Bob van Laerhoven - Return to Hiroshima

Becht hears the bedroom door close behind her. She’s trapped in a room with the same killer she had described that morning to Takeda as a psychopath with delusions of grandeur.

Norikazu gets to his feet. Becht is one metre sixty-four and the difference in height is overwhelming. She can smell popcorn. Not completely unpleasant, but still sickly and slightly nauseating. A huge, bony hand settles on her shoulder, hot as a slice of grilled sirloin. “Let’s have a civilised conversation between civilised individuals, Miss Becht. I may not look very civilised, but I assure you I am. Does it feel as if you’ve been living in a dream these last few days? No need to answer: I can see it in your eyes.”

Beate Becht doesn’t respond. The blood is pounding in her temples. The man in front of her has a soporific aura about him. Reality seems to take a step backwards.

“Recent events have pushed me to my limits. I’ve always been able to present myself as a hibakusha to explain my appearance, but I’ve had far too much public exposure of late.”

Beate Becht wants to ask Norikazu if he’s planning to kill her, and if so how, but the words refuse to come out. The hand slips beneath her chin and gently tilts her head upwards.

“You’re intimidated. At this moment you think I can intimidate anyone because I’m the legitimate crown prince. But nothing could be further from the truth. I used to have the support of people with power and influence in the prefecture, both in everyday society and its underground counterpart , if you get my drift. But a certain bank executive I was expecting to deliver capital resources dating back to the Second World War had the foolishness to invest the money elsewhere while I needed it in cash to – how shall I put it? – pay my suppliers . Under the counter cash, so to speak. Money for useless bridges and airports, for empty roads and other major infrastructural projects the government is putting out to tender these days as if there was no tomorrow. Projects worth millions of yen, you understand, destined to find their way into a variety of pockets. The executive of whom I speak, who was, until then, one of my partners , left me facing serious difficulties. I have a small army of followers, but officially I’ve been dead for years and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m also blessed, to some degree, with a sense of realism. In addition to the crazies surrounding me and their bizarre sects – a national plague if you ask me – I have a number of ultranationalists at my disposal, all of them very useful, but some dumb enough to have their neo-fascist inclinations tattooed on the foreheads, so to speak.”

“Yori said your daughter told her you’re at the head of a powerful organisation.” Beate is surprised at her own voice, so hoarse, so tense.

“ Yuzonsha ?” The man focused his dark lizard eyes on Becht and smiled, exposing his pointed teeth. “Mitsuko, a poor soul unable to cope with reality, spent her entire life thinking I was a god who only had to snap his fingers and Japan would be under his control. Ironically enough only the first part is true: I am indeed a god. But a fallen god, Miss Becht, is the worst of his kind: he harbours hard feelings. He frets over what he has lost and is determined to get it back whatever the cost. And if that doesn’t work he protects what he has left. Inspector Takeda is intent on destroying the latter with his reckless behaviour. He happens, by chance, to know a little too much about me.” Beate opens her mouth to speak. A long index finger touches her lips. “Don’t you understand, Miss Becht? Officially I haven’t existed for fifty years. An underground network of patriots supports me. If the authorities get to hear Takeda’s story and see my birth certificate they’re bound to start an investigation. I can only hide in Nagasaki and Hiroshima. I stand out too much elsewhere. Takeda will also inform the authorities that I have an operations base on Hashima Island. How long do you think it will take them to find and arrest me? And what do you think they’ll do with me? They’ll dump me in an institution for the rest of my days. The things I have done, Miss Becht, have been a matter of self defence and nothing more.”

“So you raped your daughter out of self defence, I suppose?” she blurts before realising it. She’s shocked by her own reaction. It feels as if the floor beneath her has suddenly disappeared. But she can’t take it back. She’s going to die here, in this room, and the best she can hope for is that her end will not be the same as Adachi’s.

Both hands now rest on her shoulders. She looks up at his face. It seems out of kilter and she notices to her surprise that her words must have hurt him. He lets her go and sits on the bed, his long arms over his knees. “I never laid a finger on her. Mitsuko is the only person I ever loved…”

“Where is she then? She ran away from you.”

“That’s not true. It’s in her head, all of it, the world around her, everything.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“She ran away when we were in Nagasaki. I wanted her to try out a new treatment. I kill out of self defence, but Mitsuko cannot control her urges . In her world, with her brains, every choice is heartrending . When she finds herself faced with doubts or powerful emotions, her world collapses and she loses control. Did you hear me? Mitsuko is a poor, wandering soul and I have always done everything in my power to help her heal.”

“So where is she now?”

The giant shakes his head. “Untraceable. My men have been looking everywhere. A junkie told me he had her “in his possession”. He said this just before he committed suicide. Should I believe him? Must I believe him?”

Seeing Rokurobei this way saddens her: “I don’t believe you. Dr Adachi did an autopsy on your stillborn child…”

He smiles and the sight of his contorted mouth silences her.

“Miss Becht, I cannot have children. I took the baby to which you refer from a burning house in Hiroshima fifty years ago. I had the corpse embalmed to remind me of who I am and what I have become.”

“Mitsuko…”

“I repeat: Mitsuko is not my biological daughter.” He folds his weathered hands like an old farmer looking back over his life. “Mitsuko is the daughter of the only man I considered my friend. He was like a father to me and protected me for years. He was a proud soldier in the imperial Japanese army who started a new life after the war with a new identity. His daughter was born when he was getting on in years. He was in perfect health at the time, but a month later he was dead. I raised Mitsuko as my own. I love her as a father loves his daughter. But from the very start she was different from other children. She lived in her own world with her own rules and regulations, a world outsiders found incomprehensible. Her mental illness went from bad to worse and there was nothing I could do. She was still only twelve when she killed Mayumi, a woman I paid to look after her when I was away. As a result of this needless murder, which she committed in a state of total mental chaos, I was forced to get rid of Mayumi’s father. The man was threatening to go to the authorities, but he had worked for me for years and he knew I would never allow such a thing. Shortly before she ran away from me she killed a boy she thought was in love with her. Every time someone got close to her she was faced with a choice, and because of her obsessive neuroses her choices were always black and white, all or nothing. Am I to blame? I’ve asked myself that question so many times, thousands of times. Is it because of the life I have led? Perhaps she couldn’t cope with being the daughter of a legend. She started to keep a diary in her teens. She told me about the things she wrote in it and after a while I was curious to know more. She wrote, Miss Becht, about things she imagined had happened to her in a language only she could read. She used characters similar to those used in ancient Chinese. What else is there to say?”