"I'm having a hard time relating to you, Chief Inspector Kido," Obergruppenführer John Smith unexpectedly confessed as he poured his guest a glass of his finest Rotwein—not because he thought the Pon deserved it, but because he hoped it might loosen his tongue. Maybe also because that particular bottle had been a gift from Heydrich, one of his least favourite people in the entire Reich.
"Relating to me," Takeshi repeated without the rising intonation of a question. He took a few steps back, staring disgustedly at the alcohol he now had to drink out of courtesy.
John watched him intently, trying in vain to read his countenance. Barely seeing his eyes, behind the shining metal frames of his glasses that picked up the light from outside and left the rest of him in relative darkness.
"Yes," he said, "you command a lot of respect, and I keep in mind the… happy alliance between the Reich and the Empire of the Rising Sun, but I have to admit you are as alien to me as someone from another world."
"I am from another world," Takeshi retorted with an icy smile. "One that is parallel with yours."
"That's not what I mean. We're supposed to be allies, but there's this… distance between us. We've been talking for several minutes now, but we've established no connection whatsoever. You feel so foreign and out of reach. Are you even real?"
Or is this all just a big joke?
 "I am as real as you are," the Kempeitai inspector replied with deliberate ambiguity.
John couldn't decide if he was delighted or irritated.
"And do you consider yourself a separate entity from the Empire you serve?"
Takeshi brought his glass to his lips, but only pretended to take a sip, which definitely tipped the scales in favour of irritation.
"Are you a separate entity from the Reich?" he inquired, but John dismissed his question with a gesture of the hand.
"Please answer my question first."
"Obergruppenführer," Takeshi said, his smile as discreet and as frigid as before, "usually, when one asks such a question as yours, one is usually unsure of the answer himself and wishes to make up his mind. I merely wanted to accelerate your reflection. Unless, of course, you wish to… assess me?"
John gave a slight smile, not much warmer than Takeshi's.
"I would never dream of assessing you, as I suspect you're one of the most upright men in the Pacific States—maybe even in Japan."
"You flatter me. And exaggerate my value."
"I never exaggerate, Chief Inspector. My every word and action is carefully weighed."
"I do not doubt it."
There was an awkward silence. John waited patiently, but it was obvious Takeshi wasn't going to talk.
"Well?" the Obergruppenführer chuckled. "Won't you answer my question? Humour me."
Takeshi allowed his gaze to drift and fix itself on the imposing portrait dominating the back wall. The Führer of the Reich, with his wrinkled face and white hair betraying his mortality. How much longer would he last? He thought briefly of his emperor. What was a man compared to a descendent of the sun? Compared to the sun itself? Could a set of ideals ever inspire as much devotion as the divine?
If it did, it was madness.
"I… am an instrument of the Empire, to which I belong. I do not care where the Empire ends and where I begin. It is all the same to me. Because I am part of the Empire, my individual existence is entirely dissolved."
"And yet," John cut in, "you make individual decisions based on your own will, don't you? After all, that's why you showed up here unannounced. If you'd been following orders, someone would've set up an appointment for you. Coming here and asking me to deport Juliana Crain was your call. Because you yourself judged it necessary. Am I wrong?"
"You're right. Even so, the decisions I make are for the good of the Empire."
John drank some wine and then took a sudden interest in his armband, which he carefully straightened. Not immediately resuming eye contact with Takeshi, he ventured into more dangerous territory.
"Have you ever wanted to protect both the Empire and something else that you loved, Chief Inspector?"
Takeshi considered the question carefully while John finished his glass a little too quickly.
"I have," he finally admitted. "But in the end, if I had to choose, I would gladly renounce even my life for the Empire."
"Yes, well, giving up your life, committing—what's the word? Harakiri?"
"Seppuku," Takeshi corrected him.
"Seppuku. Committing seppuku is much easier than sacrificing someone outside of yourself that is of infinite value to you, don't you think?"
"I'm not sure you fully understand the concept of seppuku," Takeshi slyly responded, tucking his free hand behind his back.
"No, I don't. You're right. I see it as a form of capitulation."
"In fact it is quite the opposite. But I won't endeavour to explain Japanese culture to you. It would be like saying a sutra in a horse's ear."
"Who are you calling a horse?"
"Don't twist my words. It is just a saying."
"Choose your sayings more carefully."
There was another pause.
