David Peace - Occupied City

‘You can rinse out your mouths now …’

— and now I see everyone rushing for the sink, for the tap, for the water, and now I am rushing for the sink, for the tap, for the water, and now I see people falling to the floor, and now I see Miss Akiyama lying on the floor, and now I am trying to reach her but I need the sink, the tap, the water, and now I am thinking I’ll get to the sink, to the tap, to the water, then I’ll come back to Miss Akiyama, people coughing, people retching, people vomiting, and now I can feel people pushing past me, people clambering over me to get to the sink, to the tap, to the water and now I am drinking and drinking and drinking, but now the light is fading and fading and fading, now the light is leaving us, leaving us here, here in the Occupied City, and now I feel a grey-ness coming and into the grey-ness,

I am falling, I am falling, I am falling,

I am falling, I am falling,

I am falling,

into the grey-ness, I am falling,

falling and falling away,

away from the light,

from the Occupied City, towards a grey place,

a place that is no place. But then the light

grips me, it holds me tight, tight,

tight, it pulls me back

Down the bank’s corridors, into the bank’s genkan. Help me! Through the doors, into the street . On my hands and on my knees, I crawl through the Occupied City. Into the light, into the sleet . Help me, I say. She is drunk, she is mad . In the mud and in the sleet, on my hands and on my knees, in the Occupied City. Help me …

‘Please help me!’

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I hear boots in the mud, I hear sirens in the sky. But I am falling again. In the Occupied City, people are asking me my name. I am still falling. In the Occupied City, I do not know my name. For I am falling. In the Occupied City, I am moving. I am falling. In the Occupied City, I am in a white room. But I am still falling. In the Occupied City, people keep asking me my name. In the Occupied City, I do not know my name. For I am falling. In the Occupied City, people are asking me what happened. I am still falling. In the Occupied City, I do not know what happened.

And then I stop. I stop falling

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, a young woman. Help me. On her hands and on her knees, she crawls through the Occupied City. Help me, she says. In the mud and in the sleet, on her hands and on her knees, in the Occupied City .

Please help me

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, nuns are sticking a hose down my throat, doctors are pumping my stomach, and I am coughing and I am retching, fluid and bile, rambling and ranting. But I can speak again. And I am talking now. Men sat beside my bed. Men stood beside my bed. Men holding my hand. Men whispering in my ear.

And I am talking, talking to the men beside my bed. The men who are holding my hand, holding it tight, tight, tight.

‘The drink,’ I whisper. ‘The drink …’

‘But what did you eat?’ they ask.

‘It was the drink. The drink …’

‘What did you drink?’

‘It was medicine …’

‘A medicine?’

‘A doctor …’

‘What doctor?’

‘Dysentery …’

The men beside my bed let go of my hand. The men beside my bed stand up now. The men beside my bed say, ‘This is not a case of food poisoning, Detectives.’

And now the men beside my bed leave, shouting, ‘This is a case of murder! Of robbery …’

And then the men are gone and I am alone, in the white room, I am alone again, in the Occupied City.

And I am afraid.

I am scared.

That night, that dream, IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, that night, for the first time, that dream: I AM THE SURVIVOR

But of course I know: only through luck

Have I survived so many friends.

But night after night

In dream after

Dream

I hear these friends saying of me: ‘Those who survive are stronger.’ And I wake and I hate myself

I hate myself

In a white room, I wake again. It is a hospital. There are nuns and there are nurses and there are doctors. They are giving me drugs. They are giving me medicines. But I am afraid.

I am afraid in this place, of this place, this hospital. I am afraid of the nuns. I am afraid of the nurses.

I am afraid of the doctors.

I am afraid of their drugs. I am afraid of their medicines.

But in this place, in this hospital, I close my eyes and, for the second time, I dream the same dream: I AM THE SURVIVOR

But of course I know: only through luck

Have I survived so many friends.

But night after night

In dream after

Dream

I hear these friends saying of me: ‘Those who survive are stronger.’ And I hate myself

I hate myself

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I open my eyes. I am awake again in the white room. In the hospital. But a man in a white coat is holding my hand, a man whispering in my ear, a man sat beside my bed. And I am afraid and so I pull away from this man in a white coat beside my bed, this man who is whispering in my ear and holding my hand, and I say, ‘Get away! Get away! Get away from me!’

And now this man lets go of my hand and now I am alone again in this white room, in this place

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, a young woman. Help me. On her hands and on her knees, she crawls through the Occupied City. Help me, she says. In the mud and in the sleet, on her hands and on her knees, in the Occupied City .

Please help me

‘I can help you. Please believe me. I can help you …’

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I am awake again, my hand in another hand again, the whispers in my ear again:

‘I can help you. You can trust me …’

‘Who are you? Are you a doctor?’

‘No, this white coat is just so I could talk to you. That’s all. I just want to talk to you. I just want to help you.’

‘But why? Who are you?’

‘My name is Takeuchi Riichi. I am a journalist.’

In this place, in this white room, in this hospital, I want to cry, but I am laughing, ‘You’re a journalist?’

‘Yes, with the Yomiuri.’

I want to laugh, but I am crying, ‘Get away from me!’

And again, the hand is gone, and again the whispers are gone, and again I am alone in this place, in this white room, in this hospital, and again I am afraid in this place, and again

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, a young woman. Help me. On her hands and on her knees, she crawls through the Occupied City. Help me, she says. In the mud and in the sleet, on her hands and on her knees, in the Occupied City .

Please help me

‘I can help you. Please believe me. I can help you. I can make that dream go away …’

In this place, I open my eyes. In this white room, I squeeze his hand. In this hospital, I whisper, ‘How can you help me?’

‘I can save you from this place, these dreams.’

‘Until yesterday,’ I say. ‘I thought a cup was a cup. Until then, a table was a table. I thought the war was over. I knew we had lost. I knew we had surrendered. I knew we were now occupied.

‘But I thought the war was over. I thought a cup was still a cup. That medicine was medicine. I thought my friend was my friend, a colleague was a colleague. A doctor, a doctor.

‘But the war is not over. A cup is not a cup. Medicine is not medicine. A friend not a friend, a colleague not a colleague. For a colleague here yesterday, sat in the seat at the counter beside me, that colleague is not here today. Because a doctor is not a doctor.

‘A doctor is a murderer. A killer.

‘Because the war is not over.

‘The war is never over.’

‘I know,’ says the man in the white coat beside my bed, the man who is not a doctor, the man who is a journalist, this man called Takeuchi Riichi, this Takeuchi Riichi who now squeezes my hand tight, tight, tight, and who says again and again and again, ‘I know.’