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The large, elderly black tomcat raised its head a fraction and wearily returned the greeting in a low voice. With a big grin on his face, the man stared right back. The cat hesitated for a time, then plunged ahead and spoke. To show his respect, he took off his threadbare cotton hiking hat.
Like right now. Nakata's a little tired from walking. Or perhaps I should say it's not up to me. You can sit anywhere you like. Nobody's going to bother you for that.
I take it, then, that you're Mr. Nakata's the name. And you would be? So it's slipped my mind. It's easy to forget things you don't need anymore. Nakata's exactly the same way," the man said, scratching his head.
Cat, is that you don't belong to some family somewhere? But not anymore. Some families in the neighborhood give me food to eat now and then, but none of them own me.
Why do I have to be Otsuka? The name just came to me. Nakata just picked one out of a hat. It makes things a lot easier for me if you have a name. That way somebody like me, who isn't very bright, can organize things better. For instance, I can say, On this day of this month I spoke with the black cat Otsuka in a vacant lot in the 2-chome neighborhood. It helps me remember. Cats can get by without names. We go by smell, shape, things of this nature.
As long as we know these things, there're no worries for us. But you know, Mr. Otsuka, people don't work that way. We need dates and names to remember all kinds of things. There's so much we have to remember, it is a pain. Nakata has to remember the name of the Governor, bus numbers. Still, you don't mind if I call you Otsuka? Maybe it's a little unpleasant for you? Not that it's particularly unpleasant, you understand. So I guess I don't really mind.
You want to call me Otsuka, be my guest. I'll admit, though, that it doesn't sound right when you call me that. Thank you so much, Mr. But this is the only way Nakata can speak.
I try to talk normally but this is what happens. Nakata's not very bright, you see. I wasn't always this way, but when I was little I was in an accident and I've been dumb ever since. Nakata can't write. Or read a book or a newspaper. Nakata's father--he passed away a long time ago--was a famous professor in a university.
His specialty was something called theery of fine ants. I have two younger brothers, and they're both very bright. One of them works at a company, and he's a depart mint chief. My other brother works at a place called the minis tree of trade and indus tree. They both live in huge houses and eat eel. Nakata's the only one who isn't bright.
I mean, Nakata doesn't really know about that, but ever since I was little people said You're dumb, you're dumb, so I suppose I must be. I can't read the names of stations so I can't buy a ticket and take a train.
If I show my handycap pass, though, they let me ride the city bus. I live in a little room in an apartment in Nogata called the Shoeiso.
And I eat three meals a day. To me, at least. It is a pretty good life. Nakata can keep out of the wind and rain, and I have everything I need. And sometimes, like now, people ask me to help them find cats. They give me a present when I do. But I've got to keep this a secret from the Governor, so don't tell anybody. They might cut down my sub city if they find out I have some extra money coming in. It's never a lot, but thanks to it I can eat eel every once in a while.
Nakata loves eel. Though I only had it once, a long time ago, and can't really recall what it tastes like. There's something different about it, compared to other food. Certain foods can take the place of others, but as far as I know, nothing can take the place of eel. It glanced over at Otsuka but walked on by. The old man and the cat sat there in the lot, silently waiting for the dog and his master to disappear.
I search for lost cats. I can speak with cats a little, so I go all over tracking down ones that have gone missing. People hear that Nakata's good at this, so they come and ask me to look for their lost cats. These days I spend more days than not out searching for cats. I don't like to go too far away, so I just look for them inside Nakano Ward. Otherwise I'll be the one lost and they'll be out looking for me. Nakata's looking for a one-year-old tortoiseshell cat named Goma.
Here's a photo of her. I know most of the cats around here, but this one I don't know. Never seen, or heard, anything about her. Usually they live very ordered lives, and unless something extraordinary happens they generally try to keep to their routine. What might disrupt this is either sex or an accident--one of the two. You do understand what I mean by sex?
It has to do with your weenie, right? It's all about the weenie. Course that was a long time ago, when I was much younger," Otsuka said, eyes narrowed as he searched his memory. You're in total despair, not knowing what to do. I hate it when that happens. Sex can be a real pain that way, course when you get in the mood all you can think about is what's right under your nose--that's sex, all right. So that cat--what was her name?
