Part 5

Kazu seemed agreeable when appraised of this plan, and so we began to plot a more detailed route over the 1,100 miles between us and the British crown colony. We stood at the narrowest part of the strait, but unfortunately most of it was too deep for Kazu to wade. Reference to the charts showed that by going 250 miles south, we would reduce the swim to about 30 miles, or the equivalent of some 500 yards for a normal man. To this was added a wade of 120 miles through shallows and over the many small Balabalagan Islands.

Suddenly Kazu's hand swept down and came up with a 60-foot whale, which he devoured in great gory bites. After this midocean lunch, Kazu resumed his wading. In the middle of the strait the depth exceeded five thousand feet, and he had to swim for a time, after fastening our box to his head by means of the trailing cables.

At length the sea became shallow once more, Kazu's feet crunched through coral, and the coast of Borneo appeared dimly ahead. We were all taking time for the luxury of a sigh of relief when Chamberlin screamed a warning.

"Planes! Coming in low at three o'clock!"

Fortunately Kazu heard this also, although the language confused him. Precious seconds were wasted while he held the box up to his face for more explicit directions. The planes, a flight of six, were streaking towards us just above the wavetops. We could see that they carried torpedoes, and it was not difficult to guess their intentions.

"Go sideways!" Baker yelled, but Kazu did not move. He simply stood facing the oncoming aircraft, our box held in his left hand at head level, and his right arm hanging at his side, half submerged. Either Kazu was too frightened to move, or he did not understand the danger. The planes were hardly a half mile away now, evidently holding their fire until the last moment to insure a hit. What even one torpedo could do I didn't dare to contemplate, and here were twelve possible strikes. After all, Kazu was made of flesh, and after having seen the effect of TNT on the steel side of a ship, I had little doubt as to what would happen to him.

Now the last seconds were at hand. The planes were closing at five hundred yards, the torpedoes would drop in a second.... But suddenly Kazu moved. His whole body swung abruptly to the left and at the same time the right hand came up through the water. We, of course, were pitched headlong, but we did briefly glimpse a tremendous fan of solid green water rising up to meet the planes. They tried to dodge but it was too late. Into the waterspout they flew, all six with their torpedoes still attached, and down into the ocean they fell, broken and sinking. It was all over in a moment. We were so amazed it was moments before we could move.

Kazu turned and resumed his stroll toward Borneo without a single backward glance at the havoc wrought by his splash.

* * * * *

As we entered the foothills I became conscious for the first time of a curious change. It was a psychological change in me, a change in my sense of scale. We had been carried so long at Kazu's shoulder level, and had grown so accustomed to looking out along his arms from almost the same viewpoint as his, that we were now estimating the size of the mountains as though we were as large as Kazu! It is difficult to express just how I felt, and now that it is all over, the memory has become so tenuous and subtle that I fear I will never be able to explain it so that anyone but my three companions could understand. But this was the first moment that I noticed the effect. The mountains were suddenly no longer 4,000 foot peaks viewed from a plane 500 feet above ground level, but were forty foot mounds with a six inch cover of mossy brush, and I was walking up their sides as a normal human being! The change was, as nearly as I can express it, from the viewpoint of a normal human being under extraordinary circumstances to that of an ordinary man visiting a miniature world. The whale to me was now a fat jellyfish seven inches long, the Chinese warplanes were toys with an eight inch wingspread, the little steamer of yesterday was a flimsy toy built of cardboard and tinfoil. We had, in effect, identified ourselves completely with Kazu.

And so we climbed dripping from the Straits of Macassar, and entered the mists and jungles of Borneo.

Our course toward Singapore carried us across the full width of southern Borneo, a distance, from a point north of Kotabaroe to Cape Datu, of almost six hundred miles.

