Tokyo Year Zero (20 page)

‘That was you, wasn’t it?’ whispers Fujita again, in the dark.

*

The power is still down and it is even darker now. The lights still out and I’m even drunker now. I’m drunk on Korean liquor. The stench of the liquor sticks to the sweat on my skin. My skin itches and so I scratch.
Gari-gari
. I scratch and I scratch until my arms bleed beneath my shirt.
Gari-gari
. My shirt heavy with sweat and now blood. Blood on my hands as I walk from the Ginza back towards Atago. Back towards Atago through the debris of Yūraku-chō. The debris of Yūraku-chō piled up in mountains and in monuments. In monuments to loss, loss under every archway. Under every single archway, down every single alleyway. Down every alleyway and in every shadow. In every shadow and in every shout. Every shout of –

‘Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu…?’

I look under every single archway. Down every single alleyway. In every single shadow. Until I find the one I am looking for. The one in her yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dress –

‘Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu…?’

In her white half-sleeved chemise and pink socks –

Her white canvas shoes with red rubber soles –

‘Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu…?’

Her hair is black. Her skin is white –

Under an archway. In a shadow –

‘Asobu …? Asobu…?’

‘Asobu?’
she asks me in a harsh Tōhoku accent and I nod and I follow her deeper under the archway, deeper into the shadows where she asks me for the money first –

‘I’ve no money,’ I tell her –

And I curse myself again
…

I take out my police notebook. I show her my police notebook and she curses me now and says, ‘I’m with the White Bird Society.’

‘So what?’ I tell her as I kneel her down on all fours–

I kneel her down on all fours and I raise her dress –

Her yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dress
…

She wears no underwear. She is naked beneath –

I screw her backside as she curses and curses –

On her knees. On her knees. On her knees
… I turn her over and I lie her on her back –

I screw her cunt and then I come –

No country. No heart
…

‘Finished?’ she asks in her harsh Tōhoku accent and I nod as she pushes me off her and stands back up and dusts herself down, rubbing at her knees and then at her palms –

Night is day. Day is night. The men are the women
…

I stand before her now and I bow. I say, ‘I’m sorry I have no money. I’m very sorry. What’s your name?’

The women are the men
…

And she tilts back her head, deep under the arch, deep in the shadows, and she laughs, ‘You choose: Mitsuko? Yori? Kazuko? Yoshie? Tatsue? Hiroko? Yoshiko? Ryuko? Go on, you choose…’

The dead are the living. The living are the dead
…

‘Your name is Yuki,’ I tell her. ‘Yuki.’

*

I close my eyes, but I can’t sleep.
Day is night
. I can hear the rain falling. I open my eyes, but I can’t think.
Night is day
. I can see the sun shining. I close my eyes, but can’t sleep.
Day is night
. The good detective visits the crime scene one hundred times. I open my eyes, but can’t think.
Night is day
. The black night light behind the white Shiba trees. Close my eyes, but can’t sleep.
Day is night
. The white trees that have seen so much. Open my eyes, but can’t think.
Night is day
. The white branches that have borne so much. Close my eyes, can’t sleep.
Day is night
. The white leaves that have come again. Open my eyes, can’t think.
Night is day
. To grow and to fall and to grow again. Close eyes, can’t sleep.
Day is night
. I turn away. Open eyes, can’t think.
Night is day
. I walk away from the scene of the crime. Close, can’t sleep.
Day is night
. Beneath the Black Gate. Open, can’t think.
Night is day
. The dog still waits. Can’t sleep.
Day is night
. The dog still waits. Can’t think.
Night is day
. The dog still waits. Can’t.
Day is night
. The dog still waits. Can’t.
Night is day
. The dog still waits. Can’t.
Day
. The dog still waits. Can’t.
Night
…

Tokyo, 89°, slightly cloudy

There are dark grey clouds in the bleached white sky as night turns to day. I am vomiting in the toilets of Atago police station.
Black bile again
. There are newly written signs on the peeling plaster walls as I walk back upstairs. I stand over the sink. There are local government warnings about fresh outbreaks of cholera. I spit. There are instructions to refrain from drinking unboiled water, especially well-water, and to refrain from eating uncooked foods, especially raw fish. I wash my face. I look up into the mirror. I stare into the mirror –

