Falling From the Floating World

by Nick Hurst

  He refilled the glass I’d just knocked back.

  ‘A tayū is not to be confused with a prostitute at any time, but you should understand Chōshi-san deserves disapprobation least of all.’

  I didn’t say anything. There was nothing I could.

  ‘I’m sorry; I assumed she’d have told you, or that you’d at least know the gist. I’m aware it isn’t easy news to absorb, but I’m afraid you need to deal with it quickly. There’ll be a time to reflect but that time isn’t now. You can’t afford to look back. You need to focus on the future and on what you can do to help Chōshi-san now. The first step towards that is at tomorrow’s AGM.’

  I sat slumped with my head in my hands. It was all very well saying I should reflect on it later, but that was like destroying someone’s home and telling them to think it over after a good night’s sleep.

  ‘Please don’t abandon me too.’

  Tomoe’s words from our fight. The last time we spoke. Having discovered her father’s treachery, she’d gone wherever she was thinking I’d turned my back on her too.

  ‘Boohoo, the little pussy bitch is having a cry.’

  I looked up from the sofa. The office had been empty, its inhabitants out tearing the legs off children or whatever they normally did. That’s where I’d slumped.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, he really is,’ continued Kurotaki. ‘Pull yourself together cocksucker – you’re a yakuza. It’s not a job for poofs.’

  I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, hating him for intruding on my grief. It only spurred him on.

  ‘Hey, we didn’t finish our conversation the other day.’

  I said nothing and made to leave.

  ‘The one about sluts. It reminded me of something. I know the guy who broke in your girlfriend. He said she moaned like a thousand-yen whore and was begging for more when he was done.’

  The next thing I knew I was face to face with Sumida, his right arm pressing my left to my side, his left struggling to control my right. He’d intervened to deflect its swing. At its end was a heavy glass ashtray, the one I’d picked up from the table as I leapt to my feet. The weapon I’d swung at Kurotaki’s head.

  Having been caught flat-footed, Kurotaki was starting to rage back, trying to rip away the sandwich filler that was Sumida as he attempted to restrain the fury on his other side.

  ‘Out.’

  One word from Takata and Kurotaki was contained. He turned and stalked from the room. Something had snapped in me though and I continued to rail at the empty space.

  ‘Get a hold of yourself,’ ordered Takata, anger starting to rise in his voice.

  I struggled a last time and then the fight left me as quickly as it had come.

  ‘Get him a taxi – and make sure he gets in it and the driver knows where to go. Then come to my office. I want to know what that was all about.’

  Sumida bowed.

  ‘And you,’ he turned to me. ‘What did I tell you? Do you want to save your girlfriend or fight the people on your own side? Pull yourself together. How are you going to do what you need to tomorrow if you get yourself killed in a fight?’

  He turned back into his office and slammed the door.

  I tried to do as he said in the taxi home but I couldn’t cope, it had all got too much. A couple of months ago I’d been a normal guy with a normal job leading a normal life. Now this.

  But it wasn’t just my circumstances. When I threatened Fujiwara I hadn’t been shocked by what I said, but by how genuine I’d been. And just now. If I’d hit Kurotaki flush with the ashtray it would have hurt him badly, maybe even killed him. I felt deep down I was the person I’d always been but at the same time something in me had changed. My actions were those of someone else.

  My mind went again went to Tomoe. My beautiful girlfriend who had been defiled. The soulmate I’d betrayed in her hour of need.

  Until that point I’d thought that if I could keep going things would have to get better, that they couldn’t get any worse. I was starting to realise this wasn’t necessarily true. The world in which I found myself had unlimited potential for horror and pain. I had a chance to claw my way out and that would start with the AGM. But I couldn’t help thinking that if things were to get better it would only be after they got much, much worse.

  PART THREE

  ONE

  I could see the crowds from down the street. A group was waiting in front of sliding metal barricades that blocked entry to the front of a grey skyscraper. Facing them from behind the barriers was a line of security guards. Surrounding them on the other side were journalists and camera crews who were resisting the efforts of further security men attempting to corral the entire group into an orderly mass and prevent them spilling into the road.

  On the opposite side of the street was another group, slightly sparser in number but making up for it in noise. They were being led by a man with a microphone in an increasing intensity of anti-KanEnCo chants.

  It was from this side that I approached, my hand bandaged in the style of a man who has hurt his wrist rather than cut off a finger. No one paid me any attention – after all, I was just a passing gaijin who couldn’t be involved. At the last minute I cut across the road, weaved through the crowd and flashed the pass Takata had provided. The security men quickly wheeled the barriers open and closed.

  I was through almost before anyone noticed, certainly before any cameras could be pointed at me. But a pair of eyes had caught mine. They’d smiled in greeting and then looked confused when I couldn’t hold their gaze. The last sight I had of Eriko’s mother was her face changing from confusion to horror as her mind worked through the possible reasons I was being let in.

  I was stopped by tense security men at two more cordons before I could enter. I imagined they had experience of the recent AGMs and were looking forward to the day with as much enthusiasm as me.

