After Darkness

by Christine Piper

  ‘How is his condition now? Stable?’ Mori asked.

  ‘Yes, stable, I believe. But Dr Ashton or his assistant, Powell, would know best.’

  ‘And in your opinion, it was definitely a suicide attempt?’

  ‘I believe so, yes . . . But he’d also come to the infirmary earlier that week with a badly bruised arm. He said he’d been beaten by a group of men here in the mess hall.’ I hadn’t intended to bring up the alleged beating in front of Yamada, but it seemed appropriate given the context.

  My eyes flicked to Yamada, and I was surprised to discover that his expression had changed. His eyes had narrowed and his lips were puckered in something like a scowl.

  ‘But how is this connected to his suicide attempt?’ Mori asked. ‘Are you saying you think these men who beat Suzuki tried to kill him, too?’ A pause. ‘Sensei, did you hear me?’

  I had to drag my eyes from Yamada. ‘I’m sorry. Do I think the men tried to kill Suzuki? No, not at all. Suzuki admits he cut his wrist. I just wonder if the beating contributed to his despondency and his attempt to take his life. Shouldn’t someone investigate?’

  ‘Only if he makes an official complaint. Unfortunately we don’t have the resources to look into every dispute we hear about. And with the population increasing, it will only become more difficult. Just to clarify, sensei, did Suzuki appear despondent when you saw him at the infirmary?’

  ‘In hindsight, I suppose there were signs of mild depression, but not enough to cause alarm. He came to see me about his arm, not his mental state.’

  ‘But if what you say is true—that you didn’t notice anything particularly unusual about Suzuki’s state of mind when he came to see you about his bruised arm—you can hardly draw a link between that and his subsequent suicide attempt, can you? I mean, if a doctor can’t detect mental instability, who can?’

  I shifted in my seat. Mori’s gaze bore down on me, like a light exposing my flaws. The silence expanded.

  ‘Well, he did cry when he saw me at the infirmary,’ I said softly.

  If Mori heard me, he made no indication of it, bundling together the papers on the table before him. ‘Thank you for your concern, Doctor. If Suzuki decides to lodge a complaint, we will look into it more fully. Now, as we’re running out of time, I’d like to get on to other matters.’

  The meeting moved on to a discussion about a ceremony to mark Navy Memorial Day on the twenty-seventh of June. I was so consumed by the change that had come over Yamada when I’d mentioned Stan’s beating that I lost track of time. Was he guilty of hurting Stan, or just angry that I would dare to take an interest in the haafu?

  It was only when Mori called for any final points to discuss that I remembered Johnny’s request. I raised my hand. ‘I have a proposal regarding baseball. Do we have time to discuss it now?’

  ‘If it’s quick. What do you have in mind?’

  ‘After only a few weeks of practice, we now have three full teams: the team from Batavia and Menado, which I’m a part of; the team from Sumatra and Surabaya; and the New Caledonians and divers from northern Australia. Others at camp are interested in joining. And from what I’m told by the orderlies at the infirmary, B compound have their own baseball teams, too. This made me think: perhaps we could start an inter-camp competition? The winners of our camp could play the winners of B Camp. That way, we could get both camps involved.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ someone murmured.

  Yamada nodded.

  ‘I appreciate your enthusiasm, sensei,’ Mori said. ‘But how will we ever convince Major Locke to allow us to move between camps? He’s very averse to risks, as you know.’

  ‘Yes, but I hear Commander Dean encourages sports—anything to counter boredom, which he thinks leads to unrest,’ I said. ‘We could partner with 14B and take our proposal straight to the commander.’

  Mori shook his head. ‘No. I don’t want to risk angering Major Locke by going straight to the commander. He could make things difficult for us.’

  I slumped in my chair. No one said anything for a moment.

  ‘Perhaps we should just start with a competition within our compound,’ Yamada said. ‘Then, Ibaraki-sensei, through your contacts at the infirmary, tell the interested parties in 14B to start their own competition. With any luck, once Major Locke sees the enthusiasm for the competition, he’ll allow the two camps to play each other. And if not, we’ll keep it as a competition within our own camps.’