The one that's lost? I'd like to do what I can to help you find her. A young tortoiseshell cat like that, with some nice family taking care of her, wouldn't know the first thing about making her way in the world. Wouldn't be able to fight off anybody or fend for herself, the poor thing. Unfortunately, however, I've never seen her.
I think you might want to search somewhere else. Nakata's very sorry to have interrupted your nap. I'm sure I'll stop by here again sometime, so if you spot Goma in the meantime, please let me know. I'd like to give you something for your help. Feel free to drop by again. On sunny days this is where you'll mostly find me.
When it rains I'm generally in that shrine over there where the steps go down. Nakata was very happy, too, to be able to talk with you, Mr. I can't always speak so easily to every cat I meet. Sometimes when I try the cat is on his guard and runs away without saying a word.
When all I ever said was hello. There're all sorts of cats--just like there're all sorts of people. Nakata feels the same way. There are all kinds of people in the world, and all kinds of cats. Golden sunlight filled the vacant lot but the air held a hint of rain, something Otsuka was able to sense. That's exactly what Nakata said.
I had an accident when I was nine years old. They don't know why, but I had a high fever for about three weeks. I was unconscious the whole time. I was asleep in a bed in a hospital, they told me, with an intra venus in me. And when I finally woke up, I couldn't remember a thing. I'd forgotten my father's face, my mother's face, how to read, how to add, what my house looked like inside. Even my own name. My head was completely empty, like a bathtub after you pull the plug.
They tell me before the accident Nakata always got good grades. But once I collapsed and woke up I was dumb. My mother died a long time ago, but she used to cry about this a lot. Because I got stupid. My father never cried, but he was always angry. I don't have any cavities, and don't have to wear glasses.
Once I got past sixty I was quite used to being dumb, and people not having anything to do with me. You can survive without riding trains. Father's dead, so nobody hits me anymore. Mother's dead too, so she doesn't cry. So actually, if you say I'm pretty smart, it's a bit upsetting.
You see, if I'm not dumb then the Governor won't give me a sub city anymore, and no more special bus pass. If the Governor says, You're not dumb after all, then Nakata doesn't know what to say. So this is fine, being dumb. I thought this the first time I laid eyes on you, that the shadow you cast on the ground is only half as dark as that of ordinary people.
That's why I wasn't so surprised that you could talk to cats. But I can't remember the details--the person's face or name or where and when we met. As I said before, cats don't have that sort of memory. It was as faint as yours. That my shadow is weak. Other people might not notice, but I do. Mother's already dead. Father's already dead.
Whether you're smart or dumb, can read or can't, whether you've got a shadow or not, once the time comes, everybody passes on. You die and they cremate you. You turn into ashes and they bury you at a place called Karasuyama. Karasuyama's in Setagaya Ward. Once they bury you there, though, you probably can't think about anything anymore.
And if you can't think, then you can't get confused. So isn't the way I am now just fine? What I can do, while I'm alive, is never go out of Nakano Ward. But when I die, I'll have to go to Karasuyama. That can't be helped. It might have a bit of an inferiority complex--as a shadow, that is. If I were a shadow, I know I wouldn't like to be half of what I should be. Nakata's never thought about it. I'll think about it more after I get home.
Nakata quietly stood up, carefully brushing away stray bits of grass from his trousers, and put on his threadbare hat. He adjusted it a few times, until he got the angle just right. He shouldered his canvas bag and said, "Thank you very kindly.
Nakata really values your opinions, Mr. I hope you stay happy and well. There was still some time before the clouds would come and the rain would start. His mind a blank, he fell asleep for a short nap. Chapter 7At seven-fifteen I eat breakfast in the restaurant next to the lobby--toast, hot milk, ham and eggs. But this free hotel breakfast doesn't come close to filling me up. The food's all gone before I realize it, and I'm still hungry. I look around, and seconds on toast don't seem likely to materialize.
I let out a big sigh. He's sitting right across from me. Get that through your head. You're used to getting up early and eating a huge breakfast, but those days are long gone, my friend. You'll have to scrape by on what they give you. You know what they say about how the size of your stomach can adjust to the amount of food you eat?
Well, you're about to see if that's really true. Your stomach's gonna get smaller, though that'll take some time. Think you can handle it? I explain I'm a student at a private high school in Tokyo and have come here to write my graduation paper. Which isn't a total lie, since the high school affiliated with my school has this kind of setup. I add that I'm collecting materials for the paper at the Komura Memorial Library. There's much more to research than I'd imagined, so I'll have to stay at least a week in Takamatsu.