  Once I’d presented my pass at reception, I was taken to a lift and shown to the tenth floor. I got out to see clusters of thick-set men squeezed into ill-fitting suits that their muscles and beer bellies seemed likely to burst from before the meeting was done. I hadn’t been to any AGMs before but I couldn’t imagine they were typical investors. Their snippets of conversation revealed greater interest in the water business than the Nikkei, and their hungover expressions suggested more than one had been doing active research the previous night.

  The smoking area was particularly popular – Tokyo’s law-makers having confusingly restricted the practice outdoors rather than inside, to prevent accidents in the city’s ubiquitous crowds. It was from here the sōkaiya leader approached.

  ‘Kularens-san?’ he said with a slight bow. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  I returned the pleasantries and he started his briefing.

  ‘We should be getting started pretty soon. The other shareholders will be let in at eight fifty-five, at which point we’ll be allowed entry to the meeting room. As we’re here first’ – I didn’t ask what predicated this treatment – ‘we’ll have the choice of seats. I’ll ensure you get one right at the front.’

  I nodded and thanked him.

  ‘The meeting will commence at nine with a statement from the president. After that the floor will be opened to questions.’

  I nodded again to show I was keeping pace.

  ‘It’s a forum that has generated some passion in recent years,’ he said delicately, as bored thugs around him yawned from their exertions of the previous night. ‘So it’s possible things could get heated. In that case, the meeting will end prematurely. However, I believe you have a question that needs to be asked. We’ll ensure decorum is maintained for the time it takes you to do your thing. Is that all clear?’

  I assured him it was and he went to have another cigarette, it having been at least five minutes since his last. I went back to the question that had been running through my mind since I wrenched it from the events of the previous day.

  What was Takata’s plan?

  Just as I’d finally
got in reach of the ‘Ishikawa Report’ our conversation had veered off on a dramatically different line. I couldn’t be sure if this had been an intentional diversion or not.

  But I’d done as Takata had said. I’d returned home and, unable to close my mind to the thoughts running amok, I’d gone to bed early, surprising myself by how quickly I’d fallen asleep. In the morning, instead of letting my emotions roam uninhibited, I’d formed a barrier around a sole task: doing whatever I needed to do at the AGM.

  What I couldn’t close my mind to were the thoughts of what Takata expected from this. The KanEnCo board surely wouldn’t be happy with my question and it seemed strange that Takata would want to upset the people paying him. But perhaps he didn’t intend to; it might be a move to wrong-foot the protestors, a way to lure them into his fire.

  Either way, it looked like I was to be a catalyst again, and in my experience that usually ended in pain. At least this time the people likely to mete out the violence were on my side. The thought that I wouldn’t be on the receiving end was comforting, but brought with it a stabbing sense of shame.

  The sōkaiya leader shot a couple of staccato ‘hai’s into his phone as he walked towards me. He nodded.

  ‘We’re on.’

  He turned and shouted ‘Let’s go!’ to the room.

  He took first place outside a door on which the meeting details were pasted and indicated I fall in behind. The rest of the sōkaiya lined up after me, their bored expressions replaced by grim game-faces with a current of violent excitement underneath.

  The lift door pinged and the first of the protestors emerged. The tension immediately ratcheted up. They were escorted over by security men who placed themselves between the two groups. As more of their number started to pour from the lifts the cat-calls started. I turned away. I didn’t want any part in this, but if I had to be involved I just wanted to get in, ask my question and get out.

  The door opened and the pressure from the queue forced the sōkaiya leader and me through, barrelling us into the man opening it and truncating his welcome speech. The conference room had the requisite soullessness of any corporation or large hotel. There was a long desk at the front backed by tall windows that were masked with muslin curtains to avoid any distractions from outside. In front of the desk were two banks of seats that went ten or fifteen rows back, each with about ten chairs either side of a walkway.

  The sōkaiya leader led me to the front and we sat down. About half of the sōkaiya followed and filled in around us. The others hung back, encircling the protestors when they sat, leaving them an isolated island in a hostile, black-suited sea.

  Blue-uniformed security men stood at the edges of the room, their faces anxious as they fidgeted, their backs pressed against the walls. Instead of the usual murmurs of a large crowd I could hear the sōkaiya niggling the protestors. Their indignant responses were met by gruff insults and threats.

  A door at the front beside the table opened and the volume of the crowd increased. A group of ten or so men entered one after another and took their seats. Sour-faced, they were all over sixty, as soulless as the room and distinguished by hair that appeared to grow more jet-black with age. I looked at the president ten feet in front of me. His mouth was so puckered you’d have thought he survived on lemons and sour milk. He was the one I was to direct my question to.

  ‘Please. Please! We’re ready to start.’

  An official tried to quell the noise from the front right.

  The president looked around the room with disdain. I imagined he was recalling days when the AGM had been filled with investors. Anyone with conventional interests had decided to make do with the annual report – this battleground posing as a meeting wasn’t for them. The president waited for silence before he made a start.

