Janwillem De Wetering - The Japanese Corpse

"But Buddhism seems very popular in the West now," de Gier objected.

"In the West, but here it is almost dead. Maybe there are fifty masters left in Japan, each master with a small cluster of disciples. But the disciples aren't always serious. The monks know that they can become priests after a few years, and a priest can live in a temple of his own and have some status. They go into the training for material gain. There are few serious students left. It's all according to the predictions: the religion will almost die out, spread to the West, and come back again. But meanwhile it will not die out here. The masters are still here and they have great wisdom."

"How do you feel about your own master?" the commissaris asked. He was staring at the priest's face.

The priest suddenly grinned. "He is source of great irritation to me. Always one inch ahead. What is an inch?" He held up his hand, indicating an inch by bringing the top of his index finger toward his thumb. "Very small distance. I go to great trouble, meditate for many hours, do this and that, and I reach him. But then he is an inch away again and I have to start all over again. Always same thing, I can touch him for brief moment, then…"

A maid came in. She said something to Dorin and the commissaris recognized the word "denwa," electric speech. He had heard the word before. "Telephone."

"Telephone," Dorin said, "for you, sir. There is a phone in the office downstairs. A call from Holland."

"Yes? How do they know we are here?"

"Our American friend in the capital knows our number, he must have passed it on."

The commissaris made his way down to the small office and took the phone from a smiling and bowing clerk.

"Commissaris?"

"Yes, Grijpstra. How are you?"

"Sleepy, sir, it's four in the morning here. It took me a while to get through to you."

"Yes, you phoned Tokyo, we are in Kyoto."

"Different cities?"

"Tokyo is the new capital, Kyoto is the old. Three or four hundred miles' distance, I think. Lots of temples and parks. Very nice here."

"Yes, sir. The State Police found the corpse, sir."

The commissaris looked at the cup of green tea the office clerk had placed in front of him before leaving the small room, walking backward. He took a sip and began to listen while Grijpstra described his recent adventure.

"Killed by an amateur, you think?" the commissaris asked, sipping more tea. Grijpstra talked at length.

"I see, I see. Pity in a way, we thought we had the case started nicely. I'll have to think about this, don't let your two suspects go yet. I'll let you know something within the next day or so. Send you a cable."

"How's the sergeant, sir?"

"De Gier? I think you should talk to him. Don't tell him about the case, I'll do that later."

De Gier came down and the commissaris left the office, taking the small teacup with him. He found the clerk in the hall. "O-cha"* the commissaris said slowly. "Yoroshii. Arigato."

The clerk's face was wreathed in smiles. He rushed off and came back with a gigantic kettle and poured another cup. The commissaris picked the cup up, but the clerk began to hiss and bow. He took the cup from the commissaris' hands and pretended to drink himself, holding the cup with two hands.

"Ah, I see," the commissaris said. "Like this?"

"Yes," the clerk said. "Ceremony. Sometimes important. Not now, but sometimes."

The English words had exhausted him and he left hurriedly, carrying the kettle.

"Are you doing anything over there?" de Gier was asking.

"No. Very quiet here. We had a complaint from an old lady who was shot in the leg with an air gun, while she was waiting at a streetcar stop. The pellet had to be taken out in the hospital and she limped for a day. Cardozo found the man, some idiot in a garret room, with nothing to do all day but stare out of the window, young chappie on welfare. Cardozo had six constables on the job, took them two days. He is very patient, you know." "But you? What did you do?"

"Went for walks, had a few good meals, read the daily reports. Oh yes, you remember that inspector with the rat face?"

"Yes."

"He is bothering me."

"Badly?"

"Yes, badly. Told me to screw a confession out of the two Japanese. It isn't even his case. Threatened me, in fact."

"Yes," de Gier said. "Pity you weren't in Tokyo with me. They sent me there five days ahead of the commissaris, I don't know why. Maybe they wanted me to meet some of our colleagues here. I could have asked the commissaris why, but I haven't. He doesn't like that sort of question."

"Yes. So did you like your five days?"

"Sure, but I almost killed a man, twisted his neck."

"Self-defense?"

"No. He was throwing stones at a cat."

Grijpstra rubbed his short bristly gray hairs and stared at the phone which sat in his hand, innocently gray. De Gier's voice had sounded very quiet.

"Shit," Grijpstra said. "Is there a charge against you?"

"I suppose so, but I got away."

"The commissaris knows?"

"Yes."

"And you are still on the job?"

"Sure."

"Ah well," Grijpstra said. "Send me a postcard sometime. And if they catch you I'll come and blow up the jail. It will be a change. Maybe I can get my two little fat friends here to help me. I've gotten quite friendly with them, you know, especially since I found them Japanese newspapers. Yes, that's a good idea." He was feeling really cheerful now. It would be a change, waltzing around Tokyo arm in arm with two trained gangsters. And with de Gier in jail, waiting patiently in some smelly cell, living on half a bowl of cold mushy rice a day. Saving his friend. His only friend. Did he have any other friends? No. Grijpstra nodded to himself.

"How are you otherwise?" he asked.

"Funny," de Gier said, "very funny. It seems as if there is nothing left in me, everything goes straight through. I see all these beautiful things here, temples, gardens, lovely girls. The man they assigned to us is quite a character and we get on well. I do judo practice, I learn Japanese words, I study maps, I think about what we are supposed to do here. But nothing really seems to register. It all goes straight through, as if I am not there. Even when I drink I am not there."

"But that must be a good feeling," Grijpstra said, surprised.

"Sure. I am not complaining. Maybe the only worry I have is that the feeling will stop. I will remember who I am and that I live in Amsterdam and that I am a policeman and all that. Now there is nothing. I am some sort of mirror. Things reflect in me and then the things go away and the reflection goes too."

"Yes," Grijpstra said. "I think I know what you mean. But I only get that after the twelfth drink or so, and by that time I am staggering about, and the feeling never lasts. I just get sick after that, throw up and all."

"Where are you?" de Gier asked.

"In our room, at my desk. I wouldn't phone Japan from my own house, would I? The bill will be for an unpronounceable amount."

"You are really there, eh?" de Gier asked. "And I am here, at the other end of the world. And I have to get back to our room. We are pretending to buy a valuable painting from a corrupt priest. Maybe the chase will be on by tomorrow."

Grijpstra hung up. "Twisted a man's neck because the man was throwing stones at a cat," he said aloud.

He was still shaking his head as he left the building. Ten minutes later he was knocking on the door of a small hotel reputed to keep its bar open right through the night. A number of bearded and bleary-eyed poets looked up as the portly gentleman elbowed his way to the counter and ordered two jenevers.

"Two?" the girl in the low blouse asked. "In one glass?"

"In two glasses," Grijpstra said. "I'll drink them both at the same time. I am drinking with my friend, you see, but he is in Japan."