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Title: The Image and the Likeness

Author: John Scott Campbell

Release date: August 21, 2011 [eBook #37145]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Dianna Adair and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


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[Illustration: Cover]

[Illustration: _We stared--frozen--at the great face above us._]




     _Up from the horror of Hiroshima came a god. He gave the people
     hope and for this they killed him--as they have always killed their
     gods._




THE IMAGE

and

THE LIKENESS

By John Scott Campbell




Shanghai had changed. We sensed that the moment we came ashore.
Extraterritoriality was long gone; we had known that, of course. The
days of exploitation, of clubs where Chinese and Burmese and Indian
servants waited on Britons and Americans were passed. Pan-Asia had seen
to that. This was 1965. The white man's burden in the east had been upon
brown and yellow shoulders for over sixteen years now, and the Indians
and Burmese and Indonesians were ruling themselves, after their fling at
communism in the fifties.

The initial bitterness which followed the debacle of 1955 had passed, we
were glad to see. Porters no longer spat in the faces of white men. They
were polite, but we had not been in the city a half hour before we
sensed something else. There was an edge to that politeness. It was as
Major Reid had written before we left San Francisco--a subtle change
had come over Asia in the previous few years. They smiled--they waited
on us--they bent over backwards to atone for the excesses of the first
years of freedom from foreign rule; but through it all was an air of
aloofness, of superior knowledge.

Baker put it in his typically blunt British way.

"The blighters have something up their sleeves, all right. The whole
crew of them. Did you notice that rickshaw boy? When I said to take us
to the hotel, he answered 'Yes, today I take you'. The Major was
right--there's something in the wind, and it's damned serious."

We were sitting, surrounded by our luggage, in our suite at the New
China Hotel. There were four of us: Llewelyn Baker, Walter Chamberlin,
Robert Martin, and myself, William Cady. Baker and Martin were
anthropologists, and old China hands as well. Chamberlin was a
geologist, and I claimed knowledge of zoology. We were here ostensibly
as a scientific expedition, and had permission from the Republic of East
Asia to do some work on Celebese man, following up the discoveries by
Rance of bones and artifacts on that East Indian island in 1961.

We had another reason for coming at this particular time, although this
was not mentioned to the authorities. Our real objective was to find out
certain things about New Buddhism, the violently nationalistic religion
which was sweeping Pan-Asia.

New Buddhism was more than a religion. It was a motivating force of such
power that men like Major Reid at the American Embassy were frankly
worried, and had communicated their fears to their home governments. The
Pan-Asia movement had, at first, been understandable. At first it had
been nationalism, pure and simple. The Asiatics were tired of
exploitation and western bungling, and wanted to rule themselves. During
the communist honeymoon in the early fifties, it was partly underground
and partly taken over by the Reds for their own purposes. But through
everything it retained a character of its own, and after '55 it
reappeared as a growing force which was purely oriental. Or at least so
it seemed. Our job was, among other things, to find out if Russian
control was really destroyed.

We had already made several observations. The most obvious was the
number of priests. Yellow robed Buddhist priests had always been common,
begging rice and coppers in the streets, but in 1955 a new kind
appeared. He was younger than his predecessors, and was usually an
ex-soldier. And his technique was different. He was a salesman.
"Rice--rice for Buddha," he would say. "Rice for the Living Buddha, to
give him strength. Rice for the Great One, that he may grow mighty. Rice
for the strength to cast off our bonds."

And they had organization. This wasn't any hit or miss revival, started
by a crackpot, or by some schemer for his own enrichment. There was
direction back of it, and very good direction too. We sensed that it had
been Japanese, at least at the start, but with the end of the
occupation, we could no longer barge in and investigate officially. Now
there were treaties to respect, and diplomatic procedure and all that
sort of thing.

Instead, we were here to spy. Unofficially, of course. The ambassador
was very explicit on that point. We were strictly on our own. If we were
caught, there could be no protection. So here we were. Four scientists
investigating Celebese man, and trying to find out, on the side, just
what was back of New Buddhism.

We washed up, had dinner, and presently, as we had expected, Major Reid
called. After a few jocular references to anthropology, for the benefit
of the waiter, he got down to business.

"I'll have to be brief," he said, "because I can't spend too much time
with you without stirring up suspicion. You all know the background.
They claim that this business is simply a new religion, a revival of
Buddhism modeled to fit new conditions. President Tung claims that there
is no connection between it and the state. We think differently. We have
reason to believe that the direction back of this movement is communism,
and that its ultimate object is military attack on the western world.
What we don't know is the nature of the proposed attack. Some of us
suspect that they are making H-bombs, and have covered up so that we
cannot spot them. That's what we must find out.

"The headquarters of New Buddhism is on a small volcanic island called
Yat, off the east coast of Celebes. Your job is to reach that island and
find out what's going on, and then bring the information back. Clear?"

We nodded. We had received a similar briefing in Washington, and from a
far more distinguished personage than Major Reid, but we felt no need of
mentioning this. In such a business, gratuitous information, even to
friends, serves no useful end.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our informant in Washington had told us a good many other things,
too. In the name of New Buddhism, the priests had been collecting
immense quantities of supplies, and on an increasing scale. Tons of
foodstuffs had been gathered and then shipped off to an unknown
destination. Machinery, lumber, structural steel, canvas by the
thousands of yards had been purchased, loaded onto ships and barges, and
spirited away. It appeared that the New Buddhists were maintaining a
standing army, or perhaps a labor force somewhere east of Borneo, but
the picture was very incomplete.

Part of the failure of ordinary methods of intelligence may have been
due to the supersecrecy of the New Buddhists themselves. It was not
difficult to corrupt priests on the lower levels, but all they knew was
that certain quotas of food and materials were set for their territory,
which were then shipped away to Borneo.

The big break had come only a few months ago. One of the OSS men got
through to a barge captain, who had been to the headquarters itself. He
identified the location as an island a few miles off the northeast coast
of Celebes. It was, he said, highly mountainous--in fact he believed it
to be an extinct volcano, with a water filled crater reached only by a
narrow passage from the sea. Boats, he said, could go in and out, but
his barge was not among those permitted. He delivered his cargo, three
thousand tons of rice and five thousand raw hides, and was then sent on
his way. Under questioning, he said that there were many people living
on the island--thousands at least. Most of them lived in barracks among
the trees fronting the ocean, but some had special privileges and were
allowed to go to the top of the crater rim.

Of the activities within the crater our informant knew nothing. At night
the clouds were often lit by reflections from there, and once he had
heard noises, accompanied by a distinct shaking of the earth, as though
blasting were being done at a great depth.

This was the extent of our knowledge. We knew the location, but it was
up to us to find out the rest.

Our departure from Shanghai for the great island of Celebes involved the
usual exasperation of delay and red tape. The American Embassy did
everything possible to expedite matters, and brought a little pressure
to bear, I think, on the strength of the then impending American Sixth
Loan to China. In any case we were at last cleared, and boarded the
plane for Celebes.

We took one of the six place compartments on the upper deck, and
presently had company in the form of two yellow-clad New Buddhist
priests. Baker, who had the best command of Chinese, engaged them in
conversation.

As we had expected, they were very willing to talk, and displayed a
lively interest in Celebes man. That they were here to watch us was
obvious. Baker bided his time, and then switched the conversation to New
Buddhism. On this subject too the priests were anything but reticent.
They described with enthusiasm the great spiritual renaissance that was
sweeping all Asia "like a wind, the breath of life from the Living
Buddha." Baker asked a few questions about the Buddha, since to show no
curiosity about such a life subject might excite suspicion. The priests
were ready for them, and gave what was evidently the stock answer: the
Living Buddha was the very incarnation of Gautama himself, a spiritual
leader who was being groomed to take over the guidance of all mankind,
in east and west alike.

"Where does the Great One live?" asked Baker, alert for a trap.

"In Celebes, where you are going," was the reply.

"Oh," said Baker innocently, "Then perhaps it could be arranged for us
to meet him?"

This, explained the priest, was quite impossible. In due time Buddha
would display himself for the world to see and marvel over; meanwhile,
while his preparation was yet incomplete, he must remain in seclusion.

By now convinced that the presence of the priests was no accident, Baker
settled down to the sort of verbal sparring match that he enjoyed. He
had been speaking in the Cantonese dialect, but now he abruptly switched
to English.

"You know," he remarked, "you fellows are using an amazing amount of
material at your headquarters. Enough food to keep a good sized standing
army."

The two priests, who had professed ignorance of English at the start of
the conversation, stiffened visibly. Baker returned to Chinese.

The priests recovered their composure with some effort. The older
replied suavely, "Gossip is a creative art. There is a large monastery
at our central temple, and much is needed to maintain its activities."

"Truth," said Baker pontifically, "is usually disappointing. The
imagination changes a mud hut to a palace, and a sickly priest to a
demigod."

The two priests inclined their heads slightly at this. We watched their
expressions. If Baker's purposely provoking language brought a reaction,
it was not visible. But we had learned one thing: they spoke English but
preferred that we did not know it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our arrival at New Macassar, the Indonesian capital of Celebes,
was attended by the usual confusion and delay. Our Buddhist friends
vanished with a speed which suggested special consideration, while the
man from the American Consulate was still getting our equipment through
customs.

This business at length completed, we were escorted to a taxi by the
attache and whisked up one of the wide avenues of the city without a
question as to where we were to stay. Baker and Martin stared out the
window with studied ease--they knew that something was up, but were
content to await further developments. Now I noticed something else. The
driver of our cab was a European, not a native. I started to frame a
question, when, without warning, the car ducked into a side street,
swung around two corners and abruptly entered an open doorway in a tall
stucco building. Both Walt and I were half out of our seats in alarm,
when our guide spoke.

"The American Consulate, gentlemen," he said, with the slightest trace
of a diplomatic smile.

The cab had stopped in the ground floor garage of the consulate, and
opening the door was the consul himself.

"Good morning, I'm Stimson. Hope Avery didn't give you too wild a ride,
but I thought it best not to advertise my interest in you at the front
door. Things have changed a bit in the last few days. Well, Avery will
show you to your rooms. I'll be in the upstairs study when you're
freshened up."

There was little to speculate on as we shaved and changed to less
rumpled clothes, but we worked over the available data for what it was
worth.

"Consul takes us in tow," remarked Chamberlin. "That isn't in line with
the unofficial status so strongly impressed on us at Washington."

"And sneaking us in through the back door isn't according to best
diplomatic form, either. Stimson wants to protect us from something, but
obviously doesn't want the local constabulary to know." This from
Martin.

"It seems to me," I ventured, "that they could check the hotels. It
shouldn't take them long to put two and two together when we don't show.
I'm blessed if I can see what Stimson has to gain from this maneuver."

Baker turned from the mirror where he had been adjusting his tie.
"Suppose we ask him," he commented.

The consul was waiting for us in his study. After the briefest greeting
which his official position permitted, he got down to business.

"Gentlemen, I've had to pull a diplomatic boner of the first magnitude.
I refer to the cloak and dagger method of getting you here. But believe
me, it was the only way. They're onto your scheme. If you went to a
hotel in New Macassar, you wouldn't be alive tomorrow morning."

