The Image and the Likeness Part 4

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 j.a.pan to view Kazu, who was now a l.u.s.ty 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 Takahas.h.i.+ from j.a.pan 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 surpa.s.sed all land animals save the monsters of the Jura.s.sic 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 appet.i.te 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 scholars.h.i.+p. He is well read, gentlemen. He knows the cla.s.sics 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 b.u.t.ton 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 pa.s.sed. 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 j.a.panese. 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 j.a.panese 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 pa.s.sed 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 embarra.s.sed! 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 n.o.body 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 Takahas.h.i.+, 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.