But since I'm on a budget, would the discounted room rate be possible not just for three days, but for the whole time I'm here? I offer to pay each day in advance, and promise not to cause any trouble. I stand there in front of the girl in charge, trying to do my best imitation of a nice, well-brought-up young man who's in a tight spot. No dyed hair for me, no piercings.
I have on a clean white Ralph Lauren polo shirt, chinos, and a pair of brand-new Topsiders. My teeth are gleaming and I smell like soap and shampoo. I know how to speak politely. When I feel like it, I'm pretty good at impressing people older than me.
The girl listens silently, nodding, her lips slightly twisted up. She's petite, and wearing a green uniform blazer over a white blouse. She looks a little sleepy, but goes about her morning duties briskly. She's about the same age as my sister. Weshould have an answer for you by noon.
I go back to my room for my backpack, then hit the streets. I could just leave my stuff in the room, or in the hotel safe, but I feel better carrying it all with me.
It's like it's a part of me already, and I can't let go. On the bus from the terminal in front of the station to the gym, I can feel my face tighten up, I'm so nervous. Suppose somebody asks why a kid my age is traipsing off to the gym in the middle of the day? I don't know this town and have no idea what these people are thinking.
But no one gives me a second glance. I'm starting to feel like the Invisible Man or something. I pay the entrance fee at the desk, no questions asked, and get a key to a locker. After changing into shorts and a T-shirt in the locker room, I do some stretching exercises.
As my muscles relax, so do I. I'm safe inside this container called me. With a little click, the outlines of this being--me--fit right inside and are locked neatly away.
Just the way I like it. I'm where I belong. I start on my circuit training. With Prince blasting away on my Walkman, I put in a good hour of training, making my usual round of the seven machines. I thought for sure a gym in such a small town would be full of dated machines, but these are the latest models, with the metallic smell of brand-new steel. The first round I do with light weights, then increase the weight for the second circuit.
I know exactly how much weight and how many reps work for me. Pretty soon I start to sweat and stop every once in a while to take a swig from the bottle and a bite out of a lemon I bought on the way over. Once I finish training I take a hot shower using the soap and shampoo I've brought along. I do a good job of washing my cock, not too many years out of its foreskin, and under my arms, balls, and butt.
I weigh myself and flex my muscles a bit in front of a mirror. Finally I rinse out my sweaty shorts and T-shirt in the sink, wring them out, and stow them away in a plastic bag.
I take a bus back to the station and have a steaming bowl of udon in the same diner as the day before. I take my time, gazing out the window as I eat. The station's packed with people streaming in and out, all of them dressed in their favorite clothes, bags or briefcases in hand, each one dashing off to take care of some pressing business.
I stare at this ceaseless, rushing crowd and imagine a time a hundred years from now. In a hundred years everybody here--me included-will have disappeared from the face of the earth and turned into ashes or dust.
A weird thought, but everything in front of me starts to seem unreal, like a gust of wind could blow it all away. I spread my hands out in front of me and take a good hard look at them. What am I always so tense about? Why this desperate struggle just to survive?
I shake my head, turn from the window, clear my mind of thoughts of a hundred years away. I'll just think about now. About books waiting to be read in the library, machines in the gym I haven't worked out on. Thinking about anything else isn't going to get me anywhere. And sure enough, Oshima's there at the counter. Today he's wearing a blue rayon shirt buttoned to the neck, white jeans, and white tennis shoes. He's sitting at his desk, absorbed in some massive book, with the same yellow pencil, I guess, lying beside him.
His bangs are all over his face. When I come in he looks up, smiles, and takes my backpack from me. He turns around to check the time on the clock behind him, then goes back to his reading.
I head off to the reading room and back to Arabian Nights. Like always, once I settle down and start flipping pages, I can't stop. The Burton edition has all the stories I remember reading as a child, but they're longer, with more episodes and plot twists, and so much more absorbing that it's hard to believe they're the same.
They're full of obscene, violent, sexual, basically outrageous scenes. Like the genie in the bottle they have this sort of vital, living sense of play, of freedom, that common sense can't keep bottled up. I love it and can't let go.
