Last Stop Tokyo

by James Buckler

  Nishi picked the business card up from the coffee table and looked it over. ‘He said this would be a revelation to you.’

  ‘It is. But not for the reasons he imagines.’

  ‘The House of Fallen Leaves,’ Nishi read out loud, his voice full of portent. ‘What is this? Some kind of bordello?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘And you worked there?’

  ‘Yes. When I was a student.’

  ‘So I was right about you, after all. You have come a long way.’

  Naoko gave a resigned dip of her head. ‘It wouldn’t appear so,’ she said.

  Nishi stood above her, savouring his good fortune, turning the card over between his short, grub-like fingers. He read it over one more time, muttering the address under his breath. Then he tossed the card back down on to the table and was on her in a flurry, his body pressing hers down into the soft overstuffed sofa. She could feel the smooth, damp skin of his face against her neck and the strain of the buttons on her Chanel jacket as he tried to tug them open.

  ‘Wait,’ she said, shrugging him off and slipping out from beneath his bulk. ‘Let me do it.’

  He was flushed and breathless, as if he had just climbed a flight of stairs. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Let me watch. I want to enjoy all of you.’

  She began to undress.

  As each piece of clothing was removed, Naoko began to feel more resigned to her fate. A part of her wanted to turn and run from the room, go up to the roof and throw herself down into the darkened street. She could see that she was losing herself for ever. All she had worked for was gone now and the realization left her numb. She tried to imagine a way that she could salvage some credibility after this was over, to believe somehow that Kimura would still value her. She knew that was impossible now. If he had found out about her past, she would always be a whore in his eyes, no matter what the truth was. She let the thought echo around her mind as she unclipped the fasteners on her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She stood before Nishi in her underwear.

  He motioned for her to turn around. His eyes were filled with fascination, fixed on the tattoo emblazoned on her stomach and side.

  ‘Extraordinary,’ he said. ‘I should have guessed you had some connection to the criminal class.’

  She looked down at the lines and patterns running over her flesh and ran a hand across the skin. It was the reaction she had always expected from every Japanese man since it had been done. In a way, she thought, that was the reason she had agreed to be marked so indelibly in the first place. The tattoo meant she would always be scorned by the very people whose values she rejected in return.

  She took a step closer to Nishi. A line ran beneath her belly button, covered by the ink patterning, a scar that had been long hidden by the design of the tattoo. Naoko took his hand and traced the tip of his index finger across it.

  ‘At first the tattoo was meant only to cover up this souvenir of my surgery,’ she said. ‘But once I started, it seemed pointless to stop. Especially as I was paid so much to endure the method of application.’

  Now it was Nishi’s turn to look puzzled. ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ he said.

  ‘You can guess what kind of scar this is, surely, Nishi-san?’

  She moved closer to him so he could inspect her more intimately. His eyes were wide with lust.

  ‘So you’ve had a child,’ he said.

  ‘When I was sixteen years old. I had the great distinction of becoming pregnant on the night I lost my virginity.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘I want you to know all about me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s not important to keep it a secret any more. I’ve never discussed this with a living soul, not since the night it happened. It was a girl. My parents insisted she was adopted, and she was taken from me in the delivery room. I never saw her again. This business card belongs to a woman who was a nurse on the ward. She recruited the schoolgirls who had the misfortune to meet her there. We were all tainted anyway, so we were easy prey. Some of the girls were happy to sleep with her clients for a few thousand yen, but that wasn’t really my style, even then. She had one special customer with a distinctive taste and he was prepared to pay well for someone who would indulge him. None of the other girls could take the pain. He insisted on using a bamboo point, not an electric needle. It was a traditional skill that was dying out, he told me. He began by covering the marks that the birth had left, the ones on the outside, at least. From there I let him unleash his imagination as he saw fit. I used the money to pay my way through college. I saw no reason why I couldn’t convert my bad fortune into some favourable knowledge, and then use that knowledge to make a better life. But it seems that there are some crimes that follow you for ever.’

  Nishi stood up and grasped both hands around her waist. He seemed maddened by his own appetites. She could smell the sourness of his breath as he spoke. ‘I want you,’ he said. ‘You belong to me now.’

  Naoko allowed herself to weaken at the knees, her body falling back into his arms. ‘Why don’t we have one more glass of champagne, Nishi-san? It’s such a shame to let it go to waste.’

