Shimada was tasked with delivering the lecture. Everyone in our team had an important role to play, but Shimada asked me to assist with dissection. ‘Nomura and Ota are better at analysis than you, but your surgical skills are superior,’ he said in his office one afternoon. ‘Perhaps it’s in your blood. I’d prefer to have you help me on the day.’
I flushed with pride and thanked him for his choice. But as I walked back to the laboratory, my stomach felt heavy. I’d been given another responsibility, just when I hoped to spend more time with Kayoko. I consoled myself with the thought of how proud she’d be to learn Shimada had chosen me.
Snow was falling as I walked home from the station—the first snow of the season. Although I had tried to leave work early, it was nine o’clock by the time I arrived home. I opened our front door and saw two extra pairs of shoes at the entrance. I wondered if we had dinner guests I’d forgotten about. Voices murmured from somewhere down the hall.
‘Tomo!’ Kayoko’s voice was shrill.
A plump woman with silver-threaded hair padded along the hallway towards me. Her skin creased around her eyes and mouth. She looked familiar. I wondered if she was a relative of Kayoko’s.
‘Dr Ibaraki? I’m Taito, your neighbour. Your wife’s unwell, I’m afraid. I heard her crying in the bathroom and came to see if I could help. My husband called a doctor who lives in the neighbourhood.’
I hurried to the bathroom. My legs felt weak. The doctor was crouched in the doorway. He stood up when he heard me, and I saw Kayoko huddled in the corner. She was sitting on the wooden wash stool. Her hair fell in wet, tangled clumps around her face. A blanket cloaked her shoulders. Beneath it, the wet fabric of her nightdress clung to her skin. Blood stained the lower half.
Tightness seized my chest. ‘Kayoko, are you all right?’ I crouched beside her.
She glared at me. ‘Where were you?’
I froze, unable to breathe.
‘Where were you?’ she repeated, her voice hard.
‘I’m sorry, I was at work. I had no idea . . .’
I looked at the doctor. He was only a few years older than me, with hair that was flecked grey at the temples. I noticed that he was still wearing his coat, the sleeves pushed up his forearms, although it was warm inside our house. No one had offered to take it for him. He gazed at me sympathetically. He struck me as the sort of man who was born to do this job: caring for the sick and weak. The sort of man I would never be.
‘I’m sorry, but you lost the child,’ he said.
I nodded. A lump formed in my throat. I was filled with grief, but my greatest concern was Kayoko. She was slumped against the wall, her expression blank.
‘How is she?’ I asked.
‘She’s weak. She’s still passing a lot of blood. But she should be okay. The emotional loss will be the most difficult to recover from. It’s always hard when it’s your first.’ He said it so gently that I thought he must have had a similar experience in the past.
‘How long has she been like this?’
‘I only got here an hour ago, but Mrs Taito has been with her longer. Her husband fetched me. I live only a few streets away.’
I imagined him returning home to his family while there was still light left in the day. He would share stories of the patients he’d treated, and his wife would beam with admiration. I had a sudden urge to ask him about his children, but I suppressed the feeling.
‘Should I put her to bed?’
‘She said she wants to stay here until it’s over. Whatever makes her comfortable—as long as she’s not cold. I understand you’re a doctor yourself?’
I nodded. ‘But I’m now in research.’
‘Where?’
‘At a new unit attached to Tokyo University. The microbiology department.’ I felt bad lying to the doctor, especially since he’d treated Kayoko with such kindness.
‘Well, I’m sure she’s in capable hands with you. I don’t want to intrude . . .’ He turned to leave, pushing down his coat sleeves.
‘No!’ Kayoko cried out. ‘Sensei, stay, please stay . . .’ Her eyes were wide.
‘Kayoko, it’s very late,’ I said. ‘The doctor has to go back to his family—’
‘Yes, because that’s what good husbands do. They don’t stay out drinking when their wife’s pregnant.’
I’d never seen Kayoko so angry, so willing to shame anyone—especially not in front of strangers. She was behaving like a different person.