Compared to those faceless hordes of people rushing through the train station, these crazy, preposterous stories of a thousand years ago are, at least to me, much more real. How that's possible, I don't know.
It's pretty weird. At one o'clock I go out to the garden again, sit on the porch, and eat my lunch. I'm about halfway done when Oshima comes over and says I have a phone call. It's the girl at the front desk at the hotel, most likely checking to see if I'm really doing research at the library. She sounds relieved to find out I hadn't lied to her. We're not so busy right now, he said, so we can bend the rules a bit. He also said that library's supposed to be really nice, so he hopes you'll be able to take your time and do as much research as you need to.
I feel a little bad about lying, but there's not much I can do about it. I've got to bend some rules myself if I want to survive.
I hang up and hand the phone back to Oshima. Which is true. Only Kafka could have written that. What I mean is Not by talking about our situation, but by talking about the details of the machine. I stay on the veranda for a while, finishing my lunch, drinking my mineral water, watching the birds in the garden.
For all I know they're the same birds from yesterday. The sky's covered with clouds, not a speck of blue in sight. Oshima most likely found my explanation of the Kafka story convincing.
To some extent at least. But what I really wanted to say didn't get across. I wasn't just giving some general theory of Kafka's fiction, I was talking about something very real. Kafka's complex, mysterious execution device wasn't some metaphor or allegory--it's actually here, all around me. But I don't think anybody would get that. Not Oshima. Not anybody. I go back to the reading room, where I sink down in the sofa and into the world of The Arabian Nights.
Slowly, like a movie fadeout, the real world evaporates. I'm alone, inside the world of the story. My favorite feeling in the world. When at five I'm about to leave Oshima's still behind the counter, reading the same book, his shirt still without a single wrinkle. Like always, a couple strands of hair have fallen across his face. The hands of the electric clock on the wall behind him soundlessly tick forward. Everything around him is silent and clean.
I doubt the guy ever sweats or hiccups. He looks up and hands me my backpack. He frowns a bit, like it's too heavy for him. With the fingers of his left hand he checks the tips of his pencils. Not that it's necessary, since they're all as sharp as can be. I don't say anything. I just thought I might as well ask. A boy your age in a place you've never been before--I can't imagine it's easy going. Or are you going to be here for a while? No other place to go," I admit. Maybe I should tell Oshima everything.
I'm pretty sure he won't put me down, give me a lecture, or try to force some common sense on me. But right now I'm trying to keep my words to a minimum. Plus I'm not exactly used to telling people how I feel. I give a short nod. Except for a few minor details, I spend the next seven days in the same way. Except for Monday, of course, when the library's closed, and I spend the day at a big public library.
The alarm clock gets me up at six-thirty every morning, and I gulp down the hotel's pseudo-breakfast. If the chestnut-haired girl's behind the front desk, I give her a little wave. She always nods and repays me with a smile. I think she likes me, and I kind of like her, too. Could she be my sister? The thought does cross my mind. Every morning I do some easy stretching exercises in my room, and when the time rolls around I go to the gym and run through the usual circuit training.
Always the same amount of weight, the same number of reps. No more, no less. I take a shower and wash every inch of me. I weigh myself, to make sure my weight's staying steady. Before noon I take the train to the Komura Library. Exchange a few words with Oshima when I give him my backpack, and when I pick it up.
Eat lunch out on the veranda. And read. At five I exit the library. So most of the day I'm in the gym or the library. As long as I'm in one of those two, nobody seems to worry about me. Chances are pretty slim a kid skipping school would hang out in either one. I eat dinner at the diner in front of the station.
I try to eat as many vegetables as I can, and occasionally buy fruit from a stand and peel it using the knife I took from my father's desk.
I buy cucumbers and celery, wash them in the sink at the hotel, and eat them with mayonnaise. Sometimes I pick up a container of milk from the mini-mart and have a bowl of cereal. Back in my room I jot down what I did that day in my diary, listen to Radiohead on my Walkman, read a little, and then it's lights out at eleven. Sometimes I masturbate before going to sleep. I think about the girl at the front desk, putting any thoughts of her potentially being my sister out of my head, for the time being.
I hardly watch any TV or read any newspapers. But on the evening of the eighth day--as had to happen sooner or later--this simple, centripetal life is blown to bits. Impressions of the interviewer, Lt. Robert O'Connor: Professor Tsukayama was quite calm and relaxed throughout the interview, as one might expect of an expert of his caliber.
