The Ramen King And I : How The Inventor Of Instant Noodles Fixed My Love Life Part 6

I repeated it.

"You mean, like Top Ramen?" Carla asked.

"That's one of his brands."

I told Carla and Ellen about how Ando spent a year in his backyard shack, and about the managerial training on the deserted island. I did not tell them that I had been writing letters to Ando about my love life. They were both laughing.

"He also invented the cup. You know, Cup Noodles. And he built a museum dedicated to instant ramen. It's supposedly across the street from his house."

"I can't explain why," Carla said, "but there's something inherently funny about instant ramen."

Ellen agreed. "I know a guy who writes songs about instant ramen and sings them at parties."

I told her about Murakami's ramen song, and sang a few bars.

"So, is this inventor of instant ramen still alive?" Ellen asked.

"Barely. He's ninety-four. According to the article, though, he sometimes comes to the museum and makes instant ramen with the visitors."

"What I would like to know," Carla mused, "is what makes a guy decide to spend a year in a shack trying to invent an instant noodle."

"Right?" I said. "I was wondering about that, too."

Carla lay back down on the raft, closing her eyes. "You know, you should interview him and write an article about his company."

"Tried that. Their PR department stopped returning my e-mails."

Ellen: "Where does he live?"

"In j.a.pan. Osaka."

"You should just go there!" Carla yelled. "Just show up." She was still lying on the raft, but laughing now. "Maybe he'll make instant ramen with you."

With that, Carla began splas.h.i.+ng water in the direction of my lounge chair. She prepared to defend herself, expecting me to lean over the edge of the pool and splash back. But she needn't have worried, because her suggestion had sent my mind elsewhere.

It had been ten years since my failure to fill in the blank while screaming the Go Forth Go Forth line in front of the Kmart Corporate Head, and even longer since I had watched the TV show. Nevertheless, I began recalling the ramen-related things that had happened of late: the recipe from Grandma Sylvia's recipe box; the writer who had left an instant ramen recommendation on my voice mail; Murakami's song; Ellen's friend who wrote songs about instant ramen; and now Carla's suggestion. As I thought about these things, I heard a loud voice in my head telling me to ignore them. I had not yet learned to really listen to this voice, but it must have been saying something like this: line in front of the Kmart Corporate Head, and even longer since I had watched the TV show. Nevertheless, I began recalling the ramen-related things that had happened of late: the recipe from Grandma Sylvia's recipe box; the writer who had left an instant ramen recommendation on my voice mail; Murakami's song; Ellen's friend who wrote songs about instant ramen; and now Carla's suggestion. As I thought about these things, I heard a loud voice in my head telling me to ignore them. I had not yet learned to really listen to this voice, but it must have been saying something like this: YOU SHOULD REALLY FORGET WHAT YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT DOING. YOU SHOULD REALIZE THAT THESE RAMEN-RELATED "THINGS," AS YOU SO ELEGANTLY CALL THEM, ARE JUST VERY MINOR COINCIDENCES THAT HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH FATE, DESTINY, OR FIGURING OUT WHAT'S BEHIND YOUR PROBLEM. YOU SHOULD TAKE A VACATION TO SOMEWHERE NORMAL, LIKE A BEACH, AND GO SWIMMING. YOU SHOULD FIND A WAY TO GET ALONE WITH ELLEN OR CARLA AND MAKE OUT WITH ONE OF THEM. MAYBE BOTH OF THEM. YOU SHOULD DO ANYTHING BUT WHAT YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT DOING, BECAUSE YOU WILL FAIL, AND THEN WHERE WILL YOU BE? YOU SHOULD REALLY FORGET WHAT YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT DOING. YOU SHOULD REALIZE THAT THESE RAMEN-RELATED "THINGS," AS YOU SO ELEGANTLY CALL THEM, ARE JUST VERY MINOR COINCIDENCES THAT HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH FATE, DESTINY, OR FIGURING OUT WHAT'S BEHIND YOUR PROBLEM. YOU SHOULD TAKE A VACATION TO SOMEWHERE NORMAL, LIKE A BEACH, AND GO SWIMMING. YOU SHOULD FIND A WAY TO GET ALONE WITH ELLEN OR CARLA AND MAKE OUT WITH ONE OF THEM. MAYBE BOTH OF THEM. YOU SHOULD DO ANYTHING BUT WHAT YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT DOING, BECAUSE YOU WILL FAIL, AND THEN WHERE WILL YOU BE?