"But, the taxi--" began Martin.

"It gave us a few hours. If I had sent the consulate car, they'd have us
sealed off tight right now. I could keep you safe here, or get you on
the Shanghai plane, but you couldn't make another move. As it is, we
have perhaps two hours--with luck."

The consul settled back in his chair, evidently gathering his thoughts.
We waited, more mystified than before, if that were possible. At length
Stimson started again.

"You're well briefed on the general situation. Reid gave me the gist of
his conversation. But there are some other things that even Reid doesn't
know." He opened a folding blotter on his desk and drew out an eight by
ten photographic print.

"You're aware of the efforts that have been made to look into the crater
on Yat. To date we have not succeeded in getting an eye witness to the
rim. We have flown over Yat, of course, and have taken pictures from
every altitude from 5,000 to 70,000 feet, but so far they have
outsmarted us. They have smoke generators all around the rim, which they
fire up night and day whenever the natural clouds lift. We've used every
color, including infra red. We've taken stereo pairs, and flash shots at
night, but, with one exception, all we've ever gotten are beautiful
pictures of clouds and smoke. The exception I have here. It was taken
two weeks ago, during a brief break in a heavy storm. Before I say
anything more, I'd like to have you look at it and form your own
opinions."

He placed the print on the desk, facing us, and leaned back while we
four crowded around. My first glimpse was disappointing. Fully two
thirds of the picture was occupied by clouds. But gradually I made out
the details. There seemed to be several buildings of uncertain size in
the lower part, and a fringe of brush extending up to the left. Half
visible through the mist were several structures which seemed to me, in
comparison to the larger buildings, like chicken houses or perhaps
rabbit hutches. No humans were in sight, evidently because of the storm.
But in the center of the picture was the thing which fixed our attention
from the first, leaving the other details for later scrutiny. This was
an immense human figure, lying on its side with the head pillowed on its
hands in the attitude of the colossal figures of the reclining Buddha
found in the mountains of China. The body was partly covered by a robe,
but whether this was part of the figure or a canvas protection against
the rain, was difficult to tell. Only the head, hands and feet showed.
The face was partly in shadow, but enough could be seen to identify the
typical Buddha countenance: closed eyes and lips curled in an enigmatic
smile.

       *       *       *       *       *

We stared at this peculiar picture for a good minute, taking in
the details, while Stimson watched us. Then Baker looked up.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Before I tell you our guesses," replied the consul, "I'd like to hear
your reactions."

"It would appear that the New Buddhists are doing the obvious--setting
up a Buddhist temple. Although, except for the statue, you'd never guess
it." This from Chamberlin.

Martin squinted closely at the print. "Yes, the buildings look more like
airship hangars than a temple."

Stimson raised his eyebrows slightly. "That's an interesting
observation," he commented.

"Wish there were some humans, or something else to give a scale," said
Baker. "For all we can tell, it could be anything from doll houses and a
life sized statue, all the way up to an air base, and a reclining Buddha
to end all reclining Buddhas."

There was an expectant pause. Stimson, seeing that we had nothing more
to add, cleared his throat, glanced briefly out of the window behind his
chair, and hunched forward.

"This picture was made from an F-180A, modified for photo
reconnaissance. The plane was on a routine flight from Singapore to
Mindanao, over a solid deck of clouds. The pilot swung south over Yat
just out of curiosity. He approached the island at 50,000 feet, using
radar, and was about to pass over when he spotted a hole in the
overcast. Time was 1800--just sunset--but the edge of the crater was
well lighted, although the bottom was in deep shadow. More important,
the smoke generators had been turned off. Obviously the clouds had just
parted, and would close in again in a minute. The presence of the F-180A
at this particular instant was just one of those one in a million lucky
breaks. The pilot realized this. He put the ship into a dive and ordered
his photographer to ready the cameras.

"The plane approached Yat at a speed above Mach 1.2, so there was no
audible warning, and evidently the island's radar was off, for the
surprise was complete. Within 90 seconds the F-180A closed level just
over the crater and shot past with only a thin stratus layer between it
and ground. Time over the crater was hardly 10 seconds, and neither
pilot nor observer saw anything, but the synchronous vertical camera was
operating and four flashes were made during the middle four seconds.
Then the plane was in the clouds again at a 45 degree climb and a dozen
miles towards the Philippines before anyone on Yat could even get
outdoors.

"As might be expected there was a considerable protest over this
violation of Celebese territory, although oddly, it was based on moral
grounds rather than national integrity. The protest was signed by the
Lama of Macassar, and demanded neither indemnity nor punishment of the
pilot, but asked merely that incense be burned in Washington to appease
Buddha. Now of course the Lama isn't that naive, or devout. As you may
know, Phobat Rau was educated at Harvard and CIT, and is a thoroughly
trained and tough statesman who knows his way around anywhere, and
doesn't believe the theological hogwash in Pan-Buddhism any more than I
do. So it was a question of getting behind his motives. Of course, it
could be a cover, but our final guess was that the protest was really
made for the benefit of the faithful in Asia. This opinion was
strengthened, at least as far as I am concerned, about a fortnight ago
when Rau attended the British Embassy reception for Lord Hayes. He
didn't avoid me, but actually seemed to single me out as a foil for some
of his witty small talk. Asked if I was much of a student of Buddhist
architecture and carvings, and if I had seen the Kyoto Buddha, or the
reclining Buddha on the Yangtze. He was fishing, of course, but I played
it dumb, and presently he gave up.

"Well, there you have it, at least as far as the picture is concerned.
The Buddhists were considerably upset, for they tightened up security
all over the islands. And then you came into the scene. Naturally nobody
believed that you were just after Celebese man, but the governor granted
permission--so easily, in fact, that we got suspicious. Americans are no
match for oriental subtlety, but we do have a few tricks, one of whom is
a code clerk in the Macassar foreign office, and from her we learned
that you were set for the preferred treatment: to be let in easily, and
then knocked off in some painless way. Hence the taxi, and the sneak
ride here."

He paused. "That's the situation to date, gentlemen. Any questions?"

Martin had been studying the photograph. "At what altitude was this
taken?"

The consul shook his head. "The autorecorder was off. The observer
forgot to set it, in the rush."

"Well, couldn't they estimate?"

"They did, but it's obviously way off. The pilot swears that he levelled
at 9,000, but that would make these buildings a quarter of a mile long,
and the Buddha at least five hundred feet. Unless you want to believe
that they have another Willow Run on Yat, you can't take that figure."

Another pause. Finally Baker spoke. "You said you had a guess."

"Yes, I have." Stimson seemed reluctant to speak. "But it sounds so
damned fantastic I hate to tell it to you--well, to be short, I don't
think that this Buddha is a statue."

We all sat up. "Then what is it?" This from Martin.

"I mean, not a statue of stone or masonry in the usual sense of the
term. I think that it is a portable image of Buddha--an inflated gas bag
like they use in the Easter parade. I think they intend to float it in
the air--perhaps tow it--to impress the faithful. If the thing's really
500 feet long, it may be a blimp or a rigid airship with its own motors.
But, whatever the details, I think our mystery is just a piece of
propaganda for Neo-Buddhism, although a damned good one, from the native
standpoint."

We all relaxed. This was an anticlimax. Stimson had built us up to
something--just what, we were not sure--and then had pricked the bubble.

"Well, it sounds reasonable," Baker finally remarked, returning the
print to Stimson, "although not particularly dangerous, and certainly
not worth risking our necks to spy on. However, I don't think it's good
enough to explain all of the supplies that have gone into Yat."

The consul nodded. "Yes, that's the rub. If they hadn't taken such pains
to conceal the thing, I'd be inclined to call it just a cover for
something else."

"Maybe it still is," said Baker.

Stimson looked at us carefully, as though making up his mind.

"That is where you gentlemen come in," he said finally. "I have reason
to believe that our picture has tipped their hand, that they are going
ahead with whatever they have planned in the next few days. Someone's
got to get to Yat first--someone who can observe intelligently, and
speak the language. My staff is all clerical, and there is no chance to
get any CIA men now. You're the only ones available."

He paused. We looked at each other, and then at Baker. He cleared his
throat a couple of times, took another squint at the photo, and then
spoke.

"Speaking for myself, Stimson, when do we leave?"

"That goes for me too," said Martin. Chamberlin and I nodded.

Stimson seemed relieved. "I'd hoped to hear that. In fact, I'd have been
considerably embarrassed if you gentlemen hadn't come through, because I
have a seaplane waiting right now to take you to Yat."




II


The next two hours passed swiftly. Once the decision was made, we
all became so involved in the details of preparation as to have no more
time for reflection, either upon the nature of what we should find on
the island of Yat, or the possible personal consequences of our
expedition.

First Stimson briefed us on the geography of our objective. Yat was a
volcanic island, one of a group strung across the shallow sea east of
Borneo and north of Celebese. It was almost circular, with a diameter of
about seven miles, and was entirely covered by a dense tropical forest.
The principal feature of the island was an extinct volcanic crater,
rising to an altitude of 2,000 feet, at the east end of the island. The
crater measured about two miles across, and perhaps a third of its area
was filled with water from a narrow channel leading to the sea. Photos
taken before the closure of Yat by the Indonesians showed a typical
Malay isle: cocoanut and mango plantations, with forests of gum and
mahogany climbing and filling most of the crater. The entrance channel
was narrow and quite deep and the interior lake constituted an ideally
sheltered anchorage. On the east coast the land rose steeply in a series
of mossy cliffs over which waterfalls poured, while to the west, away
from the volcano, plantations stretched inland from the coral beaches.

As we studied the pictures and charts, Stimson briefed us on the course
of action.

"Your first objective is to find out what they're doing in that crater.
Are they building some new weapon, or training an army, or what. You'll
have Geiger counters and a krypton analyser of course, although the
analyser is no guarantee in detecting fissionable material production.
Then we want to know what their plans are, particularly in the next few
days or weeks. Finally, just who is involved in it? Is New Buddhism
entirely Asiatic, as they claim, or has Russia cut herself in too?"

"You will be landed on the west coast of the island just after sunset.
The east, with its cliff and entrance channel is undoubtedly too well
guarded, but on the west side, with four miles of flat country, they may
depend on defense in depth, so that you'll have a better chance of
getting past the beach. The plane will come in low, make a landing just
off the breakers and drop you off in rubber swim suits. It will then
taxi to the north of the island and make a fairly long stop, to divert
attention, since it will certainly be picked up by radar. Your job will
be to swim ashore, bury the rubber suits, and make your way east to the
crater. If you reach the rim, see what you can, and report by radio at
any hour. If you don't make it to the top, observe as much as possible
on the island, make your reports, and rendezvous with the plane at your
landing point at 2400 the next day. If you miss that time, a plane will
be back daily at the same time for four days. After that, we will assume
that you have been caught."

We were driven to the harbor in the same disreputable taxicab which had
brought us to the consulate a few hours before. Time was a little past
three in the afternoon as the seaplane roared down a lane in the swarm
of junks, tramp freighters and warships of the Indonesian state. We
hoped that we were not too well observed; there was no way of knowing
until we arrived on Yat, and the learning might not be too pleasant.

