by David Peace
I cut and I cut and I cut and I cut and I cut…
Until the dead are the living. I cut …
I am one of the survivors!
Until the walls of her room are stained red with blood, the tatami mats soaked black, and now her walls are gone, her mats are gone, and I am running through the streets –
One of the lucky ones!
Down these streets that are no streets, past shops that are no shops. In this city of the dead –
The Shōwa Dead…
Their voices calling to me, their hands reaching out to me. The Shōwa Dead. The master of my usual restaurant. The Shōwa Dead. The friend from elementary school. The Shōwa Dead. The old man in the bar. The Shōwa Dead. My teammates from my high school baseball club. The Shōwa Dead. The woman at the streetcar stop. The Shōwa Dead. The colleagues with whom I graduated. The Shōwa Dead. The children, the children –
In the City of the Dead –
The Shōwa Dead…
They call me –
Home.
*
Running down my street, running towards my house. In the half-light, I can’t forget. The dirt on my knees, the blood on my hands –
The sun setting in the west, rain threatening –
The sides of the road littered with corpses on mats, men and women, young and old, soldiers and civilians, their eyes blank or closed, their flesh rotting and their bones dust –
The stench of rotten apricots …
But there are no cars upon my street, the bridge collapsed into the river, all the restaurants destroyed and the farms abandoned –
Endless burnt fields, burnt fields of ash and weeds –
I cannot tell which of these houses is mine –
I cannot see for the tears in my eyes –
Now I remember. I remember …
I have been away for too long –
I remember. I remember …
I have failed my wife –
Now I remember …
My children.
But then I recognize the gate to my house, now I recognize the path to my house. I open the gate, I go up the path –
Now I open the door to my house –
Their shoes face the door …
I stand in the genkan –
‘I’m home…’
Home …
My wife and my children step out of the half-light, their airraid hoods are scorched, the bedding on their backs is black, their faces blistered and their eyes sunken, but they are alive –
I rush towards them, my arms around them –
I fall to my knees as I bring them close –
‘I thought you were dead,’ I cry –
‘I thought I had lost you…’
But now they push me away, they step back into the shadows as they raise their fingers and point at me –
The rain falling on me now …
‘We’re already dead…’
Now there is no roof and there are no walls, only ashes, no mats and no screens, only ashes, no furniture and no clothes, only ashes, no genkan and no door, only ashes –
Their shoes are cinders …
My right hand trembles, my right arm, now my legs –
For I have no wife, I have no children, only ashes –
Masaki, Banzai! Sonoko, Banzai! …
I have no son and I have no daughter –
Daddy, Banzai! Banzai! …
I have no home. I have no family –
Daddy, Banzai!
I have no heart –
Banzai! …
In this House of Oblivion, I am death.
*
Through the buildings in disrepair and the grounds untended, the gates gone and the trees cut down, they are coming; past the faded paint and the worn linoleum, the stained uniforms and the grubby offices, they are coming; through the sounds of screams and sobs, the smells of DDT and disinfectant, they are coming now –
To the Matsuzawa Hospital for the Insane –
They are coming now. They are coming …
Down these corridors and up these stairs, up these stairs and along another long corridor of locked metal doors, they are coming now; through locked metal doors into the secure wards, into the secure wards and down more corridors, they are coming now; down more corridors to the secure rooms, they are coming now –
They are here! They are here! They are here!
Dr. Nomura before the locked metal door –
Before the bolted metal hatch –
‘Here we are,’ he says.
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 back into their eyes –
Pairs of brown eyes and pairs of blue …
These men have looked into my eyes before –
My unblinking eyes and my shaven head –
Now I step away from the hatchway –
I sit back cross-legged on my cot –
In my shapeless gown of yellow and dark-blue striped Chinese silk, with my close-shaven head and my unblinking eyes –
The blood-flecked scroll on the wall above my cot –
‘It is time to reveal the true essence of the nation.’
A colour postcard of the Itsuku-shima Shrine –
My hands folded in my bandaged lap –
I am one of the survivors …
‘Have you seen enough?’ asks Nomura –
The men step away from the hatch –
‘We’ve seen enough,’ says Chief Kita. ‘Thank you, doctor.’
