David Peace - Tokyo Year Zero

‘Don’t worry about it,’ laughs Tachibana. ‘The telephones are often down; you probably wouldn’t have got through to us.’

He has not spoken to Tokyo, not heard about Fujita …

‘Have you met Detective Ishida yet?’ I ask him –

Tachibana shakes his head. ‘Your colleague?’

He hasn’t met Ishida, not spoken to Ishida …

‘Yes,’ I tell him. ‘He’s here somewhere…’

‘He might have gone for his breakfast…’

Now I ask Tachibana, ‘How did you know we were here?’

‘Inns are obliged to report all guests,’ laughs Tachibana again. ‘Even guests from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.’

Welcome to the countryside! Welcome to Tochigi!

I smile now and I nod and I say, ‘Of course…’

‘I’ll wait for you in the entrance, inspector.’

I bow again and I excuse myself. I turn back into the room –

The room dark. The windows and the screens still closed –

I close the door. No Ishida . I look at his folded-up futon –

His knapsack gone . I go over to my own bag. I open it –

I root around inside until I find the boxes and bottles –

I count all the pills. Enough . They are still there –

Now I lie back down. I close my eyes again –

I still itch and so I scratch. Gari-gari … I want to forget these dreams …

I sit back up again and I open up my bag again. In the half-light . I root around again until I find my notebook, until I find my pen. I cannot forget these dreams . I must write them down. In the half-light . These dreams, these half-things. I cannot forget . These things I dream, these dreams I remember; all these half-things I remember –

These things that don’t make sense, these things that do …

Now I put my notebook away and I put my pen away –

I go into the small toilet. I piss. I wash my face –

I get dressed. I itch and I scratch again –

Gari-gari . I itch. I scratch. Gari-gari …

I pick up my bag. I leave the room –

I walk down the corridor –

The corridor still dark …

Ishida is here now –

His knapsack …

Ishida sat at the low table in the entrance to the inn, talking with Chief Tachibana, nodding and smiling along to his conversation. They both stand up and bow when they see me and Detective Ishida says, ‘I’m sorry, sir. I went looking for breakfast without you…’

I no longer know who this Detective Ishida is. This man …

‘That’s all right,’ I tell him. ‘I must have needed the sleep.’

Has he spoken to Tokyo? About Fujita? About his orders?

‘I tried to wake you,’ nods Ishida. ‘But you were dead.’

This man I don’t know. This man I don’t recognize …

Now Tachibana asks me, ‘Would you like some breakfast?’

‘They have miso soup,’ says Ishida. ‘You should have it.’

I shake my head. ‘I’m not very hungry, thank you.’

Who is this man who calls himself Ishida?

Tachibana nods. But Tachibana says, ‘You’ve paid for the breakfast. You should eat something while we talk…’

‘I am fine, thank you,’ I tell him but this Chief Tachibana is already on his feet, walking over to the reception desk, banging on the wood and shouting for my breakfast to be brought out –

I don’t look at Ishida. Ishida doesn’t look at me –

No one is who they say they are …

Tachibana comes back over. Tachibana sits back down. Tachibana picks up his briefcase. Tachibana opens it up. Tachibana takes out two thin files. Tachibana places the two files on the table –

One marked Baba Hiroko , the other Numao Shizue —

‘Excuse me for interrupting,’ says the young maid, the same maid as last night, as she puts down a bowl of rice-porridge topped with a thin slice of pickle on the low table before me, then a second bowl of green leaves floating in some miso-flavoured water, and now places a pair of chipped chopsticks beside the two bowls of food –

I suddenly feel very hungry. I apologize to Tachibana and Ishida. I excuse myself as I begin to eat the cold porridge and the pickle, to wash them down with the tepid brown soup and leaves –

I am a stray dog, his house lost and his master gone …

I swallow. I say, ‘Tell us about Numao…’

‘She was a local Nikkō girl,’ he says, opening the file out on the table. ‘On the evening of the second of December last year, she told her family she was going to visit her friend’s house. She never arrived there and she never returned home. Just over one month later, on the third of January this year, her body was found –

‘Numao Shizue had been stabbed to death.’

I put down the chipped chopsticks. I wipe my mouth and I say, ‘I thought Numao was found on the thirtieth of December?’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ says Tachibana. ‘Yes, you’re right, of course.’

I ask, ‘Was there any evidence at all that she’d been raped?’

‘None,’ says Tachibana. ‘She was found fully clothed.’

I lean forward. I push the file away. ‘It’s not Kodaira.’

Tachibana bows his head. Tachibana nods his head –

I tell him, ‘Kodaira Yoshio only murders for sex.’

‘There are some other cases,’ he tells me –

I ask, ‘Do you have the files with you?’

‘No, they are back at Kanuma.’

Back at the police station …

‘All right,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you. We’ll take a look at them later but, for now, we have two requests to make of you…’

‘Please,’ he says. ‘We are here to help you…’

‘We’d like to visit a girl named Okayama whose mother is an acquaintance of Kodaira Yoshio. We’d like to talk to her and anybody else who may have met Kodaira up here. Then we’d like to examine the site where the body of Baba Hiroko was found…’

‘Of course,’ says Chief Tachibana, getting to his feet now. ‘These places are not far and I have a small truck we can use. I’ll bring it round to the front while you settle up with the inn.’

I nod my head. I say, ‘Thank you for your help.’

Tachibana gathers up the files from the table and puts them back in his briefcase. Tachibana then bows and leaves us.

I wipe my mouth again. I wipe my neck.

‘He seems very helpful,’ says Ishida.

‘Because he’s afraid,’ I tell him –

‘Afraid of what…’

‘Does he need a reason?’ I ask him. ‘This is Japan. This is the twenty-first year of Shōwa. The Year of the Dog –

‘Everybody is afraid, detective…’

Now Ishida suddenly asks, ‘What happened to your hair?’

I rub my scalp. I say, ‘I shaved it a few days ago…’

‘But it’s growing back grey,’ says Ishida.

I touch it again. I shrug my shoulders –

‘I almost didn’t recognize you.’

*

The truck is ancient and small and there is an old policeman in the driving seat in a frayed and soiled cap. Tachibana gestures for me to sit up in the front on the small seat to the left of the driver while he and Ishida climb into the back where there is some corrugated iron and what look to be carpenter’s tools. The driver starts the truck –

Now I hold on tight as off we set. No windscreen or hood, the daylight is blinding, my eyes squinting as the sunlight illuminates the Tochigi countryside; this Land of the Living. This Land of Plenty –

There are mountains. There are trees. There are fields –

There are leaves and there are flowers here –

There are rivers and there are streams –