Those visionaries, the Yamame Corps: I'm not saying that they con-
stantly kept tabs on what I was doing, body and soul, but when I try to
remember them, as when I think of death, I know now that they kept a
vigil on me from the depths of unconsciousness.

While the Corps's rescue operation was getting under way, the burn-
ing fear I had of the mob we left behind was rekindled. I think it was
the same for Mori and the Mediator. Likewise for the six Corps mem-
bers! I'd say their labored breathing was like that of old men clutched
by fear; it was almost infectious. I call them old men, but they looked to
be in their late forties. The smell of death hung redolent in the air,
though, as they wheezed and tottered along in small steps, holding to a
circle around Mori and me. I wonder if the Long March in the Tohoku
mountains somehow accelerated their aging.

The three of us weren't faring much better than our six near-de-
crepit escorts: nine old men on the run, gasping more than breathing, I
should say. We must have passed by several buildings before we found
ourselves in front of an arched entranceway. Once inside, we suddenly
came upon an underground passageway. At the end several steps led us
into the outdoor night. There we were, just within the iron gate bordering

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