said. “And you speak German. I doubt there are any German soldiers left in hiding here, but you never know. Now, if you don’t care what’s inside, then don’t come.”
Claire grabbed Emi’s hand and dragged her toward the car. “She’s coming,” she said. “Lift us into this thing.”
“Fine,” said Emi, allowing herself to be pulled up. “But if there is food there, I’m taking some. I’m taking a lot.”
“We’re all taking a lot,” said the soldier, slamming the car into gear. “We’re cleaning them out and handing it over to you all. This town looks hungry.”
The German warehouse, in the countryside in the opposite direction of the Mampei Hotel, and which neither Emi nor Claire had known about, was stocked with canned food, every inch of every shelf covered. Emi and Claire gasped when the door was opened, and Emi thought how much easier it would have been to take a can of beans than to try to steal a pig. Along with the canned goods, there were barrels of lard, sacks of potatoes and rice, jars of pickled radishes and plums, buckets of root vegetables, and even dried meat.
“Jesus Christ,” said Claire. “The town has been eating grass while the Germans had all this?”
“The German Navy captured freighters full of supplies for the Allied troops. More than once we were told. And a lot of it ended up here,” said the blond soldier, putting the cans in bags.
“I take back every nice thing I ever said about them,” Claire whispered to Emi. “But I guess grass tastes better than gunpowder.”