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".