Capítulo 7: 3
Every junior high school student in the Republic of Greater East Asia knew what the Program was. It was even covered in school textbooks from the fourth grade on. Here we will quote from the more detailed Republic of Greater East Asia Compact Encyclopedia:
" Program n. 1. A listing of the order of events and other information […] 4. A battle simulation program conducted by our nation's ground defense forces, instituted for security reasons. Officially known as Battle Experiment No. 68 Program. The first program was held in 1947. Fifty third-year junior high school classes are selected annually (prior to 1950, 47 classes were selected) to conduct the Program for research purposes. Classmates in each class are forced to fight until one survivor is left. Results from this experiment, including the elapsed time, are entered as data. The final survivor of each class (the winner) is provided with a lifetime pension and a card autographed by The Great Dictator. In reaction to protests and agitation caused by extremists during the first year of its enactment, the 317th Great Dictator gave his famous April Speech.' "
The "April Speech" is required reading in the first year of junior high school. Here are some excerpts:
"My beloved comrades working for the Revolution and building our beloved nation. [Two-minute interruption for the 317th Great Dictator due to applause and cheers] Now then. [One-minute interruption] We still have shameless imperialists prowling our republic, attempting to sabotage it. They have exploited the people of other nations, nations that should have become our comrades, betraying them, brainwashing them, and turning them into pawns for their own imperialist tactics, [unanimous cry of indignation] And they would jump at the chance to invade the soil of our republic, the most advanced revolutionary state in the world, revealing its evil scheme to destroy our people. [Angry shouts from the crowd] Given this dire circumstance the No. 68 Program experiment is absolutely necessary for our nation. Of course, I grieve at the thought of thousands, tens of thousands of youths losing their lives at the ripe age of fifteen. But if their lives serve to protect our people's independence, can we not claim then that the flesh and blood they shed shall merge with our beautiful soil passed down to us by our gods and live with us in eternity? [Applause, a surge of cheering. One minute interruption] As you are all aware, our nation has no conscription system. The Army, Navy, and Air Special Defense Forces, all consist of patriotic souls, young volunteers every one of them, passionate fighters for the Revolution and the building of our nation. They are risking their lives every day and night at the frontlines. I would like you to consider the Program as a conscription system unique to this country. In order to protect our nation, etc…"
Enough already. (Right outside the train station the middle-aged Special Forces recruiter would approach potential candidates with the catch phrase, "How about we go get some pork rice?") Shuya first heard about the Program before becoming a fourth grader. It was when he finally got used to the Charity House, where he was brought by a friend of his parents after both of them died in a traffic accident. (All his relatives had refused to take him in. He heard it was because his parents had been involved in anti-government activities, but he never confirmed this story.) Shuya thought it was when he was five. He was watching television in the play room with Yoshitoki Kuninobu, who'd been at the Charity House before Shuya. His favorite robot anime show had just ended and the current superintendent of the institution, Ms. Ryoko Anno (the daughter of the former superintendent; at the time she was probably still a high school student, but everyone who worked there was called Mr., Mrs., or Ms.) switched the channel. Shuya was just gazing at the screen, but as soon as he saw the man in a stiff suit addressing him, he realized it was only that boring show called "The News," the program they showed on every channel at various times.
The man was reading from his script. Shuya couldn't remember exactly what he said but it was always the same and probably went something like this:
"We have received a report from the Special Defense Forces and the government that the Program in Kagawa Prefecture ended yesterday at 3:12 p.m. It has been three years since the last Program was conducted here. The subject class was Third Year E Class from Zentsuji No. 4 Junior High School. The undisclosed location was Shidakajima Island, four kilometers away from Tadotsu-cho. The winner emerged after 3 days, 7 hours, and 43 minutes. Furthermore, with the retrieval of the corpses and autopsies conducted today, the causes of deaths for all 38 students killed have been determined: 17 from gunshot wounds, 9 from knife or blade wounds, 5 from blunt weapons, and 3 choked to death..." An image of what appeared to be "the winner," a girl clad in a tattered sailor suit uniform came on the screen. Pressed between two Special Defense Forces soldiers, she looked back at the camera, her face twitching. Under her long messy hair, some dark red substance stuck to her right temple. Shuya could still clearly recall how her twitching face occasionally formed what appeared to be, strangely enough, a smile. He realized now that this was the first time he had seen an insane person. But at the time he had no idea what was wrong with her. He only felt inexplicably afraid, as if he'd seen a ghost. Shuya believed he had asked, "What is this, Ms. Anno?" Ms. Anno only shook her head and replied,
"Oh it's nothing." Ms. Anno turned away from Shuya slightly and whispered, "Poor girl." Yoshitoki Kuninobu had already stopped watching a while ago and was preoccupied with eating his tangerine. As Shuya grew older, this same local report, given at the rate of once every two years at any time without any warning, felt more and more ominous. From a pool of all third-year junior high school students, fifty classes were issued an annual guaranteed death sentence. That was two thousand students if each class consisted of forty students, no, more accurately, that was 1,950 students killed. Worse yet, it wasn't simply a mass execution. The students had to kill each other, competing for the throne of survivor. It was the most terrifying version of musical chairs imaginable. But…it was impossible to oppose the Program. It was impossible to protest anything the Republic of Greater East Asia did.