"I think, Obergruppenführer, that in order to be at peace in this life, you must strive to align your desires with that which is your duty."
"A man has many duties, Kido-san."
"Then you must consider their hierarchy. Or face the fact that they are not duties, but mere obligations."
Blinking wearily, John peered into nothingness.
Being a father is not just an obligation.
Wanting to avoid the subject that was at the forefront of his mind and at the heart of the entire conversation, Obergruppenführer Smith turned his attention to the glass that his guest was holding so uselessly.
"Don't you like Rotwein, Chief Inspector Kido?" he wondered.
"Of course I do," Takeshi lied.
"I don't believe you."
To prove him wrong and not risk losing face, Takeshi demonstratively drank some wine.
"Oh, please, you can do better than that. Unless you think my wine isn't good enough for you?"
"Not at all," the guest protested, and had no choice but to support his claim by finishing his drink without further delay.
"There, you see? That wasn't so bad! This bottle's worth a fortune, you know."
"I am sure of if. But I don't usually drink when on duty."
"So being here is a duty to you, not an obligation, correct?"
Takeshi replied that it was a bit of both. God forbid he should give a straight answer. The Obergruppenführer poured himself more wine and held out the bottle to force his guest to step forward and have his glass filled again.
"Well," John said, "receiving you is an obligation to me, Chief Inspector. I'm sorry to say. Then again, there are many obligations that bind the Pacific States and the Greater Reich."
"Indeed. Sadly, an alliance that rests on obligations instead of duties has little sincerity to recommend it."
"Those are seditious words, Chief Inspector!" John warned his guest.
He drank slowly without taking his eyes off him.
"You misunderstand me. There is nothing I desire more than a continued peace between our nations. However, as you said earlier, there is a distance between us. And there are those who would do anything to turn that distance into a rift."
"Very true," John conceded.
"I intend to apply myself to the task of ensuring that never happens. If I have to drink all the Rotwein in the Greater Reich to achieve it, then so be it."
Amused, John put his glass down.
"You really don't like alcohol, do you, Chief Inspector Kido?"
"Not when I'm on duty, no."
"I bet you're always on duty."
Did I just say that out loud?
"Alcohol weakens a man's resolve," Takeshi soberly explained. "As do women."
"I disagree about women. My wife is a source of strength to me. She makes everything worthwhile. Are you married, Chief Inspector?"
"Yes, I am."
"Any children?"
"Two sons."
"Doesn't your family give you strength?"
"I draw my strength from the sun, Obergruppenführer."
"The sun?" John asked mockingly.
"This life is fleeting. But some things radiate eternally."
"Once again, I can't relate," John said, chugging his glass and then walking over to the window to have a look outside. "You answer my questions so decisively, but I can't tell what your true feelings are."
"If this surprises you, then you are obviously not used to the Japanese."
"Even so, you're particularly closed off. Since I like to know the people I collaborate with, I've been trying to loosen you up a little, but that's not really your thing, is it?"
"No, not really. But you're not the only person I frustrate with the austerity of my character. However, I assure you that I am perfectly content with the way I am."
John noticed a smudge on the window. It unnerved him.
"Are you also content with the choices you've made?" he inquired absently.
The Chief Inspector cocked his head to the side and displayed a slight frown.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, are you?"
Was he content with the choices he'd made? Though he resisted it, black ink spilled inside Takeshi's mind and spread through his brain. The face of every gaijin that had begged for his mercy, which he invariably denied. The pathetic snivelling of women and children reacting—too loudly—to his calculated threats. The room filled with plastic-covered furniture and the naked, starving men shuddering from humiliation inside the dark cell he governed from outside. The bodies he had split open with his sword, the hot, red spurt of blood that hit his face when he cut down that fire-haired soldier on that wretched beach, with one clean stroke, like it was nothing, like he had cut through butter. He recalled the nausea, the violent revulsion he felt at the sight of the head he had lopped right off the shoulders of the traitor that had knelt before him in the sand. The anger, the euphoria, the disgust. The slimy, wet innards spilling from the stomach he had cut open himself in a fit of overzealous rage.
"Long live His Imperial Majesty the Emperor!"
"I did not want all the things I have done, but they were necessary," he declared without a hint of emotion in his voice.
"So we do have something in common," John said, contemplating the city that now thrived because of the things he had done and not wanted. "We've both learned that sometimes, sacrifices have to be made."
