David Peace - Occupied City

28. You have not been listening, Detective, have you who else would I be, where else would I go IN THE FAMILY ALBUMS, IN THE HISTORY BOOKS You have not been following instructions I am still me, I am still here HAND IN HAND You have not been following orders to see things, to touch things A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING You have been making connections, Detective, haven’t you what are you talking about, you must have a fever A SHEEP IN WOLF’S CLOTHING Connections where there are no connections to be made you must be delirious, who are you talking about IN THE HISTORY BOOKS, IN THE FAMILY ALBUMS You have been making links, Detective, haven’t you you give me money, you give me presents, you grab my hand, you grab my crotch HAND IN HAND Links where there are no links to be made have you been bitten by a flea, infected with some new form of madness, some new kind of virus or plague A WOLF ON THE THRONE You have been imagining things, Detective, haven’t you wasps land on my lips, all men are the same A SHEEP ON THE THRONE Hearing things, seeing things the days are long and the world is old, lots of people have stood in the same place IN THE HISTORY BOOKS, IN THE FAMILY ALBUMS Things that have never been, things that are simply not there, things that will never be a man can see a lot of things with two good eyes on a sunny day HAND IN HAND You are suspended from duty, Detective, you are off the case I am still here, I am still me THE WOLF AND THE SHEEP

Act V

29. In our room, on the floor, on my hands, on my knees, I see it, see it shining, in our room, on the floor, on my hands, on my knees, in the gloom, a golden thing, on the floor, in our room, on my hands, on my knees among the smoke, among the tunes UNDER CLOCKS I ask my wife, What is this thing the winner and the loser BIG CLOCKS, LITTLE CLOCKS What is what thing, she replies the occupier and the occupied WE WAIT FOR DEATH I say, This shining golden thing. Here in my fingers the master and his dog ON GREY DAYS, AGAIN AND AGAIN That thing, it’s nothing. It’s just an earring, she replies you speak, I jump A PIECE OF FOOD, IF WE’RE LUCKY I ask, And where did you get this golden earring I jump, you yell RATS, IF WE’RE NOT I found it in the street, she says, it’s nothing you yell, I cower IN ROOMS I say, But I’ve never found that kind of nothing, that shining golden kind of nothing I cower, you beat me ENORMOUS ROOMS, TINY ROOMS My wife says nothing you beat me, I whimper WE WAIT FOR DEATH I take a second golden earring, a matching golden earring, out of my pocket, I hold it up to her, I say, I never found that kind of nothing twice I whimper, you pet me A KIND WORD, NOW AND AGAIN So what does that make me, she asks, what are you saying you pet me, I wag my tail A SMILE, IF WE’RE LUCKY Now I take some money from my pocket, I give it to my wife, I say, I have to go, go back to work the dog and his master BLOWS, IF WE’RE NOT I’m a bad person I know, my wife is weeping, I’m bad for you. If I had a sharp knife, I could stab myself. I want to die the bad dog, the good master IN ROOMS, UNDER CLOCKS I leave the room, I close the door, I leave the building, I turn another corner, and I’m gone again among the tunes, among the smoke WE WAIT FOR DEATH

