Survivors tell of gas horror beneath city

No longer can Japan regard itself as a haven of safety in an unstable world

"Why did they have to do this? Why did they have to kill my innocent daughter?" asked Bunjiro Iwata, whose 32-year-old daughter, Takako, was among the six victims of the poison-gas attack on the Tokyo subway.

Who "they" were and what possible motive there could be for attempted mass-murder, were questions last night preoccupying a nation still recovering from the Kobe earthquake two months ago. Although a handful of people died, compared with 5,500 in Kobe, the location and timing of yesterday's attack heightened the sense of vulnerability of a people trained to believe that Japan is a haven of safety from an unstable and dangerous world. "Japan has turned into a scary country," said Koichi Horie, a taxi-driver. "We can't allow crimes like this."

The Tokyo subway is a symbol of the world's second industrial power. Its modern, graffiti-free trains run to a meticulously observed timetable, carrying 2.7 billion passengers a year, twice as many as the New York system and nearly four times more than London's Underground. As soon as this precision was interrupted, passengers in yesterday morning's rush- hour realised something was wrong.

Gotfried Bachman, a Swiss businessman who has lived in Tokyo for 13 years, said he was on his way to his office shortly after 8am when he noticed a container. He thought it held paint-thinner. But then the train was stopped and passengers were told to leave the station.

"I didn't really notice anything until I got off the train," Mr Bachman said from his bed in an intensive-care unit, an oxygen- mask strapped to his face. "I started to feel dizzy." By the time he got out into the street, his eyes were hurting and his vision had darkened. He was taken to St Luke's International Hospital, one of Tokyo's largest, next to Tsukiji station.

Thousands of other passengers were being caught up in a nightmare all over the system. "I saw a package wrapped in paper and covered with a clear plastic bag about the size of a lunch-box on the platform," said Norihiro Takahashi, a 26-year-old office worker.

"It seemed to have two bottles wrapped inside and a liquid was running out. I walked past it and went outside. About 15 minutes later the sunlight suddenly seemed to brighten and my vision got hazy. I felt my chest being pressed and my neck became stiff. I had a headache." Masashi Ito, awaiting examination at St Luke's, said he saw a "large lunch-box" on the platform. It was wrapped in newspapers and gave off a strange smell.

A man was sprawled nearby, having convulsions. Mr Ito's eyes began to hurt and he hurried to the hospital. By the time he arrived, he was unable to write his name and barely able to talk. Like most other patients, he had burning eyes and darkened, tunnel vision.

A man who did not give his name said he and many others were about to board an empty carriage at Kasumigaseki station when a subway official shouted "Stop! Don't get in!" He saw lumps of wet newspaper on the floor of the carriage. "I think they were soaked with chemical stuff. They had a really strong smell," said the man, who works for a Tokyo trading company. His sight was affected temporarily.

Hideaki Kumahashi, 31, a salesman, was told to leave his train at Kodenmacho station. "While we were waiting on the platform, three people collapsed," said Mr Kumahashi, who was was sitting in a wheelchair at St Luke's with an intravenous drip in his arm. People were vomiting when he got to street level. "I saw a man lying, bubbles coming out of his mouth. His nose was bleeding," a dazed commuter said.

Last night hundreds of people were being kept for observation at St Luke's and other hospitals, which were overwhelmed by the emergency. "It's terrible," said Dr Ryuzo Mikami as he looked over patients crowding a hallway. "We've never had anything like this before."

Unaccustomed to dealing with the effects of nerve-gas, doctors began putting the growing crowd of patients on intravenous drips to provide nutrition and make it easier to switch to stronger medicine later if need be. Soon after passengers began arriving, St Luke's reported the first death and tension rose among the rest.

"The symptoms can appear gradually," warned Dr Mikami. "So we want to keep these people here for at least 24 hours, even if they appear to have only relatively minor symptoms." Most of the dozens of people waiting in the hallway were sprawled out on benches under blankets. Many held ice- packs to their foreheads or eyes.

Nurses began writing the names of the emergency patients on poster-sized sheets of paper. By late afternoon, there were 12 posters, covering most of the first-floor wall.

"It's really outrageous. I don't know where to let my anger out," said a 60-year-old man, who narrowly escaped the gas. "I feel like tearing apart the culprit if I could find him."