All language subtitles for Anatahan.1953.720p.BluRay.x264-RedBlade_ENG

Nineteen days out of Yokohama,

we were practically
drifting toward Saipan
at six knots an hour.

The convoy consisted
of five old Bonita vessels.

Our engines
were in poor shape.

We carried
badly needed supplies
toward the island outposts.

We were fishermen,
proud to be drafted
into service,

and had two soldiers
posted on each boat.

No need for more,
we thought.

We were not prepared
for defeat. Who is?

The lead boat, the Hyosuke Maru,
was captained by an old salt

who knew nothing
about this watery arena.

His maps showed
some 2,000 islands,

like sprinkled crumbs
on a vast surface.

We were now passing
the Mariana Archipelago.

Once it had belonged
to Spain,

then to Germany,
and finally to Japan,

and we intended to keep it.

This tropical world
was a geological joke

of coral and volcano.

Some islands lasted,
some disappeared.

Some were inhabited,
others were not.

Who'd want to live there
anyway?

This giant body of water
and all that was in it
was ours.

Our belief in victory
was unshakable.

We had stopped looking
at the steppingstones
that paraded by.

They were of no interest.

We wanted to return home.

We now sighted Anatahan,

a jungle rock that stood high
out of the sleeping waters.

So it was duly recorded
in the log,

6:00 in the morning,
June 12, 1944,

the fourth year of a war
to which we had dedicated
our lives like children,

playing a game
without vision or foresight.

Four bells and our chief cook
and bottle washer

appeared promptly with asameshi,
breakfast for the skipper.

His American sailor's hat
was a reminder of
a defeated enemy ship.

At first we thought it was
one of our own planes.

The barren map of the world
makes no note
of where misfortune strikes.

We went down fast.
Few survived.

The Mariana Trench
over which we swam ashore

was over 35,000 feet deep.

The fiery center of the earth
had blown this rock of Anatahan
a long way from the ocean floor.

How we got ashore,
no one remembered.

We were dumped like garbage
on a hot coast, left to rot.

The change from
a human being with dignity
to a helpless worm

takes but a second.

A merciful narcosis
kept us from suffering too much.

One of the men
had not only saved his hide,

but accomplished
the heroic feat of
bringing a machine gun ashore.

A warrant officer
with a long service record,

he was the only one
who knew what to do.

To defend this island
for a couple of months was not
a difficult task, he thought.

He knew the enemy,

and he knew the Imperial Navy
would not permit us
to stay abandoned very long.

Yes, we have picked
the deepest part
of the Pacific Ocean,

deep and solemn.

And we were to be here
for seven long years.

And little did we know
that the enemy was not
in planes overhead,

nor was it the lack of food,
the lack of water and medicine,

nor the venomous plants
that hemmed us in.

How could we know that we had
brought the enemy with us
in our own bodies,

an enemy that would attack
without notice?

One of our men had spotted
a deserted village.

This was good news
after many weeks of hardship.

And so we entered
the twisting, haunted labyrinth

of an unfamiliar jungle,

a beautiful but vicious world
from which many of us
never returned.

Oi!

Oi!

Oi!

Oi!

What sort of a Japanese
was this?

His name was Kusakabe.

Said he lived alone
on the island.

The others had left
when the war started.

He'd been
plantation foreman,

exported copra.

But the jungle
had taken over.

An unfriendly man.

Unfriendly to us,
and unfriendly to himself.

Imagine living
on an island like this
by choice,

thousands of miles
from nowhere.

That's how we met Keiko.

At first,

she was only
another fellow human being

stranded on this pinpoint
on the map.

Then she was to become
a female to us.

And finally, a woman.

The only woman on earth.

Our eyes have stayed
empty and remote.

We lost track of time.
The rains had started.
They seemed never to end.

We built boats--
toy boats to carry us home
on the wings of our longing.

This lonely island
was our whole world.

We went to sleep at night
and dreamt of home.

Each morning
we were back on Anatahan.

Like a rare bird
of the wet jungle,

we caught
an occasional glimpse
of Keiko.

Some of us,
sooner than the others,

longed for something
more than bread alone,

and we watched her,
and we watched each other.

The rain stopped.
Nothing lasts forever.

Though the waves of the ocean
lasted long.

First thing we did
when the hot rays
of the sun came again

was to build a Shinto shrine
to speed our prayers.

Most of us believed
in Shintoism.

There were two Christians,
four Buddhists.

Others believed
only in Japan.

