Tokyo Year Zero

by David Peace

  Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku…

  The same sounds of screams and sobs as at Keiō Hospital, the same smells of DDT and disinfectant –

  I hate this place. I hate…

  ‘Here it is,’ says the receptionist now with a file in her hand. ‘Mori Ichiro was admitted on the thirtieth of June this year.’

  ‘And is Mr. Mori still here?’ I ask her –

  The receptionist nods. ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘I’d like to see him then, please.’

  The receptionist shakes her head now. The receptionist says, ‘But you know I can’t just let you –’

  ‘Then please tell me the name of Mr. Mori’s doctor,’ I say. ‘And tell me where I can find him.’

  The receptionist looks down at the file and says, ‘Dr. Nomura. His office is on the second…’

  ‘I know,’ I tell her and I start to walk away, to walk away and then to run, to run down the corridor and up the stairs, up the stairs and along another corridor, along another corridor to bang on the door, to bang on the door to the office of Dr. Nomura, to bang on the door and then open it, open it and bow and say, ‘Excuse me…’

  Dr. Nomura looks up from the papers on his desk –

  ‘Inspector?’ he says. ‘It’s been a while…’

  ‘And I am sorry to call on you unannounced,’ I say again. ‘But I am here on police business this time…’

  ‘Please sit down, then,’ says the doctor now. ‘And can I offer you a drink of cold tea, detective… ?’

  I wipe my face and I wipe my neck. I glance at my watch and I shake my head. I say, ‘Thank you but I haven’t much time, doctor.’

  The doctor nods. ‘What is it I can do for you, detective?’

  ‘You have a patient I would like to see,’ I tell the doctor. ‘A former chief inspector of police called Mori. Mori Ichiro…’

  The doctor nods again. The doctor says, ‘I know.’

  ‘Well, I’d very much like to see him,’ I tell the doctor again. ‘It is important I speak with him about an investigation.’

  Now the doctor shakes his head. Now the doctor says, ‘I very much doubt that that will be possible, inspector…’

  ‘Why not?’ I ask him. ‘It’s important.’

  ‘I understand that,’ says the doctor. ‘But, unfortunately, Mr. Mori has not responded to any of our treatments or our regimens –

  ‘And so, for the moment, Mr. Mori does not speak…’

  ‘I would still like to see him,’ I tell the doctor.

  The doctor shakes his head. The doctor says, ‘As you know better than most, detective, recovery from the kind of sudden mental collapse which former Chief Inspector Mori suffered on learning he was to be purged, such a sudden mental collapse takes a very, very long time to recover from, if at all, and any further shocks to the brain can cause irreparable damage to the patient…’

  I bow. I nod. I say, ‘I know that.’

  The blood-flecked scroll…

  ‘In the case of your father, for example,’ continues the doctor. ‘One sudden moment of lucidity, a moment of clarity, proved fatal.’

  I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember…

  I nod again. I say again, ‘May I see him but not speak?’

  The blood-flecked scroll on the wall…

  ‘Yes,’ says the doctor. ‘Though I’m not sure why…’

  In the half-light, I can’t forget…

  ‘He was a policeman,’ I tell him. ‘Like my father…’

  The blood-flecked scroll on the wall behind his desk…

  ‘Like my father,’ I say again now. ‘And like me…’

  I can’t forget. I can’t forget…

  Dr. Nomura nods. Dr Nomura says, ‘Follow me –’ And so I follow Dr. Nomura out of his office, out of his office and down another long corridor, another long corridor through locked metal doors, through locked metal doors into the secure wards, into the secure wards and down more corridors, down more corridors to the secure rooms, the secure rooms and more locked metal doors –

  Now Dr. Nomura stops before one locked metal door –

  One locked metal door with a bolted metal hatch –

  ‘Here we are,’ says Nomura. ‘But just look…’

  Nomura slides back the bolts on the hatch. Nomura lowers the metal hatch. Now Nomura steps back and says, ‘There you are…’

  I step towards the door. I look through the hatchway –

  I stare through the hatchway at the man inside –

  The man inside, cross-legged on his cot –

  I have seen this man before…

  This man in a shapeless gown of yellow and dark-blue striped Chinese silk, with his close-shaven head and his unblinking eyes –

  Eyes I have met before…

  ‘Have you seen enough now?’ asks Nomura –

  I step away from the hatch now and I nod –

  ‘I have seen enough,’ I say. ‘Thank you, doctor.’ Nomura closes the hatch.