  Mori nodded. ‘That sounds reasonable. Does anyone have any comments or objections?’

  I searched the faces of the men around me.

  ‘Shall we vote? All in favour?’

  Almost everyone in the room put up their hand.

  ‘All against?’

  There were no hands in the air.

  ‘Good. Motion passed. Ibaraki-sensei, I trust you can take it from here?’

  I nodded, glancing at Yamada. He exuded calm benevolence once again. The reversion was so complete that I wondered if his previous expression had just been my eyes playing a trick.

  Tokyo

  1935

  Kayoko and I had our first rendezvous on setsubun, the last day of winter. Wanting to avoid the crowds that would flock to the larger shrines and temples for the day’s festivities, I suggested a visit to an old temple in Kita Aoyama. It was a charming temple I had stumbled on some months previously, featuring a dramatic double-eaved roof. The grounds were compact yet meticulously manicured, with camphor and zelkova trees in abundance.

  I arrived early and waited for Kayoko at the entrance. At my mother’s insistence, I had worn a hakama over my kimono, an outfit reserved for very special occasions. ‘She’ll be wearing her best kimono—it would be rude not to do the same. Besides, it’s setsubun,’ Mother had said.

  Not used to wearing the sandals that cut between my toes and the heavy silk skirt that swished around my legs as I walked, I was glad for the opportunity to stop walking.

  It was a cold, bright day. Sun shone through the canopy of leaves and threw dappled patterns at my feet. I heard the low beat of a drum from somewhere within the temple. People strolled along the stone path in twos or threes and larger family groups. Children ran ahead of their parents, excited by the prospect of tossing beans to ward off evil spirits. In my hakama, I felt out of place. Although there were several younger men in kimono, I was the only man of my generation in such formal attire. I fretted about the impression I would make. Would I seem a traditionalist to Kayoko? I cursed myself for listening to my mother.

  Before long, Kayoko came towards me. As she neared, she smiled shyly. She wore a kimono of the softest peach, a grey haori on top of it and an elaborate cloth kanzashi in her hair. I breathed a sigh of relief. She was dressed as formally as I was.

  ‘Kayoko, it’s a pleasure to see you,’ I said, bowing stiffly.

  She murmured a greeting, dipping her head. Neither of us said anything for a moment. She glanced towards the temple. ‘Shall we go in?’

  As we walked along the path, I inquired after her parents and she asked after my family. She described the snow she had seen from the train to Tokyo. Two military officers passed us. The insignia on their khaki jackets indicated they were captains, and I was reminded there was an elite army training facility nearby. Silence fell between us as we passed under the stone gate and into the grounds of the temple.

  ‘Did you do the mamemaki this year?’ I asked.

  Kayoko laughed. ‘Father wanted to, but I told him I was too old to be throwing beans while he danced around like a devil. I must admit he looked rather sad when I said that. Sometimes I think he wants me to remain a child. They both do. They forget I’m already twenty-two, and almost ready for—’ her eyes darted towards me ‘—marriage.’

  I remembered Kayoko was the Sasakis’ only child. Perhaps that was why they had often invited our family to outings to the beach, to give Kayoko someone to play with. As she talked about her family, I began to relax. Her koto performance had suggested a se
rious personality, but she was much more amiable than that. I had a hazy memory of the tomboy who used to run along the shore with Nobu and me, even when Megumi preferred to stay with our mother on the dunes.

  We reached the area in front of the main hall, where several dozen people had congregated. The space thrummed with activity. On one side of the elevated cloister a taiko drummer was rhythmically striking the wide skin of his drum, while on the other a performer in red and black robes and a devil’s mask danced and writhed for show. The crowd in front of the hall threw beans at the devil, calling, ‘Out with the devil! In with good fortune!’ It was fun for a while, watching the devil’s antics and the children screaming in delight, but I sensed Kayoko growing restless, so I suggested we take a walk along the alley at the back of the temple.