After about an hour, the blue outlines of the Schwanner Mountains appeared ahead and presently we passed quite close to Mt. Raya, which at 7,500 feet was the greatest mountain Kazu had ever seen. Then, dropping into another valley, we followed the course of the Kapuas River for a time, and finally turned west again through an area of plantations. Here Kazu made an effort to secure food by plucking and eating fruit and treetops together. The result was unsatisfactory, but presently we came upon a granary containing thousands of sacks of rice. The workmen, warned by our earthquake approach, fled long before we reached it. Kazu carefully removed the corrugated iron roof and ate the whole contents of the warehouse, which amounted to about a handful. The sacks appeared about a quarter of an inch in length, and seemed to be filled with a fine white powder.

Following this meal, Kazu drained a small lake, getting incidentally a goodly catch of carp, although he could not even taste them. Then, since it was now late in the afternoon, he turned northwest to the hills to spend the night.

The last part of the journey was almost entirely through shallow water--three hundred miles of the warm South China Sea. Baker planned to make a before dawn start, so that we might be close to the Malay Peninsula before daylight could expose us to further attack. Kazu suggested pushing on at once, but Baker did not think it wise to approach the formidable defenses of Singapore by night. And so for a second time we sought out an isolated valley where Kazu could snuggle between two soft hills, and we could get what sleep was possible in the wreckage of the projection room.

The China Sea passage was made without incident. We started at three A.M. in a downpour of rain, and by six, at dawn, the low outline of the Malay Peninsula came into sight. We made our landfall some forty miles north of Singapore, and at once cut across country toward Johore Bahru and the great British crown colony.

The rice paddies, roads and other signs of civilization were a welcome sight, and I was already relaxing, mentally, in a hot tub at the officers club when the awakening came. It came in the form of a squadron of fighter planes carrying British markings which roared out of the south without warning and passed Kazu's head with all their guns firing. Fortunately neither his eyes nor our thin shelled box was hit, but Kazu felt the tiny projectiles which penetrated even his twelve inch hide. As the planes wheeled for another pass he called out in English that he was a friend, but of course the pilots could not hear above the roar of their jets. On the second try two of the planes released rockets, which fortunately missed, but this put a different light on the whole thing. A direct hit with a ten inch rocket would be as dangerous as a torpedo. Baker tried to yell some advice, but there was no chance before the planes came in again. This time Kazu waved, and finally threw a handful of earth and trees at them. The whole squadron zoomed upwards like a covey of startled birds.

By the time we had reached a temporary haven, Kazu was thoroughly winded, and we were battered nearly insensible. Baker, in fact, was out cold. Kazu slowed down, and then finding no directions or advice forthcoming, he resumed a steady dogtrot to the north. Martin and I tried to draw Baker to a safer position beside the projector, but in the process one of the steel shelves collapsed, adding Martin to the casualty list. Walt and I then attempted to drag the two of them to safety, but in the midst of these efforts a particularly hard lurch sent me headfirst into the projector, and my interest in proceedings thereupon became nil. Walt, battered and seasick, gave up and collapsed with the rest of us. Further efforts at communication by Kazu proved fruitless. Buddha was on his own.

VI

I awoke with a throbbing headache to find the steel room motionless, and warm sunshine streaming into my face. Looking around, I saw that my three companions were all up and apparently in good shape. Baker was the first to notice that I was awake, and he came over immediately.

"Feel better?" he inquired cheerfully.

He helped me up and I staggered to the window. The room was perched, as usual, on a hilltop, but the vegetation around was not tropical jungle. I turned to the others, noting as I did that the room was cleaned up.

"Where--" I started, with a gesture outside. Baker stopped me and led me to an improvised canvas hammock.

"You really got a nasty one," he said. "You've been out two days."

"Two days!" I tried to rise, but the effort so increased the headache that I gave up and collapsed into the hammock.

"Just lie quiet and I'll bring you up to date." Baker drew up an empty film box for a seat. "I was knocked about a bit myself, you know, and by the time I came around, our friend had trotted the whole length of the Malay Peninsula and was halfway across Burma."