  Nomura bolts it –

  No one is who they say they are…

  But I have seen this man before –

  No one is who they seem…

  This man is not former Chief Inspector Mori Ichiro.

  *

  I have haggled and I have bartered. Just to eat. I have threatened and I have bullied. Just to work. But I itch and I scratch again. Gari-gari. My hand aches and my body stinks. Of defeat. I wipe my face and I wipe my neck. And I curse. I have come to the end of my own street. Ton-ton. I walk down the street to my own house. Ton-ton. I open the gate to my own house. Ton-ton. I go up the path to my own house –

  Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton…

  There is a bonfire of bedding in my garden –

  There is fire and there is smoke here.

  I open the door to my own house –

  I have come to say goodbye –

  Their shoes face the door…

  This time I cannot turn away. This time I cannot run away –

  The rotting mats, the shredded doors, the fallen walls…

  From the smell of the children. The smell of the pain.

  I stand in the genkan. I call out, ‘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 –

  ‘Welcome home,’ she says –

  Home. Home. Home…

  I take off my boots. I ask her, ‘Where are the children?’

  ‘Masaki! Sonoko!’ my wife calls. ‘Father is home!’

  Father. Father…

  My children do not run to greet me. My children do not smile when they see me. They stand before me now but do not speak –

  Their heads shaved. Their eyebrows shaved –

  ‘Are you well?’ I ask each of them –

  Heads bowed, they both nod –

  I lift their faces to mine, lift their little faces to the light, and Masaki looks up at me now and smiles, but Sonoko still can’t look up, she still cannot smile, her eyelids swollen and her features distorted –

  I force open her eyelids with my fingers –

  Her eyes inflamed and festering –

  The eyes of a dead fish –

  Pinkeye.

  I turn to my wife. ‘When did you last take her to the doctor?’

  ‘But I think her eyes are getting a little better,’ says my wife. ‘Two days ago, they were so swollen and so inflamed that she could not see anything at all. So I took her to the doctor then and…’

  ‘Maybe it’s a bacterial infection, not pinkeye?’

  ‘That’s what I said to the doctor.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘It’s just pinkeye.’

  ‘Just pinkeye!’ I shout. ‘Just look at her. She still can’t see. She could be permanently blinded! She could be blinded forever!’

  ‘I know,’ says my wife. ‘But the doctor said be patient.’

  ‘Doctors make mistakes,’ I say. ‘The
y usually do.’

  ‘But what should I do?’ asks my wife. ‘Tell…’

  I ask, ‘Which doctor did you take her to?’

  ‘To our usual doctor,’ replies my wife.

  I look at my watch. ‘I’ll take her…’

  ‘Take her where?’ asks my wife –

  ‘To a different doctor I know.’

  ‘What about the money…’

  ‘Forget the money!’

  *

  Through the doors of the Atago police station. Up the stairs of the Atago police station. My shirt is stuck to my back. My trousers wet behind my knees. I walk along the corridor. I walk past the banner, two metres tall and fifty centimetres wide in bright-red stitching:

  Special Investigation Headquarters.

  I should have collected all my belongings and made these arrangements yesterday. I would then have saved myself this –

  This sudden silence. This sudden blindness –

  There have been complaints about you…

  But at least Hattori is not here this morning; probably up at Headquarters for the morning meeting with Kai, Kanehara, Adachi and the chief. But I’m not going to ask Takeda, Sanada, Shimoda, Nishi, Kimura or Ishida, I’m not going to ask them –

  I hate them. I hate them all…

  Ishida looks up. Now Ishida asks, ‘Are you here for me?’