The flight northeast from New Macassar was uneventful. We passed over a
blue tropical sea, dotted with island jewels. For a time the low coast
of the great island of Celebes made a blue haze on the eastern horizon,
and then we had the ocean to ourselves. At dusk there were still two
hundred miles between us and Yat, a flight of about forty minutes.
Pulling down the shades, lest the cabin lights reveal us to a chance
Indonesian patrol, we busied ourselves with packing the portable radio
equipment and putting on our watertight clothing.

The last fifty miles were made on the deck--in fact, once or twice the
hull actually touched a wave-top. The pilot extinguished the cabin
lights and we peered ahead for a first glimpse of our objective. The sky
was clear, but the moon would not rise until nine, so that the only
indication we had that Yat was at hand was a slight deepening in the
tropic night ahead and to the right, which the pilot said marked Mount
Kosan, the ancient crater. But no sooner had we gotten this vaguely
orienting information, than the flaps were lowered, the plane slowed to
under 100 miles per hour, and we touched the water. The co-pilot opened
the side door, and we crouched together peering out. The plane taxied
over a choppy cross sea toward the shadow of the island, while we
squinted through the salt spray. Presently the engines dropped to idle,
and the rumble of surf became audible.

"Practically dead calm tonight," said the co-pilot reassuringly. "Wind
usually dies out at sunset. You won't have any trouble getting through.
Just watch your step when you're ashore."

"That's always good advice for sailors," remarked Baker.

As the plane lost headway, the white line of surf and the silhouettes of
cocoa palms took shape. Evidently the plantations came right to the
water's edge at this point, a circumstance for which we were all
thankful. I was just turning to Martin with some remark about this when
the pilot called softly and urgently. "We're as close as we can drift
safely. Jump, and good luck."

"Righto, and thanks," came Baker's voice, and then a splash. I was next.
I took a deep breath, and clutched my rubber covered bundle of radio
gear. I leaped out into darkness. An instant later I was gasping for air
beside Baker. Two more splashes in quick succession and then the engines
picked up speed, the dark shape of the wing overhead moved off, and we
were alone.

       *       *       *       *       *

For a moment we swam in circles, getting our bearings. Baker had
removed his glasses for the jump, and so we depended mainly on Martin
for directions. There was really no need for worry, however, for it soon
became apparent that a strong onshore current was bringing us in to the
breakers at a good clip. The line of phosphorescence marking their
crests was now hardly a hundred yards away.

With Martin in the lead we began to swim. Presently one of the swells
picked us up quite gently, moved us forward, and then suddenly exploded
into a foamy torrent which tossed us head over heels and left us gasping
and spitting sand on the beach.

As quickly as possible we got into the shelter of the first ranks of
trees. Here we dug a hole at the base of a great cocoanut palm and
buried the rubber suits and cases of radio gear, along with a small vial
of radium D. This had been provided for us, along with the Geiger
counter, by the thorough Mr. Stimson as a means for locating our cache
when we returned, if we should miss our bearings.

It was 7:45 when this chore was completed. We had an hour and
twenty-three minutes to moonrise.

Turning inland, we walked in silence through the grove for a few hundred
yards, and then came upon a road. This we recognized, from our map
study, as the main coastal highway. We hurried across, rather elated at
the progress we were making and a little surprised at the lack of fences
or other protective devices on the island. Things seemed just too easy.

On the other side of the road we encountered a rice paddy, which made
the going a good deal more difficult. But after about ten minutes of
sloshing through this, we came to a diagonal road, or rather path which
seemed to be going our way. Thanks to this, by 8:45 we felt the ground
rising underfoot and sensed a darker bulk in the shadows ahead, which
could only be Mount Kosan itself. Here we came to our first fence, an
affair of steel posts and barbed wire, which appeared to be a guard
against cattle, but hardly more. After inspecting one of the posts for
signs of electrification, we crawled under the bottom wire and started
up the slope.

"Are you sure we're on the right island?" asked Chamberlin. "From the
security measures I don't think we're going to find anything more secret
than a copra plantation."

Baker shushed him, and whispered back, "We're on the right island, but
that's the only thing that's right. This is simply too easy to be true."

"Well," said Martin, "Stimson could be all wet. Maybe they're just
sculping a king sized Buddha after all."

The slope had now steepened considerably, and further conversation died
out in the effort of climbing. The volcano was heavily forested all the
way up with mahogany and gum trees, and a dense undergrowth of vines and
ferns entangled our feet. Twice we came upon rapidly flowing streams.

We were perhaps two thirds of the way up when the moon appeared. Its
light didn't penetrate very far into the dense foliage, but it did
enable us to make out the top of the mountain, which took the form of a
vine covered outcrop of lava. We altered our course slightly, and at
9:50 P.M. the forest fell away and we faced a rough wall of rock some
two hundred feet in height.

Before tackling this last obstacle, we paused for a rest and some hot
coffee from the thermos which was included in our equipment. Then, at
five minutes past ten, we started the final ascent.

The cliff proved to be more of a climb than we had anticipated, and the
time was close to eleven before we pulled ourselves up over the last
boulder and could look across the crater to the other rim.

The last few feet we negotiated with the greatest caution. Martin, I
think, was first, and he pulled himself on his belly across to the
beginning of the inner slope. He lay quietly for a half minute, then
muttered something under his breath which sounded vaguely like "I'll be
damned", and made way for Baker, who was next. I squeezed in beside him,
and so we got a look into the crater at the same time. Baker, being a
very self-contained man, made no audible comment, but I must have, for
the sight which met our eyes was certainly the last thing I had expected
to see.

The crater of Mount Kosan was filled with steel and concrete structures
of gargantuan size, and of the most amazing shapes I had ever seen. I
say amazing, but I do not mean in the sense of unfamiliar, on the
contrary these incredible objects had the commonest shapes. Had it not
been for trees and normal buildings to give the scene a scale, I would
have sworn that we were looking into a picnic grounds a hundred feet
across instead of a two mile diameter plain ringed by mountains 2,000
feet high. The buildings seen in the aerial photo occupied only a small
part of the crater--all of the other structures must have been concealed
by clouds.

       *       *       *       *       *

Directly below our perch the rim dropped vertically into deep
shadows, as the moonlight reached but half the crater. A thousand yards
west of us, where the light first touched the floor, we could make out
several clumps of brush or small trees, among which was set a
rectangular concrete surface measuring perhaps four hundred feet square,
and resting on hundred foot steel columns. Near this, and partly
supported by the side of the mountain was what appeared to be a great
table, of roughly the same area, but standing on trussed columns the
height of a thirty story building. In front of this was a chair, if by
chair you understand me to mean a boxlike building twenty stories high,
with a braced back rising as far again. A half mile along the rim was an
even larger structure whose dimensions could only be measured in
fractions of miles, which resembled nothing more than a vast shed built
against the cliff.

Next my attention was attracted to a number of objects lying upon the
platform immediately west of us. One of these appeared to be a steel
bowl-like container some thirty feet deep and a hundred in diameter,
like the storage tanks used in oil fields. Nearby was an open tank
measuring perhaps fifty feet in each dimension, and beside this were the
most startling of all--several hundred foot pieces of built-up
structural steel resembling knife, fork and spoon.

In retrospect, the deduction from this evidence was obvious, but as we
stared down at this spectacle, a sort of numbness took hold of our
minds. As a later comparison of impressions verified, none of us came
remotely near guessing the truth in those incredible seconds. For what
seemed like minutes we just stared, and then the spell was broken. Walt
had squeezed in beside me, where he gave vent to a low whistle of
amazement. Baker shushed him, and then shifted to a better position, in
so doing knocking a rock from the ledge. This started a small avalanche
which went clattering down the cliff with a sound, to our hypersensitive
ears, like thunder. We all froze in our places, abruptly aware that the
moon illuminated us like actors in a spotlight. For a good minute we
waited tense, and then gradually relaxed. Baker started to say something
when without warning the ground beneath us shook, starting a score of
rockslides. We recoiled from the edge and braced for a stronger
earthquake shock. Then suddenly Baker uttered a hoarse cry. He was
pointing--pointing down into the blackness at our feet where our eyes
had as yet been unable to penetrate. Something was there, something vast
and dim and shapeless like a half inflated airship. Then a part of it
was detached and came up almost to our level. It moved too rapidly for
any detail to be seen--our only impression was of a vast white column
large as the Washington monument which swung up into the moonlight and
then was withdrawn. At the same time the ground quivered anew, starting
fresh slides.

We blinked stupidly for several seconds, and then became conscious for
the first time of the sound. It was like a vast cavernous wheeze at
first, and then a series of distinct wet thuds followed by a prolonged
gurgling rumble. If these descriptive phrases sound strange and awkward,
let me give assurance that they are as nothing to the eerie quality of
the noises themselves. We lay glued to our rocky perch, hardly daring to
breathe, until the last windy sigh had died away.

Baker found his voice first. "Good God, it's something alive!"

Chamberlin tried to reason. "It can't be--why, it's two hundred feet
high--it's just a gas bag, like Stimson said. It's--"

He stopped. The thing had moved again, more rapidly and with purpose.
The great column rose, then pressed down into the ground and pushed the
main bulk up out of the shadows. There was a moment of confusion while
our senses tried to grasp shape and scale at the same time, and then it
all came into focus as the thing arose into the light. At one instant we
were sane humans, trying to make out a great billowy form wallowing in
the darkness below. In the next instant we were madmen, staring into a
human face a hundred feet wide, that peered back at us from the level of
the cliff top! For a second we were all still--we four, and that titanic
placid oriental face hanging before us in the moonlight. Then the great
eyes blinked sleepily and the thing started to move toward us.

I cannot recall in detail what happened. I remember someone screamed, an
animal cry of pure terror. It may have been me, although Baker claims to
be the guilty one. In any case the four of us arose as one and plunged
headfirst off our rock into the tangle of brush at the top of the cliff.
I think that only the vines saved us from certain death in that first
mad instant. I know that we were wrestling with them for what seemed
like an eternity. They wrapped around my legs, tangled in my arms. They
were like clutching hands, holding me back in a nightmare-like struggle,
while the thing in the crater came closer. Then abruptly I realized that
they _were_ hands, human hands seizing us, pulling us back from the
cliff and then skillfully tieing us up.

It was all over in a moment. The madness was ended. We were once more
rational humans, tied hand and foot, and propped against the rocky ledge
in front of a dozen yellow-robed men. For a time we just breathed
heavily--ourselves and our brown skinned captors alike. Then one of the
latter spoke.

"You can stand now, yes?"

Baker struggled to his feet in reply. The rest of us did likewise, aided
not unkindly, by the yellow-robed men. Baker found his voice.

"Thank you," he said. In the brightening moonlight we looked more
carefully at our captors. They were of small stature, evidently
Japanese, and, by their costume, all priests.

Baker laughed briefly and glanced at the rest of us. "It would appear,"
he said dryly, "that we have been taken."




III


The leader of the priests indicated by a gesture that he wished
us to move along a narrow trail cut in the vines along the rim. I
attempted to get another look at the horror within the crater, but the
ledge of rock down which we had just fallen stood in the way. We were
guided into a pitch black trail which descended steeply into the forest
on the outer slope of Mount Kosan.