The doctor laughed nervously. ‘Of course I can stay, Mrs Ibaraki. It’s no trouble.’
I felt as if the air had been sucked out of me. My chin trembled. I tried to blink away tears. Kayoko’s rejection pained me more than the loss of our child, I realised, and an even greater sadness came over me. I stepped outside for a moment to compose myself.
Mrs Taito was standing in the corridor, just a few feet away. She smiled. Embarrassed she’d seen my distress, I began to turn away, but she put out her hand. Her face was filled with tenderness. ‘It’s hard, I know. But she won’t be like this for long. Time heals all wounds, you’ll see.’
Kayoko’s mother travelled from Shonandai to look after her. She arrived the next day with a suitcase in her hand, her hair loose and her face unfamiliar without make-up. I slept on a futon in the living room to allow them the bedroom to themselves. I crept around the house. Whispered conversations floated around me. Sometimes I heard crying. I hovered on the periphery, trying not to make a sound.
I went back to work after a day’s absence. I was surprised at how relieved I was to be back at my microscope under the laboratory’s bright lights.
Shimada gave his condolences and told me he and his wife had lost two children in similar circumstances. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll have a healthy child in the future, you’ll see,’ he said. ‘At the time, you wonder how any human could go on living after such suffering. And then, years later, you look back and understand.’
Shimada dismissed me early that evening so I could be with Kayoko. The light was off in the hallway when I arrived home. In the living room, I noticed a place set for one person at the table.
The bedroom door slid open and Mrs Sasaki appeared, carefully closing the partition behind her. ‘Welcome home. I made dinner. Shall I serve you now?’
She went into the kitchen and reappeared carrying a tray. She set some bowls down on the table. ‘Kayoko and I ate earlier,’ she said.
‘How is she?’
Mrs Sasaki inclined her head and frowned. ‘She’s still distressed. She didn’t want to get out of bed today. Maybe tomorrow.’
‘Can I see her?’
Mrs Sasaki’s mouth opened a fraction as she drew a breath. ‘Maybe not right now . . .’
I started moving towards the bedroom.
‘Wait! She doesn’t want to see you.’ Mrs Sasaki’s face was anguished. ‘She’s still upset.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s not my business, but . . . she’s hurt that you didn’t come home earlier that night.’
My face felt hot. I was incensed that Kayoko had confided in her mother about our relationship. ‘But how could I have known what had happened? What could I have done?’
‘Not just that night, but all the other nights, too. A husband needs to provide more than just money to put food on the table. She needed you, and you weren’t there for her.’
I stared at Mrs Sasaki’s face. Her drawn-on eyebrows. The cheeks that had grown heavy with age. The ugliness of this woman who’d come into my house and presumed to know me. She had no idea of the things I had to do each day, the secrets I had to keep. Neither did Kayoko. She didn’t understand the sacrifices I had made to serve our nation—to help ordinary people such as her. A weight that had been teetering inside me finally fell away. Blood rushed to my face.
I said something very foolish. I said it loud enough for my wife to hear through the thin paper walls. ‘Very well, then. If that’s how Kayoko feels, I won’t disturb her tonight. I won’t disturb
her ever again.’ I walked out of the room and left the house. The door shuddered behind me.
I walked around the neighbourhood, stepping through the grey slush of the previous day’s snow. I went as far as the river and listened to the burbling black mass whispering its ancient lore.
With fresh air in my lungs, I returned hours later, realising what a fool I’d been. But the bedroom was dark. In any case, the damage was already done.
Kayoko stood in the hallway with her bags at her feet. The fullness of her skin, so smooth and pale yet full of life, released me from the images that haunted me each day. Standing there before me, on the threshold of our house, Kayoko was my only tie to life.
‘I shouldn’t keep Mother waiting,’ she said. Her voice trembled. As she bent to pick up her luggage, her face disappeared in the darkness. The tortoiseshell handles of the bag clicked.
‘Kayoko, I wish you’d stay.’
‘Please, Tomo. It’s settled now. I want to go to my parents’. At least for a little while.’