I was not able to hear these words yet, like I said. All I knew was that I felt like an idiot for wanting what I wanted. Maybe because Carla and Ellen were splas.h.i.+ng water in my face, though, I stayed awake to my desire, and eventually I found the strength to stand up on one of the lounge chairs. My shorts and T-s.h.i.+rt were soaking wet, but I screamed the line so loud that all of Silicon Valley could have heard me.

"I wanna make instant ramen with Momof.u.ku Ando!"

There wasn't much time left in my vacation, and I did not have an appointment.

A VERY BRIEF HISTORY OF MOMOf.u.kU ANDO, PART 4 : WARTIME ENTREPRENEUR

During the war, j.a.pan tightly regulated the manufacture and distribution of textiles, making it difficult for Ando to conduct business, so he expanded into other areas.

He launched a company to make slide projectors, which the government used to train unskilled workers at munitions factories. In nearby Hyogo Prefecture, he purchased a sixty-one-acre mountain and turned it into charcoal, which he sold as fuel. With a business partner, he manufactured prefabricated air-raid shelters.

The war made Ando rich. But as he writes in many of his books, the good times were about to end.

"I did not realize that an unimaginable misfortune was awaiting me around the corner."

When I got home from house-sitting with Ellen and Carla, I still wasn't sure that I was going to try to meet Ando without an appointment. But then I thought again about the recipe box and the voice mail from the writer in Chicago and Haruki Murakami's song, and I wondered if Momof.u.ku Ando was indeed showing me how to live. It was a preposterous idea, but I enjoyed believing it, so I traded in my frequent flier miles for a round-trip ticket to Osaka. The next morning, I bought ten installments of Ramen Discovery Legend Ramen Discovery Legend at the j.a.pan Center bookstore, stuffing them into my suitcase. On the way to the airport, I called Matt and told him where I was going. He had never heard of anyone trying to meet the person they had chosen to stand in for G.o.d, but he wished me luck. at the j.a.pan Center bookstore, stuffing them into my suitcase. On the way to the airport, I called Matt and told him where I was going. He had never heard of anyone trying to meet the person they had chosen to stand in for G.o.d, but he wished me luck.

"May the noodles be with you," he said.

He was a big fan of Star Wars Star Wars.

Momof.u.ku: (60 days) A few hours into the flight to see you, I am having thoughts about trying to hook up with a woman in Osaka. No, I don't know anyone there, so I'm not talking about anyone specific. I mean, I'm having thoughts about trying to pick someone up. So what is happening right now? Everyone around me on the airplane seems riveted to the in-flight movie. It's a romantic comedy starring Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler. In one scene, Ben, as a single dad, visits a video store and hits on the cas.h.i.+er, played by Liv. The message is that all men and women should aspire to this-to hitting on Liv Tyler and getting hit on by Ben Affleck. Men and women except for me, that is, because I made a commitment to Matt. A few hours into the flight to see you, I am having thoughts about trying to hook up with a woman in Osaka. No, I don't know anyone there, so I'm not talking about anyone specific. I mean, I'm having thoughts about trying to pick someone up. So what is happening right now? Everyone around me on the airplane seems riveted to the in-flight movie. It's a romantic comedy starring Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler. In one scene, Ben, as a single dad, visits a video store and hits on the cas.h.i.+er, played by Liv. The message is that all men and women should aspire to this-to hitting on Liv Tyler and getting hit on by Ben Affleck. Men and women except for me, that is, because I made a commitment to Matt.

United Airlines offered a choice between an American-style meal and a j.a.panese-style one. I chose j.a.panese-style, but the rice was cold and dried out. I couldn't watch the movie without feeling bad, so I pulled Book Two of Ramen Discovery Legend Ramen Discovery Legend from my carry-on. from my carry-on.

The episode I read was set at night, with Fujimoto cooking ramen at his stand in the park. There's a portable TV near his stove, and he's watching an interview with a ramen "producer" named Mr. Serizawa. An investor in several top-tier ramen shops (and a skilled ramen chef in his own right), Serizawa a.s.serts in the interview that too many young men are being deluded by dreams of da.s.sara da.s.sara and betting their lives on ramen. "They study ramen on the Internet and in ramen magazines," he says, "and some of them eventually learn how to make good ramen. But 'good' won't cut it in this world." and betting their lives on ramen. "They study ramen on the Internet and in ramen magazines," he says, "and some of them eventually learn how to make good ramen. But 'good' won't cut it in this world."

