David Peace - Tokyo Year Zero

I am shaking. I am repeating, ‘Aged approximately eighteen years old, wearing a yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dress, a white half-sleeved chemise, dyed-pink socks and a pair of white canvas shoes with red rubber soles…’

Red rubber soles …

I am asking, ‘Does this sound like Tominaga or Shishikura?’

‘It could be Tominaga Noriko,’ says Masaoka. ‘It might be Tominaga. It could be her. Then again, it could be anyone. But…’

I stare at Masaoka Hisae and I ask her, ‘But what?’

‘But I heard that Tominaga is missing,’ she says.

I sit forward. I repeat, ‘Tominaga is missing?’

‘Since sometime in June,’ she says. ‘But…’

I am still staring at Masaoka. ‘But what …?’

‘But you hope it’s her and I hope it isn’t.’

‘You’re wrong,’ I tell her, but Masaoka Hisae is looking past me now, looking over my shoulder to the door –

Chief Inspector Adachi standing in the doorway. Inspector Adachi asking me, ‘What does she know?’

‘Not much,’ I tell him, still looking at Masaoka Hisae –

Shadow and sweat running in rivers down her face …

‘Take this woman home then,’ Chief Inspector Adachi tells Detective Nishi and then he says to me, ‘Let’s walk…’

*

Down another backstreet, up another alleyway, under another lantern, at another counter, Adachi orders the drinks, ‘Whatever you have that won’t send us insane or leave us blind or dead in the morning!’

Send us insane. Leave us blind. Dead in the morning …

The master puts two glasses of clear liquid on the counter –

‘Cheers,’ says Adachi as he raises his glass to mine –

And then adds, ‘But you look terrible, inspector…’

‘I feel terrible,’ I tell him. ‘Worse than terrible.’

‘Because of tonight? The Formosans?’

‘No, but it didn’t help much…’

‘It’s the way things are,’ says Adachi. ‘The way things are.’

‘Well then, I suppose I just don’t like the way things are.’

‘And you think I do?’ asks Adachi. ‘You think I do?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘But you’re surviving and I’m not.’

‘You’re still here,’ he says. ‘You’ve not run.’

‘Where would I go? What would I do?’

‘There’s always the next life…’

Another life. Another name …

‘No thanks,’ I tell him. ‘Twice is too many times for me. Much too many times…’

Adachi drains his glass. Adachi offers me a Lucky Strike. Now Adachi asks, ‘Have you seen Detective Fujita yet?’

I take his cig. I take his light. I tell him, ‘Yes.’

He orders two more drinks. He asks, ‘And?’

I finish my first drink. I say, ‘He’s gone.’

He raises his second glass. ‘Gone?’

I say, ‘And he’s not coming back.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘He told me.’

‘And do you always believe everything people tell you, Inspector Minami?’

‘Not always, Chief Inspector Adachi. But this time I believed what he said, yes.’

‘People say all kinds of things, especially these days.’

‘Not Fujita,’ I tell him. ‘He’s not coming back.’

Adachi puts out his cigarette. Adachi takes another drink. Adachi asks, ‘Do you think Fujita killed Hayashi Jo?’

I put out my cigarette. I say, ‘I don’t know. Not any more.’

‘So you think he might have? You think he had reason?’

I shrug my shoulders. I say, ‘Him and everybody else.’

Adachi drains his second drink. ‘Even you, then?’

I turn to look at Adachi. I ask him, ‘Why me?’

Adachi smiles. Adachi laughs. ‘You’ve got blood on the cuffs of your shirt. You’ve got blood on the legs of your trousers…’

I smile now. I laugh. I say, ‘And so have you…’

‘But mine is fresh blood, corporal.’

*

I have come again to this place. Black bile again . I have walked out of the light and into the shadow. Brown bile again . Into the temple grounds. Yellow bile again . But there is nothing here. Grey bile again . Nothing but the ruin of the old Black Gate. Black bile . Beneath the dark eaves of the Black Gate, I close my eyes. Brown bile . Under the Black Gate, I can hear a stray dog panting. Yellow bile . His house is lost, his master gone. Grey bile . In the ruin of the Black Gate, in the Year of the Dog, I stare at its feet. Black bile, brown bile, yellow bile and grey . I vomit and I vomit and I vomit and I vomit –

Cover the mirrors! Cover the mirrors!

This dog has no feet.

*

In the half-light, Yuki stands up. In the half-light, she picks up an unlined summer kimono draped over the rack by the mirror. In the half-light, Yuki changes into the summer kimono, a pattern printed low upon its skirt. In the half-light, she knots the red and purple striped undersash. In the half-light, Yuki sits back down beside me. In the half-light, she takes a cigarette from the package on the dresser. In the half-light, Yuki lights it. In the half-light, she hands it to me –

‘It was like a fairy tale,’ she smiles. ‘The way we met…’

‘Yes,’ I laugh. ‘A chance meeting in a sudden shower.’

‘A love story from the older traditions,’ she says, but Yuki is not smiling now, she is not laughing, she is crying now –

‘There is tobacco smoke in my eyes,’ she lies –

‘Air raid! Air raid! Here comes an air raid!’

Now she lies back down next to me and she stares up into my eyes. Now she touches her finger to my nose and says, ‘Don’t sleep.’

But there is no more sleep because there is no Calmotin –

But I want to sleep, though I won’t. I want to forget today, though I won’t. I want to forget yesterday. The day before. This week. Last week. This month. Last month. This year. Last year. Every single year I have ever lived, but I won’t forget because I can’t forget. But here, here at least, here I can sometimes forget. For an odd hour –

In her arms. I can forget . Between her thighs. I can forget …

The many things I have left behind. The things I have lost –

I have failed you. I have failed you. I have failed you …

The many things I have seen. The things I have done –

Hour after hour. Day after day. Week after week …

The blood on the walls. The blood on the floor –

Month after month and year after year …

The blood on the cuffs of my shirt –

But in the half-light, I can’t forget …

On the legs of my trousers –

I am sorry. I am sorry …

Here, in the half-light –

I have failed you all …

In the half-light.

Tokyo, 90°, very fine

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton …

It is dawn now and the first trains have already been and gone. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . I wipe my face and I wipe my neck. There is no shadow here. No respite from the heat. I am standing at the end of my own street, watching the gate to my own house –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton …

I walk down the street to my own house. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . I open the gate to my own house. I wipe my face and I wipe my neck again. I go up the path to my own house. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . I open the door to my house. I wipe my face and I wipe my neck. I stand in the genkan of my own house –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton …

The house is silent. The mats are rotting . The house still sleeping. The doors in shreds . I place the envelope of money and the bundle of food on the floor of the reception room. The walls are falling in . The house smells of my children –