Tokyo Year Zero (41 page)

‘Shut up!’ I hiss again. ‘And just answer my questions…’

Now Detective Nishi bows his head. Now he nods –

‘What happened to Detective Fujita?’ I ask him.

‘Nishi looks up. You don’t know?’

I push the pistol deeper into his gut. ‘Just tell me!’

‘They found his body in the Shiba Canal,’ says Nishi. ‘Hands and feet nailed to the back of a door, drowned face down, just…’

‘Just like Hayashi Jo,’ I say for him –

Nishi nods again and says, ‘Yes.’

‘And whose case is it?’ I ask –

‘Chief Inspector Adachi’s.’

I curse him. I curse him
…

‘And so who does your great inspector think killed Fujita?’

‘The chief inspector thinks that Fujita was somehow involved with Nodera Tomiji in the murder of Matsuda Giichi, that Hayashi Jo tried to blackmail Fujita and so Fujita killed him to silence him, that Boss Senju then somehow found out about it and had Fujita killed.’

‘This is not a problem … this is going to be a pleasure…’

‘And me?’ I ask him. ‘What’s he saying about me…?’

Nishi shakes his head. Nishi says, ‘Nothing…’

I raise the pistol so it is level with Nishi’s eyes, the space between his eyes, and I say, ‘I don’t believe you. You’re lying…’

‘But it’s the truth,’ pleads Nishi. ‘Please…’

I ask, ‘Then what about Ishida?’

‘What about Ishida?’

‘What has Adachi said about Ishida?’ I ask. ‘Where does Detective Ishida fit into all this?’

Nishi shakes his head again. Nishi says, ‘I have no idea…’

‘Ishida was working for Adachi all along,’ I tell him –

But Nishi is still shaking his head, ‘I don’t know…’

‘Adachi had him spying on me, on you, on us all.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about…’

‘Maybe now it’s you, now he’s gone…’

‘Now who’s gone? What’s me?’

‘Ishida’s not coming back.’

‘Where’s he gone?’

‘Hell,’ I tell him –

Nishi staring down the barrel of the gun. Nishi sweating. Nishi telling me now, ‘That’s between you and Detective Ishida –

‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ he begs. ‘Please…’

‘Is that what Adachi told you to tell me…?’

‘He’s told me nothing,’ shouts Nishi –

I touch the barrel to his forehead –

‘Nothing!’ shouts Nishi again –

I press the barrel into him –

‘Adachi is trying to help you,’ cries Nishi. ‘To save you!’

‘Liar! Liar!’ I whisper as I pull the trigger.
Click –

‘No! No!’ he screams. ‘It’s the truth…’

‘Adachi sent Ishida to kill me!’ I tell him as I pull the trigger, again and again, as I pull it.
Click. Click –

Nishi dropping to his knees –

Click. Click –

Nishi on his knees –

‘Please, no…’

I lower the pistol now. I take out my notebook of rough paper from my jacket pocket. I bend down over him. I lift his face up to the light. I push the notebook into his face. I force open his mouth –

Now I stuff the notebook inside Nishi’s mouth –

‘That’s the truth in there,’ I say. ‘My truth…’

In the half-light, the half-things
…

‘Read it and remember it!’

*

The nighthawks under the tracks are out early tonight.
Asobu? Asobu?
In their yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dresses.
Asobu? Asobu?
They have had their radios on, their newspapers open, and have heard there is a typhoon approaching.
Asobu? Asobu?
In their white half-sleeved chemises.
Asobu? Asobu?
They know there will be no business later, only rain and only wind.
Asobu? Asobu?
In their dyed-pink socks.
Asobu? Asobu?
They know they have to earn what they can now.
Asobu? Asobu?
In their white canvas shoes with their red rubber soles.
Asobu? Asobu?
But they do not try to grab my hand –

In their yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dresses
…

They do not try to lure me into the shadows tonight –

‘Get away!’ they scream. ‘Get away from here!’

They look into my eyes, then hide their own –

‘We don’t fuck the dead! We don’t fuck ghosts!’