No one is who they say they are
…

There are seven grey faces waiting for me in the borrowed room upstairs; Hattori, Takeda, Sanada, Shimoda, and Kimura; Ishida with his worries and Nishi with his black eye.
No Fujita now
…

They walked round Shiba all day yesterday.
Investigation is footwork
. They asked round Shiba all day yesterday.
Investigation is footwork
. They described the suspect all day yesterday.
Investigation is footwork
. They described the victim all day yesterday –

The yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dress
…

I ask Hattori and Takeda what they found out –

‘Nothing whatsoever,’ say Takeda and Hattori.

The white half-sleeved chemise and pink socks
…

I ask Sanada and Shimoda what they found –

‘Nothing at all,’ they both tell me.

The white canvas shoes
…

I ask Kimura and Ishida –

‘Nothing,’ they say.

But they are looking at me now with questions in their eyes. They are looking at me with doubts in their eyes –

But I am the head of the room
…

They are looking at me now with dissent in their eyes. They are looking at me with hate in their eyes –

I am the head. I am the boss
…

I divide them into different sets of pairs; Takeda and Ishida, Hattori and Shimoda, Sanada and Kimura. I leave Nishi for later –

I am the boss! I am the boss!

I hand two missing persons reports to Takeda and Ishida; Ishihara Michiko and Ōzeki Hiromi, aged sixteen and seventeen years old.
I am the head of this room
. I hand two missing persons reports to Hattori and Shimoda; Konuma Yasuyo and Sugai Seiko, aged seventeen and eighteen years old.
I am the Boss of this Room
. I hand two missing persons reports to Sanada and Kimura; Tanabe Shimeko and Honma Fumiko, both eighteen years old.
I am the head!
I tell Nishi to go and wait for me in the cells downstairs –

I am the boss! I am the boss! I am the boss!

‘These are all reports of missing girls aged fifteen to twenty,’ I tell the rest of the room. ‘And these are all reports of girls who went missing between the fifteenth and the thirty-first of July this year. And so one of these girls might be our girl…’

I am the boss! I am the boss!

‘So I want them found!’

I am the boss!

I run back to the toilets. I vomit again.
Brown bile
. I walk over to the sink. I spit. I wipe my mouth. I turn on the tap. I wash my face again. I look up into the mirror. I stare into that mirror –

No one is who they say they are
…

Detective Nishi is waiting for me in the cells downstairs. Nishi with his black eye and darker fears. Nishi shocked now. Nishi surprised now. Nishi up against the cell wall. My face in his face. But Nishi knows what I want. Nishi
must
know what I want –

But he starts to apologize about yesterday. He starts to say, ‘I’m sorry about my behaviour yesterday. In the truck…’

I don’t want to hear his apologies or his lies –

Nishi
knows
why I’m here. He
knows
what I want. Nishi
must
know why I’m here. He
must
know what I want –

But Nishi keeps apologizing and lying –

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again and again. ‘My behaviour yesterday, it was unacceptable, in the truck. I’m sorry…’

But Nishi is lying. He must be lying. Nishi
must
know what I want. He
must
know why I’m here before I say, ‘I want that file.’

‘What file?’ asks Nishi and asks again, ‘What file …?’

He
must
know before I ask again, ‘Where is the file?’

‘What file?’ he asks and asks again, ‘What file …?’

‘The file you signed out!’ I shout. ‘That file!’ He shakes his head and says, ‘I don’t know.’

‘The Miyazaki Mitsuko file,’ I tell him –

He shakes his head again. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You mean, you don’t know where it is?’

‘No, I don’t know the file you mean.’

‘But you remember the Miyazaki Mitsuko case?’ I ask him. ‘The murder on the day of the surrender? The body in an air-raid shelter near Shinagawa? You remember?’

Nishi nods his head. Nishi says, ‘Now you tell me, yes.’

‘So where is the file you took from Headquarters?’