‘I’m sorry for what I said the other day. I didn’t mean it. I was frustrated because I hadn’t seen you in days. I was worried about you. Please, you haven’t given me a chance.’
‘Haven’t given you a chance?’ Kayoko’s face contorted. ‘How could you say that? All last year you were cold to me. You went out drinking, you stayed back late at work. I tried to get through to you, but you ignored me. Even when you were at home you acted as if you didn’t want to be near me. I tried to please you, but it was no use. I thought having the baby would change things, but . . .’ Her voice caught. She put her hand to her mouth and began to cry. At that moment, my heart was breaking.
‘I don’t know what I did to make you stop loving me,’ she said. ‘Was it the baby? Was that why?’
I ached to hold her, to be close to her again. ‘No, no, of course not. It wasn’t the baby. It had nothing to do with you.’
‘Another woman? Then what? It must be me. Be honest with me, please.’
‘No, there’s no other woman. There never was. I only went out drinking when I had to. It wasn’t you. It’s my work—the things I’ve had to do . . . Don’t leave me, Kayoko. I need you. Please . . .’ I was overcome with the urge to touch her, to feel her soft skin beneath my fingertips. I longed to breathe in her clean scent. I put out my hand.
‘No, don’t. It’s too late. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to my parents’. I’m sorry, Tomo. I need to get away.’
She stooped to pick up the last of her belongings. She slipped on her shoes and stepped outside. For a moment, she was framed in the doorway. A black silhouette against the fallen snow.
The door shut, returning me to darkness.
In the weeks following Kayoko’s departure, I moved through life as if in a dream. I ate and went to work, yet the details passed me by. Everything was heavy, drawn out. As much as I tried to move ahead, a current swirled against me, pushing me further downstream.
I spent the new year’s holiday by myself. My mother presumed I had gone to Kayoko’s parents’ house for the celebration, as I hadn’t told her about our rift. I suppose I thought that if I didn’t put it into words, it might not be true. I also expected Kayoko to return home soon. At midnight, I walked to the local shrine alone. Children in kimonos ran through the torii gate, their geta clacking on the stone path. Inside the shrine grounds, their parents lifted them up to ring the bell and pray for good luck. When they wished me a happy new year, I looked away.
Snow fell steadily over the next few days, cloaking the landscape in white. I stayed indoors and didn’t see or speak to anyone I knew. It was a strange time; sounds were muffled and time moved slowly. My senses were dull, as if a veil had been pulled over them.
I returned to work the following week, catching the crowded train into town. When we rattled across the bridge, I noticed the river had frozen. The surface had turned silent. But the darkness of the icy grooves made me think of the flowing river beneath—the current below the surface, straining for release.
At the laboratory, I tried to keep to myself. When the others discussed their holidays, I turned to my microscope to continue my work. I took my lunch break late so I would be alone in the tearoom. At the end of the day, I left the laboratory without waiting for Yamamoto as I used to. My colleagues must have thought my behaviour strange—perhaps they put it down to the burden of Kayoko’s miscarriage. In any case, they had more pressing concerns than wondering about me: the dissection demonstration would take place the following week; many high-ranking officers had been invited, and there was much to be done in preparation. The next few days passed in a blur. I rehearsed the dissection procedure with Shimada, and although I performed to his satisfaction, my mind was elsewhere.
The demonstration was held in an older wing of the Army Medical College, in a low brick building around the corner from the laboratory. On the morning of the event, the branches of the deciduous trees lining the streets nearby were almost bare and the road was scattered with fallen leaves. The scent of pine sweetened the air.
We set up in the frigid first-floor meeting room. At Shimada’s request, I brought a dissection table from the laboratory storeroom and assembled a long list of tools. Nomura, Ota and Yamamoto spent the morning going back and forth between the laboratory and the meeting room, pushing trolleys with crates full of specimens.
Shimada paced the area between the chairs and the demonstration table, checking the equipment, adjusting the position of the table, stepping back, moving it again. ‘So cold in here. Perhaps this was the wrong location,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked me more than once.