*

Potsu-potsu
, the rain is beginning to fall now, hot fat drops on the kettles and the pans;
potsu-potsu
it falls in a terrible rhythm on the crockery and the utensils;
potsu-potsu
as the stall-holders still left outside the Shimbashi New Life Market struggle to cover the clothes and the shoes;
potsu-potsu
on the cooking oil and the soy sauce;
potsu-potsu
as the canvas and the straw mats are hauled out –

Potsu-potsu
as it drowns out even the ‘Apple Song’ –

‘If two people sing along, it’s a merry song
…’

Potsu-potsu
on the patterned shirts and American sunglasses of the goons guarding the foot of the stairs to Senju Akira’s office –

Potsu-potsu
on the patterned shirts and American sunglasses as they frisk my body and clothes for guns and knives –

Potsu-potsu
on the patterned shirts and American sunglasses as they only glance inside my old army knapsack –

Potsu-potsu
as it falls on the corrugated tin roof which covers the stairs up to Senju Akira’s office –

Potsu-potsu
on the blue-eyed Victor coming down the stairs;
potsu-potsu
as he winks at me –

‘Good evening…’

Potsu-potsu
as I push past him up the staircase to the office;
potsu-potsu
…

Senju Akira sat cross-legged before his long low polished table; bare-chested again with his trousers unbuttoned at the waist, there are revolvers and short swords lain out on the table before him –

Senju Akira is preparing for war, preparing for another war –

I put down my knapsack. I bow low on the tatami mats –

‘There’s always a war somewhere,’ he tells me –

My face to the floor, I do not answer him –

‘At home or abroad,’ he says. ‘There’s always war and always profits to be made for the bold and the brave among us!’

I raise my head. ‘Always war…’

‘The great Matsuda Giichi taught me this,’ continues Senju. ‘He was among the very first to see the opportunities on the continent;
first he went to Shanghai, then he went to Dairen. He made money. He invested money. In transportation. In industry. His efforts supported the Kantō army in northern Manchukō. And the Kantō army appreciated and rewarded him well. But, when he returned home in the sixteenth year of Shōwa, was he rewarded for all he had done for the Japanese army, for the Japanese Empire?’

I shake my head. I say, ‘No, he wasn’t…’

‘No, he wasn’t!’ thunders Senju. ‘This man who had built railways for the Japanese army, this man who had provided supplies for the Japanese army, that the Japanese army might expand and protect the Japanese Empire on behalf of the Emperor, what welcome did this man receive upon his return home…?’

I shake my head again. ‘None…’

‘Worse than none!’ shouts Senju. ‘No parades. No medals. No honours. They sent him to prison for assault and battery!’

I bow my head low again and I say nothing –

‘But was this great man defeated?’ cries Senju. ‘Was this great man reduced to nothing?’

‘No, he wasn’t…’

‘Of course, he wasn’t!’ laughs Senju. ‘Matsuda Giichi organized the inmates of the prison, he protected and he helped them, no matter what their trouble, no matter what their background –

‘Matsuda Giichi became their leader –

‘So then, on his release, each of these men he had protected, who he had helped inside the joint, each man came to thank him and to pledge their undying loyalty to him –

‘I was one of those men!’

I nod. ‘I know…’

‘In defeat…’

‘I know…’

‘That was how the Matsuda gang was born,’ says Senju. ‘From the ashes of his own personal defeat, Matsuda rose up again. Because you could not defeat a man such as Matsuda Giichi. You could not beat him down. You could not hold him down. Because Matsuda Giichi was a bold man. Matsuda Giichi was a brave man. And, most importantly of all, Matsuda Giichi was a man of vision –

‘A man of vision!’ shouts Senju Akira. ‘A man of vision!’

I do not speak, my head still low against the mats –

Low until Senju says, ‘But you are a blind man –

‘And so you are a defeated man! Defeated!’

