Tokyo Year Zero (30 page)

‘I do need money,’ I tell him. ‘And I do need Calmotin.’

‘That’s very honest of you, detective,’ says Senju. ‘And also very refreshing in such duplicitous and deceitful times as these –

‘I admire your honesty, Inspector Minami…’

I bow. I thank him. I start to speak but –

‘But did you just come with a shopping list, detective?’

I bow again. I apologize again. I tell him, ‘It isn’t easy for me. There’s an investigation into the murder of Hayashi…’

‘You sound surprised?’ laughs Senju. ‘It’s your job, isn’t it?’

‘But it’s not my case,’ I tell him. ‘And there’s a problem…’

‘A problem for who?’ asks Senju. ‘For you or for me?’

‘For both of us,’ I tell him. ‘Fujita is missing…’

‘And why is this a problem for either of us?’

‘Do you know where he is?’ I ask him.

‘No,’ says Senju. ‘But I’ll ask you again, why would a missing Detective Fujita be my problem?’

‘He’s wanted for questioning about the death of Hayashi Jo,’ I say, and then I pause, I swallow, and now I say, ‘He’s wanted for questioning because Hayashi Jo left behind a letter, a last testament, in which he claims to have information putting Fujita in the New Oasis with Nodera Tomiji on the night of the hit on Matsuda…’

Senju has stopped listening. Senju is stood up now –

Senju showering me with money and with pills –

‘This is not a problem,’ Senju is shouting –

‘This is going to be a pleasure!’

*

It will be hours before I lie again here upon the old tatami mats of her dim and lamp-lit room. It will be hours before I stare again at her
peeling screens with their ivy-leaf designs. Hours before I watch her draw again her figures with their fox-faces upon these screens –

I cannot stay tonight. I cannot take the Calmotin –

I do not want to close my eyes tonight –

For I have one last place still to go.

‘I wish it would rain,’ she says –

‘I cannot stay tonight,’ I tell her. ‘I won’t be here tomorrow. But, as soon as I return to Tokyo, I’ll come straight here…’

Now Yuki puts down her pencils and reaches for a piece of tissue paper. Now she covers both her eyebrows with the paper and stares at me in the panels of her mirror –

‘Does this become me?’

I leave her money –

I leave her pills.

Tokyo, 90°, fine

The Matsuzawa Hospital for the Insane is on the border between the Setagaya and Suginami wards, half-way between my own house in Mitaka and the house of Murota Hideki in Kitazawa.
I thought you would have seen enough of that place
. I know the Matsuzawa Hospital for the Insane well, but I’m not sure why I’m here today –

I thought you would have seen enough of that place…

The Matsuzawa Hospital was built during the reign of the Emperor Meiji and survived the fires and the famines of the last two years to still be standing in the reign of the Emperor MacArthur –

I hate hospitals. I hate all hospitals…

But its buildings are in disrepair and its grounds untended now, the gates long taken for the war effort and the trees cut down for winter fuel. Inside the reception, the paint on the walls has faded and the linoleum on the floor is worn, the staff anaesthetized –

But I hate this hospital the most…

‘Former Police Inspector Mori,’ I say again –

But the receptionist still shakes her head –

‘Please check for me,’ I ask her. ‘It is very important and he was only admitted last month. Mori Ichiro…’

The gaunt receptionist in the stained uniform does not speak but turns away and disappears now, disappears into the grubby office behind the grimy counter. I wait and I wait –

Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku…

The same sounds of screams and sobs as at Keiō Hospital, the same smells of DDT and disinfectant –

I hate this place. I hate…

‘Here it is,’ says the receptionist now with a file in her hand. ‘Mori Ichiro was admitted on the thirtieth of June this year.’

‘And is Mr. Mori still here?’ I ask her –

The receptionist nods. ‘Yes, he is.’

‘I’d like to see him then, please.’

The receptionist shakes her head now. The receptionist says, ‘But you know I can’t just let you –’

‘Then please tell me the name of Mr. Mori’s doctor,’ I say. ‘And tell me where I can find him.’

The receptionist looks down at the file and says, ‘Dr. Nomura. His office is on the second…’

‘I know,’ I tell her and I start to walk away, to walk away and then to run, to run down the corridor and up the stairs, up the stairs and along another corridor, along another corridor to bang on the door, to bang on the door to the office of Dr. Nomura, to bang on the door and then open it, open it and bow and say, ‘Excuse me…’

Dr. Nomura looks up from the papers on his desk –

‘Inspector?’ he says. ‘It’s been a while…’

‘And I am sorry to call on you unannounced,’ I say again. ‘But I am here on police business this time…’

‘Please sit down, then,’ says the doctor now. ‘And can I offer you a drink of cold tea, detective… ?’

I wipe my face and I wipe my neck. I glance at my watch and I shake my head. I say, ‘Thank you but I haven’t much time, doctor.’

The doctor nods. ‘What is it I can do for you, detective?’