Guests began to arrive in the afternoon. Major Kimura stood near the door, snapping to attention and saluting the high-ranking military officers who entered the room. Lieutenant General Chikahiko Koizumi, the dean of the Army Medical College, arrived, his bald pate shining. He stopped to survey the room. Our eyes met. Something gripped me, a feeling I couldn’t place.
More college personnel, military men and a few outsiders arrived and filled the rows of seats. I tried not to study the audience for fear it would heighten my nerves, and instead busied myself with laying out the equipment.
At three o’clock, Kimura closed the door and addressed the audience. ‘You have been invited here today to learn about the latest advances in biological warfare development carried out by the Epidemic Prevention Laboratory. I’d like to welcome special guests Colonel Sato and Lieutenant Colonel Ogawa. Lieutenant Colonel Ishii sends his apologies as he couldn’t be here today—he’s overseeing a crucial trial in Manchukuo. Today, Professor Shimada, head of operations within the Epidemic Prevention Laboratory, will demonstrate the efficacy of the bubonic plague as a biological weapon. Professor Shimada?’
Shimada cleared his throat. His Adam’s apple slid up and down, as often happened when he was anxious. ‘Thank you. Until recently, our research focused on developing synthetic forms of the Yersinia pestis bacterium, but with the advent of testing overseas, we are now able to analyse and compare the spread of the disease in human subjects across different dosages and methods of infection.’
He signalled to Nomura, Ota and Yamamoto. They removed the blanket from the specimen trolley and opened the metal container beneath. Ota reached in and lifted out a specimen, then placed the body on the dissection table with a soft thunk. The corpse was a middle-aged male. The flesh on his neck, arms and hands was swollen and black. Out of the formalin solution, the rest of his skin looked shockingly pale.
‘This subject was injected with twenty micrograms of the bacterium and died within two days. Note the necrosis of the extremities, on the nose, fingers and toes, and ecchymosis of the forearms.’ Shimada pointed to the bruising on the arms. ‘The bubo visible at the groin and neck also indicate the advanced state of the disease. Ibaraki, make a cut above the inguinal lymph node and remove the bubo.’
Taking a scalpel, I sliced the skin along the top of the groin and carefully peeled it ba
ck to expose the swollen node and the cutaneous nerves of the thigh. With several quick cuts I released the node and set it on the table. It was an inch wide.
‘Most plague victims would not exhibit such symptoms until the fourth or fifth day of infection; this subject’s nodes were swollen to eighty per cent of this size on the first day. Now, if we look at the lenticulae on the abdomen, we notice a similar advanced stage of progression. Ibaraki, could you . . . ?’ Shimada hesitated. ‘Actually, Nomura, get the infant. It’s a better example.’
My breath was hot inside my surgical mask as I watched Nomura reach into the container and remove the corpse. He laid it on the table in front of me, at the feet of the male cadaver. It was the boy I’d unloaded from the crate. His eyes were shut to the world; his head bent as before. His fingers and toes were swollen and grey, progressing to black at the tips. They had a waxy sheen. Black dots like tiny stars covered the boy’s protruding belly.
‘Make a midline incision to open up the abdominal cavity.’
I heard Shimada say the words, but it was as if they travelled to me under water. I froze. The knuckles of my hand were white.
‘Ibaraki? An incision, please.’
I stared at the boy, unable to move. I heard the audience fidget. Someone coughed at the back of the room.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Shimada hissed near my ear. ‘Incise the specimen now.’
I felt a gust of cool air as someone moved behind me and took the scalpel from my hand. It was Yamamoto. ‘Here, let me,’ he said.
In one swift motion, he cut along the child’s linea alba, incising the abdominal wall and exposing the organs underneath. As intestines spilled from the cavity, I flinched, suddenly jolted from my daze. Yamamoto stepped back.
I looked up at the audience before me. They were so close I could see the glint on the brass buttons of the military uniforms. Major Kimura and the dean sat in the front row. They were both staring at me.
The following day, I was called to Major Kimura’s office as soon as I arrived at work. I knocked on his door, my heart thudding in my chest.
After Darkness Page 18