Was I deluding myself that I could change?

Among the periodicals in the seat pocket, I found an issue of President President, a j.a.panese men's magazine. The cover headline said, "Sanju-dai no kachikata." "Sanju-dai no kachikata." "How to Win in Your Thirties." Even without opening the magazine, I was pretty sure that reading ramen comic books and trying to meet the inventor of instant ramen without an appointment would not be among the recommended activities. I thought about all of the times I had traveled to j.a.pan, and I realized that I had never flown into Osaka. "How to Win in Your Thirties." Even without opening the magazine, I was pretty sure that reading ramen comic books and trying to meet the inventor of instant ramen without an appointment would not be among the recommended activities. I thought about all of the times I had traveled to j.a.pan, and I realized that I had never flown into Osaka.

I didn't know much about the area except for stereotypes. Osakans are supposed to be friendlier and more outwardly emotional than Tokyoites, and the city is famous for the street smarts of its merchants. (A traditional local greeting literally translates as "You makin' money?") A disproportionate number of j.a.panese comedians speak the brash, guttural Osaka dialect. The only time I had ever lived in the Kansai area-the region on the western side of Honshu centered around Kyoto and Osaka-was when my j.a.panese teacher in graduate school sent me and four cla.s.smates to Kyoto to improve our j.a.panese. We stayed in a college dorm, and every day, we toured the city with an expert in a different field. An architect led us through a centuries-old nagaya nagaya-a long, narrow dwelling-and an archaeologist gave us a tour of several kofun kofun-burial mounds the length of football fields that began appearing in j.a.pan in the third century. Other expert guides included a doll artist, a woodworker, and a tofu maker. On the last day, as a surprise, our teacher put us on a bus to Enryakuji, a Zen temple atop Mount Hiei, where my cla.s.smates and I were forced to endure twenty-four hours of zazen kunren zazen kunren (Zen sitting training) with monks of the Tendai sect. Along with the five of us, seventy-five teenage boys-new employees of a gas station chain-partic.i.p.ated in the training as a corporate initiation ritual. The monks showed us how to clasp our hands together in the (Zen sitting training) with monks of the Tendai sect. Along with the five of us, seventy-five teenage boys-new employees of a gas station chain-partic.i.p.ated in the training as a corporate initiation ritual. The monks showed us how to clasp our hands together in the ga.s.sho ga.s.sho pose and to sit on our heels with our s.h.i.+ns under our thighs-what the j.a.panese call pose and to sit on our heels with our s.h.i.+ns under our thighs-what the j.a.panese call seiza seiza-style. I found it incredibly painful, and my cla.s.smate Barry, an amateur bodybuilder with oversized thigh muscles, moaned in agony. While enduring the pain, we had to chant along with the monks.

"En-Don-Sha-Shou-En-Ji-Sou-Zou-Kyou-Soku . . ."

The head monk explained the chant's meaning (which is also summarized on the Enryakuji Web site): "It is the darkness of your heart that leads to enlightenment." We had to sit seiza seiza-style while he lectured us, and we were forbidden to speak during meals. At night we slept alongside the young gas station attendants on thin futons spread out on a tatami-covered floor. The monks made it clear that we were not supposed to talk after lights-out, but once it was dark, some of the gas station attendants crawled over to where my friends and I were sleeping and asked what we were doing in a Zen temple. We told them that we were forced to be there by our teacher. They said that they were forced to be there by their gas station company, and having bonded in this way, three of the boys asked to arm wrestle Barry. He beat them all-at the same time.

It was difficult not to question myself. I was on a plane to Osaka so that I could try to meet the inventor of instant ramen-to whom I had been praying because I was cheating in relations.h.i.+ps and obsessively dating-without an appointment. I had brought a map showing the location of Nissin headquarters, but what would I say when I got there? I had no idea. Normally I prepared long lists of questions before interviewing an executive. I had nothing.