30. The last name on my list, the last doctor on my list, this one called Sawa Saburo, this one in Funabashi, Chiba Prefecture across the occupied city, in your borrowed cars IN OUR HOSPITALS, IN OUR SCHOOLS, AT OUR HOMES, AT OUR JOBS Sawa Saburo had once been a research assistant at the former Japanese Imperial Chemical Laboratory in Tsudanuma, Chiba Prefecture roads turn to mud, mud turns to rivers EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY HOUR Sawa Saburo had once been involved in research into the use of prussic acid as a poison snow turns to sleet, sleet turns to rain, turns to sleet again A HUNDRED LITTLE COMPROMISES Sawa Saburo was then later promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel and sent to Pingfan, outside Harbin, in Manchuria there are ambulances, there are crowds EVERY HOUR OF EVERY DAY Lieutenant Colonel Sawa Saburo was attached to Detachment 731 former soldiers standing in their white robes and khaki caps A HUNDRED LITTLE DEALS Now Sawa Saburo is living on another dusty highway between a clothing shop and a bar feral children hanging from the branches of the shrine-trees EVERY DAY OF EVERY WEEK Now Sawa Saburo is working in a run-down animal hospital between a bicycle repair shop and a Chinese restaurant the Nagasaki Shrine to your right, the Teikoku Bank to your left A HUNDRED LITTLE LIES But Sawa Saburo no longer calls himself Sawa Saburo; Sawa Saburo now calls himself Endo Saiichi you put out your cigarette, you follow the other detectives, up the steps, into the bank EVERY WEEK OF EVERY MONTH I open the metal gate in the wooden fence and I step inside the courtyard of the Funabashi Animal Hospital down the narrow passages, through the heavy furniture THE GUILTY ARE FREE, THE INNOCENT ARE IMPRISONED The August sun is high in the midday sky and here in the courtyard there is no shade, only row upon row of cage upon cage between the empty chairs, the rows of desks EVERY MONTH OF EVERY YEAR In each row there are twelve cages, on each cage is stacked another two cages, and in each cage is a dog the cash on the desks, in piles, the vomit on the floor, in pools THESE ARE THE COMPROMISES WE MAKE WITH OURSELVES The place smells of piss, the place smells of shit, the place smells of dogs in the corridor, on the mats, in the bathroom, on the tiles MINUTE AFTER MINUTE, HOUR AFTER HOUR, DAY AFTER DAY But the dogs are not barking, the dogs are all silent now ten bodies, ten corpses THESE ARE THE DEALS WE SELL TO OURSELVES This place smells of death the clock on the wall, its black hands still moving WEEK AFTER WEEK, MONTH AFTER MONTH, YEAR AFTER YEAR A man in a dirty white coat and a dirty white mask, in dirty rubber gloves and dirty rubber boots, steps out of the office now their hands raised, frozen and petrified, at their throats THESE ARE THE LIES WE TELL TO OURSELVES The man removes his dirty white mask and he asks, Can I help you these men, these women, this child A HUNDRED LITTLE COMPROMISES, A HUNDRED LITTLE DEALS, A HUNDRED LITTLE LIES I take off my hat, I take out my handkerchief, I wipe my face, and I say, Dr Sawa they died in agony, they died in fear, they died in silence, fallen on each other, lying side by side, faces up and faces down A THOUSAND TINY CUTS, A MILLION TINY WOUNDS

31. I wait in our room for her to return, but the child keeps crying did the world make you sad, or do you make the world sad HOW MUCH FOR A KNIFE I watch for her from the window, but the child keeps crying did the world hurt you, or do you hurt the world TO CUT MY OWN THROAT I pick it up, but the child keeps crying did the world make you cry, or do you make the world cry A LOVELY SHARP STRAIGHT KNIFE I hold it in my arms, but the child keeps crying did the world say yes and you said no, or do you say yes and the world says no TO CUT MY OWN THROAT I try to sing it a song, sleep angel sleep, but the child keeps crying did the world make you the person you are, or do you make the world the place it is A LOVELY SHARP CHEAP KNIFE I walk up and down the room, holding it in my arms, down and up the room, but the child keeps crying was the world to blame, or are you to blame TO CUT MY OWN THROAT I pat it and rub its back, but the child keeps crying was it the world, or is it you A KNIFE JUST LIKE THAT I try to give it food, but the child keeps crying this petrification, this paralysis TO CUT MY OWN THROAT I try to give it water, but the child keeps crying this despair, this hatred A CHEAP AND ECONOMICAL DEATH Finally I lay it back down, but the child keeps crying are these tears for the world, or are these tears for yourself TO CUT MY OWN THROAT The child keeps crying for its mother these tears THE LOOSE CHANGE IN MY POCKET