  The alley was one of the reasons I had suggested this particular temple. About twelve feet wide and lined with various stalls, it provided the perfect setting for our first outing—quiet enough to carry on a conversation, yet providing enough distractions to fill any awkward silences. We wandered past the stalls, savouring the smell of grilled food. Taiyaki sizzling on an iron griddle; yakiniku skewers, sardines and squid scorched over hot coals. I stopped to buy some squid for me and taiyaki for Kayoko.

  We were discussing our recollections of our childhood encounters when two girls sauntered past us, making everyone’s heads turn. They wore pale, wide-brimmed felt hats and wide-legged trousers—the type favoured by American movie stars. One of the girls had her hair cut short, very short, with a sharp fringe framing her face. Among the dozens of women clad in colourful kimonos, the two modern girls certainly stood out. I had seen this type of western clothing on women in fashionable districts such as Ginza, although the trend seemed to have diminished in recent years. I’d never before seen it worn in an alley behind a temple. Without thinking, I said, ‘Those girls should know better than to flaunt themselves like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ Kayoko’s face was turned towards me, her eyes full of curiosity.

  ‘Well, I mean, the modern style. The way foreign women dress.’

  A smile played on her lips. ‘Is there something wrong with the modern style? I’ve worn it myself in the past, you know.’

  I blanched, aware of how conservative I must have sounded. ‘No, I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with it. I just thought, in this situation . . . Anyway, it was a silly thing to say. Shall we keep walking?’

  ‘But it’s setsubun,’ she said. ‘Surely, today of all days, they can dress up how they want?’

  I had forgotten that on setsubun, when spirits came close to the living and the world was thrown into disarray, there was a tradition of role reversal. Girls sometimes dressed as men or wore their hair in the style of older women. Still, I couldn’t deny that something about the girls bothered me. I was about to say as much when I heard a commotion behind me and someone shrieked.

  I turned and craned my neck to look past the small crowd that had gathered a dozen feet away. I heard a scuffle, someone shouting. Then I saw them: the two army officers who’d passed us earlier were confronting the two modern girls. One of the officers, his cap pushed back to reveal his red face, gripped the arm of the girl with the short hair. Her hat was gone, presumably dropped to the ground or snatched away.

  ‘You want to dress like foreign whores, do you?’ the officer shouted. ‘Well, do you? Answer me!’

  The girl’s eyes were wide with fear. She stood stiffly in the officer’s grip, unable to speak or move. Her friend sobbed behind her, hands over her mouth. Everyone else was quiet. In the lull, the sound of the sizzling meat and distant taiko drumming swelled like a surging heartbeat.

  ‘Are you hypocrites, like the foreigners you admire? You must be, if you call yourself Japanese yet dress like this.’ The officer shook the girl’s arm. Her body quaked.

  Before I could stop her, Kayoko had made her way past me. I called to her to wait, but it was no use. I watched the back of her head, adorned with tortoiseshell combs and silk flowers, move between the people who had stopped to stare. There was nothing I could do but follow. I had almost reached Kayoko when I heard her voice.

  ‘Sir, these girls are just young. They mean no harm. I’m sure their clothes are just play for setsubun.’

  The officer spun around. He glared at Kayoko, then me. ‘The young girls of Japan are our biggest problem. They drink and smoke and dress like the foreigners they idolise—the very same foreigners who mock us from across the seas. These girls shame the Emperor. They’re a disgrace to our nation.’

  ‘That may be so,’ Kayoko murmured, lowering her gaze.

  The officer said nothing for a moment as his eyes roamed over Kayoko. Then he spoke more calmly. ‘You look like a respectable young lady. Perhaps you could teach these girls a thing or two about how Japanese women should behave.’ With Kayoko in her finest kimono, and me in my hakama, we must have looked a very proper couple.

  He turned to the girls. ‘Next time I see you wearing such trash, I won’t be so kind.’ He dropped the girl’s arm and, signalling to his friend, stalked away.

  When the officers were out of sight, Kayoko whispered to the girls, ‘Go home quickly, before they come back.’

  The girl who was crying nodded. She tugged at her friend’s arm. ‘Come, Aya, let’s go.’

  Still dazed, the short-haired girl stooped to pick up her hat from the ground. It was crushed and covered in dust. The girls walked away.