  Ishida has his orders…

  ‘It’s a bit early yet,’ I tell him. ‘And I’ve some things to do before we leave for Tochigi, so I’ll meet you at the ticket gate of the Asakusa Tōbu station at three o’clock this afternoon…’

  Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku…

  Ishida nods. Ishida says, ‘I’ve been told to buy the tickets…’

  ‘Well, I hope they’ve given you the money, then.’

  Ishida nods again. ‘I’ve enough for three days.’

  ‘I won’t be needing a return ticket,’ I laugh –

  But no one else laughs. No one even smiles…

  Ishida just asks, ‘How much rice should I bring with me?’

  ‘Rice?’ I ask him. ‘Surely we’ll be bringing rice back?’

  ‘I heard we’ll not find an inn unless we take rice.’

  ‘Do you have any rice, detective?’ I ask him –

  Ishida whispers, ‘I have a little at home…’

  ‘Then bring enough for both of us,’ I say and I turn to go –

  ‘Why should he take any rice for you?’ asks Kimura –

  I turn back round. I ask him, ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, why should he bring any rice for you,’ repeats Detective Kimura. ‘You’re not his boss any more, are you?’

  ‘Maybe not now,’ I tell him. ‘And maybe not in this room. But on that train and in Tochigi, I’ll still be the senior officer…’

  ‘Senior officer? Really?’ snorts Detective Kimura now. ‘Well, I’d save my rice if I were you, Detective Ishida…’

  I walk over to Detective Kimura and I pick up one of the telephones on the desk, one of the telephones that cannot ring, and I smash it into the side of Kimura’s face and then, as he cries out and reaches up to hold his face, I punch him in his gut and I bend his left hand back until he howls out in pain and begs me to stop as I slap him and slap him and slap him, again and again and again across his face and then I push him back onto his desk and I watch him roll onto the floor and now I lean over him and I tell him, ‘And I’d learn some manners and I’d learn some respect if I were you, Detective Kimura.’

  Now I walk over to Detective Sanada and I say, ‘You said something very interesting yesterday, Detective Sanada. You said Masaoka Hisae told you that Kodaira always had gifts on him…’

  Detective Sanada sweating. Detective Sanada nodding –

  ‘You said he had ladies’ gifts; jewellery, watches and…’

  Detective Sanada nodding and saying, ‘Umbrellas.’

  ‘That was good work,’ I tell him. ‘Because after you said that, when I was up at Headquarters, I heard that we are going to wash another unsolved case as a possible Kodaira Yoshio job –’

  I am not their head. I am not their boss…

  ‘Shinokawa Tatsue, seventeen years old, found raped and strangled in the basement of the Toyoko Department Store in Shibuya on the sixteenth of January this year. However, the autopsy estimated she’d been dead since late October or early November last year –

  ‘And guess what?’ I ask. ‘Her umbrella had been stolen.’

  Again, there is no applause. But I don’t want any…

  ‘So if any of you want to impress your new boss,’ I tell them. ‘I suggest you go back to Masaoka, back to the Widow Okayama and back to all the other people who knew Kodaira, his family and his workmates, and you try to trace all these gifts he kept giving away –

  ‘Because somewhere out there in Shibuya or Shinagawa, in Toyama or Tochigi, are the belongings of our own Shiba body –

  ‘Excuse me,’ I tell them. ‘Your Shiba body…’

  No applause. Just silence. Just blindness…

  I walk over to my desk now, my former borrowed desk, and I open the drawer ready to tip out the entire contents into my old army knapsack. But the drawer of my desk is empty –

  My desk has already been cleared –

  I curse and I curse and I curse…

  ‘Inspector Hattori took all your things up to Headquarters,’ says Ishida. ‘He didn’t think you’d be coming back here again.’

