From a Work in Progress, by Malcolm Ledger

The first installment of Ledger’s “Prologue to a War” was previously shared on our website in 2021. Our readers may wish to refresh their memories of the storyline at this link before moving on to the following.

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No less incontestable, awesome, and powerful, was the Imperial Will of His Majesty the Emperor, the living god, which had long sustained and nourished both the glorious war and the ruined nation. Beyond the superficialities of mere technique, beyond the single-minded exhilaration, effortlessness, and triumphant artistry of a master swordsman, his will slashed and vanquished opposition with the certainty and unquestioned authority of a thousand years’ obedience. The thin moustache, a mere line above the lips, the expressionless, glacial face inherited through generations, he was resplendent and proud in Field Marshall’s uniform and immaculate white gloves, his rimless glasses deflecting the judgement of an outraged world. His Imperial Majesty graciously took upon himself the nation’s tragic and unavoidable burden, even as he nudged “Snow”, his uncertain mount, forward, with mirror-like jackboots and precipitous back.

A living god, he existed above all law, all sanction, all reproach. The weight of his sighs alone could crush – and did. The puniness of the merely human frame, slight and boyish, with its own needs, desires, frailties, and ill-fitting clothes, was irrelevant to the indwelling presence of the divine – Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess. To bestow his personal name, Hirohito, on a child, even by mistake, was a sacrilege that could be expiated only by suicide. The entitlements and prerogatives of divinity were merciless and unforgiving.

As hierophant and Shinto High Priest, he alone communed with his immortal ancestor, the ultimate source of life. He was her mediator and interpreter. None might touch his sacred person – not even tailor or doctor – or meet the sacred gaze, any more than one might touch or look upon the sun itself. The mystic oracles and revelations of Amaterasu, mingling with the ceaseless susurrations of the mysterious wind at Ise Shrine, the Holy of Holies, he alone knew and bore. There, among the intense solemnity of the great black pines, he prayed for guidance in the conduct of the Just War being fought in his name. Before the sacred Imperial regalia of mirror, sword, and necklace, the Voice of the Crane, heard by few, carried whitely to the departed spirits of one hundred and twenty-three generations of ancestors far above the clouds. The sacred authority of the Chrysanthemum Throne was unequivocal and absolute.

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To view Malcolm’s poetry, please see the links here and here. Malcolm has also hosted some Writers in Kyoto events at his home (details here). In addition, Malcolm was the winner of the Japan Local Prize in our Seventh Annual Kyoto Writing Competition. His winning entry, “Plum Tree by the Eaves”, can be read at this link.