He turned away from the sweet reminder of all his glorious accomplishments, and got himself a fresh glass of wine before inviting Takeshi to sit on the sofa.
"Please, have a seat," he urged him, in an amiable yet confusingly authoritative tone that gave him no choice but to comply.
The Obergruppenführer sat casually, leaning back and crossing his legs while Takeshi selected the adjacent couch. Back straightened, he rested his left palm on his thigh and stared into his full glass of wine.
Damn you, gaijin.
"How did you feel when you did those things you didn't want to do?" John suddenly inquired, which took the Chief Inspector by surprise because he had foolishly believed he would not be tortured any further with this topic of conversation.
"Nothing at all," Takeshi said indifferently, slowly resigning to his fate. "I crossed a threshold once, and it stripped me of my ability of empathize."
"You mean after you killed your first American during the Solomon Islands Campaign?" John assumed, then took a mouthful of wine.
This seemed to anger Takeshi, who emptied his entire glass in a few gulps and slapped it on the table before him.
"No, Obergruppenführer," he said, struggling to control his voice, "it wasn't an American. It was a Japanese. Once you've killed one of your own, you can kill anyone."
He was just a boy. What did he know of war?
"Sometimes, empathy prevents you from thinking straight."
"So does lack of empathy. For example, I have a hard time knowing when it's time to stop beating a prisoner I'm interrogating. I cannot trust him to tell me when he's reached his limit, as people tend to cry out at the slightest discomfort. Nor can I rely on my subordinates, who would never dare to tell me I have gone too far. So I must do my best to assess the situation myself, and sometimes, I give the order too late and end up inciting more hatred than fear."
"Maybe you enjoy inflicting pain," John proposed, drinking candidly.
Takeshi glared at him.
"I am not a monster, Obergruppenführer. I do not enjoy making people suffer. But nor does it pain me, and therein lies my problem."
John shrugged.
"If you ask me, a person who doesn't feel pain when inflicting it upon others is no less of a monster than one who enjoys it."
"Sou desu ka? What about you, Obergruppenführer? Do you never inflict pain?"
"Why, of course I do. On a regular basis. But unlike you, I don't lie to myself by pretending I'm not a fiend. I can be, you know. If the Reich requires it. However…"
"However?" Takeshi demanded contemptuously.
"When it comes to my family, I cannot be a fiend."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."
Wanting to evade further inquiries, John rose and walked over to his desk. His eyes met the ones in the painting, and he grinned.
"More wine, Chief Inspector?"
The reply that followed was nothing short of surprising. Not because it stemmed from courtesy or obligation, but because it was sincere.
"Yes, please. Wain onegaishimasu."
John poured the wine, and watched his guest actually taste it for the first time.
"Tell me about your emperor," he gently ordered him. "Why is he so important to you? Do you truly believe he is God?"
"Not God. A god. Yes."
"Really?" John sneered.
"Is your Führer a god?"
"Obviously not."
"Then why do you revere him as such? You throw your arm in the air and hail his name, and you keep an image of him in every home."
"It's not the same thing."
"I beg to differ. You know he is not a god, yet you serve him as though he were. Why laugh at me, when I do the same thing as you, only for someone I honestly perceive as a living god? Which of us is more ridiculous, in your opinion?"
"Wow, the wine has done wonders on you. Finally, you speak openly. Finally, I know your mind."
"And I still don't know yours, Obergruppenführer," Takeshi pointed out, sustaining his gaze.
Defiantly maintaining eye contact, John fumbled through his pockets in search of his cigarettes and lighter. He opened the silver box, blindly selected a coffin nail and stuck it in his mouth before lighting it up and taking a puff. He leisurely blew out the smoke in a deliberate effort to create suspense.
"What do you wish to know?"
"Are you a separate entity from the Reich, Obergruppenführer Smith?"
The Pon hadn't forgotten. John was impressed, but also annoyed. His eyes dwelled on Takeshi's face, then distractedly examined his hair that glistened like lacker. He thought very carefully about his answer.
"Even a cog inside a great machine is an individual piece."
"Can you say that everything you do is meant to benefit this great machine?"
"I do what needs to be done, yes. But unlike your emperor, I'm just a man, Chief Inspector. And a man has his contradictions."