I lost track of direction almost at once. The trail zigzagged a couple
of times, and then I sensed that we were in a covered passage. After a
few more steps and a turn, a light appeared ahead, to show we were
walking in a concrete lined tunnel. Our captors had split themselves
into two groups, a half dozen ahead and an equal number behind. Soon
there appeared a metal door in one wall, which proved to be the entrance
to an elevator. We all squeezed in, and were taken down a distance which
surely must have brought us near to the crater floor itself. The door
then opened, and again we were escorted along a concrete passage. There
were many turns. Our captors paused before a narrow door with a tiny
barred window. This was unlocked, we were directed to enter, and the
door clanked shut behind us.

For the first few minutes no one had anything to say. We examined the
interior of our cell, but found nothing more remarkable than concrete, a
small ventilator hole near the ceiling, and a wooden bench along the
wall opposite the door.

Martin found his voice first. "A human being," he said slowly, "as big
as the Woolworth Building!"

Chamberlin, apparently still involved in his last abortive try at reason
said, "But it's impossible. The laws of mechanics--why the biggest
dinosaurs were only eighty feet long, and they had to be supported by
water. It's a mechanical device, I tell you."

"It could have been an illusion," I ventured. "Perhaps an image
projected on a fog bank, or something similar--" Neither Walt nor I were
very convincing--not with the memory of that face fresh in our minds. We
all fell silent again.

Several minutes passed, when abruptly we became conscious of a movement
of the floor, slight but repeated with regularity. A shake, a pause of
six or eight seconds, then another shake. Baker stood on the bench and
put his ear to the ventilator. He heard nothing. The movement came
again. Shake, pause, shake, pause, like some distant and monstrous
machine. I was reminded of the small earthquakes felt in the vicinity of
a heavy drop hammer. Shake, pause, shake, pause, and then a heavier jolt
accompanied by a distinct thud. After that, quiet.

"Obviously," Baker said, "they knew all about us." He was evidently
thinking out loud. "Probably picked us up on the beach, and then just
let us go on, clearing out the guards ahead, and keeping near enough to
see that we didn't use the radio. Why? Maybe to find out how much we
knew about the place already. I daresay they know one thing now: we
never expected to find--what we did. Which brings us to our Buddha. The
big question is, is it mechanical or--alive?" He paused. "I don't
know--none of us can know yet--but, I'm inclined to believe the latter.
Cady, what's your opinion?"

I had forgotten for the moment that I was a zoologist. To tell the
truth, the whole thing had been a little outside of the type of specimen
I was familiar with.

"Its movements were lifelike," I replied. "They suggest muscular action
rather than mechanical drive. But, as Walt says, it's just not possible.
Nature has placed a limit on the size of living creatures. The strength
of bones, the energy requirements, the osmotic pressures needed to move
fluids through tissue. Besides, where could it come from? There have
been giants--eight, ten, maybe up to twelve feet--but this thing is of a
different order of magnitude. It must weigh millions of pounds. As a
zoologist, I can't believe that it's alive."

Martin and Chamberlin had a few more remarks of the same nature, and
then the conversation died away. We waited. Eventually they would
come--the yellow-robed ones. When they did, we might learn more. I had
little doubt as to our ultimate fate, but in the dulled condition of my
senses, I didn't seem particularly to care.

My watch had been smashed in the struggle, so that I had no idea of how
long they kept us in the cell. It could not have been too many hours,
for the elementary needs of nature had only begun to assert themselves
when the sound of a key came from the door. We all stood up. It was our
conductor of last night, the one who spoke pidgin English.

"Good morning, gentlemens," he said with a bow. "You spend nice night,
yes? Get plenty sleep?"

We did not reply. Still smiling politely, he beckoned. "Now please to
come with me. Head Lama talk to you now."

       *       *       *       *       *

Once more we traversed the interminable concrete corridors of that
subterranean city, but this time we came out into a hall illuminated by
natural daylight. The walls here were neatly plastered, and the doors
more ornamental.

"Getting near the high brass," murmured Chamberlin.

The last hall was terminated by a window and balcony, beyond which the
green of a distant hillside could be seen. Before we reached this,
however, our guide stopped at a heavy aluminum door and directed us into
a sort of ante-room, occupied by uniformed guards and a male
receptionist. A few words were exchanged in Japanese, and the guards
quickly and expertly frisked us, although this had already been done
once. This ceremony over, another door was opened and we were admitted
to a large and sunny office, whose big windows gave a panoramic view of
the whole crater.

Our eyes were so dazzled by the sudden burst of light, and our curiosity
was so great to see that fantastic place by daylight, that we did not at
once see the man who sat behind a desk opposite the windows, watching us
with an expression of high amusement. Baker first noticed him.

"Phobat Rau! So you're back of this, after all!"

The other stood up. He was a short man, evidently Burmese, and wore a
tan military uniform. His smile revealed a bonanza of gold teeth, while
his thick lensed spectacles glittered in the brilliant sunshine
streaming in through the windows.

"It is a great pleasure to have you here, Professor Baker, although
there is in the circumstances some cause for regret. But all that in its
time. What do you think of our Buddha?"

As he spoke, Baker was glancing about the room, and I saw that his eye
had alighted upon an instrument just behind Rau's desk. A second look
showed it to be a tape recorder, with the operating lamp on.

"Until we have more data," replied Baker, "our views are still as you
have them recorded."

Phobat Rau laughed delightedly. "You're a good observer, Professor. Yes,
I must confess I was curious about your reactions to our charge. So you
doubt that he is alive?"

Baker nodded. "Under the circumstances last night, there was every
chance for a mistake, or a hoax."

"In that case, perhaps you would like a second look. He's right across
the valley now, having his breakfast."

We hastened to the window. Rau's office, we found, was in a sort of
cliff house perched half way up the northern side of the crater, and
commanded a view of the entire area, now brightly illuminated by the
morning sunlight. We easily identified the enormous furniture of last
night, against the west cliff about a mile away. But we had little
interest in these structures, monstrous as they were. For, sitting
cross-legged on the ground before the low table, was the giant. At that
distance he did not look so huge--in fact, with an effort we could
almost ignore scale and perspective and imagine that he was a normal
human fifty feet distant. He appeared a typical young Japanese, his hair
cut long in the old style, and wearing a sleeveless tunic like the
statues of Buddha. His face was smooth and serene, and he was eating a
white pasty looking substance from his great steel dish, using a big
spoon. Even as we watched, he finished the meal and stood up, causing
the whole building to sway slightly. He glanced about for a moment, his
eye lingering briefly in our direction, and then he walked in a
leisurely way to the lagoon, where he bent over and rinsed out his
utensils. Returning to the table, he placed them carefully in the
position we had noted last night. He then straightened to his full
height, raised his great arms far up into the morning air and began a
series of earth shaking calisthenics. After about ten minutes of this he
walked over to the leanto structure, entered and closed a curtain behind
him.

Rau, who had been watching us with great amusement, offered an
explanation.

"His reading room. Books on his scale would be a bit difficult to make,
so he uses microfilm and a projector. The microfilm," he added, "is on
eight by ten plates, and the screen is two hundred feet square."

We returned to the desk and took the seats Rau indicated.

"So now," said our host, "you would like to hear a word of explanation,
perhaps?"

"Several, if you can spare the time," answered Baker with a dryness
equal to Rau's.

"It all began," began Phobat Rau, "on a beautiful summer's day in 1945,
August 6, I believe, was the exact date. Perhaps you recall what
happened on that day, in the city of Hiroshima. If not, I will refresh
your memories. A bomb was dropped on that day, a new type of bomb. It
caused a great deal of destruction, and killed tens of thousands of
people. Some died at once from the blast and heat, but many more, who
had escaped apparently uninjured, developed serious illness days later
and died. The cause you know, of course. It was called radiation injury,
the internal destruction of cell structure by gamma rays emitted by the
bomb.

"Many strange things happened in that blast. In some, injury was
confined to particular parts of the body, as the hair. Others were made
sterile, in fact, the reproductive function and apparatus seemed
particularly susceptible to the rays. In many cases, the genes--those
vital units within the cell which determine growth and structure and all
physical and mental characteristics--the genes were altered, so that
children grew abnormally, with deformities or mental sickness.

"But these things you well know. Afterwards biologists and physicians
and geneticists came from all parts of the world to study the effects of
the atomic bomb, and the flow of learned papers on this subject is not
ended even now."

       *       *       *       *       *

The speaker paused, as if inviting some comment or question. Seeing that
we intended to remain silent, he resumed.

"There was one case, however, which was not studied by western
scientists. In many respects, it was the most interesting of all, for
the bomb blast and the accompanying deluge of gamma radiation occurred
just at the instant of conception. As usual, damage was sustained by the
genes, but this damage was of a peculiar and highly special sort. The
only gene affected, apparently, was the one controlling growth,
although, as you will see presently, other structural and chemical
changes took place without which the growth could never have occurred.

"The infant involved was a male, named Kazu Takahashi. He was born
prematurely on March 26, 1946, with a weight of fourteen pounds six
ounces. The parents were well to do, and the infant was given the best
of care, first in a private hospital, and later in its own home.

"During the first few days of life, little Kazu was apparently normal,
except for his prematureness and a rather great weight for a seven-month
infant. And then the change began. His nurse first noticed an increasing
appetite. He cried constantly and would be silent only when feeding. He
emptied nursing bottles in a few seconds, after he learned to pull off
the nipple, and was soon consuming a quart of milk every hour. The nurse
humored him, in order to keep him quiet, and presently became afraid to
tell either the parents or the doctor just how much milk her charge was
drinking. As the days passed and no ill effects developed, she became
less worried, although the daily milk ration had to be increased twice,
to 23 quarts a day on the sixth day.

"Kazu doubled his weight in the first eleven days, and at the end of two
weeks tipped the scales at 39 pounds. His pink tender skin was now
rapidly becoming normal in color and texture, and he was behaving more
and more like an ordinary child, although already of startling size. By
the fourth week he was drinking 59 quarts of milk a day and weighed 145
pounds. The parents--by now thoroughly alarmed--called in the doctor,
who at once realized the cause of the abnormality. He could offer no
suggestions, however, save to continue feeding at a rate to keep the
child quiet. This, by the sixth week, soared to the incredible figure
of 130 quarts a day to feed a baby now five feet tall and weighing 290
pounds. At this point the Takahashi family felt that their problem was
getting beyond them, and being Buddhists, they appealed to the local
temple--it was not in Hiroshima, but at a nearby town--for assistance.
The priests took the child in, after a generous contribution had been
made by father Takahashi, and for a time the embarrassing matter seemed
solved. The Takahashis went on a three weeks vacation to the south coast
of Honshu, and all was peaceful, externally at least.

"When the family returned, they found a note under the door urgently
requesting their presence at the temple. When they arrived, they were
met by a highly agitated chief priest. Something had to be done, he
said. Things were getting out of hand. He then took them to the nursery.
Here they beheld a baby that would have been seven feet eight inches
tall if it could stand, and which had weighed in that morning on the
platform scales in the temple kitchen, at 670 pounds. After hearing the
details of the milk bill, father Takahashi wrote out another check and
departed hurriedly.