  He looked around for the bottle and saw it propped up in the ice bucket, outside on the balcony, where Naoko had left it.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, and released her. He lifted back the curtain fluttering over the doorway and stepped out on to the balcony to retrieve it.

  As soon as he had cleared the frame, Naoko stepped forward and slid the glass door closed and turned the lock. She stood back and watched as Nishi heard the door slam and turned in surprise. He looked for an exterior lock or handle but there was nothing. He tried to slide the door open with the palms of his hands but the huge glass pane refused to move. His face was frozen in a mask of incomprehension.

  ‘Open the door,’ he said, his voice only slightly raised, as if he was aware of disturbing the other guests.

  Naoko picked up her clothes from the floor and began to dress hurriedly. ‘You think I’ve come this far in my life to be manhandled by you?’ she shouted. ‘You think I’ve learned nothing?’

  ‘You fucking bitch,’ Nishi hissed from the balcony, straining to pull open the door and get inside. ‘Open the door. Think of Kimura. Think of your job.’

  She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him and laughed. ‘I think that threat has lost its potency now, Nishi-san.’

  She picked up her shoes and handbag and turned to leave. Nishi banged a fist on the glass. He was crimson with fury. As she looked around to make sure she had all of her belongings, the Kunisada print caught her eye from the corner of the room.

  Naoko stood before it and ran a hand over the surface of the banner, feeling the silken, antique touch of the paper, the slickness of the lacquer used to protect the ink, the mastery and boldness of the draughtsmanship. Nishi seemed to freeze out on the balcony as he began to understand her intention.

  ‘Open the door!’ he screamed, in desperation.

  She ignored him and opened her bag and found her lipstick and twisted out the point. Holding the scroll in one hand, she wrote ‘I DON’T BELONG TO ANYONE’ in thick characters the colour of autumn damask down the length of the paper. She turned the display stand towards the window so Nishi could contemplate the wisdom of his investment.

  Making sure each footstep was composed and deliberate, she walked out of the suite and closed the door behind her. She pressed for the lift at the end of the corridor. The pile of the carpet was thick beneath her bare feet. In the mirror, she examined herself as she rode down to the lobby, the way her hair was teased out in loose strands and her make-up was smeared. She couldn’t help but laugh out loud at her own reflection.

  The lobby was empty, except for the cleaner hunched over his polisher, moving the machine back and forth over the black marble floor. Naoko walked to the reception desk, her heels still in her hand.

  ‘I want to pay the bill for Suite 237,’ she said.
>
  The night porter checked the computer. ‘Mr Nishi usually pays on account …’

  She set her handbag on the counter and took out the envelope with the remaining jidan money. ‘Just tell me how much it is,’ she said.

  Naoko counted out the money in ten-thousand-yen notes and paid the bill. She pushed the envelope back inside her bag and walked towards the revolving exit doors.

  ‘Would you like me to call you a cab?’ the night porter called after her.

  ‘No need,’ she said, without looking back.

  Outside, she felt the moist night air against her face. There was no traffic as she crossed over the wide highway and walked through the gates of Hibiya Park. Old drunks were searching through the waste bins in the shadows beneath the maple trees, trying to find some scraps to eat. Policemen in fluorescent jackets were hunting them in packs, the beams of their torches crisscrossing in the dark. An officer shone a light on Naoko but when he saw she was young and well dressed he apologized and walked on.

  Yukiko was right, she thought. The jidan payment had brought her nothing but bad luck. She was never going to see Alex again so there was no way of giving it back to him now. But she didn’t want it any longer. It felt too dishonest to keep the money, or any of the purchases she had made. The city was full of people who deserved it more. Many of them were in the park with her right now.

  There was a rubbish bin near the tennis courts and Naoko stopped and stared down at the old newspapers and lunch cartons rotting inside. She took the envelope from her bag with the remaining money inside and threw it on to the rubbish in the bin. Then she took off the Chanel jacket and bundled it up and stuffed it inside and tossed her new heels on top. When she got home she would give the rest of the shopping away as well.

  Naoko found a bench and lit a cigarette and listened as the bums came to sift through the bin. She smiled when she heard their shouts, like some kind of gold rush, and waited there alone until the sun came up and she felt like going home.

  22

  THE PACHINKO PARLOUR was full of noise and cigarette smoke and staccato flashes of light from the machines. Jun was right where he had said he would be, sitting in the back corner, feeding money into the slots and watching the metal balls drop through the vertical maze behind the glass. He saw Alex approach and smiled warmly, as if they were old friends greeting each other at a reunion. He was wearing an open-necked shirt printed with gingko leaves and his hair was slicked back sharply from his face. The pockmarks on his cheeks looked severe in the stark neon lighting. He had to raise his voice over the din as he shook Alex’s hand.