Dr. Nomura closes the hatch. Dr. Nomura bolts it –
The walls are white, but the cell is dark now –
In the half-light, the half-things move –
I close my eyes and I begin to count again; one hundred and twenty Calmotin, one hundred and twenty –
One of the lucky ones.
of every province through which we pass. Dato Nippon Teikokushugi! Trenches dug at six-metre intervals, strewn with hats, leather belts and birdcages. This is not conquest, this is emancipation! The unburied bones of the Chinese dead stand like sticks stuck in the soil. The Light from the East. Brown thighbones shine in the sunlight, vertebrae glisten. Bright Peace. The flies swarm, the air stinks. I lie among the corpses. One hundred and twenty Calmotin, one hundred and twenty-one. The Chinese couple are streaked with dirt, their faces expressionless. The interpreter spits out the match and shouts at the man. The garlic stench, the metallic words. The woman answers the question. The interpreter strikes her. The woman staggers. The interpreter nods. Kasahara and I march the couple to the outskirts of the village, the red sky reflected in the willow-lined creek. The trees are still tonight, the farmhouses abandoned. The couple stare into the waters of the creek, the clusters of wild chrysanthemums, the corpse of a horse, its saddle tangled in weeds. Kasahara draws his sword and I draw mine. The man and the woman drop to their knees. His hands clasped together, her frantic metallic pleas. The blade and then the silence again. Blood flows over their shoulders but neither head falls. The man’s body tilts to the right and topples into the wild chrysanthemums. Masaki, Banzai! I help the woman’s body into the creek, the muddy soles of her feet turned up to the sky. Daddy, Banzai! In the village by the riverbank, lined by willow trees, the group of young able-bodied men poses in front of a half-destroyed house. Our captain in the centre, he rests his hands on the heads of two small children. No tears for the rivers and mountains of their land, no sadness for their father and mother no longer here. I see your little figure, waving a little flag in your little fist. His body among the chrysanthemums, her feet turned up to the sky. Daddy cherishes that picture forever in his mind. By the riverbank, lined by willow trees. In a half-destroyed house, I lie among the corpses. Thousands of them, millions of them. One hundred and thirty Calmotin, one hundred and thirty-one. The sunlight streams in throu
gh the windows of the carriage, gaiters hang from the overhead baggage net. A child unsheathes a toy sword. Banzai! One hundred and forty Calmotin, one hundred and forty-one. In the House of Oblivion, there are no flags. Ton-ton. Death is a man from Tochigi. Ton-ton. There are no songs. Death is a man from Tokyo. Ton-ton. Death is a man from Japan. Ton-ton. There are only drums. Death is a man from Korea. Ton-ton. Death is a man from China. Ton-ton. Drums of skin, drums of hair. Death is a man from Russia. Ton-ton. Death is a man from Germany. Ton-ton. Beaten by thighbones. Death is a man from France. Ton-ton. Death is a man from Italy. Ton-ton. Beaten by children. Death is a man from Spain. Ton-ton. Death is a man from Great Britain. Ton-ton. Banging the drum, after we’re gone. Death is a man from America. Ton-ton. There are no exits, in the House of Oblivion. Ton-ton. Death is a man. Ton-ton. Cut off your cock! Masaki, Banzai! Death is a man. Ton-ton. Tear out your heart! Daddy, Banzai! Death is a man. Banzai! One hundred and fifty Calmotin…
The spirits of the dead from my past crimes
Startle me,
And, while in despair, I spend days
Awaiting my death
Thinking of the kindness bestowed on me
Even to the very end,
Which causes tears to flow without limit.
Kodaira Yoshio, 1949
Author’s Note
Kodaira Yoshio was executed at the Miyagi Prison in Sendai
Prefecture on the fifth of October, 1949.
He was forty-four years old.
Kodaira Yoshio had confessed to the rapes and murders of ten
women, including Miyazaki Mitsuko and the second woman found
in Shiba Park, Tokyo, in August 1946.