We extracted salt
from the sea,
hunted lizard and bat,

found wild potatoes,

lived on food
that pigs would have rejected.

But best of all,
we found a way of making fire.

We had sunk to the level
of prehistoric man.

But our progress
was not slow.

We achieved in weeks
what the caveman had taken
centuries to accomplish.

And so we faced
our new life,

halfway between Japan
and New Guinea
on a deserted sea lane,

1,500 miles
from the Philippines,

some 16 degrees
above the equator,

resigned to wait.

The first typhoon struck us
with an unjust fury.

What had we done
to reap all this?

Why did man and nature
conspire to make us helpless?

The rocks
that were so formidable
when we crawled ashore

were pebbles now
in a giant sea.

It raged for three days.

The elements are cruel.

To the winds and to the sea,

man and his problems
is as nothing.

The typhoon pounded at us.
The ocean wanted to wipe us out.

This island rock
that was anchored firmly
to the bottom of the deep sea

seemed to tear loose
and join the storm.

One year on Anatahan.

This was our home now--

three miles long, one mile wide,
most of it impenetrable.

We stood guard in turns
to wait for our navy to come--
it never came.

For the enemy to come--
he never came.

Nothing came but the waves.

The tides lifted
and the tides fell.

We now took
another step away

from prehistoric man.

We had found
empty beer bottles,

and now we found
a way of filling them--
with coconut wine.

If we drank quickly,
before it turned to vinegar,

it made us forget
where we were and who we were.

We were scolded,
of course.

But since when has alcoholism
been cured by scolding?

"Who are you combing
your hair for?"

"For you, naturally."
Was she combing it for him?

Takahashi was the first one
to break the social ice.

He brought a peace offering--

more shells for the wife,
as if she needed them.

At that time we still thought
they were man and wife,

and we had not yet
become savages.

The difference
between a child and a grown-up

is in the way the brain
is in control of the emotions.

Kusakabe objected to anyone
paying attention to Keiko--
that was easy to diagnose.

More difficult to understand
was why he was so
antagonistic to us,

and to himself.

Our leader,
the boss of the island--

that is, boss for a while--

was not opposed
to a display of his authority.

Some men are drunk on wine.
Some are drunk on power.

Hai.

So far, all these things
that happened to us on Anatahan

were very small.

Our life now consisted
of nothing but trifles.

How were we to know
what was important

and what trifle was not?

She was a pretty woman.

She was a Japanese woman,
trained to obedience.

When she was young
she followed her father,

never dreamt
of walking at his side.

When she married
she walked behind the husband.

Obedience to a husband
is considered to be the prime
virtue of Japanese womanhood.

The full moon
of the autumn equinox

is the time
for the ohigan festival,

when we pay respect
to our ancestors.

Our thoughts
then go from them
to our family.

The word "higan"
means "the other shore."

It is taken
from the Buddhist legend

that there is a river
marking the division
of this earthly world

to a future one.

This river
is full of illusion,

passion, pain and sorrow.

Only when
you cross the river,

having fought
the currents of temptation
to gain the far shore,

do you reach enlightenment.

This was the time
when we thought
of our families far away.

This was the time
when we thought
of our families, all of us.

And so did Kusakabe.

He had brought with him,
when he came, wife and child.

At the outbreak of the war,
four years now,

they had left him
to go to Saipan for safety.

Keiko too had had a husband
who had left on the same boat.

She too had not heard
from him again.

All this we found out later.

Careless as we
might wish to be

in our relations
to other human beings,

there is
a time of accounting.

Left alone
in an empty world,

it was natural for these two
to have formed a bond of sorts.

For a time they have forgotten
everything but each other.

Keiko?

Keiko?

Keiko?

Keiko?

"Are you
thinking of your home?"

"Yes, but not
when I see you."

She was prepared
to hear just that.

A long journey
begins with one step.

Hers was to be
quite a long journey.

This was Anatahan.

We still kept track
of the months,

though we had forgotten
the day of the week.

A little while later
no one would care
what year it was.

Japan had forgotten us.

The horizon
remained empty and remote.

But the circle around Keiko
enlarged.

She was young.

Her body failed to remember
the blows it had received.

It also slipped her mind.

She became better-looking
day by day.

She became queen bee,
and we, the drones,
began to swarm.

"What's your husband doing?"

"All I know, he's not out
looking for another woman."

"How would you like
to be my bride tonight?"

"I don't need two husbands."

Coconut wine had become
our steady diet.