To calm myself, I rummaged through my carry-on bag for the Nikkei Business Nikkei Business article and reread a section about Ando that I found comforting. It described a famous, long-ago incident in which an executive at Mitsubis.h.i.+, Nissin's first big distributor, boasted that Mitsubis.h.i.+ could source everything "from ramen to missiles." Upon hearing that, Ando reportedly complained that the Mitsubis.h.i.+ executive should have said "from missiles to ramen," because ramen was the more important of the two. article and reread a section about Ando that I found comforting. It described a famous, long-ago incident in which an executive at Mitsubis.h.i.+, Nissin's first big distributor, boasted that Mitsubis.h.i.+ could source everything "from ramen to missiles." Upon hearing that, Ando reportedly complained that the Mitsubis.h.i.+ executive should have said "from missiles to ramen," because ramen was the more important of the two.

As the plane made its final approach into Kansai International Airport, I looked out the window and saw whitecaps breaking over the Pacific Ocean. Would it be odd to say that they reminded me of drops of lard on top of a bowl of soy-sauce ramen? Well, they sort of did.

A VERY BRIEF HISTORY OF MOMOf.u.kU ANDO, PART 5 : THE INVENTORY PROBLEM

This is the story of how Ando was arrested by the j.a.panese military police.

During World War II, one of his companies produced engine parts as a subcontractor for Kawanis.h.i.+ Kokuki, a maker of combat seaplanes. Because the parts were for military use, the government supplied raw materials and performed a thorough inventory check every month.

One day (on this point, all of Ando's autobiographies concur), an employee in the company's accounting department informed Ando of a problem.

"The numbers don't look right," the man said. "It seems that someone is selling the inventory illegally."

Perhaps Ando is exaggerating when he states in Conception of a Fantastic Idea Conception of a Fantastic Idea that the climate of World War II j.a.pan was such that a man could be put to death if found guilty of misappropriating government property. In any case, he quickly reported the matter to the Osaka Police Department, where he was told to discuss it with the military police. At a military police station in Otemae, not far from Osaka Castle, Ando was greeted by a man he refers to in his autobiographies as Corporal K. that the climate of World War II j.a.pan was such that a man could be put to death if found guilty of misappropriating government property. In any case, he quickly reported the matter to the Osaka Police Department, where he was told to discuss it with the military police. At a military police station in Otemae, not far from Osaka Castle, Ando was greeted by a man he refers to in his autobiographies as Corporal K.

"Please wait," Corporal K said.

Ando waited, uneasily, in the military police station for what seemed like hours. "At the time," he writes, "a military police station was a place where even the devil feared to tread."

When Corporal K returned, he led Ando into a small room and began interrogating him.

"You're really something," Corporal K said. "You commit a crime and try to blame it on someone else. It's you who's been selling the parts on the black market, isn't it?"

Kansai International Airport was only ten years old and everything was clean and new. The terminal was one big, s.h.i.+ny electronic gadget.

I found my suitcase on the carousel and pa.s.sed through customs. I hadn't slept on the plane, but I wasn't tired. On the contrary, I was excited. I was excited to see advertis.e.m.e.nts in j.a.panese and newspapers in j.a.panese. I was excited to read signs in j.a.panese. I was excited to be surrounded by j.a.panese people speaking and sending text messages in j.a.panese on sleek j.a.panese cell phones.

Momof.u.ku: (61 days) I am excited by being surrounded by a lot of very attractive j.a.panese women. I am excited by being surrounded by a lot of very attractive j.a.panese women.

I followed signs to the j.a.pan Railways ticket office, where I reserved a seat on the Haruka Express Line to downtown Osaka. The man who sold me the ticket complimented my j.a.panese. "Iya, hotondo wasureta kedo," "Iya, hotondo wasureta kedo," I said, waving my hand in front of my face. When someone compliments your j.a.panese, it's polite to wave your hand in front of your face and say that, no, you have forgotten nearly everything. The truth was that I had forgotten many things, but hardly everything. I said, waving my hand in front of my face. When someone compliments your j.a.panese, it's polite to wave your hand in front of your face and say that, no, you have forgotten nearly everything. The truth was that I had forgotten many things, but hardly everything.

To reach the train platform, I had to first step outside the airport terminal. As I approached the exit, two gla.s.s doors parted automatically, and the rush of hot air made me sweat on impact. Osaka was like an oven. Making my way down an escalator, I cursed myself for trying to meet the inventor of instant ramen in July.