"After the passage of three more weeks, a delegation from the temple
again waited upon Mr. Takahashi, with the news that his son now measured
9 feet 3 inches in length, weighed 1175 pounds, and consumed the entire
output of a local dairy. They politely requested that he take care of
his own infant. Mr. Takahashi as politely refused, and at this point
bowed out of our story completely."

Phobat Rau hesitated again and inquired if his statistics were boring
us. Baker glanced out of the window and replied that while he ordinarily
did not have much appreciation of figures of this kind, under the
circumstances they had a certain interest. Rau smiled briefly and
continued.

"The summer of 1946 was one of increasing difficulty for the temple. By
the beginning of July Kazu weighed 1600 pounds and cried with a voice
like a wounded bull. A number of trustworthy medical men examined him,
and concurred that his only abnormality was size. In bodily proportions
he was quite ordinary, and, for a 3-1/2 month baby, his mental
development was, if anything, a bit ahead of normal. The priests took in
their belts, appointed eight of the strongest as nursemaids, and
wondered where it would all end.

"It was at this point that a member of the Buddhist priesthood from
Burma happened to pass through the neighborhood and heard of the infant.
After being sworn to secrecy; even from other members of his order, he
was allowed to view little Kazu. Now this priest, whose name I might as
well admit was Phobat Rau, had perhaps a bit more imagination than some
others, and when he looked upon the little monster, he was struck by an
idea which was to grow like Kazu himself."

"The Living Buddha," murmured Baker, "Ye Gods, what a symbol."

Rau nodded like a schoolteacher. "A symbol, and more. A machine to
rebuild the world, or conquer it!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Baker chose to ignore this leading remark. He wanted more of the story.

"So you took him over?"

"Well, it was not so easy as that. You see, I was only a young priest
then, and had no resources to undertake such a project. But the more I
thought of the possibilities, the more sure I was. But first I had to
convince others, and time was short. The priests were near to their
limit, and were about to appeal to the Americans. I secured their
promise to wait until I could return to Burma, and then I flew to
Bangkok, to Rangoon, to every center of Buddhism where I was known. It
was a sales trip, you might say, and for a time I thought that I had
failed. But there were also forces working for me. The world was
uncertain. The communists were at the start of their triumphal sweep
over Asia, and the leaders of our faith foresaw what lay ahead. On the
first of August, 1946, a delegation of priests from eight Buddhist
countries journeyed to Japan to view Kazu, who was now a lusty 4-1/2
months old, 12-1/2 feet long and of 2914 pounds weight. He was in fine
health, and when he slept the resemblance to the infant Buddha was
startling. You gentlemen are worldly men, and I pride myself upon
freedom from the more naive illusions of my faith, but perhaps you can
try to imagine that our feelings were not entirely those of ambitious
schemers--that perhaps within us was some higher motive for the step we
took. Our poor suffering Asia was in deeper misery than ever before, for
atop her own famine and war had come also the troubles of the west.
Under the Red flag millions of our deluded countrymen were taking arms
against their brothers. Confused by a glib ideology, they were daily
turning more from the religion of their fathers. Although we did not
speak it, we all felt inwardly that perhaps there was a purpose in this
great infant--that, though we made promises with tongue in cheek,
perhaps a miracle would occur to fulfill them.

"And so we arranged to transport Kazu Takahashi from Japan to a safe
location where he might grow to manhood, where he might be suitably
educated to take the place that we would prepare for him. The details of
this move were not difficult to arrange. A special traveling crib 20
feet long was built, and in this by truck, lighter and motor junk he was
carried by easy stages to this island. Here we established a great
monastery, surrounded by rice and fruit plantations. Here we brought
physicians and scholars to care for him and plan his education, and we
built a nursery to accommodate his increasing bulk.

"We did not know, of course, what his final size would be. We kept
careful records of his growth, but even after the first year he was not
more than ten times the normal height. But year by year we had to
revise our estimates, for his growth soon accelerated beyond our wildest
expectations. For a time indeed we feared that it would never stop and
that he would die of starvation when the world could no longer feed him.
For a time also we were sure that he would never be able to stand,
through the action of simple mechanical laws relating to weight and the
size of bones, but apparently nature has provided a marvelous
compensation, for his bones, as revealed by X-rays, are of a density and
strength equal to that of steel.

"His feeding was always a problem, although fortunately its increase was
not beyond our ability to organize and plan. At first we supplied him
from plantations on Yat and on neighboring islands. Then we were forced
to organize Neo-Buddhism as an implement to solicit contributions of
food and money. Perforce we took many into partial confidence, but the
complete story was known only to those on Yat.

"On his first birthday Kazu was 29-1/2 feet long and weighed 30,100
pounds. By his second birthday he could walk, and now surpassed all land
animals save the monsters of the Jurassic age, with a height to 51 feet
and a weight of 158,000 pounds. During 1949, while the communists were
overrunning China, our Buddha grew from 70 to 82 feet. In June of 1950,
while the world watched the flames of war kindle in Korea, we saw him
exceed the capacity of our million pound scale. In the year of 1950 also
we built his first schoolroom and developed the system of projected
pictures and letters used in his education.

"In 1951, Buddha's increasing appetite combined with the inroads made by
the communists upon our territory brought a crisis. He was now 200 feet
tall, weighed seven million pounds and ate as much as 75,000 men. In
spite of all our efforts, his food supply was dwindling and, worse, the
communists were becoming suspicious. And so we were forced to a
decision. We had to appeal to the western world. But to whom? To
America, or to Russia? You all know the situation in 1952, the time of
the false peace. We turned to Russia. They sent a commission to
investigate, and then acted with dispatch. Russia would feed our Buddha,
but on a condition: Neo-Buddhism must sponsor communism.

"We had no choice. Now that the secret was out, Russia had Yat at its
mercy. So we agreed, but with one reservation. We alone should direct
the education of Kazu. To this Russia agreed. Perhaps they considered
that it was unimportant. Perhaps they thought that Kazu was an idiot,
useful only as a symbol. But they agreed, and so his education continued
in the tradition of Buddhist scholarship. He is well read, gentlemen. He
knows the classics of China, and of India, and of the west also. I
myself taught him English. At the request of our sponsors, he has
studied Russian. He is still young, but he has an inquiring mind. When
he takes his true place in the world, he may not always be the tool of
the Kremlin. But of these things even I am not given to know."

Rau paused, and indicated the window. Buddha was emerging from his
leanto.

"Look well, gentlemen. There stands the hope of Asia. There is the
Living Buddha himself. He is only 19 years of age, but he stands 590
feet high, and weighs 198,000,000 pounds. At first he will be but a
symbol, but soon he will be much more. The time of compromise, I promise
you, will not last forever."

Rau stopped. We waited for him to resume, but instead, he pressed a
button on his desk. Immediately several members of the guard entered.
Rau now addressed us in a new voice.

"Gentlemen, you probably wonder why I have spoken so frankly of all of
this. To be candid, to a certain extent I wonder also. Perhaps it is to
get it off my chest, as you say. Perhaps it is just pride in what I have
done. But whatever the reason, the consequences for you are regrettable.
Your spying trip to Yat alone is sufficient for death; what I have told
you makes your return a complete impossibility. I am sorry, particularly
for you, Baker. We shall do it as humanely as possible. Good day."

The guards, as upon a signal, closed in on us. For a second I thought
insanely of flight, or a plunge through the great windows to certain
death on the crags below. But there was no chance. Before any thought
could be translated into action we were back in the corridor, escorted
by an augmented guard of priests, on our way back to our cell, and
death. A death that would be--as "humane as possible".




IV


It was not until some minutes after the steel door had clicked shut that
the full realization of our predicament came to us. Rau's story had been
so fascinating, and his manner so rational and civilized that we all had
forgotten that he was of a race and ideology opposed to all that we
stood for, and that we were spies caught red-handed in the innermost
shrine of Neo-Buddhism. Even after twenty years of cold war, all of our
civilized instincts rose against the idea that a suave brilliant
intellectual like Phobat Rau could so cold bloodedly order our deaths.

But the awakening was at hand. If we doubted Rau's intentions, one look
at the cold Mongol faces of the guards was enough to dispel any hope.
Baker tried to sum it up.

"No use trying to argue with him. Fact is, we won't even see Rau again.
We could, of course, simply call it quits and wait for them, but I'd
rather fight it out. Anyone have an idea?"

Martin hopped up on the bench and studied the ventilator. He reached one
arm in as far as possible, and reported that there was a bend about a
foot in. While he was doing this, Chamberlin made a minute investigation
of the door, but found that neither hinges nor lock were accessible.
There were no other openings into the chamber save the electric conduit
which presumably entered above the electric fixture in the ceiling.
Finally Baker spoke.

"Nothing we can do until they come for us. We'd better plan towards
that, unless they're going to gas us through the ventilator."

This unpleasant thought had not occurred to the rest of us before.
Martin returned to the opening and sniffed, and then with happy
inspiration, he rolled up his jacket and stuffed it in. Baker nodded
approval.

So the time passed. We listened at the door for footsteps but none came.
Presently we became aware of a now familiar sensation. The floor
commenced to shake gently and regularly. We counted the steps. There
were twelve, and then they stopped. Chamberlin calculated mentally.

"Say, about 250 feet per step. That would be three thousand feet--six
tenths of a mile. Wonder where--"

Martin, still near the ventilator, shushed him, and pulled the coat out.
Through the small hole we heard a deep sound, a sort of low pitched
irregular rumble. Baker suddenly jumped up and listened at the opening.
After a bit the sound stopped. Baker became excited.

"It was a voice," he explained. "I think it was _his_ voice. It was
speaking Japanese. I couldn't catch many words, but I think he was
talking about us."

Now the rumble came again, and louder. A few words, a pause, and then
more words, as though he was in conversation with someone whom we could
not hear. Baker listened intently, but he could catch only fragments,
owing to his small knowledge of Japanese and the extremely low pitched
articulation of the giant. Presently the voice rose to a volume which
literally made the mountain tremble, and then it stopped.

Baker shook his head. "Couldn't make it out. I think he was inquiring
where we were, but it was too idiomatic. I think he became excited or
angry at the last."

"Fee, fi, fo, fum," said Chamberlin. "Now wouldn't _that_ be an
interesting end?"

Martin laughed. "We wouldn't even be enough to taste."

As no one else seemed anxious to pursue this subject further, we
subsided into a sort of lethargy. Even plans for what we should do when
the guards came were forgotten. And then, suddenly, the door was opened.

We all sprang to our feet. A priest--in fact, the same one who had
brought us here originally--came in. A squad of guards stood outside.

"Good afternoon, how are you? Chief Priest ask me to tell you, Buddha
wish to see you. Please you come with me." He politely indicated the
door.

With a shrug Baker complied, and the rest of us followed. Down the hall
we marched again, through all of the turns of the morning and so at last
into the corridor which ended in a window. This time we passed the
aluminum door and continued right to the end. The window, we now saw,
was really a French door which opened to a small balcony. Our guide
opened the door and pushed us out. The balcony, we found, was about four
hundred feet above the valley floor, but we did not spend much time
enjoying the view.

Scarcely fifty feet in front of us stood the Living Buddha!