With the coming of wine,
discipline vanished.

Some of us began
to feel strongly

about being told to stand guard
day and night against
an enemy that never came.

Who was this man anyway,

who never allowed us
to forget what it meant
to be a Japanese soldier?

All this talk of
"stand up and salute"
became more and more pointless.

It took him years
to achieve his position.

It took seconds
to lose it.

Typhoons and human beings
strike without much warning.

There are few signals,

and only the skilled--
the very skilled can read them.

The loss of face
to a soldier in command

is not
a pleasant experience.

To lose the respect
of our fellow men

is not pleasant
for anyone anywhere.

A good part of our life
is spent in trying to gain
the esteem of others.

To gain self-esteem, however,
we usually waste little time.

We had thrown off
the yoke of discipline.

We were free,
free of all restraint,

which only meant that we were
slaves to our bodies.

A folk song from Okinawa,
the "Tsundara Bushi,"

had spread like a weed
among the soldiers
during the war.

"You and me, like an egg.
I'm egg white,
you're egg yellow.

I embrace you."

The day started with a dispute
over the words of a song.

How the day would end,

no one knew at the time.

"You are looking
for trouble."

"And we found it."

""Keiko, Keiko,
come out, come out.'
Those are the right words."

Semba was 19,
with the beard of a man
and the brain of a grasshopper.

He was next in line
for Keiko's favors.

We gave little thought
to our actions.

There is
no medicine against stupidity,
and it was epidemic among us.

Then came the unexpected.

"To all Japanese forces.

Three months ago,
the 15th day of August,

Japan accepted
unconditional surrender.

The Japanese emperor himself
is asking you
to lay down your arms.

The war is over.

An American ship
will take you home.

Hostilities have ceased.

All Japanese men
and officers, surrender.

Surrender at once."

The unbelievable had happened.

This could not be true.

We had just begun the war.

We were prepared to fight
for a thousand years.

We'd overrun Asia,
almost the entire Pacific.

How could we have lost
so suddenly?

This was a enemy trick.

It could fool no one.

We came to ask him
to lead us again.

There are those who lead
and those who wish to be led.

There is not necessarily
any other bond between them.

"The sacred soil of Japan
cannot be conquered.

So long as we have one drop
of blood in our veins,
we will not give up.

Rather die than surrender."

Hai!
Hai!

But far away, in Japan,

our country had faced
the reality of defeat.

The emperor
had called the troops home

and millions streamed back,

away from the nightmare
of trying to conquer a world.

Father and son,
wife and husband...

mothers, daughters,
friends,

all those who had feared
they might never meet again.

The men who had fought in vain
came back home.

Though there were many
that did not come back.

But we knew nothing about
what took place in a new Japan.

We were still on Anatahan,
deserted by the world,

defending
this volcanic rock.

Defending it
against what enemy?

The only real enemy
most of us ever have
is lonesomeness.

The jungle had disgorged
a rare prize.

An enemy plane
had been found wrecked,

the bodies vanished.

This was a doubtful reminder
of civilization.

We fluttered around
this sudden gift from the skies
like vultures.

What could we find
to make our life better?

Some of the things
were to make our life worse.

Nishio found
a.45-caliber weapon
and a few bullets.

Amanuma too
hit the jackpot.

Keiko found a parachute,

which meant elegance for us
instead of clothes
made of tree bark,

or no clothes at all.

Semba, our friend
the lady-killer,
found a ring.

The easy way
to a woman's heart.

This lifeless mass of iron
was the only sign of life
from the outside world so far.

Narayama
was seaman first class.

Before joining the navy
he had been
a first-class musician.

He had an idea
how to make use
of rusty wire.

He was to convert a war machine
into a musical instrument.

This was the first shot
heard on the island.

It was not to be
the last one.

Two old pistols,
two new masters.

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko was gone.

She had been absent all night.
This was a serious defection.

Keiko missing?
Kusakabe was more
out of his mind than usual.

Keiko!
Keiko!

Keiko!

Away from all our troubles,

our now useless leader
kept the machine gun
ready to shoot.

This gun
was never to shoot.

Our search party
went into action.

Something must have
happened to Keiko.

Was she dead?

We were too stunned
to count the men
that were missing.

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko was not dead.
Far from it.

She was very much alive.

This was the beginning of
a new pattern on Anatahan.

Keiko had gone
into circulation.

To spy on the humiliating
details of another human being's
life would be unforgivable,

were we not concerned
in finding a clue
to our own behavior.