Nishi shakes his head. ‘I didn’t take any file.’

‘I saw your name in the log,’ I tell him.

Nishi says, ‘It wasn’t me. Really.’

There are questions in his eyes
…

‘Then someone has used your name, used your seal, to sign out the Miyazaki Mitsuko case file?’

Nishi shakes his head again. Now Detective Nishi asks, ‘But why would anyone do that? Why?’

Innocence in his eyes
…

‘It wasn’t even our case,’ he says. ‘It was the Kempeitai…’

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

‘So there’ll hardly be anything in the file…’

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

‘Surely just the barest of details…’

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

‘The date and time of the crime…’

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

‘The names of the witnesses…’

Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

‘The names of the officers…’

Ton-ton
…

I step back from him. I step back from the cell wall. I turn towards the cell door. I start to walk out of the cell –

‘Boss?’ asks Detective Nishi. ‘What do you want me to do?’

I don’t turn back to him. I just tell him, ‘Wait upstairs…’

‘What if Detective Fujita comes back?’ asks Nishi –

‘Fujita is not coming back,’ I tell him and now I start to walk quicker, now I start to run, to run to the toilets upstairs –

I vomit.
Yellow bile
. I vomit again.
Grey bile
. Four times I have vomited.
Black bile. Brown bile, yellow bile and grey
. Four times I have stared into that mirror. Four times I have screamed –

No one is who they say they are!

*

In the ruins, among the rubble with a cigarette. Two little boys crouch down and watch me smoke, waiting for the dog-end. Two little boys in grey undershirts and baggy trousers, their faces and their arms as black as pitch. This ruin was once a printing shop that produced a newsletter showing daily rice prices. During the Shiba festivals, the owner would give away coloured paper to the local children and teach them how to make origami elephants and cranes. Now three little girls appear among the rubble and call to the two little boys. The little girls with their short hair and dirty faces. The two little boys ask for my dog-end and ask for my newspaper. I hand them the dog-end and I hand them the newspaper and the two little boys run over to the three girls. I watch the two little boys spread out my newspaper. I watch them crease and fold the paper into two GI hats. The three little girls stand among the rubble and call to the two little boys. In the ruins, the two little boys march up and down with their dog-ends in their mouths and their paper hats on their heads –

‘Asobu?’
call the three little girls –

‘Asobu …? Asobu …?’

*

I knock on the door of the interview room at Meguro police station. I open it. I bow. I take a seat next to the stenographer. Chief Inspector Kanehara and Inspector Kai do not look up but the wife of Kodaira Yoshio glances up at me and then looks away again –

Mrs. Kodaira is younger than her husband, a large woman with full round breasts and a round full face. Mrs. Kodaira is wearing her best summer dress, clutching her handbag –

‘I know he knew this Midorikawa,’ she is saying. ‘But I’m sure he did not kill her. I’m sure there is some mistake…’

‘Your husband has already confessed to the murder,’ says
Inspector Kai. ‘And you’ve read his confession. There’s no mistake.’

‘But I want to see him,’ she says. ‘To ask him myself.’

‘Later,’ says Kai. ‘If you answer our questions…’

‘But in the confession it says that the murder occurred at around noon on the sixth of August,’ she says. ‘My husband was working at the laundry until half past two that day and then he came straight home and stayed there with us until the next morning…’

‘How can you be so sure of that?’ asks Inspector Kai.

‘Because it was on that exact day that he asked me to start keeping a diary,’ she says. ‘To write down the times that he worked and the times he came home and the times he went back out…’

‘And why did he ask you to do that?’ says Kai.

‘Because he was worried that the laundry was not paying him for all the overtime and all the night shifts,’ she says. ‘That’s why.’

‘And the first record was made on the sixth of August?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘On the sixth of August and I wrote something like,
Came straight home from work at 2:30 p.m.’

‘And you still have this diary, then?’ asks Kai.

‘Yes,’ she says again. ‘Back at the house.’

Now Inspector Kanehara places a piece of paper on the table. Now Inspector Kanehara asks her, ‘Do you know what this is?’