I still do not speak. I still wait for him –

Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku
…

Now Senju Akira puts a bundle of money on the table. Now Senju puts a bag of pills on the table. I lean forward –

I curse myself, I curse myself
…

I bow. I thank him –

And I curse him
…

But now Senju moves the money and the pills just out of my reach and says, ‘You kill Adachi, you get all these and also these…’

Ishida mumbles about Fujita. Ishida moans about Senju
…

Now Senju holds up a file in one hand and a piece of paper in the other; the Miyazaki Mitsuko file and a demobilization paper –

‘The end of one life and the start of a new one…’

I curse him, I curse him and I curse myself
…

I ask him, ‘But how did you get that file?’

‘I’ve told you before,’ he winks. ‘Those in the know, know, and those who don’t, don’t, eh, corporal…?’

I look down at the tatami –

And I curse him
…

‘You do this one last job for me, then you run,’ smiles Senju. ‘You burn this file, you fill in this paper, then you live again –

‘A new name in a new town with a new life –

‘A new life among the living, detective –

‘A third and final chance!’

I bow low. I thank him –

And I curse myself
…

Now Senju throws some cash down onto the mat by my face. Now Senju says, ‘You do the job and you get the rest. But do it soon, before you’re picked up by the Public Safety Division…’

Ishida lies and he lies about Adachi
…

I nod. I clutch my knapsack. I start to shuffle backwards towards the door, on my hands and on my knees –

Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he
…

Senju laughing at me now as he asks, ‘You didn’t bring me back any souvenirs from Tochigi, then? Not very thoughtful…’

‘I am very sorry,’ I tell him and I bow again –

But now Senju has said too much
…

On my hands and on my knees –

He has said too much
…

I get off my knees.

*

Every station, every platform, every train, every carriage.
Zā-zā, za-za
. The rain is coming down in sheets of sheer white water now, bouncing back off the train tracks and the umbrellas on the platform at Shimbashi.
Zā-zā, za-za
. Now the headlights of the Shinjuku train appear and the pushing begins, the shoving begins, the umbrellas adding to the confusion and the chaos of the bundles and baggage everyone carries.
Zā-zā, za-za
. I push my way forward and I shove my way on board.
Zā-zā, za-za
. I have food in my knapsack now.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I have money in my pocket now –

But Senju has said too much
…

The train doesn’t move and the doors don’t close so there is still pushing, still shoving, one man asking another, ‘Excuse me, can I put this up there next to your bag?’

He has said too much
…

‘There isn’t room, is there?’ snaps the other man, looking up at his knapsack on the rack –

Now the doors close and the train starts.
Zā-zā, za-za
. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. Pushed and shoved as we crawl along the tracks through the rain.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. Passengers get off at Hamamatsu-chō and Shinagawa but just as many push and shove their way inside.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. But now I cannot see the passengers any more.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. I cannot see their bundles and their baggage.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. I cannot see this train at all.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. Now I do not itch and I do not scratch.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I close my eyes –

Zā-zā, zā-zā. Zā-zā, zā-zā
…

I am not here any more –

I am sat cross-legged on a cot, a blood-flecked scroll on the wall above my bed. My head shaven and my belly bandaged
.

*

I have no umbrella and I have no raincoat so, with my hat pulled
down tight upon my skull and my jacket stretched over that, I run past the crooked, impotent telegraph poles down the road to my usual restaurant, half-way between Mitaka station and my own house –

The one lantern swinging in the rain and in the wind –

Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he! Ho, ho, ho, ho!

I pull back the sheet that acts as a door on a night like this and the jokes, the smiles and the laughter stop dead.
Dead
. No more jokes. No more smiles. No more laughter. Everyone stares at me and then glances up at the master behind the counter –

I ignore them. I shake the rain from my jacket and from my hat. I sit down in a space at the counter –

I order
yakitori
and sake –

‘Men were here again,’ says the master. ‘Asking about you.’

‘Who were they?’ I ask him. ‘Good guys or bad?’

‘What do you mean, good guys or bad?’ asks the master. ‘How would I know? You tell me. All I know is that they weren’t friendly and they were asking after you…’

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t like to see you frightened…’

‘I’m not frightened,’ says the master. ‘But I don’t want trouble with the Yankees and I don’t want trouble with the gangs and I don’t want trouble with crooked cops either…’

I take out some money. I put it on the counter and I tell him, ‘I know I have run up debts…’