On the Haruka Express Line platform, I bought a bottle of C.C. Lemon from a vending machine, recalling how Harue and I used to sing the C.C. Lemon jingle, which was just the thirst quencher's name repeated over and over by a female singer who affected a Katharine Hepburn-like voice tremor. I held the bottle to my forehead to cool off. When the train doors opened for boarding, I rushed onto my a.s.signed, air-conditioned car, and sat in my a.s.signed seat.

The train was another s.h.i.+ny new gadget. Like all trains in j.a.pan, it rode silently, with no shakes or jolts. This one ran on an elevated track, its tinted windows framing the Osaka skyline, which was not unlike the Tokyo skyline. There were apartment buildings and office towers as far as I could see, which was not that far because of the smog. Billboards on the tops of buildings advertised consumer loans and "capsule hotels"-the ultralow-budget hospitality option in which guests spend the night in stacked fibergla.s.s tubes. (Think coffin, with a television at your feet.) Text of the day's news stories scrolled along an LED display over the train's bathroom. "Sumo's Asashoryu Apologizes for Drunken Rampage." "Hiros.h.i.+ma Officials Receive Suspended Sentences for Embezzlement." "Ichiro Extends U.S. Hitting Streak to Eighteen Games." A young woman in a beige uniform wheeled a snack cart through the aisle. "Cold oolong tea," she said in the high-pitched voice of j.a.panese women who sell things. "Rice b.a.l.l.s. Mandarin oranges." Finding no takers, she pushed the cart to the end of the car and turned around, bowing to me and my fellow pa.s.sengers. It struck me that only in a country where snack vendors must bow before leaving a train car will you find a television show about two hosts who scream, "I wanna ___!" (The converse, I surmised, might also be true.) Out the window, I noticed a gra.s.sy park with a baseball diamond. The train was moving so fast that I barely saw it, but before the park whizzed by, I watched a man throw a ball for his dog to fetch in left field. The scene was so familiar, so un-foreign. I imagined that the man knew I was on my way to meet the inventor of instant ramen without an appointment, and that he was telepathically telling me it was a waste of time.

When the doors opened at New Osaka Station, I wheeled my suitcase onto the platform and began to sweat again. From there I rode an escalator down to a sprawling underground mall. I was surrounded by restaurants and clothing boutiques and bakeries and travel agencies, but most of all, sweaty people on their way home from work. The evening rush hour was just beginning.

It was too late to visit Nissin, so my first order of business was finding a place to stay for the night. I walked toward one of the travel agencies, and as I pa.s.sed through a narrow corridor, I felt a stream of cool air hit my sweaty head. Looking up, I saw an air-conditioning vent, and for about ten minutes I stood in that spot. An old man flashed me a look as if to accuse me of hogging all the cold air, and I felt weak and embarra.s.sed.

Sleeping in a capsule was one option, but the travel office helped me find a room at a reasonably priced hotel. It was what the j.a.panese call a "business" hotel, which I knew from experience meant that, even though I was only five foot ten, I would hit my head on the bathroom ceiling. It would have private rooms and air-conditioning, and according to the listing, it was a twelve-minute walk from the station. Exiting the travel office, I noticed an outlet of Beard Papa's, the j.a.panese cream puff chain that had recently opened stores in New York and California. I bought a pumpkin-flavored one.

Momof.u.ku: (61 days) I'm on my way to a business hotel not far from your Osaka headquarters. I keep pa.s.sing attractive women walking in the opposite direction on the sidewalk. As I approach each one, I find myself staring into her eyes, hoping she'll return the gaze. It's as if I'm searching in the eyes of these women for answers, yet I don't know the question. I'm on my way to a business hotel not far from your Osaka headquarters. I keep pa.s.sing attractive women walking in the opposite direction on the sidewalk. As I approach each one, I find myself staring into her eyes, hoping she'll return the gaze. It's as if I'm searching in the eyes of these women for answers, yet I don't know the question.

I didn't time exactly how long it took to walk to the hotel, but my guess is that it took exactly twelve minutes. (If something in j.a.pan takes longer than it's supposed to, your watch is probably wrong.) I checked in at the front desk and rode the elevator to my room on the third floor. The room had a twin bed and a desk, on top of which sat a small TV and a phone. I hit my head on the bathroom ceiling.