Obviously, John hadn't thought carefully enough. Maybe he shouldn't have had that third glass…
"A contradiction occurs when you are unwilling to investigate a conviction," Takeshi stated. He consumed the rest of his drink with relative disdain, and held out his glass to ask for more. John rose again and came back with Heydrich's bottle and another one he had received from an equally disagreeable (but slightly lower ranked) person. With his cigarette dangling from his handsome lips, he served his guest—because the Pon was not the only one in the room with impeccable manners—then placed both bottles, including a corkscrew, on the table. Afterwards he settled back into his leather chair and took a long drag, then exhaled.
"Are you suggesting my convictions are weak?" he asked, feigning offence.
"Not at all. Simply, sometimes we are unwilling to dig deeper, for fear of facing the truth."
"I'm not afraid of the truth. I embrace it."
"Everyone is afraid of the truth, Obergruppenführer. You're no exception to the rule of humanity."
"I've thoroughly investigated all my convictions, thank you very much."
"Then how can there be any contradictions in you?"
John was uncharacteristically stumped. He gave his cigarette a tap over the ashtray and did his best to seem unperturbed. Takeshi waited, passing the time by taking a few introspective gulps of wine.
"I think," the Obergruppenführer said at length, "that you can believe in a principle, but not so much in its practice."
"Then it is a false principle," Takeshi unequivocally retorted.
"Alright, let me position the matter differently. One might adhere to an ideology without wanting to apply its every component."
"Again, that means your ideology is false."
John answered with a grin as large as the new bottle of wine he proceeded to open.
"Did you really just say that to an officer of the American Schutzstaffel?"
"Forgive me, I did not mean—"
Because the apology had already been expressed in the first two words of the sentence, John preferred to interrupt the subsequent justification.
"Have some of this sweet, wonderful Riesling," he proposed, not giving his guest enough time to empty his glass. The white wine mingled with the red, and turned into a beautiful but sacrilegious rosé. It pleased John to think of how scandalized the men who had given him these bottles would be if only they could see how he was wasting them…
"Arigatou gozaimasu," the Chief Inspector said, too polite to refuse after he had just offended his host. John also poured himself a glass of Riesling and gave a quick toast.
"To… convictions yet uninvestigated!"
Takeshi rose his glass and thought of a conviction he would rather investigate.
"Tell me, Obergruppenführer. What is the one guiding principle of your ideology that you also believe must be put into practice?"
Such a question required a lungful of smoke. John took another draw of his cigarette, and the answer was clear.
"Order," he proclaimed.
"Here, I must agree with you. Order is of the utmost importance."
"So we've got at least two things in common," John mused.
"It appears so."
Takeshi studied him. Clad in ominous black, the Obergruppenführer studied him right back. There was a contradiction between the impeccable uniform he was wearing and the cigarette and glass of wine he held in his hand.
"Tell me about the first man you killed," John bluntly requested without any kind of prelude.
"What is there to say?"
"Tell me what happened. You said he was Japanese. Why did you kill him?"
"Because he was a traitor. He wanted to surrender to the Allies, but I caught him just in time."
"Then what?"
"I ordered him to commit seppuku, and he didn't have the courage. He couldn't cut open his stomach, because his entire body was shaking. It infuriated me, so I disemboweled him myself. And then cut his head off."
"A fitting punishment for a traitor."
"He was barely nineteen years old," Takeshi revealed, staring at the vaguely teutonic patterns in the carpet under his feet.
Why am I telling the gaijin all this?
"Old enough to know better. Besides, you did it to restore order in your battalion."
"No. I did it out of anger. I offered him a good death, but he couldn't go through with it. It offended me."
"A good death… What is a good death, according to you?"
"An honourable one."
John had another drink while Takeshi seemed determined not to absorb another drop of alcohol. He set the glass upon the table and emphatically pushed it away.
"What is more honourable, according to you, Chief Inspector? Bravely facing a life of shame and suffering, or refusing ignominy by taking your own life?
"I can live in suffering, but not in shame."
"Spoken like a true samurai."
"Of course you would compare me to a samurai."
Having seemingly forgotten about his resolution not to drink any more wine, Takeshi picked up his glass again.
"And what if… it wasn't about honour at all?" John continued, the world now spinning furiously around him. "What if you were given no choice at all? What if I told you you must die because I consider your life a disgrace?"
"Who are you to determine the value of my life?"