Nothing that happens
to a human being
is alien to us.

There,
but for the grace of God,
go I.

Keiko!

Nishio and his friend
are not uncommon among
those we know.

They had guns now
to take the place of thinking.

Oi!

Keiko?

Of course
they had seen no one.

Why should they reveal
her whereabouts?

They had plans of their own.

We had now been on this island
for a long time.

For all we knew,
we would be there forever.

It is easy to look back
and label all this commotion
about Keiko ridiculous.

What we did there
we might not have done
somewhere else.

Opinions differ
on that point.

It is said that human beings
react according
to a set pattern,

whether they are in a primitive
or a civilized society.

Maybe so.

To look back on something
is not the same
as living with it.

The relationship
between a man and a woman
is based on emotions,

which often may not be
understood by others

who, in one way or another,
fumble just as much.

It is easy to see
what wrong others do.

We carry no mirror
to reflect our own actions.

She was clearly
the winner this time.
A bond had been made.

When a woman
threatens to leave,

this has
considerable influence
on the behavior of a man,

even when she's not
the only woman on earth.

Our leader took the occasion
to lecture on our behavior.

Our mission was
to defend Anatahan,

not to drink
and chase after females.

Someday
the enemy would appear.

But the enemy was on Anatahan.
Man's genius to destroy himself
was in clear evidence.

The day began with
a harmless little ditty,

a prelude to violence.

Keiko wanted to be taught
how to play the samisen.

"What about your husband?"

But she knew
how to handle him now.

One more blow out of him
and she would leave him again.

We were all in bondage
to Keiko,

some more and some less.

She was the center
of our universe.

We had no one to call our own,
no one to care for us.

It is not good for man
to be alone.

Kuroda was
the oldest sailor among us,

and he confirmed
our suspicions

about the marital status
of Keiko and Kusakabe,

as if legalistic technicalities
made any difference anymore
in Anatahan society.

It was he who noticed
the photograph
and told us about it later.

There was no law
on our island, no police.

There were only two pistols.

Not so long ago,

these two had been members
of the Imperial Navy,
disciplined and polite.

But the navy
was all but forgotten,

and forgotten
was what they had once been.

But they were
still human beings,

and that classification
is sufficient to cover
quite the variety of behavior.

Certainly Kusakabe had promised
not to beat Keiko.

But in turn, he reminded her
that she had promised
not to fool around with others.

The two gunmen suggested that
they settle their differences

where they could be
under scientific observation.

They had an idea.

Keiko was able enough
to cook for four
as easily as for two.

Kusakabe could provide food
if he wanted to be friendly.

She did not object too much.
It would have done little good
if she had.

Now these were
no longer trifles.

The knife and the bullet
had become law.

So the queen bee kept house
for three drones.

At all these events
that began now,
we were not present.

We were not inside their hut.

There is no way to check
the story of violence
that now unfolded swiftly.

Even had we been there,
all our versions would differ.

One man who did try
to check what occurred

on the Hill of Fools,
as we subsequently called
this corner of the jungle,

was our old friend Semba.

A little while later
his body was found in the swing

where only a week before
he had enjoyed the company
of Keiko.

We can only guess
how he got into that hammock.

We can only surmise
how a second body
came to be found on that hill.

Two bullets,
buried deep in Nishio's back,

helped us
to guess correctly.

In some parts of Asia,

there is a god
of immediate retribution

whose function it is
to spare us long delays
in deserved punishment.

Had he decided to become
the deity of Anatahan?

Anyway, death was fishing
in this jungle,

and on his hook, as bait,
he dangled Keiko.

So we buried our two victims
of our ill-fated mission

with due Shinto ceremony.

A little part of us
went down with them
into the moist ground.

We felt sorry for the dead.

Even an insect an inch long
has half an inch of soul.

Time had stopped
for these two,

but our miserable existence
continued.

We had now been on Anatahan
for five years.

Five years can be short.
For us, they were endless.

Days can be as fatal
as bullets.

All that kept us alive
was the thought of our country,
our fatherland.

Somewhere to the north
was another island,

an island that we loved
and longed for
and could never forget

so long as we had breath
in our bodies.

We celebrated the new year
like good Japanese soldiers.

We paid our respect
in the direction of
the Imperial palace

and sang
our national anthem.

We wished each other
a happy new year--

Omedetou gozaimasu--

and, as if nothing had happened,
thanked each other for
the friendship of the past year

and hoped, courteously,

that this year would be
as pleasant as the last.

