The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [206]
“Why is that? Old friendships are far more valuable than new ones, and these days new friends are best avoided. Even the emperor knows this. He is avoiding anyone who does not smell like a friend.”
A servant appeared now, a short, thin woman in a white silk kimono. She bowed deeply, her hands clasped tightly beneath her chin. Hata moved down the stairway, said, “Is the lunch prepared?”
She did not speak, her positive response coming in another bow. She turned quickly, moved away.
Hata watched her, said, “Perhaps we should even fear the girls. I should have you examine the food, test it for poison.” He winked at the doctor now. “I am teasing of course. My staff is loyal to a fault. The fault is that they have chosen to be loyal to me.”
Hamishita stiffened as Hata descended closer to him, and the field marshal stopped, seemed disappointed by the doctor’s formality.
“Not you as well. I am treated like a deity by my soldiers. I do not expect such from one who has spent his youth swimming with me in the cold spring of that farmer, Gorito. We barely escaped that man without becoming a meal for his dogs. And me without my clothing! What would my colonels say of that?”
Hamishita tried to loosen his formality, but Hata’s uniform was too imposing.
“Yes. I recall that. We were no more than ten, I suppose. The farmer complained to your parents. Your father did not spare the whip, as I recall.”
Hata’s smile darkened now, the words coming out slowly, quietly, “None of us will be spared the whip. Those of us in the High Command who have been so impatient for this war to end will soon enjoy the gratification of their wish fulfilled.” Hata pointed toward a room to one side. “Come, my friend. Lunch awaits.”
Hamishita followed, could not help admiring the field marshal’s boots, a high sheen on black leather. The source of the smells was apparent now, a table lined with small bowls of steaming food, framed on each end by enormous vases of flowers.
“Sit there, Okiro. I shall assume my position at the head of the table. No one will be joining us but our ancestors. But even the spirits expect me to take my accustomed place. It will keep them from remembering a naked frightened child fleeing a barking dog. I should certainly have to answer for that once more when I reach the great shrine. What about you? What do you have to answer for? A respected physician, managing his own clinic. Did you ever imagine you would find yourself in such a position?”
Hamishita moved to the cushion where Hata pointed, sat, curled his legs beneath him.
“I have been fortunate. The emperor has blessed me. I have had a long and healthy life.”
“Yes, the emperor. He wants only the best for his people. We are his children, yes? We should all grow old like you and me, in the splendor of this wonderful house.”
Hamishita heard the sarcasm in Hata’s voice, wasn’t sure how to respond. The field marshal pointed a single chopstick at the bowls spread in front of them, said, “Eat. This is more nourishing than cold rice. I know what kind of rations you have, what you give your patients. It is a tragedy for you not to be more ably equipped. A man who cares for so many should be well fed.”
Hamishita obeyed, sliding soft noodles into an empty bowl, the steam from a warm broth bathing his face. He absorbed Hata’s words, thought, so, you know how little I have, down to the last detail? He wanted to ask about that, thought of so many young officers who had scoffed at his every request. But Hata was far too intimidating.
“Thank you for this invitation, Field Marshal. I am grateful that you allow yourself a moment’s attention to my position in our empire. I am flattered.”
Hata slurped at his own bowl, ignored Hamishita’s gratitude, seemed lost in thought. Hamishita looked closely at his friend now, saw the age. They were both in their mid-sixties, the hard life of a soldier showing in Hata’s face, the roughness of his hands. Hata looked at