"Exactly!" John laughed, much louder than he intended to. "But what if you were a useless eater, Kido-san? What then? Would I be justified in disembowelling you?"
Despite the fumes of the alcohol clouding his brain, Takeshi could tell there was something very personal behind John's words. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, changing his mind about the glass in his hand, which he discarded while the Obergruppenführer kept digging his own grave.
"How can anyone say that he's not perfect? He's perfect to me, absolutely perfect. There's nothing wrong with him. Nothing. My s—"
"Obergruppenführer," Takeshi suddenly intervened. "Might I have a glass of water?"
John froze. Taken aback, he nodded. The rush of embarrassment and gratitude he felt, he masterfully contained.
"I-I.. Certainly."
He crushed his cigarette and left his chair, eager to turn his face away from his guest as he picked up the glass pitcher and proceeded to fill two empty glasses with water.
What is wrong with you, Pon?
He breathlessly drank the first glass, and brought the second one to his guest. Takeshi accepted it, noting the inverted manji motifs etched onto the glass for a better grip and probably also as a subtle reminder of who was in power.
They sat in silence for several minutes, trying to regain their composure. At some point, Takeshi noticed that the Obergruppenführer was watching him attentively, like he was painting a mental portrait of him. Or perhaps he was expecting him to launch some kind of offensive against him, now that he'd almost spoken too much.
Go on. Give me a reason to kill you, too.
But Takeshi disappointed him. He innocuously took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then put them back on and cleared his throat.
"Why did you have us drink wine, Obergruppenführer?" he plainly asked.
John almost smiled.
"I told you. I like to know the people I'm to collaborate with. I wanted to loosen you up a little."
"But why did you drink too?"
"Well," John scoffed, "I had to give the example."
"Why drink so much? Why not let me compromise myself while you remained sober?"
Now John showed irritation.
"I wasn't looking for something to use against you later, if that's what you're implying. Earlier, you pointed out that the alliance between our two nations lacks sincerity. Well, what better way to encourage sincerity than through wine? I wanted our collaboration to be based on a little more sincerity than the alliance between our nations."
"I see."
"As you know so well, war may be imminent. Our relations are fragile right now, because, like you said, they're not very sincere. You people think you're superior to everyone else, and my people… think the exact same thing about themselves. Obviously, one side is wrong."
"Obviously," Takeshi said with a derisive smile.
"What about you, Chief Inspector? Did you plan on playing along and drinking with me?"
"I admit you are a far greater schemer than I am. You pretend to be ignorant about the Japanese, but you knew exactly how to use my courtesy against me."
"Oh, come on. You were guzzling it up!"
"You're not the only one who wanted a little sincerity."
"Well, I'm glad we had this conversation."
"I suppose it was necessary."
"Didn't you enjoy it?"
"Enjoy is a strong word."
"What about the wine? Or will you conceal your true feelings about that too?"
Takeshi stood up, surprisingly steady on his feet.
"The Riesling was tolerable," he replied, but who could tell if he really meant it?
"Are you leaving, then?"
"Yes, I have much to do. And so do you, I imagine."
"You imagine correctly."
John walked him to the door, wondering which of them had revealed more about himself than the other. The fact that he wasn't sure was a little disconcerting.
"Thank you for your time, Obergruppenführer," Takeshi said, but didn't hold out his hand to shake the gaijin's. Instead, he bowed to his host, and then took his leave.
Almost immediately, one of the Obergruppenführer's men rushed in.
"Sir, if I may ask—"
"Listen to me, Erich," John ordered him, flawlessly concealing his inebriated state, but not the smell of alcohol on his breath. "I want you to erase all record of the meeting from the log. Understand? He was never here."
Confused but obedient, Erich nodded assent, eying the empty bottles on the table but saying nothing further on the matter.
When he was finally alone, John walked over to the compromising reminder he kept on display behind his desk.
"Why display a medal from your U.S. military service?"
Of all the distracting objects on his bookshelf—the black roman statue, the copper armillary sphere, the crystal decanters—the Pon had noticed the one thing that was truly worth noticing. Picking up the medal, the Obergruppenführer tried to picture Chief Inspector Kido investigating traitors behind enemy lines, but all his mind could summon was the macabre memory of a Japanese soldier receiving an American bullet in his skull, his eyes rolling back into his head and his body collapsing into the white sand.