He is one of the leading psychiatrists in Japan and has published a number of outstanding books on the subject. Unlike most Japanese, he avoids vague statements, drawing a sharp distinction between facts and conjecture.
Before the war he was an exchange scholar at Stanford, and is quite fluent in English. He is surely well liked and respected by many. We were ordered by the military to immediately undertake an examination of the children in question. It was the middle of November It was quite unusual for us to receive requests or orders from the military.
The military, of course, had its own extensive medical branch, and being a self-contained entity that put a high priority on secrecy, they usually preferred to handle matters internally. Apart from the rare times when they needed the special knowledge and techniques that only outside researchers or physicians had, they seldom appealed to civilian doctors or researchers.
Thus when they broached this we immediately surmised that something extraordinary had occurred. Frankly, I didn't like to work under military directions. In most cases their goals were strictly utilitarian, with no interest in pursuing truth in an academic sense, only arriving at conclusions that accorded with their preconceptions.
They weren't the type of people swayed by logic. But it was wartime and we couldn't very well say no. We had to keep quiet and do exactly as we were told. We'd been continuing our research despite the American air raids.
Most of our undergrads and grad students, though, had been drafted. Students in psychiatry weren't exempt for the draft, unfortunately. When the order came from the military we dropped everything and took a train to [name deleted] in Yamanashi Prefecture. There were three of us--myself and a colleague from the Psychiatry Department, as well as a research physician from the Department of Neurosurgery with whom we'd been conducting research.
As soon as we got there they warned us that what they were about to reveal was a military secret we could never divulge.
Then they told us about the incident that had occurred at the beginning of the month. How sixteen schoolchildren had lost consciousness in the hills and fifteen of them had regained consciousness thereafter, with no memory of what had taken place. One boy, they told us, hadn't regained consciousness and was still in a military hospital in Tokyo.
The military doctor who'd examined the children right after the incident, an internal medicine specialist named Major Toyama, gave us a detailed explanation about what had transpired. Many army doctors are more like bureaucrats concerned with protecting their own little preserve than with medicine, but fortunately Major Toyama wasn't one of them.
He was honest and straightforward, and obviously a talented physician. He never tried to use the fact that we were civilians to lord it over us or conceal anything from us, as some might do. He provided all the details we needed, in a very professional manner, and showed us medical records that had been kept on the children. He wanted to get to the bottom of this as much as anybody.
We were all quite impressed by him. The most important fact we gleaned from the records was that, medically speaking, the incident had caused no lasting impact on the children. From right after the event to the present day, the examinations and tests consistently indicated no internal or external abnormalities. The children were leading healthy lives, just as they had before the incident. Detailed examinations revealed that several of the children had parasites, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Otherwise they were completely asymptomatic--no headaches, nausea, pain, loss of appetite, insomnia, listlessness, diarrhea, nightmares. The one notable thing was that the two-hour span during which the children had been unconscious in the hills was erased from their memory.
As if that part had been extracted in toto. Rather than a memory loss, it was more a memory lack. These aren't medical terms, and I'm using them for the sake of convenience, but there's a big difference between loss and lack. I suppose it's like--well, imagine a train steaming down a track. The freight's disappeared from one of the cars.
A car that's empty inside--that's loss. When the whole car itself has vanished, that's lack. We discussed the possibility that the children had breathed in poison gas. Toyama said that naturally they'd considered this. That's why the military is involved, he told us, but it seems a remote possibility.
He then told us, Now this is a military secret, so you can't tell anyone. The army is definitely developing poison gas and biological weapons, but this is carried out mainly by a special unit on the Chinese mainland, not in Japan itself.
It's too dangerous a project to attempt in a place as densely populated as Japan. I can't tell you whether or not these sorts of weapons are stored anywhere in Japan, though I can assure you most definitely that they are not kept anywhere in Yamanashi Prefecture. He was very clear about that. We basically had no choice except to believe him, but he sounded believable.
We also concluded that it was highly unlikely that poison gas had been dropped from a B If the Americans had actually developed such a weapon and decided to use it, they'd drop it on some large city where the effects would be massive. Dropping a canister or two on such a remote place wouldn't allow them to ascertain what effects the weapon had.