For a full minute we stared at each other, and then I began to realize
that he was embarrassed! A wrinkle appeared between his eyes and he
swallowed a couple of times. Then he spoke.

"Good afternoon, Professor Baker and party. I am happy to meet you."

The voice, and particularly the language, so startled us that for a
moment nobody could think of a reply. The voice was a deep pulsing
rumble, like the tone of the biggest pipes of an organ, and filled with
a variety of glottal wheezings and windy overtones. I think it was
through these additional sounds rather than the actual tones that we
could understand him at all, for the fundamentals were surely below the
ordinary limits of human audibility. What we heard and could translate
into articulate words was hardly more than a cavernous whisper. The
important thing was that we could understand him, and, more than that,
that he was friendly. Baker made reply at last.

"Good afternoon. We also are happy, and most honored. How should we
address you?"

"My name is Kazu Takahashi, but I am told that I am also Buddha. This I
would like to discuss with you, if you have time."

"We have time for nothing else," said Baker.

Buddha's eyebrows raised slightly. "So I was right. They are going to
kill you."

Baker glanced at us meaningfully. This giant was no fool. Suddenly there
came over me a little thrill of hope. Maybe--but he was speaking again.

"I have not before had opportunity to talk to men from west. Only from
China, Japan, Soviet State. You will tell me of rest of world?"

"With pleasure," said Baker.

I became conscious that the door behind us was opening. I glanced back,
and saw Phobat Rau, surrounded by guards and priests. He gestured to us
to come in. Baker turned, while Buddha bent his head closer to see also.

Rau came to the door. "Come back," he called urgently. "You are in grave
danger. You must come in."

       *       *       *       *       *

Quite definitely I had no desire to go in. Neither did Baker, for he
shook his head and moved away from the door. Rau's face was suddenly
enraged. He made a quick motion to the guards, and then held them back.
With an evident effort he calmed himself and called again, softly.

"Please come in. I was hasty this morning. I am sorry. I think now I see
a way for you to return safely, if you will come in."

For reply, Baker turned to the giant. He climbed upon the rail of the
balcony.

"Take us away from here, if you wish to hear what we have to say. Take
us, or they will kill us!"

In answer, Buddha extended one hand, palm up, so that it was level with
the balcony. For an instant I hesitated at the sight of that irregular
rough surface, big as a city block, and then I heard steps behind us and
a click. With one accord we leaped over the parapet just as a scattered
volley of pistol shots rang out. We tumbled head over heels down a rough
leathery slope into a hollow, and then the platform lifted like a roller
coaster. In a second the balcony, the whole hillside vanished and we
went rocketing up into the blue sky. A gale of wind blew past, almost
carrying us with it, and then a portion of the surface rose and became
thirty foot tree trunks which curled incredibly over and around us,
forming a small cavern which shut out the wind and held us securely
against falling.

Buddha had closed his fist.

For a breathless fifteen seconds we were carried in darkness, and then
the great hand unfolded. It was lying flat on an immense smooth area of
concrete, which we presently identified as the higher of the two tables.
We got to our feet and staggered to the edge of the palm. Here we met
another problem, in the form of a rounded ten foot drop-off to the
concrete table. As we stood looking down in dismay, the other vast hand
came up from below, carrying a heavy sheet of metal. This was carefully
placed with one edge on the hand and the other on the table, forming a
ramp. Holding onto each other for mutual support, we made our way to the
table and there literally collapsed. Chamberlin became violently sick,
and none of the rest of us felt much better. The giant carefully
withdrew both hands and watched us from a distance of a hundred yards,
with only the head and upper part of his body visible.

From our position on the concrete platform I now looked closely at Kazu
for the first time. My first impression was not so much one of size, as
of an incredible richness of detail. It was like examining a normal
human through a powerful microscope, except here the whole was visible
at once. Even at a distance of two hundred feet, the hair, the
eyelashes, the pores of the skin showed up with a texture and form which
I had never noted before, even in my studies as a biologist. The general
effect was most confusing, for I would lose and regain the sense of
scale, first thinking of him as an ordinary man, and then realizing the
proportion. The nearest comparison that I can think of is the sensation
when standing very close to a large motion picture screen, but here the
image is blurry whereas I saw with a clarity and sharpness that was
simply unbelievable.

Buddha seemed to realize our condition, for he smiled sympathetically,
and waited until poor Walt had recovered somewhat from his nausea.
Baker, as spokesman, renewed the conversation. Walking a few steps
toward the front of the enormous desk, he spoke in a loud clear voice.

"You have saved our lives. We thank you."

The great head nodded benignly, and after a thoughtful pause, that
strange voice began.

"My teachers have brought others before me to lecture, but always I know
that they speak only as they are told to speak. You are different. I am
glad that I saw you last night, or I would never know that you had
come."

He paused, evidently gathering his thoughts for the next foray into an
unfamiliar language. Then he leaned closer.

"Phobat Rau has spoken to you of my birth and life here?"

Baker nodded, and then, realizing that Kazu could not see such a
microscopic movement, he replied orally.

"He has told us your story in detail. It is a marvel which we can yet
scarcely believe. But the greatest marvel of all is that you speak our
language, and comprehend so quickly."

Kazu thought of this for a moment.

"Yes, my teachers have done well, I think. I have studied the writings
of many great men, but there is yet much that I do not understand. I
think it is important that I understand, because I am so strong. I do
not wish to use this strength for evil, and I am not sure that those
whom my teachers serve are good. I have studied the words of the great
Buddha, but now my teachers say that I am to appear as if I were Buddha.
But that is an untruth, and untruth is evil. So now I hope that you will
tell me the whole truth."

Kazu stepped back a quarter of a mile, and then reappeared, dragging his
four hundred foot chair. Sitting on this, he crouched forward until his
face was hardly a hundred feet before us, and his warm humid breath
swept over us like wind from some exotic jungle. Baker took a moment to
marshal his thoughts, and then came forward, threw out his chest and
began speaking as though addressing an outdoor political meeting.

How long Baker spoke I do not know. He began by outlining history,
contrasting the ideals of Buddha and other great religious leaders with
the dark record of human oppression and cruelty. Kazu's vast face proved
most expressive of his feelings as he listened intently. When Baker came
to the subject of communism, he leaned over so far backward in his
effort to be fair that I feared that he was overdoing it, and would
convince the giant in the wrong direction.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Baker was only part-way through his lecture, he remarked that some
point in geography could be better explained by a drawing, but that
obviously he could not make one large enough for Kazu to see. At this
the giant laughed and pointed to his big leanto.

"Come," he said, "you shall draw on a piece of glass and the light will
make it great that I may see."

We were thereupon transferred the mile distance to the building by a
reversal of our previous route: up the ramp to Kazu's ample palm, a
series of breathtaking swoops through space, and we were in the vast
interior of the leanto.

The furnishings of this study room consisted of a chair, a sloping
writing desk and a screen fully two hundred feet square on the wall
opposite the chair. Beside the chair was a sort of bracket on the wall
which supported the projection room. Kazu placed his hand level with an
elevated balcony leading to this and we scrambled off. With Baker in the
lead, we opened the door and entered the projection room. It was larger
than we had estimated from outside, when we had the immense furniture
for comparison. The dimensions were perhaps forty feet on the side, and
most of the interior was taken up by shelves on which were stored
thousands of films of book pages, maps, photographs and diagrams of all
kinds. In the side facing the screen were a number of ports and a
battery of movie and still projectors. One of the latter was, we saw,
adapted for writing or drawing on the glass slide while it was being
projected. We studied this for a moment, located the special marking
pencil, and then I called out of the door that we were ready.

"Look also," replied Kazu, "you will find device which magnify voice. My
teachers use this always."

A further search disclosed a microphone and the switch for a public
address amplifier. Baker settled down to his now illustrated lecture.

After he had talked himself hoarse, Baker asked each of the rest of us
to speak briefly on our own specialties. I was the last, and I was
practically through when I became aware that we were not alone in the
room. I gave Martin a nudge, and turned from the microphone to face
eight of the uniformed guards, led by our friendly yellow-robed priest.
Only now he wasn't friendly, and he carried a heavy automatic which was
carefully aimed right at us.

"Very clever, gentlemen," he said. "You took good advantage of your
chance with our simple giant, did you not? Tried your best to ruin the
whole work of Pan-Asia just to save your miserable skins. Well, you
shall not--"

He was interrupted by the thunder of Kazu's voice.

"Please continue, Mr. Cady. I find it most interesting. Why do you
stop?"

I took a step toward the microphone, but a menacing gesture with the gun
stopped me. I looked from yellow-robe to Baker. After a moment's
hesitation, the latter spoke.

"I'm afraid, my friend, that you have misjudged the situation. I admit
that we jumped into Buddha's hand to escape from Phobat Rau, but if you
are familiar with the expression, our leap was from the frying pan into
the fire. Your giant is holding us prisoner, and even now forces us to
tell him things on pain of death."

The priest looked astonished, and the gun barrel dropped slightly.

"No one," continued Baker in a sincere tone, "could have been more
welcome than you. But"--his voice dropped and he took a step toward the
other--"we must be careful. If he should even suspect that you are here
to rescue us, he would crush this room like an egg!"

The priest, now thoroughly alarmed, glanced about nervously, his
automatic pointing at the floor. The guards, who knew no English, looked
at each other in surprise.

Baker took quick advantage of the confusion.

"We must not allow him to become suspicious. I will continue talking
over the microphone while your guards take my friends to safety."

With this he stepped to the microphone and projector. The priest seemed
for an instant about to stop him, and then he turned to the guards and
gave a series of rapid orders. They advanced and surrounded Martin, Walt
and me, and indicated by gesture that we were to go with them to the
walk-way which led to the wall of the great room. In panic I looked at
Baker, but he was bent over the glass plate of the projector, drawing
something and speaking in his precise clipped voice.

"I shall now show you a map of the United States and indicate the
principal cities. First, on the Atlantic coast we have New York...."

We were out of the room and on the gallery. For a moment I thought that
Kazu might see us, and then I realized that the whole place was dark and
that he was concentrating on Baker's silly map. Briefly I wondered what
Baker was up to anyway, but this sudden terrible turn of events made any
kind of calm reasoning very difficult.

Outside the projection room, Baker's voice came booming over the
loudspeakers.

"Chicago is located at the southern end of Lake Michigan, just west of
Detroit, while St. Louis--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Suddenly the room lights came on, and the whole structure of the bridge
shook as from an earthquake. The guards ahead abruptly turned and
scrambled back, knocking us over in their haste. I grabbed the handrail
for support, and then became aware of a vast blurry shape looming above
and of a hand as large as a building that reached down toward the
guards, now halfway back to the projection room. In a sort of hypnotic
horror I watched the thumb and forefinger snap them and a thirty foot
section of railing off into space. Then, very gently the hand plucked
the roof from the projection room, exposing Baker and the priest.
Yellow-robe dropped his gun and ran towards a corner, but Baker neatly
tripped him and then stepped back for Kazu to finish the job.

A moment later Baker came out onto the bridge. Martin tried to frame a
question.

"What--how did he--?"