So Shuya decided to give in. That was how most of the third-year "reserves" from junior high school dealt with it, right? Okay, our special conscription system? The beautiful homeland of Vigorous Rice Plants? How many junior highs were there in the republic? The birth rate might be declining but your chances were still less than one in eight hundred. In Kagawa Prefecture that meant only one class every other year would be "chosen." Put bluntly, you were just as likely to die in a traffic accident. Given how Shuya never had the luck of the draw, he figured he wouldn't be chosen. Even in the local raffle he'd never win more than a box of tissues. So he'd never be chosen. So fuck off, man. But then sometimes when he heard someone in class, particularly a girl in tears, saying something like,
"My cousin was in the Program and…" that dark fear choked him up again. He was angry too. I mean, who had the right to terrify that poor girl?
But within a matter of days the same girl who'd been so gloomy would begin smiling. And Shuya's fear and anger would gradually wane and disappear too. But the vague distrust and powerlessness he felt towards the government nonetheless remained.
That's the way things went.
And when Shuya entered his third year in junior high school this year, he along with his other classmates assumed they would be safe. Actually they really had no choice but to assume this. Until now.
"That can't be."
A chair fell as someone stood up. The voice was shrill enough to make Shuya glance over at the desk behind Hiroki Sugimura. It was Kyoichi Motobuchi, who was the male class representative. His face was beyond pale. It had turned gray, providing a surreal contrast to his silver framed glasses, resembling one of those silkscreen prints by Andy Warhol illustrated in their art textbooks as "the decadent art of American imperialists."
Some of his classmates might have been hoping that Kyoichi would provide some adequate rational form of protest. Kill the friends you were hanging out with yesterday? It was impossible. Someone's making a mistake here. Hey rep, can you take care of this one for us?
But Kyoichi completely let them down.
"M-my father is a director of environmental affairs in the prefectural government. How could the class I'm in be selected for th-the Program?…"
Due to his shaking, his tense voice sounded even more wound up than usual. The man who called himself Sakamochi grinned and shook his head, his long hair swinging in the air.
"Let's see. You're Kyoichi Motobuchi, right?
"You must know what equality means. Listen up. All people are born equal. Your father's job in the prefectural government doesn't entitle you to special privileges. You are no different. Listen up, everybody. You all have your own distinct personal backgrounds. Of course some of you come from rich families, some from poor families. But circumstances beyond your control like that shouldn't determine who you are. You must all realize what you're worth on your own. So Kyoichi, let's not delude ourselves that you're somehow special—because you're not!"
Sakamochi bawled this out so suddenly, Kyoichi fell back into this seat. Sakamochi glared at Kyoichi for a while, but then his smile returned.
"Your class will be mentioned in today's morning news. Of course because the Program must be conducted in secret, the details will remain undisclosed until the game ends. Now let's see, oh right, your parents have already been notified."
Everyone still seemed lost in a daze. Classmates slaughtering each other? Impossible.
"You still don't believe this is happening, do you?"
Sakamochi scratched his head with a troubled look. Then he turned to the entrance and called out, "I need you guys to come in!"
In response the door slid open and three men came rushing in. They were all wearing camouflage fatigues and combat boots and tucked under their arms steel helmets bearing the peach insignia. It was immediately obvious they were Special Defense Forces soldiers. They had assault rifles strapped over their shoulders, and Shuya could see automatic pistols holstered onto their belts. One of the soldiers was tall with strangely kinked hair, giving the impression of someone frivolous, the other was medium height, with a handsome, boyish-looking face, and the last one wore a slight grin, but was eclipsed by the charisma of the other two. They were carrying a large, thick nylon sack resembling a black sleeping bag. Various parts of the bag poked up as if it were stuffed with pineapples. Sakamochi stood by the window and the three men placed the bag on the lectern. Both sides of the bag protruded over the lectern, particularly the side facing the window, and dangled down, perhaps because the contents inside were soft.
Sakamochi announced, "Let me introduce these men who will be assisting you for the Program. Mr. Tahara, Mr. Kondo, and Mr. Nomura. Now why don't you show them what's inside?" The frivolous one, Tahara, approached the lectern from the side of the hall, placed his hand on the zipper, and pulled the bag open. Something drenched in red liquid…
"AIEEEEE!"
Before it was fully open, one of the girls in the front row screamed and was immediately followed by the others. As the desks and chairs made a clattering sound, other voices asked, "Whaaat?" and a soprano chorus swelled up.
Shuya held his breath.
He could see the body of the teacher in charge of Class B, Masao Hayashida, inside the half open bag. No, he was now their former teacher. Or in fact he was now the former Mr. Hayashida. His flimsy blue-gray suit was drenched in blood. Only half of his large black glasses that earned him the nickname "Dragonfly" remained. What could you expect, only the left half of his head remained. Underneath the remaining lens the marblelike, crimson eyeball gazed absently at the ceiling. Gray jelly, what must have been his brains, clung to his remaining hair. As if relieved to be released, his left arm, still wearing a watch, poked out of the bag, dangling in front of the lectern. The ones sitting in front might have actually seen the second hand ticking away.
"All right, all right, all right, quiet now. Be quiet. Silence!" Sakamochi clapped his hands, but the girls' shrieking wouldn't subside.
Suddenly, the boyish looking soldier named Kondo pulled out his pistol.
Shuya expected a warning shot into the ceiling, but the soldier instead grabbed the bag containing Hayashida with one of his hands, and dragged the bag down from the lectern. He snapped Hayashida's head up to his face. He looked like a hero in a sci-fi flick fighting a giant bagworm. The soldier pumped two bullets into Mr. Hayashida's head. The rest of Hayashida's head flew apart. The high powered bullets tore apart his brains and bones which formed a bloody mist and splattered all over the faces and chests of the students in the front row.
The echoes from the gunfire subsided. There was hardly any trace of Hayashida's head. The soldier tossed Hayashida's body to the side of the lectern. No one was screaming.
42 students remaining
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