"But the people at Singapore," I began, "Don't those fools know yet--"

"Things have changed," said Baker. "The biggest change has been in Buddha's mind. He took our advice and almost got killed for his pains. Now he's on his own."

I tried to look through the open door. Baker shook his head.

"He's not here. No--" this in answer to my startled look, "just off for a stroll, towards China this time, I think. Yesterday he visited Lhasa. Said it's quite a place. Talked to the Lamas in Tibetan, and they understood him. He calls it playing Buddha."

Baker got up and searched among the maps, finally finding one of southeast Asia. He spread it out before me, and placed a finger rather vaguely on the great Yunnan Plateau between Burma and China.

"We're here, somewhere. Buddha doesn't know exactly, himself. He made it to Lhasa by following the Himalayas, and watching for the Potala. I hope he'll find his way back this time--be a bit awkward for us if he doesn't."

He stepped outside and brought in some cold cooked rice and meat.

"Kazu brought us a handful of cows yesterday. They were practically mashed into hamburger. I guess you'd call this pounded steak."

I ate some of the meat and settled back to rest again. Presently I dozed off.

When I awakened it was dark and Kazu was back. Martin had started a big campfire outside, evidently with Kazu's aid, for it was stoked with several logs fully eight feet in diameter and was sending flames fifty feet into the sky. Kazu himself was squatting directly over it, staring down at us. When I came to the door, he spoke.

"Ah, little brother Bill. I am so sorry that you were hurt. I am afraid I forgot to be gentle, and that is not forgiveable in Buddha."

I made an appropriate reply, and then waited. Evidently he had as yet told nothing of his day's expedition. Finally he plucked a roasted bullock from the fire and popped it into his mouth like a nut.

"Today," he said, "I visit Chungking, Nanking, Peking. I think I see hundred million Chinese. I know more than that see me. Also I talk to them. They understand, for miles. They expected me. As you say, brother Llewelyn, Rau has excellent propaganda machine. Everywhere they hail me as Buddha, come to save them from war and disease and western imperialism. I speak to them as Buddha; today, I am Buddha."

Baker glanced at us meaningfully and murmured, "I was afraid of this." But Kazu continued.

"Today all of China believes I am Buddha. Only you and I know this is not so, but we can fight best if they believe."

"Have you eaten?" inquired Martin. Kazu nodded.

"At every temple they collect rice for Buddha. Many small meals make full belly. But," his face wrinkled with concern, "many thousands could live on what I eat today. China is so poor. So many people, so little food. I must find ways to help them." He paused, and then resumed in a firmer tone.

"But not in communist way. Rau was right about western imperialists, but he named wrong country. Russian imperialists have enslaved China. First we must drive communists from China. Then I can help."

"Amen," said Baker softly. Then, to Kazu....

"We've been trying to do just that for years. But how can you fight seven hundred million people?"

"Don't fight--lead them."

It sounded so simple, the way he said it. Well, maybe he could. But now Baker had more practical questions.

"What does the rest of the world think about all this? Have you talked to any Europeans, or heard a radio?"

Kazu shook his head. "But I caught communist General. He tell me Russia sending army to capture me. He say only hope is for me to surrender, or Russian drop atom bomb on me. Then I eat him."

We must have showed our startled reaction, for Kazu laughed.

"Not much nourishment in communist. I eat him for propaganda--many people see me do it. Effect very good." He paused. "Not tasty, but symbolic meal. China is like Buddha, giant who can eat up enemies."

"What are you going to do next?" asked Baker.

"That is question. I need more information. Where is leadership in China I can trust? What will Russians do? How long for British and Americans to wake up?"

"You're not the only one asking these questions," said Baker. "But maybe you can get some answers."