  Kayoko’s poise during the affray at the temple left a lasting impression on me. Our bond strengthened in the following weeks. We met at coffee shops and parks, talking freely about our views and dreams. She didn’t believe husbands and wives should keep secrets from each other, and she wanted children—‘at least three’—as did I. With each encounter, I felt surer we’d be happy as husband and wife. I often thought back to our conversation about the modern girls, how she had defended them. She was self-assured, yet sensitive to others.

  One Sunday, after I’d returned from a trip to Ueno Zoo with Kayoko, Mother stopped me in the hallway. ‘You’re not married yet. It’s not right for two unmarried people to spend so much time together—people will start talking,’ she said. ‘And besides, if you keep this up, when you do get married you’ll have nothing left to talk about. Your father and I were engaged for a year and we only saw each other four times in that period. It made the first year of our marriage all the more enjoyable, being able to learn so many new things about each other.’

  I proposed three weeks later. Mother was overjoyed, yet a little surprised—I suspected she hadn’t thought I’d warm to the idea of marriage so quickly. We planned a wedding at Kayoko’s family home in early autumn, when the surrounding hills would be covered in green and golden leaves.

  The ceremony took place at a neighbourhood shrine near Kayoko’s home where she’d had her shichi-go-san ceremonies as a child. We kneeled inside the sanctuary with the priest before us and our families on either side. Gold-panelled folding screens encircled the room, casting everything in a rich light. I was so nervous that my hands shook as I poured the sake. Kayoko put her hand over mine to steady it. Her wataboshi caught the light, framing her face like fire.

  Afterwards, we greeted guests at the Sasakis’ house. More and more arrived, until a line of people spilled out the front door. With caterers weaving among the visitors, the house, which had seemed like a mansion when I was a boy, suddenly felt small.

  Mr Sasaki made a touching speech in honour of his only child, describing Kayoko’s many talents and her deep compassion. ‘She brought light into our lives almost twenty-three years ago, and continues to do so for each new person she meets.’ He also spoke very kindly about me. ‘I have known Ibaraki-kun since he was a boy, when our families spent much time together. Whether making sandcastles or pursuing a medical degree, he is steadfast to the very end. Now that he and Kayoko are joined together, I know they will have many happy years ahead.’ My mother glowed with pride.

  That
much I remember. Everything seemed to pass in a blur: drinking endless cups of sake with my friends and colleagues, laughing when someone tripped on a step, white envelopes being pushed into my hand. And, of course, my beautiful bride. As she had walked beside me along the path at the shrine, I had stolen a glance at her face: beneath the bold sweep of her black-lined eyes, her red lips trembled slightly. Despite her outward composure, she had a deep fragility. I vowed to protect her for as long as I was alive.

  One day, after I’d been working at the laboratory for almost a year, I was called into Shimada’s office. I was nervous at being summoned, but my fears were allayed when Shimada greeted me, smiling.

  ‘Major Kimura and I have been discussing the performance of our technicians. The quality of your work and your commitment to our unit have not gone unnoticed. You have a promising career ahead of you, as long as you maintain your focus.’ He handed me a letter.

  After leaving Shimada’s office, I read it and was thrilled to discover I was to receive a considerable salary raise before my first year was over. In previous months, disaffection had been growing within me, and I’d begun to fear I had chosen the wrong career path, and wonder whether I was better suited to practice rather than research. But the money and Shimada’s praise revived my spirits. I approached my job with renewed determination, reminding myself that mundane laboratory work was essential to the advancement of medical knowledge.

  With my increased salary, and some help from Kayoko’s parents, we were able to buy a small twelve-tsubo house in Setagaya. The house had been occupied by an elderly couple who’d let it fall into disrepair—soot blackened the kitchen walls, the bamboo shutters had rotted off their hinges, and the tatami was so worn in places that its broken fibres pricked our feet—but the foundations were stable and it was well located in a quiet street. It also faced south, so natural light filled the sitting room from morning till sunset. We were fortunate to have our own bathtub, even if mould darkened the cypress slats; we wouldn’t need to visit the local bathhouse as many of our neighbours had to—this was one of the main reasons Kayoko had favoured the house.