I wanted to see if I had any e-mail, so I called the front desk and the receptionist directed me to an Internet cafe around the corner. In my in-box, there was a note from the researcher in my magazine's Tokyo office. She and the other office staff often took me out for dinner during my reporting trips, so she knew of my interest in j.a.panese food. "While you're in Osaka," she wrote, "why don't you visit the Gyoza Stadium?" The stadium, she had written, was a food court devoted exclusively to gyoza-j.a.panese pot stickers. I had heard of the Yokohama Ramen Museum, but I didn't know there was a gyoza version.

Momof.u.ku: (61 days) I had the idea to search the America Online member directory for "Osaka AND gyoza lover." For a moment I took pleasure in the fact that a day was subtracted from my no-dating period when I crossed the international dateline, but then I realized it would get added back on the way home. I had the idea to search the America Online member directory for "Osaka AND gyoza lover." For a moment I took pleasure in the fact that a day was subtracted from my no-dating period when I crossed the international dateline, but then I realized it would get added back on the way home.

The clerk at the Internet cafe was no older than sixteen. I paid him for the fifteen minutes I had used the computer, and he complimented my j.a.panese. I told him that, no, I had forgotten everything. Then I asked what he thought of a ramen place I had noticed across the street.

"Mmm," he said.

In j.a.pan, mmm mmm does not mean "yummy." It means that there might be a problem. does not mean "yummy." It means that there might be a problem.

"How did you hear about that place?"

"I saw the sign," I said. "It looked high-end."

The name of the restaurant had been carved in a sh.e.l.lacked tree stump.

The clerk shook his head.

"Mr. Customer, I'm going to be frank with you. The ramen there is not very good. It might be the worst ramen in this neighborhood."

He recommended instead a restaurant a few blocks away called s.h.i.+sen Ramen.

"Mr. Customer, with ramen it's not always a good idea to be swayed by the sign."

It took me half an hour to find s.h.i.+sen Ramen because it barely had a sign. The menu at s.h.i.+sen forced me to choose between "original flavor" broth and "new flavor" broth, and with nothing to go on, I closed my eyes.

O Momof.u.ku. Show me how to live so that I may better do your will.

I didn't hear an answer, so I chose "new flavor" on the premise that if the original was so great, why would they have had to make a new one? The soup was a rich, deep brown, and its surface was dotted with orange drops of chili oil. The toppings included chunks of blackened pork, scallions, and a clump of bok choy. I asked the waitress what made the broth so dark and tasty. She relayed my question to the chef, but he was not in the mood to share his recipe. "There's sesame in it," he barked. "And chicken."

Without a gallbladder, it's sometimes hard to digest fat. Halfway through, I was feeling queasy, so I took a break and skimmed another episode of Ramen Discovery Legend Ramen Discovery Legend. Serizawa, the ramen producer, had been cast as the story's archvillain; he constantly challenged Fujimoto to ramen duels and belittled him as nothing more than a ramen-obsessed fool. But in the episode I read at s.h.i.+sen Ramen, it was becoming apparent that Serizawa also had a good side, and that his harsh approach might have been a way of helping Fujimoto not only achieve da.s.sara da.s.sara, but also find a ramen recipe that was true to himself.

"Compared to other traditional j.a.panese foods," Serizawa tells Fujimoto, "ramen has no past. There's no manual, no established theory. That's why you can express yourself through it. That's why it can help you understand yourself."

A VERY BRIEF HISTORY OF MOMOf.u.kU ANDO, PART 6 : TORTURE

To help modern readers appreciate the brutality of j.a.pan's wartime military police department, Ando cites the case of a socialist writer whom the military police allegedly tortured to death in 1933. According to reports quoted by Ando, when the writer's remains were returned to his family, "his thighs were swollen to twice their normal size as a result of internal bleeding, bruises covered his p.e.n.i.s and t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es, and there were 15 or 16 places where needles and spikes had been driven into his skin."

"The violence brought upon me," Ando writes in Conception of a Fantastic Idea Conception of a Fantastic Idea, "was no less impressive."

In the military prison, Ando was beaten daily with a club and kicked in the stomach. He was forced to sit seiza seiza-style with a bamboo pole inserted between his thighs and calves. This resulted in an agony that he describes as "not of this world." His cell was so crowded that there was no room to lie on the floor and sleep.

He was convinced that he would soon be dead.