Mrs. Kodaira shakes her head and says, ‘No, I don’t.’

‘This is your husband’s time sheet from the laundry,’ says Inspector Kanehara. ‘This piece of paper records the actual days and shifts that your husband worked in August at the laundry…’

Mrs. Kodaira stares down at the piece of paper.

‘And as you can see,’ continues Inspector Kanehara, ‘the sixth of August was actually your husband’s day off that week.’

‘But you see, this is why he wanted me to keep a diary,’ she says. ‘Because they were always making mistakes like this…’

‘It’s not a mistake,’ says Kanehara. ‘We’ve checked.’

Mrs. Kodaira clutches her handbag a little tighter –

Questions. Questions. Questions. Questions
…

‘Why would he kill?’ she asks. ‘Why would he?’

‘You’ve read the confession he made,’ says Kai. ‘In the confession he says that he was driven by lust for Midorikawa…’

‘She wanted my husband to get her a job,’ says Mrs. Kodaira. ‘And so she seduced him in order to persuade him to help her.’

‘He approached her,’ says Kai. ‘At Shinagawa…’

‘He gave her food,’ she says. ‘She was hungry.’

‘He told us he put his hand up her skirt,’ says Kai. ‘He told us he put his fingers inside her as they rode on the train…’

‘Exactly!’ shouts his wife. ‘She wanted him…’

‘He raped her,’ says Kai. ‘He murdered her.’

‘He
raped
her?’ laughs Mrs. Kodaira. ‘You’re joking! This Midorikawa girl seduced him, just like all those others…’

Now I lean forward. Now I ask, ‘What others?’

‘The ones that hang around the barracks,’ she says. ‘He’s told me about them, the shameful way they dress, the shameful way they speak. How they will do anything for food or cigarettes…’

I ask her, ‘Does your husband often talk about women?’

‘Of course he doesn’t,’ says Mrs. Kodaira. ‘And I know you’re trying to make out he’s some kind of sex maniac, raping and killing young women, but he’s just a normal Japanese man…’

‘We haven’t said anything about raping and murdering anyone else other than Miss Midorikawa,’ I tell her. ‘Have we?’

She shakes her head. She clutches her handbag –

Questions. Questions. Questions. Questions
…

‘But now I want you to think about last month,’ I tell her. ‘Can you remember which days your husband did not work in July?’

She shrugs her shoulders. ‘He worked all of them…’

Inspector Kanehara places another piece of paper on the table. Inspector Kanehara says, ‘Except the eighth and the twenty-second.’

‘Can you remember what your husband did on those days?’ I ask her. ‘Did he stay at home with you? Did you go for supplies?’

‘He often went for supplies,’ she says. ‘Back to Nikkō.’

Now Kanehara, Kai and I all glance up at each other –

‘I never see them. I never really go back there now
…’

‘How often?’ I ask her. ‘Can you remember exactly when?’

But she says, ‘We all need to eat, detective. Need food…’

‘We know that,’ I tell her. ‘And we’re not interested in whether your husband bought stuff legally or illegally. We’re only interested in the dates you think he went looking for supplies…’

‘I can’t remember exactly,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry…’

‘What about last month?’ I ask her again. ‘Your husband’s work-sheet says he had the eighth and the twenty-second off.’

‘Then he must have done,’ she says. ‘If you say so.’

‘So can you remember what he did on those days?’ I ask her
again. ‘Did he stay home? Did he go out? What did he do?’

‘How should I know?’ she says. ‘All the days are the same!’

‘But surely not when your husband had a day off?’

‘But I can’t remember the eighth from the twenty-second,’ she shouts. ‘How can I remember one day from another …?’

Now Inspector Kanehara says, ‘Then I’ll try to help you remember. Do you read the newspaper in your house?’

She clutches her handbag. She nods her head.

‘Well then,’ says Kanehara. ‘On the eighth of July there was the story of the baby born with two faces in Nagoya…’

She nods her head. She says, ‘I remember…’

‘And the twenty-second of July was the day that all the schools had to destroy their photographs of the Emperor…’