TOKYO — Yoshiyuki Kouno was watching television with his wife in their dining room when an odorless, invisible poison gas wafted past the white paper panes of their sliding doors.
The middle-aged couple, who live in Matsumoto, 100 miles northwest of here, were sitting at the table on wood dining-room chairs, a black baby grand
piano beside them. Kouno's wife, Sumiko, said she wasn't feeling well. Thinking she had a headache, Kouno helped her from her chair to the tatami mat floor.
Then from the backyard came a noise, a deep moan. He checked on the family's small white dogs, Pipi and Hime. Foam was coming from Pipi's mouth; Kouno figured he should wash it off. He strode to the family car, opened the trunk, and took out a bucket and a pair of old gloves. But when he returned to the backyard, both dogs were dead.
"Mother!" Kouno called to his wife. "I think we should call the police!"
On that evening, June 27 of last year, hardly anyone in Japan had heard of the nerve gas sarin. There wasn't even a word for it in the language.
Today there isn't a Japanese schoolchild who doesn't know what sarin is. Eighteen people are dead from it, in two separate attacks, and more than 5,500 have been sickened. There is worry that the next attack might come at any time - maybe this weekend - and might kill hundreds, even thousands.
All Japan has also learned the words for the bizarre religious cult thought responsible for the deadly attacks: "Aum Shinri Kyo." People now just say ''Aum-Kyo" for short.
In a country blessedly free of violent crime, these are the new words for fear.
Four weeks after sarin was released in a coordinated attack on five converging subway trains in Tokyo, the look and feel of this city has changed. The entire police force (and an additional 10,000 officers) continues to guard public places and officials. Baseball fans are searched at the Tokyo Dome. In subway stations, trash cans have either been removed or sealed shut. Use of storage lockers and vending machines is banned. On trains, riders are warned to watch for suspicious packages or people.