‘You have a patient I would like to see,’ I tell the doctor. ‘A former chief inspector of police called Mori. Mori Ichiro…’

The doctor nods again. The doctor says, ‘I know.’

‘Well, I’d very much like to see him,’ I tell the doctor again. ‘It is important I speak with him about an investigation.’

Now the doctor shakes his head. Now the doctor says, ‘I very much doubt that that will be possible, inspector…’

‘Why not?’ I ask him. ‘It’s important.’

‘I understand that,’ says the doctor. ‘But, unfortunately, Mr. Mori has not responded to any of our treatments or our regimens –

‘And so, for the moment, Mr. Mori does not speak…’

‘I would still like to see him,’ I tell the doctor.

The doctor shakes his head. The doctor says, ‘As you know better than most, detective, recovery from the kind of sudden mental collapse which former Chief Inspector Mori suffered on learning he was to be purged, such a sudden mental collapse takes a very, very long time to recover from, if at all, and any further shocks to the brain can cause irreparable damage to the patient…’

I bow. I nod. I say, ‘I know that.’

The blood-flecked scroll…

‘In the case of your father, for example,’ continues the doctor. ‘One sudden moment of lucidity, a moment of clarity, proved fatal.’

I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember…

I nod again. I say again, ‘May I see him but not speak?’

The blood-flecked scroll on the wall…

‘Yes,’ says the doctor. ‘Though I’m not sure why…’

In the half-light, I can’t forget…

‘He was a policeman,’ I tell him. ‘Like my father…’

The blood-flecked scroll on the wall behind his desk…

‘Like my father,’ I say again now. ‘And like me…’

I can’t forget. I can’t forget…

Dr. Nomura nods. Dr Nomura says, ‘Follow me –’ And so I follow Dr. Nomura out of his office, out of his office and down another long corridor, another long corridor through locked metal doors, through locked metal doors into the secure wards, into the secure wards and down more corridors, down more corridors to the secure rooms, the secure rooms and more locked metal doors –

Now Dr. Nomura stops before one locked metal door –

One locked metal door with a bolted metal hatch –

‘Here we are,’ says Nomura. ‘But just look…’

Nomura slides back the bolts on the hatch. Nomura lowers the metal hatch. Now Nomura steps back and says, ‘There you are…’

I step towards the door. I look through the hatchway –

I stare through the hatchway at the man inside –

The man inside, cross-legged on his cot –

I have seen this man before…

This man in a shapeless gown of yellow and dark-blue striped Chinese silk, with his close-shaven head and his unblinking eyes –

Eyes I have met before…

‘Have you seen enough now?’ asks Nomura –

I step away from the hatch now and I nod –

‘I have seen enough,’ I say. ‘Thank you, doctor.’ Nomura closes the hatch.

Nomura bolts it –

No one is who they say they are…

But I have seen this man before –

No one is who they seem…

This man is not former Chief Inspector Mori Ichiro.

*

I have haggled and I have bartered.
Just to eat
. I have threatened and I have bullied.
Just to work
. But I itch and I scratch again.
Gari-gari
. My hand aches and my body stinks.
Of defeat
. I wipe my face and I wipe my neck.
And I curse
. I have come to the end of my own street.
Ton-ton
. I walk down the street to my own house.
Ton-ton
. I open the gate to my own house.
Ton-ton
. I go up the path to my own house –

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

There is a bonfire of bedding in my garden –

There is fire and there is smoke here.

I open the door to my own house –

I have come to say goodbye –

Their shoes face the door…

This time I cannot turn away. This time I cannot run away –

The rotting mats, the shredded doors, the fallen walls…

From the smell of the children. The smell of the pain.

I stand in the
genkan
. I call out, ‘I’m home…’

My wife comes out of the kitchen, her face is stained with soot, her hands brushing dust from her worn
monpe
trousers –

‘Welcome home,’ she says –

Home. Home. Home…

I take off my boots. I ask her, ‘Where are the children?’

‘Masaki! Sonoko!’ my wife calls. ‘Father is home!’

Father. Father…

My children do not run to greet me. My children do not smile when they see me. They stand before me now but do not speak –

Their heads shaved. Their eyebrows shaved –

‘Are you well?’ I ask each of them –

Heads bowed, they both nod –

I lift their faces to mine, lift their little faces to the light, and Masaki looks up at me now and smiles, but Sonoko still can’t look up, she still cannot smile, her eyelids swollen and her features distorted –

I force open her eyelids with my fingers –

Her eyes inflamed and festering –

The eyes of a dead fish –

Pinkeye
.

I turn to my wife. ‘When did you last take her to the doctor?’

‘But I think her eyes are getting a little better,’ says my wife.
‘Two days ago, they were so swollen and so inflamed that she could not see anything at all. So I took her to the doctor then and…’

‘Maybe it’s a bacterial infection, not pinkeye?’

