At eighteen, he was old enough to remember a childhood before Japan was at war, when he had played with the children of British, Chinese, Russian, and American diplomats. “I thought they were just like me,” he remembered. “Sometimes I went to their homes, and the American and British mothers made cakes. The Chinese families made delicious buns. But the Russians gave me black bread”—he winced, laughing—“that wasn’t so good.”