* * * * *

Before Kazu could continue, Chamberlin held up his hand for silence. We listened, and presently heard above the crackle of the great bonfire, the throb of an airplane engine. Kazu heard it too, for he suddenly arose and stepped back out of the light. We four also hastened into the shadows and peered into the dark sky. The approaching aircraft displayed no lights, but presently we saw it in the firelight--a multi-jet bomber bearing American markings. We rushed back into the illuminated area and danced up and down, waving our arms. The huge plane swung in a wide circle and came in less than five hundred feet above the hilltop. I could make out faces peering down at us from the glassed greenhouse in front. As it roared past, one wing tipped slightly in the updraft from the fire, and then suddenly the plane stopped dead in its tracks. The jets roared a deeper note as they bit into still air, and then very slowly and gently the great ship moved back and down until it rested on its belly beside our steel box. Not until it was quite safe on the ground did Kazu's hands release their hold on the wings, where he had caught it in midair.

The eleven crew men from the B125 came out with their hands in the air, but their expressions were more incredulous than frightened. Baker added to the unreality of the situation by his greeting, done in the best "Dr. Livingstone-I-presume" manner.

"Welcome to Camp Yunnan. Sorry we had to be so abrupt. I'm Baker, these are Chamberlin, Martin, Cady."

"I'm Faulkner," replied the leader of the Americans automatically, and then he abruptly sat down and was violently sick. We waited patiently until he could speak again.

"My God, I didn't believe it when we heard." He was talking to no-one in particular. "One minute we're flying at 450 miles per hour, the next we're picked out of the air like a--like a--"

He gave up. Kazu came into the firelight and squatted down, quite slowly. Baker introduced him.

"Colonel, I'd like you to meet Kazu Takahashi." The American arose and extended his hand, and then dropped it abruptly to his side. Kazu emitted a thunderous chuckle.

"Handshake is, I fear, formality I must always pass up, even at risk of impoliteness."

I think that the language, and particularly the phrasing, jolted the airmen even more than the actual capture. Colonel Faulkner kept shaking his head and murmuring "My God!" for several moments, and then pulled himself together. "So the story's really true after all," he finally said. "We got it on the radio day before yesterday at Manila. It was so garbled at first that nobody could make any sense. Ships reported thousand foot men wading in the ocean. New Macassar radio reported that Buddha was reincarnated, and then denied the story. Announcements of a pitched battle at Singapore, and frantic reports from every town on the peninsula. Then a statement by some Lama on Macassar that the British had kidnaped Buddha, had him hypnotized or doped, and were using him to exterminate China."

He paused and looked up at Kazu, who had bent down until his face was only a hundred feet above us.

"Part of it is true," said Baker. "There was a giant wading in the ocean. As to the rest, I fear we have caught the red radio without a script. I'll tell you the story presently, but just now there are more urgent things to do. Is your radio working?"

Faulkner nodded and led us towards the plane. Baker continued.

"Briefly, Kazu is a mutation produced by the Hiroshima bomb. He's been groomed for twenty years to take over as the world's largest puppet, but it turns out he has a mind of his own. We just happened along, and are going on for the ride. Want to join the party?"

The Colonel grinned for the first time as we all squeezed into the radio compartment of the plane.

"I like travel," he said. "It's so broadening."

The radio was not only operative, but proved most informative as well. Every transmitter on earth, it seemed, was talking about the giant. In the course of an hour we listened to a dozen major stations and got as many versions of the story. The communist propaganda factory had obviously been caught flat footed, for their broadcasts were a hopeless mixture of releases evidently prepared for the planned introduction of Buddha to the world, and hastily assembled diatribes against the capitalist imperialists who had so foully captured him. Some of the Russians apparently were not in on the secret of Buddha's dimensions, for they described in detail how a raiding party of eighty American commando-gangsters had landed by parachute on Yat, seized Buddha, and taken him away in a seaplane.

Before we went to sleep that night, Kazu extinguished the fire so that no one else would be attracted as the Colonel had been.