  I hate him. I hate him. I hate them…

  I say nothing. There is nothing to say. I leave –

  I hate them. I hate them…

  Down the corridor. Down the stairs –

  I hate them all…

  Detective Nishi is standing on the steps outside Atago police station. I am looking in a mirror. Detective Nishi must have ducked out of the room while I was beating the shit out of Detective Kimura, while I was lecturing the hell out of the rest of them. I am looking in a mirror. Detective Nishi is waiting for me. I am looking in a mirror. Detective Nishi wants another word, a last and final word. I am looking in a mirror. But Detective Nishi still looks like shit. I am looking in a mirror. Nishi still looks like he hasn’t slept. I am looking in a mirror. Nishi telling me, ‘I had nothing to do with any of it…’

  I laugh. ‘Had nothing to do with any of what, detective?’

  ‘Your demotion,’ he says. ‘All their complaints.’

  I ask, ‘What complaints are they then, Nishi?’

  ‘Hattori’s complaints to Adachi,’ he says.

  I shake my head. ‘I despise all of you.’

  ‘But I’m on your side,’ pleads Nishi –

  On my side. On my side. My side…

  I shake my head again. ‘No you’re not, and you never were.’

  *

  In another ruin, among another heap of rubble, with a last cigarette. Two stray dogs circle and watch me smoke, waiting for me to die. Two stray dogs in dirty coats on skinny legs, their pale tongues hanging loose from their dark mouths. The sparrow sings, the nightingale dances. This ruin, this rubble, was once a grand house and ornate garden owned by a family of Satsuma Samurai stock, a family that had once given the country ministers and generals, given her industrialists and financiers, from a house that once hosted banquets and balls, a garden that echoed to the songs of victory –

  And the green fields are lovely in the spring…

  Now three more stray dogs appear among the rubble and bark at the other two strays. Three more stray dogs in dirty coats on skinny legs with pale tongues and dark mouths. The five dogs form a pack, circling me. The pomegranate flowers crimson, the willows green-leafed. I watch the dogs circle closer and closer. I watch them sniff the ground. I watch them sniff the air. I watch them circle closer and closer. The first two dogs are the bravest, marching up and down before me, closer and closer. The three newcomers less certain. I put out my last cigarette. Now I pick up a stone –

  And there is a new picture.

  * />
  Through the doors of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters. Up the stairs of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters. The sudden silence. My shirt is still stuck to my back. My trousers still wet behind my knees. The sudden blindness. I walk along the corridor, the Police Arcade. I walk past the chief’s room. I shouldn’t have come here. I walk past the meeting room. I walk past Room #1. I should have stayed away. I come to Room #2. My former room –

  No one will see me. No one will speak to me…

  But Room #2 is empty. The Metro Arcade –

  No one here. No one here…

  I walk over to my desk, my former desk at the head of the room, and I open the drawer to tip out the contents into my knapsack. But the drawer of this desk is empty too –

  This desk has also been cleared –

  I curse. I curse again…

  I go back out into the corridor to look for someone; anyone –

  There’s a familiar face on the stair; a familiar face from Room #1 and Inspector Kai’s team. But this familiar face, he sees me first, he sees me first and he looks away, he looks away and he turns away, he turns away to walk away, to walk away the other way –

  But he knows. He knows. He knows…

  So I stop this familiar face and I bow and I apologize, and he bows back, and I bow again and I apologize again and then I ask him, ‘Where is everyone? What’s happened?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he asks. ‘They found Detective Fujita.’

  I bow. I thank him. I excuse myself. I turn away –

  I walk away. Back down the stairs –

  Through the doors. I run –

  I run, run, run away.

  *

  I take my daughter’s red geta clogs in my hand. My wife puts my daughter on my back. I carry my daughter down the garden path. I carry my daughter down the street. I carry my daughter through the mulberry fields on a shortcut to another hospital, a different doctor –

  The hospital has just opened. The queue already formed –

  I open my police wallet. I tell them it’s an emergency –

  I shout. I threaten. I bully. I jump the queue –

  The ophthalmologist is a woman –

  ‘My daughter can hardly open her eyes,’ I tell the doctor. ‘They’ve been like this for almost two weeks. I am concerned it’s something more serious than pinkeye, that it might be a virulent bacterial infection that could permanently damage her eyesight. I have to go away for a time and I’m worried that the situation will worsen while I am away. My wife and I are really at an utter loss…’