  My mind wandered the moment corporate jargon began to spiel from his mouth. But I think he was no happier to be there than I was. He wound up his speech quickly in anticipation of an early escape.

  ‘So now we’ll take questions from the floor.’

  A cacophony of voices rose from the protestors, their calls eliciting an immediate echo of abuse.

  ‘We will take questions in the proper manner,’ the president said icily. ‘Please raise your hand if you have something to say and you’ll be addressed one by one.’

  I sensed hands straining up behind me but mine suddenly felt like lead. The sōkaiya leader turned to look at me. The president was also staring, a perplexed expression on his face.

  ‘Yes, please,’ he said sounding relieved, and I realised my hand had made its way into the air.

  I became conscious I didn’t know the form in these meetings, whether to stand or stay in your seat. I got up.

  ‘Ray Clarence from Energy Without Affect,’ I introduced myself, and then paused.

  ‘I’ve been researching the Kamigawa Incident as part of our study on a fossil-free future,’ I began, easing myself in. ‘The plant has been most helpful already but there is still a source of data we are yet to receive. It would be invaluable to us at EWA, but I think it would go some way to resolving the problems between KanEnCo and its less contented investors as well.’

  The president looked at me curiously. Whatever he’d been briefed to expect, I don’t think it was this.

  ‘Could you please let me know where I can access the Ishikawa Report, the independent report written by Ishikawa Manabu on the suitability of Kamigawa as the site for a nuclear plant?’

  The president’s eyes widened in horror. The room went quiet. The protestors weren’t sure what this was but they could sense its significance. The president opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. He tried again but no words came out. Behind me the room erupted, the protestors demanding this new-found jewel, the men in black suits trying to shut them up.

  The president looked desperately at the sōkaiya leader, his eyes demanding something be done. He seemed to have forgotten I was in the same family, that they wouldn’t do anything to me.

  I felt the sōkaiya get to his feet.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  I turned to find out what he was apologising for just as he floored me with a huge punch. It threw me over the back of my seat and I saw the room explode through an inverted forest of chair legs and legs. Protestors and sōkaiya hurled themselves at one another, chairs and people went flying this way and that.

  I lifted my head and looked forward to see the board beat a hasty retreat. I struggled up, thinking I’d be better off upright, only for two fighters to barrel into my side and catapult me over the table at the front. I hauled myself up again, this time more cautious of my flanks, and peered over the top. Somehow amidst the orgy of violence my original assailant spotted the movement. He pointed me out to a security man who rushed over to form a one-man guard.

  The rest of security was starting to gain a semblance of control. The women had for the most part escaped. The men were either laid out on the floor or had guards in front of them, blocking their aggressors’ path. The sōkaiya were not proving as easily quelled. It took another wave of security to sweep in before order was finally restored.

  The protestors were ushered out first except for the injured being treated on the sides. When they’d been seen through the litter of chairs, the guards escorted the sōkaiya, who they showed far greater wariness at being around. I was taken with this group, still with my personal watch.

  We’d left the room and were moving towards the lift when somebody grabbed my arm. I started and pulled away sharply. I had no desire to have the nascent swelling on my face balanced with another punch.

  ‘Come with me,’ said Sumida.

  He held up his hand in gesture to the guard, who didn’t look keen to argue the point.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

  The guard took the acknowledgement we knew each other as fair reason to scuttle off.

  ‘We need to be discreet getting you out,’ said Sumida. ‘It’s swarming with reporters out front.’


  Aside from the ache in my jaw, I was still feeling woozy from the sōkaiya’s punch. I felt quite relieved to have someone shepherd me. I shrugged and let Sumida lead me down the corridor to a fire exit at its other end.

  A dizzying number of stairs later we came out in a basement car park, its cloying fumes concentrated by low ceilings and a lack of fresh air. It was around this time I started to feel uneasy. It didn’t take long before my doubts were confirmed.

  ‘Get in the boot,’ said Sumida.

  We’d reached the moment of truth. I’d done what they wanted and they were going to get rid of me. The car park stood empty except for the two of us. I looked for possible escapes. The nearest exit was the stairwell we’d come from, but in my present condition I had to think Sumida would catch me before I could get to the door.

  ‘I think I’d be better in one of the seats,’ I said, taking a step back.

  Sumida looked at me.

  ‘Don’t be a dick. If I wanted to hurt you I could do it any time. You might not realise it, but you just kicked off a shit-storm up there. The press are going to be all over you if they see you now. On top of that, you’ve just made a new set of enemies. So stop fucking around and let me get you out of here without being seen.’

  There was plenty to question in what he’d just said, but one thing in particular pissed me off.

  ‘What do you mean “I’ve just made a whole set of new enemies”? It was Kumichō’s question. I only asked it. Surely this country’s got to run out of people who want to kill me at some fucking point?’

  He either took the question as rhetorical, or didn’t want to dishearten me with how many others might be baying for my blood.

  ‘Just get in the car.’

  He stepped towards me. I took another step back, but he was close enough to grab me if he wanted.

  ‘You’re going in there one way or another. Don’t make me force you – it’s not necessary and it’ll hurt.’