* * * * *

Next morning the first question concerned transportation. Colonel Faulkner naturally did not want to leave his plane, particularly since it was undamaged, but a takeoff from our narrow mountain ledge was obviously impossible, so he regretfully ordered his crew to unload their personal effects for transfer to our box. At this point Kazu stepped in.

"If you will enter your airplane and start jets," he said, "Buddha will serve as launching mechanism."

Before the takeoff, the Colonel transferred his spare radio gear to our box, along with an auxiliary generator, and we agreed on a schedule to keep in touch. Then Kazu gently picked up the bomber, raised it high above his head and sent it gliding off to the north. The engines coughed a couple of times and then caught with a roar. Colonel Faulkner wagged his wings and vanished into the haze.

Our plan was to follow the plane east to the Wu River, and then north to its meeting with the Yangtze, which occurs some seventy five miles below Chungking. While the B125 cruised around us in a great circle, we loaded our belongings into the box, and Kazu picked us up and signalled the plane that we were ready. Colonel Faulkner's intention had been to circle us rather than leave us behind with his superior speed, but in a moment it became clear that this would not be necessary. Kazu set off down the canyon at a pace better than three hundred miles per hour, and the Colonel had to gun his motors to keep up.

We passed only a few small towns on the Wu. Kazu had been here before, and had evidently stopped to talk and make friends, for we observed none of the fright which had formerly greeted his advent. Instead, crowds ran out to meet us, waving the forbidden Nationalist flag and shooting off firecrackers. Kazu spoke briefly in Cantonese to each group, and then hurried on. Baker explained that he was giving them formal blessings, in the name of Buddha.

An hour's time brought us to Fowchow, on the mighty Yangtze Kiang. Here Kazu turned left, wading in the stream, and negotiated the seventy odd miles to Chungking in fifteen minutes.

The distance from Chungking to Hankow is somewhat more than five hundred miles. For much of this distance the Yangtze is bounded by mountains and rocky gorges, but in the final 150 miles, the hills drop away and the river winds slowly through China's lake country. Kazu made good time in the gorge, but his feet sank a hundred feet into the soft alluvial soil of the lowlands and he had constantly to watch out for villages and farms.

Buddha had not visited Hankow before, but he was expected. Even before the city came into view, the roads were lined with people and the canals and lakes jammed with sampans. Just outside of the city we noticed a small group of men in military uniform under a white flag. We guessed that they represented the communist city government, and so did Kazu, for he set our box beside the group and ordered the spokesman to come in for a parlay. The unfortunate officer who was picked obviously did not relish the idea, particularly after Martin cracked in English, "He doesn't look fat enough." Giving Martin a glare, he drew himself up stiffly and said, "General Soo prepared to die, if necessary for people of China."

The communist General showed somewhat less bravado after the stomach turning ascent to the six hundred foot level, but he managed to get off a speech in answer to Kazu's question. As before, Baker gave us a running translation.

"He says welcome to Hankow. The people's government, ever responsive to the will of the citizens, joins with all faithful Buddhists in welcoming Buddha, and in expressing heartfelt thanksgiving that rumors claiming Buddha to be a puppet of western imperialists are all false. Now he's saying that there is to be a big party--a banquet--for Buddha, in the central square. Rice has been collected and cooked, and a thousand sheep slaughtered to feed hungry Buddha."

Kazu replied formally that while he appreciated the hospitality of the people of Hankow, he could not accept food from the enemies of China. These words, which were clearly audible to the entire city, were greeted with cheers by the throng below. The General took this in, thought about it a moment, and then made a neat about face.

"General Soo," said he stoutly, "was communist when he believed communism only hope for China. You have changed everything. General Soo now faithful Buddhist!"

"May I," said Baker with a grin, "be the first to congratulate General Soo on his perspicacity."

* * * * *

As the General had promised, there was a great banquet spread. In spite of Soo's protestations, Baker insisted on sampling each course rather extensively for sleeping potions or poison, but either the idea had not occurred to the communists, or there hadn't been enough time, or poison available.