Besides, even if you accepted the premise that a poison gas had been dropped on the spot, any gas that makes children fall unconscious for two hours with no other lasting effects would be worthless as military arsenal. Also we knew that no poison gas, whether manmade or naturally occurring, would act like this, leaving no aftereffects whatsoever.
Especially when you're dealing with children, who are more sensitive and have a more delicate immune system than adults, there would have to be some aftereffects, particularly in the eyes or mucous membranes. We crossed off food poisoning for the same reason. So what we were left with were psychological problems, or problems dealing with brain function.
In a case like that, standard medical methodology wouldn't help at all in isolating the cause. The effects would be invisible, something you couldn't quantify.
We finally understood why we had been called here by the military to consult. We interviewed every child involved in the incident, as well as the homeroom teacher and attending physician.
Major Toyama also participated. But these interviews yielded almost nothing new--we merely confirmed what the major had already told us. The children had no memory whatsoever of the event. They saw what looked like a plane glinting high up in the sky, climbed up Owan yama, and began hunting mushrooms.
Then there's a gap in time and the next thing they recall is lying on the ground, surrounded by a group of worried-looking teachers and policemen. They felt fine, without any pain, discomfort, or nausea. Their minds just felt a bit blank, as you do when you first wake up in the morning. That was all.
Each child gave the same exact response. After conducting these interviews we concluded that this was a case of mass hypnosis. From the symptoms the homeroom teacher and school doctor observed at the scene, this hypothesis made the most sense. The regular movement of the eyes, the slight lowering of respiration, heartbeat, and temperature, the lack of memory--it all fit.
The teacher alone didn't lose consciousness because for whatever reason what produced this mass hypnosis didn't affect adults. We weren't able to pinpoint the cause, however. Generally speaking, though, mass hypnotism requires two elements. First, the group must be close-knit and homogeneous, and placed in restricted circumstances.
Secondly, something has to trigger the reaction, something that acts simultaneously on everyone. In this case it might have been the glint of that airplane they saw. This is just a hypothesis, mind you--we weren't able to find any other candidates--and there may very well have been some other trigger that set it off.
I broached the idea of it being a case of mass hypnosis with Major Toyama, making it clear this was merely a conjecture. My two colleagues generally concurred. Coincidentally, this also happened to be indirectly related to a research topic we were investigating ourselves.
But there's one thing I don't understand--what made them snap out of this mass hypnosis? There'd have to be some sort of reverse triggering mechanism. All I could do was speculate. My hypothesis was this: There is a system in place which, after a certain amount of time passes, automatically breaks the spell. Our bodies have strong defense mechanisms in place, and if an outside system takes over momentarily, once a certain amount of time has passed it's like an alarm bell goes off, activating an emergency system that deprograms this foreign object that blocks our built-in defenses--in this case the effects of mass hypnosis--and eliminates it.
Unfortunately, I don't have the materials in front of me, so I can't quote the exact figures, but as I told Major Toyama, there have been reports of similar incidents occurring abroad. All of them are considered mysteries with no logical explanation. A large number of children lose consciousness at the same time, and several hours later wake up without any memory of what happened.
This incident is quite unusual, in other words, but not without precedent. One strange instance took place around , in the outskirts of a small village in Devonshire, England. For no apparent reason, a group of thirty junior high students walking down a country path fell to the ground, one after the other, and lost consciousness. Several hours later, as if nothing had happened, they regained consciousness and walked back to school under their own steam.
A physician examined them right away but could find nothing medically wrong. Not one of them could recall what had taken place. At the end of the last century, a similar incident occurred in Australia. Outside of Adelaide fifteen teenage girls from a private girls school were on an outing when all of them lost consciousness, and then regained it.
Again there were no injuries, no aftereffects. It ended up classified as a case of heatstroke, but all of them had lost consciousness and recovered it at nearly the same time, and nobody showed symptoms of heatstroke, so the real cause remains a mystery. Besides, it wasn't a particularly hot day when it occurred.
Probably there was no other accounting for what had taken place, so they decided this was the best explanation. These cases share several things in common: they took place among a group of either young boys or girls, somewhat distant from their school, all of whom lost consciousness essentially simultaneously and then regained it about the same time, with no one displaying any aftereffects.