‘That’s what I said to the doctor.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘It’s just pinkeye.’

‘Just pinkeye!’ I shout. ‘Just look at her. She still can’t see. She could be permanently blinded! She could be blinded forever!’

‘I know,’ says my wife. ‘But the doctor said be patient.’

‘Doctors make mistakes,’ I say. ‘They usually do.’

‘But what should I do?’ asks my wife. ‘Tell…’

I ask, ‘Which doctor did you take her to?’

‘To our usual doctor,’ replies my wife.

I look at my watch. ‘I’ll take her…’

‘Take her where?’ asks my wife –

‘To a different doctor I know.’

‘What about the money…’

‘Forget the money!’

*

Through the doors of the Atago police station. Up the stairs of the Atago police station. My shirt is stuck to my back. My trousers wet behind my knees. I walk along the corridor. I walk past the banner, two metres tall and fifty centimetres wide in bright-red stitching:

Special Investigation Headquarters
.

I should have collected all my belongings and made these arrangements yesterday. I would then have saved myself this –

This sudden silence. This sudden blindness –

There have been complaints about you…

But at least Hattori is not here this morning; probably up at Headquarters for the morning meeting with Kai, Kanehara, Adachi and the chief. But I’m not going to ask Takeda, Sanada, Shimoda, Nishi, Kimura or Ishida, I’m not going to ask them –

I hate them. I hate them all…

Ishida looks up. Now Ishida asks, ‘Are you here for me?’

Ishida has his orders…

‘It’s a bit early yet,’ I tell him. ‘And I’ve some things to do before we leave for Tochigi, so I’ll meet you at the ticket gate of the
Asakusa Tōbu station at three o’clock this afternoon…’

Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku…

Ishida nods. Ishida says, ‘I’ve been told to buy the tickets…’

‘Well, I hope they’ve given you the money, then.’

Ishida nods again. ‘I’ve enough for three days.’

‘I won’t be needing a return ticket,’ I laugh –

But no one else laughs. No one even smiles…

Ishida just asks, ‘How much rice should I bring with me?’

‘Rice?’ I ask him. ‘Surely we’ll be bringing rice back?’

‘I heard we’ll not find an inn unless we take rice.’

‘Do you have any rice, detective?’ I ask him –

Ishida whispers, ‘I have a little at home…’

‘Then bring enough for both of us,’ I say and I turn to go –

‘Why should he take any rice for you?’ asks Kimura –

I turn back round. I ask him, ‘What did you say?’

‘I said, why should he bring any rice for you,’ repeats Detective Kimura. ‘You’re not his boss any more, are you?’

‘Maybe not now,’ I tell him. ‘And maybe not in this room. But on that train and in Tochigi, I’ll still be the senior officer…’

‘Senior officer? Really?’ snorts Detective Kimura now. ‘Well, I’d save my rice if I were you, Detective Ishida…’

I walk over to Detective Kimura and I pick up one of the telephones on the desk, one of the telephones that cannot ring, and I smash it into the side of Kimura’s face and then, as he cries out and reaches up to hold his face, I punch him in his gut and I bend his left hand back until he howls out in pain and begs me to stop as I slap him and slap him and slap him, again and again and again across his face and then I push him back onto his desk and I watch him roll onto the floor and now I lean over him and I tell him, ‘And I’d learn some manners and I’d learn some respect if I were you, Detective Kimura.’

Now I walk over to Detective Sanada and I say, ‘You said something very interesting yesterday, Detective Sanada. You said Masaoka Hisae told you that Kodaira always had gifts on him…’

Detective Sanada sweating. Detective Sanada nodding –

‘You said he had ladies’ gifts; jewellery, watches and…’

Detective Sanada nodding and saying, ‘Umbrellas.’

‘That was good work,’ I tell him. ‘Because after you said that, when I was up at Headquarters, I heard that we are going to wash another unsolved case as a possible Kodaira Yoshio job –’

I am not their head. I am not their boss…

‘Shinokawa Tatsue, seventeen years old, found raped and strangled in the basement of the Toyoko Department Store in Shibuya on the sixteenth of January this year. However, the autopsy estimated she’d been dead since late October or early November last year –

‘And guess what?’ I ask. ‘Her umbrella had been stolen.’

Again, there is no applause. But I don’t want any…

‘So if any of you want to impress your new boss,’ I tell them. ‘I suggest you go back to Masaoka, back to the Widow Okayama and back to all the other people who knew Kodaira, his family and his workmates, and you try to trace all these gifts he kept giving away –

‘Because somewhere out there in Shibuya or Shinagawa, in Toyama or Tochigi, are the belongings of our own Shiba body –

‘Excuse me,’ I tell them.
‘Your
Shiba body…’

No applause. Just silence. Just blindness…

I walk over to my desk now, my former borrowed desk, and I open the drawer ready to tip out the entire contents into my old army knapsack. But the drawer of my desk is empty –

My desk has already been cleared –