David Peace - Tokyo Year Zero

The bloody mouth from which the gag has been ripped …

Lies upon lies upon lies upon lies upon lies upon lies –

In the night, the grinding of teeth, the weeping of tears …

It is time to come down from this mountain of lies –

I can hear Ishida crying. I can hear him weeping …

To come down from this mountain of bones –

In the half-light, I can hear them all …

It is time to go home.

*

I struggle but manage to get on board at the couplings between two of the carriages. I struggle but manage to get from the couplings into the freight wagon. The freight wagon full of people packed like cattle –

Human cattle. Human cattle. Human cattle …

There is a woman attacking a rice-ball, another crunching a pickle, little kids crying and old folk snoring, itching and scratching, gari-gari , the reek of human piss, the stench of human shit –

Human shit. Human shit. Human shit …

‘No luck at all,’ someone is saying. ‘Nothing at all…’

‘They’re all so rich now they’ve no need to sell…’

‘They keep the good stuff hidden out of sight…’

‘Or they just ask for whatever they want…’

‘They aren’t satisfied with money…’

‘Some of the older ones want a fuck and if you put some effort into it and promise to come back again, they’ll give you a quart for a hundred and fifty yen, not bad for ten minutes’ fucking…’

‘You could sell it in Tokyo for two hundred yen…’

‘Your rice and your cunt,’ they laugh, ha, ha …

I stare out of the wagon, between the boards –

There is no hindsight. No foresight …

Just blindness, just darkness –

Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he! Ho, ho, ho, ho!

Tokyo, 85°, fine

I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . The bodies rock from side to side with the motion of the train as the dawn begins to pick them out through the holes in the boards and the gaps by the doors. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . There is an old white-haired woman sat across from me, wedged between a younger man and woman. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . The younger man and woman both trying to wake her up now, whispering, ‘Wake up. We’ll soon be in Asakusa. Wake up…’

But there is no movement or answer from the woman –

‘Wake up!’ hisses the other woman. ‘I can’t move my arm.’

The train jumps a joint now. The old woman falls forward –

The man on her left, sensing something is not quite right, lifts up her head to the light. The old woman’s eyes are still closed –

There is froth round her mouth and down her chin –

‘What’s the matter with you?’ asks the man. ‘Wake up!’

The train jumps another joint. The old woman rolls over –

‘She’s dead,’ says the woman to the man. ‘She’s dead…’

Now they both try to push the old woman’s body off them, to push her away, but the woman’s body won’t move because it is held in its place by the weight of the bundle strapped to her back –

The weight of the bundle, the supplies on her back …

‘Take it off,’ the man is whispering to the young woman as they struggle with the body. But the young woman has had a better idea as they separate the body of the old woman from the bundle on her back, the younger woman opening the bundle and the man doesn’t need telling and now he joins her picking through the ropes and the knots, each of them glancing this way and that to check that no one else is awake, the ropes and the knots now gone, that way and this to make sure no one is watching as they take the polished rice and the sweet potatoes from out of the bundle on the dead woman’s back and hide it in the bundles on their own backs –

This way and that, that way and this …

I lower my head and I close my eyes –

I turn their shoes to face the door …

But not for long –

The other bodies in the freight wagon begin to stir now. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . The whispers with them. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . The rumours that the police will be waiting at Asakusa to search the passengers and their bundles for any black-market goods –

People thinking about getting off at Kita-Senju station –

People saying Kita-Senju will be just as bad –

People talking about jumping off –

I have heard enough –

I put my knapsack of bones and fragments of clothes on my back and I jump down from the freight wagon at Kita-Senju station –

But I do not go through the ticket gates at Kita-Senju. I walk up the stairs and down another flight to another platform. Then I stand on the roofless platform and I wait for the train to Ueno –

It is the twenty-seventh of August. I think . It is just gone 7 a.m. It is hot and humid and the sky is a dirty grey stain –

I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari …

Gari-gari. Gari-gari …

Gari-gari …

This platform for Ueno and Tokyo is not very busy but across the tracks the platforms for Saitama and Chiba are both crowded –

I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . I itch and I scratch –

Gari-gari. Gari-gari. Gari-gari. Gari-gari …

I hear my train approaching now. I step forward towards the edge of the platform. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . The train pulls in and hundreds of people get off, pushing and shoving. I get on board, the carriage still full of hundreds of people, still pushing and shoving. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . I stand by the door as the train pulls out. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . There is silence inside the carriage. The people are nervous. The people are worried. The people afraid –

I am nervous. I am worried. I am afraid. I am scared …

There are always police at Ueno station, always searches of clothing and baggage. But I will not go through the ticket gates here. I will change to another platform. I will change to another train –

They will not see me. They will not stop me …

I will take the Yamate Line to Kanda –

They will not find me. Not catch me …

The Chūō Line to Shinanomachi –

I will be safe this way …

But there are police at Shinanomachi station. I curse . I am on the platform now. I curse . I am walking towards the ticket gate. I curse . They are stopping people. I curse . They are searching people. I curse . I can’t show my notebook. I curse . I can’t tell them my name. I curse . I am stood in the line for the gates. I curse . I am in the queue now. I curse . I hand my ticket to the station staff. I keep walking –

‘You there,’ commands the voice of a policeman. ‘Stop!’

I curse and I curse . I stop. I curse again . I turn around –

There are two uniformed policemen. ‘Come here!’

I curse. I curse. I curse. I curse. I curse …

I bow before them and I ask, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘What have you got in your knapsack?’

I curse. I curse. I curse. I curse …

‘Just my clothes and things…’

‘Show us then,’ they tell me.

I curse. I curse. I curse …

‘But it’s just clothes.’

‘Just open it then.’

I curse. I curse …

‘Really, just…’

‘Open it!’

I curse and I curse but I nod. I take off my knapsack and I start to open it up but one of the officers snatches it from out of my hands. He sets it down on the floor and he starts to go through it –