David Peace - Tokyo Year Zero

I am sleeping not waking, I am waking not sleeping –

Sara-sara. Sara-sara. Sara-sara. Sara-sara. Sara —

The sound of the running water has stopped –

I hear the door open. I feel the air change …

I open my eyes but there is only steam –

I think I see the figure of a woman …

I cannot stand. I cannot breathe –

The figure of a woman facing away from me, staring into a mirror that is not there, she is dressed in a yellow kimono with a dark-blue stripe, its skirts dripping onto the tiles of the floor, her hair tied up with silk threads which expose her pale neck …

The water is cold. The water is black –

The woman holds a hairbrush in one hand as she leans forward to stare at herself in the mirror, suddenly turning to face me now, dropping the hairbrush to the floor, ton, she puts her hands to her face and covers both her eyebrows —

‘Does this become me?’

*

Ishida looks up startled and embarrassed when I come back from the bath. He is sat cross-legged on the floor of the room by the table. He has already changed into the same yukata provided by the inn that I am now wearing. He quickly stuffs something back into his knapsack and shoves it under the table. Now he picks up a towel from the mat –

‘Excuse me,’ he mumbles, telling me he’ll take his bath now.

I listen to his feet trail off down the corridor. I wait a moment before I look out the door to make sure he has gone. Now I pull his bag out from under the table to see what he’d been so quick to hide –

And here it is, lying on the top inside his knapsack; his underwear and a needle. Detective Ishida had been hunting fleas in his underwear with a needle, piercing and spearing flea after flea on the end of the needle. But the old army pistol is still here too –

The old army pistol at the bottom of his knapsack –

I fight back the visions. I fight back the tears …

Here waiting for something, there waiting for someone.

*

It is dark and it is silent outside when Tachibana joins us for dinner. Tachibana has changed out of his uniform and into an evening kimono. Tachibana summons two maids who serve the food in our room on three small lacquered butterfly-legged tables, the food as good as he promised; bonito, smoked eggs, soba , and a bowl of fishcake in a cold soup of grated arrowroot. Ishida and I eat it up like a pair of hungry dogs. The sake is equally fine and we lap that up until Ishida begins to worry about the expense of all this food and all this drink, but Police Chief Tachibana just claps his big hands –

‘It’s my inn,’ he laughs. ‘And you’re my guests…’

And after the dinner, after the two maids have cleared away the tables but left us with three fresh bottles of sake, Tachibana suddenly gets to his feet and begins to dance, this small, fat, youngish man whose eyes are now old and hard as he performs the violent, jerky dance of a warrior, lungeing at Ishida with an invisible sword –

This dance from the shadows, this dance from the past …

Then, just as suddenly, his violent, jerky dance is over and Tachibana is sat back down, his face still red and angry –

In the half-light, no one is who they seem …

Filling our cups and offering up a toast –

From the past and from the shadows …

‘To Japan and to the Emperor…’

*

We have pissed and we have washed our faces. I switch off the electric bulb and now, in the dark of the room, before I say goodnight, I ask him, ‘What was the message they gave you back at the station?’

Ishida is silent for a time before he says, ‘What message…?’

‘The one you got when we arrived at Kanuma police station.’

Ishida says, ‘It was just from Inspector Hattori. That’s all.’

‘And what did Inspector Hattori have to tell you?’ I ask –

‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘He just wants any leads we find…’

‘What do you mean, he wants any leads we find?’

‘He wants me to telephone or telegram him…’

‘Telephone him about what?’ I ask again –

‘Just if we find any new leads, that’s all.’

‘There was no other request or news?’

‘That was all the message said.’

‘Goodnight, then,’ I tell him –

But now, in the dark and in the silence of this room, Detective Ishida asks me, ‘Do you think we are the only guests in this inn?’

‘I don’t know,’ I tell him. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘It’s nothing,’ he says. ‘I’m just tired…’

‘No, tell me,’ I say. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I just don’t like it here,’ he says. ‘I wish we’d never come.’

Tochigi, 87°, fine

In the night, he shrieks. In the night, he howls. In the night, he wails. In the night, the grinding of teeth. In the night, the weeping of tears –

Not sleeping, not waking. I can hear him crying . In his sleep. Not waking, not sleeping. I can hear him weeping . In my dreams. Not sleeping, not waking. I can hear him crying . In his sleep. Not waking, not sleeping. I can hear him weeping . In my dreams. Not sleeping, not waking. I can hear him crying . In his sleep. Not waking, not sleeping. I can hear him weeping . In my dreams. Not sleeping, not waking. I can hear him crying . In his sleep. Not waking, not sleeping. I can hear him weeping . In my dreams. Not sleeping, not waking –

Ton .

Before the dawn, before the light, the dull thud upon the mat –

Ton .

The only sound as it hits the floor, just beyond my pillow –

Nothing before, nothing after, the dull thud on the mat –

Ton .

I lie on the futon and I do not, dare not move –

What was that noise? What was that sound?

Ton .

Ishida is awake now. I can feel him –

He asks, ‘What was that noise?’

Ton .

I turn over on the futon. I raise my head up. I look beyond my pillow. I can see it now. In front of the alcove –

It lies on the matting. It lies neck up –

Like an inverted, severed head –

The red camellia –

Ton .

*

It is dawn now and it is light. I get up from my futon but I do not wake Ishida. I take off my yukata . I pull on my undershorts. I put on my undershirt. I pull on my trousers. I put on my shirt. I gather up my jacket, my knapsack, my hat. I leave the room. I walk down the corridor to the reception area. There is no one here. In this place of shadows . The hearth deserted. This place from the past . I pick up my boots from the genkan . I squat down beneath the eaves of the inn. In this other century . I pull on my old army boots and I leave this inn –

This other country, so far from home …

I walk back towards the town, back towards the station; the first train must have already arrived as there are Scavengers walking past me out of town, mumbling and muttering and moaning –

Their clothes are almost rags, half of them have no shoes …

‘This is a bad place to buy anything, a terrible place…’

They are weighted down and they are sweating …

‘These farmers have us where they want us…’

The weight of the bundles on their backs …

‘They won’t take money, only goods…’

Dirty towels tied around their faces …

‘They’re getting choosier by the day…’

Or old yellow caps on their heads …

‘Used to be just fabrics or cloth…’