However, this woman has never been identified.
She was aged approximately seventeen to eighteen years and
died on or around the twenty-second of July, 1946 –
Namu-amida-butsu…
David Peace, Tokyo, 2006
The Year of the Dog
Glossary
Throughout the text, I have followed the Japanese convention in which the family name precedes the personal name.
Akahata the Red Flag, a daily communist newspaper
Asahi Shimbun a daily newspaper
Asobu…? Shall we play?
ayu a type of fish
bakudan the explosion of a bomb; also the name given to low-grade alcohol that had a similar effect on the drinker
Banzai! Hurrah!
bentō a prepared lunch box
butsudan a family or household Buddhist altar upon which photographs of the dead are displayed
Calmotin a brand of sleeping pill
chiku-taku tick-tock
–dōri street
Formosans people from the former Japanese colony of Formosa, now Taiwan
furoshiki large handkerchief used for wrapping articles
fūten group or gang of prostitutes
futon a mattress
gari-gari the sound of scratching
genkan the entrance to a house, inside the front door, used for taking off, putting on and storing shoes
geta wooden clogs
GHQ General Headquarters (of SCAP)
gumi group or gang
haramaki a belly band
ikidaore an accidental death while on an excursion
Jinan Incident also known as the May 3rd Incident in Chinese; the battle between the Japanese army and the Southern Army of the Chinese Kuomintang Nationalist Army in May 1928, when the Japanese army entered Jinan, the capital of Shandong province in China, in order to protect Japanese citizens and businesses
kacho the chief of a section
kaidashi used to describe scavenging for food or hunting for supplies
kakigo ri a flavoured cone of shaved ice
Kakyō Sōkai a post-war association of Chinese immigrant businesses
Kantō the region of Japan in which Tokyo is situated
Katakana a basic written form of Japanese syllabary
keisatsu techō a policeman’s notebook and credentials
Kempei a Kempeitai officer
Kempeitai the Japanese wartime military police
kuso an expletive
mechiru-arukōru low-grade wood alcohol
Meiji the name given to the reign of the former Emperor Mutsuhito, 1866-1912
meishi a business or name card
Minpo a daily newspaper
Minshū Shimbun a daily newspaper
monpe women’s pantaloons
Namu-amida-butsu ‘Save us, merciful Buddha’, or ‘May his/her soul rest in peace’
okawari a second-helping
pan-pan post-war Japanese prostitutes
potsu-potsu drip-drop, drip-drop
Public Safety Division the branch of SCAP responsible for the reform of the Japanese police
Rikusen Tai Japanese Naval Marine Corps
sara-sara in this instance, the sound of running water
SCAP Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers
SCAPIN SCAP Instruction (i.e. directive)
Shinchū Gun the Army of Occupation
Shōwa the name given to the reign of the former Emperor Hirohito, 1926-1989
soba buckwheat noodles
Taishō the name given to the reign of the former Emperor Yoshihito, 1912-1926
tatami rush-covered straw matting
tekiya a stall-holder, but also a racketeer
Tōhoku the north-eastern regions of the main Japanese island of Honshu
Tokkō the ‘Thought Police’
ton-ton tap-tap; the sound of hammering
wā-wā the sound of a baby crying
yakitori grilled pieces of chicken on a stick
Yobo in this instance, a derogative term for an old man
Yomiuri a daily newspaper
yukata a light summer kimono
zaibatsu a financial clique
zanpan a meal made from leftover scraps
zā-zā the sound of pelting rain
zōsui a porridge of rice and vegetables
Acknowledgements and Sources
In the thirteen lucky years I have lived in Tokyo, many, many people have helped me and, in many, many ways, contributed to this book, most of all my family: Izumi, George, Emi, Shigeko and Daisuke.