At all this too,

no one else was present.

We can only
reconstruct the events
from which we were barred.

The king and queen
had left our festival.

That we knew.

But we never saw
the king again.

He had been marked for death,
indelibly, long ago.

The only thing
we did not know

was who would be
the executioner.

Now Kusakabe was royalty.

Anatahan had a new overlord,

a new king for a short time--

for a short time only.

She followed him
obediently.

But this was a travesty
of obedience.

Obedience at the point
of a gun

is no obedience at all.

We put Yanaginuma to rest
with the others.

He died young.

He had no chance
to learn how to live properly.

Someday we will bring
his ashes back home

and lie to his people
that he had died
like a good soldier, honorably.

The queen had returned
to the beehive,

but there was
little rejoicing.

They should've attended
the funeral.

We do not beat the dead.

When human beings
wish to quarrel,

they soon find a cause.

The litany
is of no consequence.

This time,
it was no food in the hut.

"Why doesn't he go out
and get some?"

There was
no love in the hut also.

Next in line

was the ex-cook
of the Hyosuke Maru--

Yoshiri.

He aspired to Keiko.

The goal of his ambitions
was not very lofty.

We are driven by forces
about which we know nothing.

The king is dead.
What price for the new king?

How long
will the tyrannical house
of Yoshiri last?

He was to wield his power
over Anatahan

for less than 24 hours.

Keiko was his,
and all the coconut wine
he could guzzle.

Untold riches.

But the queen was
not to be his.

She had not been
partial to the murder
of her previous consort.

The bond between them
had been strong,

whatever the nature
of the elastic might have been

that binds together
male and female.

He wanted her
as queen and handmaiden.

No insolence.

He was not going to have
a cup thrown at his feet.

Would he have laughed
quite so much

had he known
that he would not see
the light of another day?

All of us
remember that night.

The moon was low.

The trees silent.
The air was full of mist.

The sea was deep,
the rocks black.

Nature was indifferent
to the cruel destiny of man.

The history of this unfortunate
is the history
of an American sailor's hat.

The two pistols
were thrown into the ocean.
They were gone.

There was to be
no more bloodshed.

We chose Keiko peacefully.

That is, peacefully for us.

But Keiko was not
going to be chosen,
peacefully or otherwise.

She was through.

We started a hunt
for the prize

that this time had been won
in fair competition.

The foe had found us,
the long-looked-for enemy.

We were to be bombed,
we thought.

For this
we had been trained.

This was a simple matter.

"To the Japanese army
on Anatahan."

The bombs that had dropped
told us that war had been over
for five years.

A vessel would call
and take us home.

This was, of course,
another crude enemy trick.

What did they think we were?
Children?

This was hardly the time
for love letters
from the enemy.

"Let's find our Keiko."

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko! Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

Keiko!

This method of persuasion

had worked exceedingly well
in old Baghdad

and in ancient Rome,

and it could not fail
to work in our culture.

We did not see this.
We never saw her again.

She disappeared as if
she had never existed.

Long ago I heard her say
that if she had wings,
she would fly home.

Keiko had gone.
There was no more trouble.

There was also
no more life.

Then, a year later,
a ship came

and a white flag was found
in our jungle burial ground.

Eh?

Letters. Letters from Japan.

Hai.

Hai.

Hai!

Hai.

Hai!

Hai.

Hai.

Doi-san.
Eh?

Kuroda!

This one... was from Keiko.

Oh!

Keiko?

She had notified
our families,

told them
that we were alive.

Kuroda had no family
so she thoughtfully thanked him

and said
she hoped her departure

had brought
no trouble to him.

This was embarrassing,

but definitely not
an enemy trick.

There was another letter,

from the governor
of a prefecture.

The war had ended
six years ago.

"Your families are waiting."

"This flag we send

surrendered
a Japanese regiment.

Use it.

We want you home."

"You can return if you wish.

I will never go back
to a defeated Japan."

The rest of us...
surrendered, gladly.

We had lost the battle
of Anatahan.

Our days of hardship
had ended.

We soared like eagles
over our sacred mountain.

It took ten hours to retrace
a journey of 19 days

and seven long years.

We were back in Japan,

heroes to all
but to ourselves.

Brother and Sister
were there.

Our friends were waiting.

Father and Mother.

Our neighbors came.

We saw our wives.

Our children,
now seven years older.

We would have to
earn their affection
all over again.

We were home at last.

And if I know
anything at all about Keiko,

she too
must have been there.