It's reported that some of the adults who happened to be with the children also lost consciousness, and some did not. Each case was different in that regard. There are other similar incidents, but these two are the best documented, and thus are representative cases in the literature of this phenomenon. This recent instance in Yamanashi Prefecture, however, contains one element that differentiates it from the rest: namely that one boy did not regain consciousness. This child is the key to unlocking the truth to this whole event.
We returned to Tokyo after our interviews in Yamanashi and went straight to the army hospital where the boy was being cared for. That's my understanding. But Major Toyama would know more about this, and I suggest you ask him directly. I'm very sorry to hear that. We lost so many promising people in the war. They couldn't determine the cause, but they decided, didn't they, that it was unrelated to the war? Yes, I believe that's true. At this point they'd concluded their investigation into the matter.
But the boy, Nakata, was allowed to remain in the military hospital, since Major Toyama was personally interested in the case and had some connections there. Thus we were able to go to the military hospital every day, and take turns staying overnight to investigate this unconscious boy's case further, from a number of angles. Though unconscious, the boy's bodily functions nevertheless continued normally. He was given nutrients intravenously and discharged urine at regular intervals. He shut his eyes at night and went to sleep when we turned out the lights, then opened them again in the morning.
Other than being unconscious, he appeared completely healthy. He was in a coma, but didn't dream, apparently. When people dream they exhibit characteristic eye movements and facial expressions. Your heart rate goes up as you react to experiences in your dreams. But with the Nakata boy we couldn't detect any of these indicators.
His heart rate, breathing, and temperature were still slightly on the low side, but surprisingly stable. It might sound strange to put it this way, but it seemed like the real Nakata had gone off somewhere, leaving behind for a time the fleshly container, which in his absence kept all his bodily functions going at the minimum level needed to preserve itself.
The term "spirit projection" sprang to mind. Are you familiar with it? Japanese folk tales are full of this sort of thing, where the soul temporarily leaves the body and goes off a great distance to take care of some vital task and then returns to reunite with the body. The sort of vengeful spirits that populate The Tale of Genji may be something similar. The notion of the soul not just leaving the body at death but--assuming the will is strong enough--also being able to separate from the body of the living is probably an idea that took root in Japan in ancient times.
Of course there's no scientific proof of this, and I hesitate to even raise the idea. The practical problem that faced us was how to wake this boy from his coma, and restore him to consciousness. Struggling to find a reverse trigger to undo the hypnosis, we tried everything. We brought his parents there, had them shout out his name. We tried that for several days, but there was no reaction.
We tried every trick in the book as far as hypnosis goes--clapping our hands in different ways right in front of his face. We played music he knew, read his schoolbooks aloud to him, let him catch a whiff of his favorite foods.
We even brought in his cat from home, one he was particularly fond of. We used every method we could think of to bring him back to reality, but nothing worked. About two weeks into this, when we'd run out of ideas and were exhausted and discouraged, the boy woke up on his own. Not because of anything we'd done.
Without warning, as if the time for this had been decided in advance, he came to. Nothing worth mentioning. It was a day like any other. At ten a. Right after that he choked a bit, and some of the blood spilled on the sheets. Not much, and they changed the sheets right away. That was about the only thing different that day.
The boy woke up about a half hour after that. Out of the blue he sat up in bed, stretched, and looked around the room. He had regained consciousness, and medically he was perfectly fine. Soon, though, we realized he'd lost his entire memory. He couldn't even remember his own name. The place he lived in, his school, his parents' faces--it was all gone. He couldn't read, and wasn't even aware this was Japan or the Earth.
He couldn't even fathom the concept of Japan or the Earth. He'd returned to this world with his mind wiped clean. The proverbial blank slate. Chapter 9When I come to I'm in thick brush, lying there on the damp ground like some log.
I can't see a thing, it's so dark. My head propped up by prickly brambles, I take a deep breath and smell plants, and dirt, and, mixed in, a faint whiff of dog crap. I can see the night sky through the tree branches. There's no moon or stars, but the sky is strangely bright. The clouds act as a screen, reflecting all the light from below.
An ambulance wails off in the distance, grows closer, then fades away. However, if you haven't got the skills and tools yet, this is a great way to acquire them. One of the beauties of building yourself is that you don't have to buy everything at once, just get what you need when you can afford it.