However, in the preparation and research for the actual writing of this book, I would like to pay particular thanks to the following people for their help, their knowledge and their time:
Firstly, my dear agent William Miller, along with Sawa Junzo, Hamish Macaskill, Peter Thompson, and all the staff of the English Agency Japan. Also Koyama Michio, Hayakawa Hiroshi, Chida Hiroyuki, Yoshida Tomohiro, Hamaguchi Tamako, Nagayoshi Yuki, Edward Seidensticker, Donald Richie, David Mitchell, Mark Schreiber, Michael Gardiner, Justin McCurry, Koizumi Atsuko and Matsumura Sayuri.
In London, I would like to thank Stephen Page, Lee Brackstone, Angus Cargill, Anna Pallai, Anne Owen, Trevor Horwood, and all the staff of Faber and Faber; in Yorkshire, my mother and father; in New York, Sonny Mehta, Diana Coglianese, and Leyla Aker; in Paris, François Guérif, Agnès Guery, Jeanne Guyon, Daniel Lemoine, and all the staff of Payot & Rivages, and Jean-Pierre Deloux; in Milan, Luca Formenton, Marco Tropea, Cristina Ricotti, Marco Pensante, Seba Pezzani, and all the staff of il Saggiatore, and Elio De Capitani; in Munich, Juergen Kill and Susanne Fink of Liebeskind, Markus Naegele of Heyne, and Peter Torberg.
I would also like to thank Shimoyama Susumu of my Japanese publisher Bungei Shunju for his advice and support, and finally, but most of all, my editor Nagashima Shunichiro, who gave me the confidence and help to finally begin writing this book. Shunichiro provided and translated materials which otherwise would have been beyond me and then diligently and incisively edited both the English and Japanese manuscripts. In short, any qualities this book might have, are his. The faults, as ever, are all mine.
FICTION
An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro (Faber, 1986)
‘The Camelia
’ by Satomi Ton, translated by Edward Seidensticker, from Modern Japanese Stories (Charles E. Tuttle, 1962)
Childhood Years by Tanizaki Jun’ichiro, translated by Paul McCarthy (Kodansha International, 1988)
The Essential Akutagawa Ryunosuke, edited by Seiji M. Lippit (Marsilio Publishers, 1999)
The Girl I Left Behind by Endo Shusaku, translated by Mark Williams (New Directions, 1994)
A Gray Moon by Shiga Naoya, translated by Lane Dunlop (Charles E. Tuttle, 1992)
‘The Hole’ by Kuroshima Denji, from A Flock of Swirling Crows & Other Proletarian Writings, edited and translated by Zeljko
Cipris (University of Hawaii Press, 2005)
‘The Idiot’ by Sakaguchi Ango, translated by George Saito, from Modern Japanese Stories (Charles E. Tuttle, 1962)
The Journey by Osaragi Jiro, translated by Ivan Morris (Knopf, 1960)
The Legend of Gold and Other Stories by Ishikawa Jun, edited and translated by William J. Tyler (University of Hawaii Press, 1998)
‘Militarized Streets’ by Kuroshima Denji, from A Flock of Swirling Crows & Other Proletarian Writings, edited and translated by Zeljko Cipris (University of Hawaii Press, 2005)
Musashi by Yoshikawa Eiji, translated by Charles S. Terry (Kodansha International, 1981)
Nonresistance City’ by Maruo Suehiro, from Ultra-Gash Inferno, translated by James Havoc and Shinkado Takako (Creation Books, 2001)
Occupation by John Toland (Doubleday, 1987)
One Man’s Justice by Yoshimura Akira, translated by Mark Ealey (Canongate, 2003)
Palm-of-the Hand Stories by Kawabata Yasunari, translated by Lane Dunlop and J. Martin Holman (North Point Press, 1988)
‘A Quiet Obsession’ by Kyoka Izumi, from In Light of Shadows, edited and translated by Charles Shiro Inouye (University of Hawaii Press, 2005)
The Saga of Dazai Osamu by Phyllis I. Lyons (Stanford University Press, 1985)
‘Sakurajima’ by Umezaki Haruo, translated by D. E. Mills, from The Catch and Other War Stories, edited by Saeki Shooichi (Kodansha International, 1981)
The Scavengers by Kafu Nagai, translated by Edward Seidensticker (Stanford University Press, 1965)