Baker grinned and pointed silently at the screen. We looked and
understood. Where a map of the United States should have been was a
scrawled message in English: "Priests here taking us captive."

We returned to our lecturing, but after what had happened neither we
nor Kazu felt much like concentrating on geographical or other general
facts. We all knew that Rau had not given up. For the moment we were
protected by Kazu's immense power, but there were some doubts in our
minds as to how long this might last. After all, Rau was his lifelong
mentor and protector. For the moment the young giant seemed to have
taken a liking to us, but perhaps it was only a passing whim. Presently
Rau would assert his authority and Kazu, his curiosity satisfied, would
hand us over--in exchange, perhaps, for supper.

After about fifteen minutes more of lecturing, Kazu interrupted.

"Soon will be sunset. Suggest we return to privacy of high table to
discuss next move."

The transfer took less than a minute. The afternoon, we saw, was indeed
far gone. None of us had realized how long we had been in the projection
room. Once we were safely back on the table, Kazu addressed us, using
his softest voice, which was a hurricane-like whisper.

"Phobat Rau plans for me to go soon to head armies of Asia in fight
against west. My study of history has raised doubts of rightness of such
war, and what you say strengthen these. Now I must see for myself,
without guidance or interference from Rau. But I need assistance, to
direct me how I shall go. I believe you will be fair. Will you help me?"

For a moment the incongruity of that last question prevented our
grasping the full implication of Kazu's statement. Then Baker, evidently
realizing that this was no time for philosophic quibbling, signified our
assent. Kazu proceeded at once to practical plans.

"Tonight I sleep in usual place, where you disturbed me with small rock
slide. But you must stay awake by turns to guard against capture. In
morning you direct my steps away from Yat to mainland of Asia, where--"

He stopped. Seeing the direction he was looking, we hastened to the edge
of the table. Far below, on the ground, was a railroad train surrounded
by a small crowd of priests. For a moment we were puzzled, and then we
saw that the train was made up entirely of gondola cars such as are used
to carry coal and other bulk cargo. But these cars, a dozen in number,
contained a white substance which steamed. We did not require more than
one guess. The train brought Kazu's supper.

The giant made a slight bow of thanks to the delegation at his feet, and
proceeded carefully to empty the cars into his dish. Then, instead of
squatting at his low eating table, he brought the dish and other
utensils up to our level and dumped a ton or so of steaming rice at our
feet. Evidently he wished us to share his supper. We had no tools other
than our hands, but since we had not eaten in almost twenty-four hours,
we did not stop for the conventions. Scooping up double handfuls of the
unseasoned stuff, we fell to even before Kazu had gotten his ponderous
spoon into position. Suddenly, Baker yelled at us.

"Hold it!" He turned to Kazu who had a spoonful poised halfway to his
mouth. "Kazu, don't eat. This rice is doped!"

I took a mouthful of the rice. There was not much flavor--only a little
salt which I guessed came from seawater. I explored the stuff with my
tongue, and presently noticed a familiar taste. It took me a moment to
place it. Yes, that was it. Barbiturate. The stuff in sleeping pills.

Kazu bent his great face over us. Baker briefly explained. Kazu appeared
at first puzzled. He dropped the spoon into the dish and pushed it away
from him. His brow wrinkled, and he glanced down at the ground. Walking
to the edge, we saw that the group of priests were standing quietly
around the engine, as though waiting for something. What they were
waiting for evidently struck Kazu and us at the same time. Kazu leaned
toward them and spoke in Japanese. His voice was angry. Baker tried to
translate.

"He says, 'how dare you poison Buddha'--Look, they're running off--"

The next second things happened too rapidly for translation or even
immediate interpretation. Kazu spoke again, his voice rising to an earth
shaking roar at the end. The little men below were scattering in all
directions, and the train started to back off down its track. Suddenly
Kazu turned and picked up his hundred foot steel dish. He swept it
across the table and then down in a long curving arc. There was an earth
shaking thud and where the running figures and the train had been was
now only the upturned bottom of the immense dish. Priests and cars alike
were entombed in a thousand tons of hot rice!

Kazu now turned to us. "Come," he said, "Yat is not safe, even for
Buddha. Now we must leave here at once."

He extended his hand towards us, and then, with another thought, turned
and strode to the leanto. In a moment he returned carrying the
projection room, with a tail of structural steel and electric cables
hanging below. This he placed on the table and indicated that we were to
enter. As soon as we were inside, Kazu clapped on the roof and picked up
the stout steel box. We clung to the frame supporting the projectors,
while a mass of slides, film cans and other debris battered us with
every swooping motion. We could not see what was going on outside, but
the giant seemed to be picking up a number of things from the ground and
from inside the leanto. Then he commenced a regular stride across the
crater floor. Now at last we got to a window, just in time to glimpse
the nearby cliff. On the rim, some hundreds of feet above I saw a group
of uniformed men clustered about some device. Then we were closer and I
saw that it was an antiaircraft gun, which they were trying to direct
at us. I think Kazu must have seen it at the same moment, for abruptly
he scrambled up the steep hillside and pulverized gun, crew and the
whole crater rim with one tremendous blow of his fist.

I got a brief aerial view of the whole island as Kazu balanced
momentarily on the rim, and then we were all thrown to the floor as he
stumbled and slid down the hillside to the level country outside of the
crater.




V


Up until this moment we had been engaged in an essentially personal
enterprise, even though its object was to secure information vital to
the United Nations. From this time on, however, the personal element was
to become almost completely subordinate to the vast problems of humanity
itself, for, as we were to soon find, we had tied ourselves to a symbol
that was determined to live up to all that was claimed or expected of
him, and further, who depended upon our advice. The situation for us was
made much worse because at first we doubted both his sincerity and good
sense--in fact, it was not until after the Wagnerian climax of the whole
thing that we at last realized, along with the rest of the world,
exactly what Kazu Takahashi believed in.

Kazu crossed the flat eastern half of Yat in less than a minute,
evidently wishing to get out of range of Rau's artillery as quickly as
possible. His feet tore through the groves as a normal man's might
through a field of clover; indeed, he experienced more trouble from the
softness of the ground than from any vegetation. As we were soon to
learn, one of the disadvantages of Kazu's size lay in the mechanical
properties of the world as experienced by him. Kazu stood almost 600
feet high, or roughly 100 times the linear dimensions of a normal man.
From the simple laws of geometry, this increased his weight by 100^3 or
1 million times. But the area of his body, including the soles of his
feet which had to support this gigantic load, had increased by but
100^2, or ten thousand times. The ground pressure under his feet was
thus 100 times greater, for each square inch, than for a normal man. The
result was that Kazu sank into the ground at each step until he reached
bedrock, or soil strong enough to carry the load.

At the beach he hesitated briefly, as though getting his bearings, and
then waded into the ocean. The surf which had used us so violently was
to him only a half inch ripple. He strode through the shallows and past
the reef in a matter of seconds, and then plunged into deeper water.
From our dizzy perch, now carried at hip height, we watched the great
feet drive down into the sea, leaving green walls of solid water about
them.

Although we did not realize it at the time, we later learned that Kazu's
wading forays were attended by tidal waves which inundated islands up to
a hundred miles away. This trip across a twenty mile strait swamped a
dozen native fishing craft, flooded out four villages and killed some
hundreds of people.

We fared better than some of these innocent bystanders, for Kazu
carefully held our steel box above the sea, and presently lurched
through shallow water to the dry land.

The new island was larger than Yat, and entirely given over to rice
growing for Kazu's food supply. He threaded his way easily among the
paddies, up through some low hills, and then down a narrow gorge into
the sea again.

Ahead lay a much more extensive body of water. The sun was now hardly
fifteen degrees above the horizon, and its glare plus a bank of clouds
made it difficult to see the distant land. Kazu raised our room to the
level of his face.

"Is that Island of Celebes?"

Baker started to pick up the microphone, and then abruptly realizing
that it was dead, he shouted back from the projection port.

"I think it is. Let me look for a chart."

Kazu waited patiently while we searched, placing the room on a hilltop
to give us a steadier platform. We all began a mad scramble in the mass
of debris. Kazu removed the roof to give more light, but it soon became
clear that there wasn't much hope. All that we could find were thousands
of slides of the Chinese classics. At last we gave up. When we told Kazu
this, he looked across the water and wrinkled his brow. We could sense
the reason for his anxiety, for the distant shore could hardly be less
than seventy miles away. Mentally I reduced this to terms I could
understand. Seven tenths of a mile, of which an unknown percentage might
be swimming.

Kazu's voice rumbled down to us, "I would prefer to wade. I cannot swim
well." He peered down into our roofless box anxiously.

"If we only had one chart," began Baker, when Walt, who had been
rummaging near the projector window, called to us.

"Take a look over there, just around the point."

We saw the prow of a ship. There was a moment of terror lest it be an
Indonesian coast patrol, and then we saw that it was just a small island
steamer of a thousand tons or so, chugging along less than two miles
offshore.

       *       *       *       *       *

I think that the idea hit us all at the same instant. Baker, as
spokesman, called to Kazu. The giant, for the first time, grinned at us.
Then he picked up our box and waded into the ocean.

I don't think the people in the little ship even saw us until we were
practically upon them, because of the mist and sunset glare. What they
thought I can only imagine, for the water was little more than knee deep
and Kazu towered fully four hundred feet above it. Then a hand as big as
the foredeck reached down and gently stopped them by the simple
expedient of forming a V between thumb and fingers into which the prow
pushed. I heard the sound of bells and saw tiny figures scurrying about
on the deck. On the opposite side a number of white specks appeared in
the water as crewmen dove overboard. Our box was now lowered until its
door was next to the bridge. We leaped aboard, under cover of a great
hand which obligingly plucked away the near wall of the pilot house. We
entered the house just as the captain beat a precipitate retreat out
the other side, and after a moment in the chartroom we found what we
wanted. While Martin stood watch at the far door, we took advantage of
the electric lights to examine the chart of the east coast of Celebes.
That island, we found, was only sixty miles away and the deepest
sounding was less than six hundred feet. Kazu could wade the whole
distance.

       *       *       *       *       *

The nautical charts did not show much detail for the interior of
Celebes, but from our elevation we could see enough of the terrain to
guide Kazu quite well. The course which Baker plotted took us across the
northern part of the big island, and far enough inland to avoid easy
detection from the sea. As the day progressed, the sky gradually filled
with clouds, promising more rain, so that I doubt if many people saw us.
Those who did, I suspect, were more interested in taking cover than in
interfering with Kazu's progress.

The journey across Celebes took only a couple of hours, and so, by noon,
we stood on the shore of the strait of Macassar, looking across
seventy-five miles of blue water to the mountains of Borneo.

It was not until now that Baker explained what he had in mind in
choosing this particular route.

"We're going to Singapore," he said. "Get under the protection of the
Royal Navy and Air Force before the commies spot us and start dropping
bombs and rockets. If Buddha wants to see the world, he'd better start
by getting a good bodyguard."

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.

For the most part the civil government of Hankow joined with General Soo
in a loudly declared conversion to Buddhism without communist trappings.
In spite of Baker's skepticism, I believed that most of them were quite
sincere. At least, they sincerely wanted to be on the side with the most
power, and for the time being at least, Kazu seemed an easy winner.
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 assembled 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 assembling 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 latitude 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 assault. 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 hell 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 glasses 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 altitude.
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 massacred 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 altitude 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 passed 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.