While some of the instructions suggest using exterior plywood, I would recommend always to use marine grade. If you need help with lofting out the plans click here for an article here which should help. Combining the features of both kayak and canoe, "Blue Bill" is for those out-of-doors-men who hunt or the sportsmen who need an ultra-light-weight portable boat for use upon any waters.
Besides being usable to build a double-end paddling model, a few changes permit the plans to be used for making a canoe that will accommodate outboard motors up to 6 hp. Click Here for the Plans. This kayak is the answer for young people who want to build an inexpensive boat for summer fun. A shop full of power tools isn't necessary, either.
All the work can be done with ordinary hand tools and a few C clamps. This Free Boat Plan will carry one adult but it's handiest when paddled by a youngster. The boat is stable in the water and, even though it can be turned over, it won't sink.
It's also light enough to be carried with ease. Building is so simple that the 'Jig' consists of only two blocks and a few bricks. For many years a favourite of hunters, trappers and traders the kayak now is as popular with Europeans as the outboard boat is with Americans. Although this boat was designed to carry two people, it will accommodate three in a pinch and gear may be stowed under fore and after decks. A few strokes with the double paddle will send it gliding across the water with the minimum of effort on your part.
Kayaks are surprisingly seaworthy, too�more stable than a canoe, in fact, because the occupants sit on the bottom of the hull which lowers the center of gravity.
This one is being built by Greg Allore. If you have ever struggled with the oars of a heavy, slow-moving rowboat and then paddled a swift, high manoeuvrable canoe you can appreciate why many true sportsmen prefer canoes. But, too often, the multi-ribbed conventional canoe is not only hard to build but too thin-skinned for hard usage.
This Free Boat Plan teams up plywood and fiberglass to produce a tough, scrape-proof canoe you can build in one-tenth the time it would take you to turn out a conventional canoe. The use of only one frame offsets the extra weight of using plywood, so that this canoe is still light enough for comfortable portage. Canoes are not easy to build, but here is one Free Boat Plan that can be made of ordinary materials for a fraction of the cost of conventional canoes.
It has attractive molded lines and may be built either as a paddling model or, with slight changes, adapted for use with small outboard motors. In all countries of the world, particularly the United States, the kayak is enjoying newfound popularity. Here's a nimble, lightweight craft that has its roots in the Arctic as a basic instrument of survival, yet is branching out as a modern outdoor sport on our own rivers and lakes.
When he's laced into his whale-bone and walrus-hide craft, he's ready for anything in the way of water or weather. It's perfect for poking around uninhabited Islands, exploring the bends of a lazy, winding river, or just breaking the peaceful surface of a placid lake at sunset. You can build this 74lb, 16 foot canoe using redwood strips, an old boat-building technique. Two persons can sit side by side in the center with one person at each end and plenty of room for gear.
You lay up the strips, remove the form, and the canoe is complete, except for fiberglassing and putting in the seats. The plans can also be used to build a foot version of this strip planked canoe. This means that while she can accommodate two in outrageous comfort, she can easily take a family of four on an extended vacation and be entirely self-contained. The dining table, in the rear section of the cabin, seats four and then drops down to convert into an extra bunk 6 ft.
Cabin headroom is 6 ft. Bayou Belle is a 25' scow that can be built as a sports utility, a fishing boat, or a houseboat, depending on your requirements for pleasure offshore. As a sports utility, she can be used for towing water skiers and for cruising, as a fishing boat, she offers a stable platform with plenty of elbow room and stowage space. Construction of Bayou Belle makes use of prefabricated sections, which means that much of the work can be done indoors in the average garage during the cold winter months, and the boat completed outdoors in time for launching in late spring.
A houseboat is a unique water craft in that it combines most of the comforts of home with the mobility of a boat. Of course, use is limited to sheltered waters, and speeds are slow in comparison to more sea worthy vessels.
An extremely simple houseboat to build, the free boat plans feature a strong hull with a heavy keel and close-spaced framing. Click Here for the free Plans. It was only 8 feet long and I clocked it at 33 mph with a 9. Build time about hrs. Register your interest �. Woodboat building questions a Forum for wooden boat building, plans, lumber, caulking compounds and other boat building problems.
A Worm Shoe is a non structural piece of wood whose 'sole' purpose is to protect the underwater wooden parts of a wooden boat keel, they need checking and replacing regularly. Ring Nails sometimes call Gripfast or ring shank, silicon bronze boat nails are renowned for their holding power.
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