David Peace - Tokyo Year Zero

Now Senju Akira puts a bundle of money on the table. Now Senju puts a bag of pills on the table. I lean forward –

I curse myself, I curse myself …

I bow. I thank him –

And I curse him …

But now Senju moves the money and the pills just out of my reach and says, ‘You kill Adachi, you get all these and also these…’

Ishida mumbles about Fujita. Ishida moans about Senju …

Now Senju holds up a file in one hand and a piece of paper in the other; the Miyazaki Mitsuko file and a demobilization paper –

‘The end of one life and the start of a new one…’

I curse him, I curse him and I curse myself …

I ask him, ‘But how did you get that file?’

‘I’ve told you before,’ he winks. ‘Those in the know, know, and those who don’t, don’t, eh, corporal…?’

I look down at the tatami –

And I curse him …

‘You do this one last job for me, then you run,’ smiles Senju. ‘You burn this file, you fill in this paper, then you live again –

‘A new name in a new town with a new life –

‘A new life among the living, detective –

‘A third and final chance!’

I bow low. I thank him –

And I curse myself …

Now Senju throws some cash down onto the mat by my face. Now Senju says, ‘You do the job and you get the rest. But do it soon, before you’re picked up by the Public Safety Division…’

Ishida lies and he lies about Adachi …

I nod. I clutch my knapsack. I start to shuffle backwards towards the door, on my hands and on my knees –

Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he …

Senju laughing at me now as he asks, ‘You didn’t bring me back any souvenirs from Tochigi, then? Not very thoughtful…’

‘I am very sorry,’ I tell him and I bow again –

But now Senju has said too much …

On my hands and on my knees –

He has said too much …

I get off my knees.

*

Every station, every platform, every train, every carriage. Zā-zā, za-za . The rain is coming down in sheets of sheer white water now, bouncing back off the train tracks and the umbrellas on the platform at Shimbashi. Zā-zā, za-za . Now the headlights of the Shinjuku train appear and the pushing begins, the shoving begins, the umbrellas adding to the confusion and the chaos of the bundles and baggage everyone carries. Zā-zā, za-za . I push my way forward and I shove my way on board. Zā-zā, za-za . I have food in my knapsack now. Zā-zā, zā-zā . I have money in my pocket now –

But Senju has said too much …

The train doesn’t move and the doors don’t close so there is still pushing, still shoving, one man asking another, ‘Excuse me, can I put this up there next to your bag?’

He has said too much …

‘There isn’t room, is there?’ snaps the other man, looking up at his knapsack on the rack –

Now the doors close and the train starts. Zā-zā, za-za . I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . Pushed and shoved as we crawl along the tracks through the rain. Zā-zā, zā-zā . I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . Passengers get off at Hamamatsu-chō and Shinagawa but just as many push and shove their way inside. Zā-zā, zā-zā . I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . But now I cannot see the passengers any more. Zā-zā, zā-zā . I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . I cannot see their bundles and their baggage. Zā-zā, zā-zā . I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari . I cannot see this train at all. Zā-zā, zā-zā . Now I do not itch and I do not scratch. Zā-zā, zā-zā . I close my eyes –

Zā-zā, zā-zā. Zā-zā, zā-zā …

I am not here any more –

I am sat cross-legged on a cot, a blood-flecked scroll on the wall above my bed. My head shaven and my belly bandaged .

*

I have no umbrella and I have no raincoat so, with my hat pulled down tight upon my skull and my jacket stretched over that, I run past the crooked, impotent telegraph poles down the road to my usual restaurant, half-way between Mitaka station and my own house –

The one lantern swinging in the rain and in the wind –

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

I pull back the sheet that acts as a door on a night like this and the jokes, the smiles and the laughter stop dead. Dead . No more jokes. No more smiles. No more laughter. Everyone stares at me and then glances up at the master behind the counter –

I ignore them. I shake the rain from my jacket and from my hat. I sit down in a space at the counter –

I order yakitori and sake –

‘Men were here again,’ says the master. ‘Asking about you.’

‘Who were they?’ I ask him. ‘Good guys or bad?’

‘What do you mean, good guys or bad?’ asks the master. ‘How would I know? You tell me. All I know is that they weren’t friendly and they were asking after you…’

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t like to see you frightened…’

‘I’m not frightened,’ says the master. ‘But I don’t want trouble with the Yankees and I don’t want trouble with the gangs and I don’t want trouble with crooked cops either…’

I take out some money. I put it on the counter and I tell him, ‘I know I have run up debts…’

Debts to the dead …

The master picks up the money from the counter. The master puts the money back into my hand. He closes my fingers round it –

‘I don’t want your money and I don’t want your custom either. The slate’s clean but, remember, you’re not welcome here any more.’

‘Idiot!’ I shout and storm out of his little shithole of a bar –

I walk down my own street cursing him, over and over –

‘Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!’

In the rain and in the wind, over and over again –

‘Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!’

Hat on tight and jacket up over my head –

‘Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!’

I scratch and I scratch and I scratch –

Gari-gari. Gari-gari. Gari-gari …

‘Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!’

In the rain and in the wind. Idiot …

On my hands, on my knees –

Idiot . Before the gate –

The idiot …

*

The gate to my house is closed. I open it. The door is locked. I open it. The house is dark. The house is silent. I stand in the genkan —

The rotting mats, shredded doors and fallen walls …

The house still sleeping, always sleeping –

I wipe my face and I wipe my neck –

The house smells of children –

Their shoes face the door …

It smells of pain –

‘I’m home…’

My wife comes out of the kitchen, her face is stained with soot, her hands brushing dust from her worn monpe trousers –

She smiles and she says, ‘Welcome home…’

Home. Home. Home. Home. Home …

I have brought cherries home, cherries for my children, their stems tied in a necklace around my neck –

Home. Home. Home. Home …

I never want to leave again –

Home. Home. Home …

I close my eyes –

Home. Home …

Now I am –

Home .

Tokyo, 79°, rain

Night is day again. I open my eyes. No sleep . Night is day. I can hear the rain falling. No pills . Night is day. I can see the sun shining –