"Twelve hundred miles, more or less," said Baker. "You can make it by
nine, maybe ten, tonight."

Kazu shook his head.

"No. Tonight I must rest, gather strength. We start two AM, arrive
Kremlin at sunrise. We catch them same time they catch me. No warning
whatever."

Kazu lay down on the swampy lake bottom while we huddled on the floor of
the box, courting sleep which never came.

At one o'clock we at last gave it up, and Baker fired his pistol until
Kazu stirred. While he was awakening we listened to the radio. Things
had calmed down quite a bit, and as we pieced the various broadcasts
together, an amazing realization came over us. Everyone believed that
Kazu was dead! Evidently no word of our trip across all of central Asia
had been received! Search planes, both Soviet and Chinese, were combing
the eastern Gobi for the body.

       *       *       *       *       *

Other news included a war declaration by China upon the Soviet
Union, and the announcement that the Russian Politbureau had scheduled a
meeting in the Kremlin to consider the emergency.

We passed all of this on to Kazu, whose grim face relaxed for the first
time in a fleeting grin.

"Good reporters. Know what are most savory items. Now guide me well, and
away from towns until we reach it."

The trip across the Urals and the plains of European Russia retains a
nightmare quality in my mind, comparable only with that first night on
Yat. Even Baker, who plotted the course, can remember it little better.
Now and again we caught glimpses of the dim lights in farms, and once we
saw the old moon reflected in the Volga. Much of the low country was
covered with ground fog, which reached to Kazu's waist; this, combined
with the blackout which had been ordered in every town, made observation
by us or the Russians either way difficult. A few people saw Kazu, and
their reports reflect a surrealist madness; those who had the horrifying
experience of suddenly meeting Buddha in the early morning mists were
universally incapable of making any coherent report to the authorities.

And then, just as the ghostly false dawn turned the night into a misty
gray, we saw ahead the towers of Moscow. Now Kazu increased his speed.
Concealment was no longer possible; he must reach the Kremlin ahead of
the warning.

At 500 miles per hour Buddha descended upon Moscow. His plunging feet
reduced block after block of stores and apartment houses to dust, and
the sky behind us was lighted more brightly by the fires he started than
by the dull red of the still unrisen sun. Now at last I heard the tardy
wail of a siren and saw armored cars darting through the streets. On the
roof of an apartment house I glimpsed a crew trying to unlimber an
antiaircraft gun, but Kazu saw it also, and smashed the building to
rubble with a passing kick.

And then we were at the Red Square. St. Basil's at one end, the fifty
foot stone walls of the Kremlin along one side and Lenin's Tomb like a
pile of red children's blocks. Kazu stood for a moment surveying this
famous scene, his feet sunk to the ankle in a collapsed subway. It was
my first view of the Red Square, and somehow I knew that it would be the
last, for anyone. Then Kazu slowly walked to the Kremlin and looked down
into it. I remember how suddenly absurd it all seemed. The Kremlin
walls, the very symbol of the iron curtain, were scarcely six inches
high! The whole thing was only a child's playpen.

But now Kazu had found what he wanted. Without bothering to lift his
feet, he crushed through the walls, reached down and pulled the roof
from one of the buildings. He uncovered a brightly lighted ant-hill.
Like a dollhouse exposed, he revealed rooms and corridors along which
men were running. Kazu dropped to his knees and held our box up so that
we might also see.

"Are these the men?" he asked. Baker replied in the negative.

Kazu abruptly pressed his hand into the building, crushing masonry and
timbers and humans all into a heap of dust, and turned to a larger
building. As he did, something about it seemed familiar to me. Yes, I
had seen it before, in newsreels. It was--

But again Kazu's fingers were at work. Lifting at the eaves, he
carefully took off the whole roof. Through a window we saw figures
hurrying toward a covered bridge connecting this building with another.
At Baker's warning, Kazu demolished the bridge, and then gently began
picking the structure to pieces. In a moment we saw what we were after.
A wall was pulled down, exposing a great room with oil paintings of
Lenin and Stalin on the wall and a long conference table in the center.
And clustered between the table and the far wall were a score of men.
Anyone would have recognized them, for their faces had gone round the
world in posters, magazines and newsreels. They were the men of the
Politbureau. They were Red Russia's rulers.

There was an instant of silent mutual recognition, and then Kazu spoke
to them. As befitting a god, he spoke in their own tongue. Exactly what
he said I do not know, but after a little hesitation they came around
the table to the precarious edge of the room where the outer wall had
been. Kazu gave further directions and held up our steel box. Fearfully
they came forward and jumped the gap into our door. One by one they made
the leap, some dressed in the bemedalled uniforms of marshals, others in
the semi-military tunics affected by civilian ministers. The last was
the man who had succeeded Stalin on his death, and who had taken for
himself the same name, as though it were a title.

As he entered our room, we saw that he even looked like the first
Stalin, clipped hair, moustache and all. He was a brilliant man, we
knew. Brilliant and ruthless. He had grown up through the purges, in a
world which knew no mercy, where only the fittest, by communist
standards, survived. He had survived, because he was merciless and
efficient and because he hated the free west with a hatred that was
deadly and implacable.

       *       *       *       *       *

I often wonder what his thoughts were at that moment. He came
because he was ordered to and because he knew the alternative. He knew
he was to die, but he obeyed because by so doing he could prolong life a
little, and because there was always a chance.

At that moment I deeply regretted knowing no Russian. The twenty one who
came in talked among themselves in short sentences. They saw us, but
ignored us. Baker spoke, first in English and then in German. The one
called Stalin understood the German, for he looked at Baker searchingly
for a moment, and then turned away. Only one of them replied. This was
Malik, the man who wrecked the old United Nations and then became
Foreign Minister after Vishinsky was murdered. He ignored the German and
spat out his reply in English.

"You will not live to gloat over us. He will kill you too, all of you!"

We can never be sure of what Kazu planned, because now--and of this I am
certain--his plans changed. There was suddenly a stillness. We waited.
Then I ran to the window and looked upward into the great face.

It had changed. A deep weariness and a bewilderment was upon it--as
though Kazu had suddenly sickened of destruction and slaughter. His
whispering was the roaring of winds as he said, "No--no. This is not the
way--not Buddha's way. They must talk. They must understand each other.
They must sit at tables and settle their differences, that is my
mission."

Kazu took five steps. Below us was an airfield.

"Can you fly?" he asked us. Chamberlin had been an army pilot in the
fifties. Kazu pushed the box up to a transport, an American DC8.

"Go in this," he said quite clearly. "Go in this plane until you are in
Washington. Tell America about me. Tell America I am coming--that I am
bringing--_them_. Tell America there must be--peace."

We scrambled out of the steel box, leaving the Russians in a miserable
heap in one corner.

He arose to his full height and carefully adjusted the cables around his
neck. I noticed that his fingers fumbled awkwardly, and that he
staggered slightly. Then he spoke once more.

"I cannot cross Atlantic. Only route for Buddha is Siberia, Bering
Straight, Alaska. But this not take long. You better hurry or I get to
Washington first!"

He turned on his heel and walked a few steps to the end of the runway.

"Now get in plane. I give little help in takeoff!"

We climbed into the familiar interior of the big American transport. A
moment later it arose silently, vertically like an elevator. Chamberlin,
in the pilot's seat, hurriedly started the engines. He leaned from a
window and waved his arm, and we shot forward and upward. For a moment
the plane wavered and dipped, taking all of Walt's ability to recover.
Then with a powerful roar, the big DC8 zoomed over the flames of Moscow
toward the west.

       *       *       *       *       *

The flight to London and the Atlantic crossing seemed unreal.
We lived beside the radio. War and revolt against the Soviets had broken
out everywhere. With the directing power in the Kremlin gone, the
top-heavy Soviet bureaucracy was paralyzed. The Yugoslavs marched into
the Ukraine, Chinese armies occupied Irkutsk and were pressing across
Siberia. Internal revolution broke out at a hundred points once it was
learned that Moscow was no more.

Eagerly we listened to every report for word of Kazu. At first there was
nothing, and then a Chinese plane reported seeing him crossing the Ob
River, near the Arctic Circle. They said that he carried a box in his
hand and appeared to be talking to it. Then news from the tiny river
settlement of Zhigansk on the Lena that he had passed, but that he
limped and staggered as he climbed the mountains beyond.

After that, silence.

Planes swarmed over eastern Siberia, the Arctic Coast and Alaska, but
found nothing. Five hundred tons of C ration were rushed to Fairbanks,
and tons of medical supplies for burns and possible illness were
readied, but no patient appeared. At first we were hopeful, knowing
Kazu's powers. Perhaps he had lost his way, without Baker and the maps,
but surely he could not vanish. As the days passed Baker became more
worried.

"It's the radiation," he explained. "He took the full dose of gamma rays
right in his back. He might go on for days, and then suddenly keel over.
He's had a bad burn outside, but it's nothing to what it did to him
internally."

So the days passed, and so gradually hope died. And then, at last, there
was news. It came, belatedly, from an eskimo hunter on the Pribolof
Islands, in Bering Sea. He reported that a great sea god had come out of
the waters, so tall that his head vanished into the clouds. But, he was
a sick god, for he could hardly stand, and soon crawled on his hands.
Around his neck, said the eskimo, he carried a charm, and he spoke words
to this in a strange tongue. And the charm answered him in the same
tongue, and with the voice of a man. And the two spoke to each other for
a time and then the great one arose and walked off of the island and
into the fog and the ocean.

Questioned, the man was somewhat vague as to the exact direction taken,
although it seemed clear that Kazu had headed south. When Baker examined
his chart of Bering Sea, he found that the ocean to the north and west,
towards Siberia, was shallow--less than five hundred feet. But the
Pribolofs stood on the edge of a great deep. Only twenty miles south of
the islands, the ocean floor dropped off to more than ten thousand feet,
for three hundred miles of icy fog shrouded ocean, before the bleak
Aleutians arose out of the mists. This desolate area was searched for
months by ships and planes, but no trace ever appeared from the treacherous
currents of the stormy sea. Kazu had vanished.

So here ended the story of Kazu Takahashi, who was born in the days of
the first bomb, and who died by the last ever to sear the world. He was
believed by millions to be the incarnation of the Lord Buddha, but to
four men he was known not as a god but as a great and good man.


          THE END




       *       *       *       *       *

    Transcriber Notes:

  This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction November 1952.
  Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
  on this publication was renewed.

  Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected.

  Corrections made:

  page 6
    original: wind, and its damned serious."
    replacement: wind, and it's damned serious."

  page 16
    original: first fence, and affair of steel posts
    replacement: first fence, an affair of steel posts

  page 31
    original: When Baker as only part-way
    replacement: When Baker was only part-way

  page 34
    original: handfulls of the unseasoned stuff,
    replacement: handfuls of the unseasoned stuff,

  Unchanged:

  page 16
    sculping a king sized Buddha after
    sculping is an old useage of the word

  page 55
    Straight, Alaska. But this not
    Straight is an old useage of the word










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