  ‘How are you, Russia-jin?’ he asked. ‘It’s good to see you out of prison uniform.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Alex said. ‘It’s great to see you too.’

  ‘You found the place okay?’

  ‘I followed the directions you sent me.’

  Jun was sitting easily in his chair but his eyes were moving around the crowded room, taking in everything as he talked.

  ‘I told you we would meet in happier times.’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you to get in touch. I have good news. A friend has agreed to lend me the money I need to repay my debt.’

  Jun waved a hand cautiously and checked no one close was paying them any attention. ‘Not here,’ he said. ‘It’s all arranged for us to meet later to discuss it. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Meet where?’

  ‘At the onsen. It’s traditional to meet at the bath house and discuss business there. We can talk without clothes and everyone can see that nothing is hidden.’

  ‘But is that necessary? I can get you the money I owe. Just tell me where to send it.’

  ‘You need to discuss this in person. The arrangements have already been made.’

  Alex knew there was little choice but to go along with the plan. ‘Whatever you think is best,’ he said. ‘Are we leaving now?’

  ‘Later. We have enough time to play some pachinko first.’

  ‘I don’t know how. I’ve never done it before.’

  Jun pointed to the empty seat at the machine beside him. ‘Try it. What’s the worst that can happen?’

  Alex slipped a five-thousand-yen note into the slot and twisted the controls without any idea what he was meant to be achieving. Around him, the old people were hypnotized, chain-smoking and burning up their pensions. The silver balls flowed in great cascades, running down into the cavities of the machine as booming electronic voices urged them on. It was impossible to fathom the fascination amidst the chaos of noise and lights. Jun was losing money fast but Alex seemed to be winning. He poured the bucket of ball bearings into the cash machine and watched as a wad of notes fluttered out on to the tray.

  ‘Beginner’s luck,’ Jun said. ‘It’s their way to sucker new players, to get them hooked. They can tell you’ve never been here before so they let you win.’

  ‘That’s fine by me,’ Alex said. ‘I need the money.’

  ‘You’re all crooks!’ Jun shouted at the control room, where the uniformed employees skulked to escape the pounding music. They stared back, cowering slightly as he shook his fist at them.

  They left the arcade and walked down into the narrow backstreets of Gotanda, where the night market was set up behind the old temple. There were grey-haired women telling fortunes and bookies collecting money in the shadowed doorways. The plastic canopies of the stalls formed an arch over the street, enclosing the people packed beneath. Chicken skewers were cooking over open braziers as men in blood-smeared smocks carved great slabs of roasted pork. Power lines buzzed overhead. Alex stayed close to Jun as they pushed their way through the crowd. He turned into a quiet side alley away from the frenzy and Alex followed. Cats roamed in packs along the darkened street, shying away from their reflections in the rows of empty bottles placed along the kerb. The air was thick with incense burnt for the dead.

  The entrance to the onsen was unmarked. Only the tall steam vents angling up from the wooden roof gave it away. Jun counted out the entrance fee for them both and laid it on the counter. The owner was hesitant to allow a foreigner inside, muttering under his breath as he looked Alex up and down. He seemed to recognize Jun’s face so he didn’t protest. He reluctantly took the money and waved them inside, watching warily as they took their yukata and towels and walked into the changing room.

  The bath house was divided in two by a high wall running down the centre of the building. The place was busy, despite the late hour. Men were directed to one side, women and children to the other. There were two huge wooden tubs set down into the stone floor and banks of showers along one side of the room. Groups of old men were sitting in the bubbling water reading the racing forms and milling naked around the washrooms. From across the wall, women called out shrilly to their husbands, and the room was full of steam and the sound of footsteps falling on the wet floor.

  ‘You have to wash before you can use the bath,’ Jun said. ‘Those old-timers won’t let you in unless they see you scrub all that gaijin sweat off you.’

  He sat down on a low wooden stool and began to lather his body with black bamboo soap. Alex took the stool opposite and did the same. He could see how Jun’s left leg was withered, as if from a childhood disease, the joints gouged and scarred with lesions. Jun filled a bucket with water and tipped it over himself and passed it to Alex across the aisle. Alex filled it again and sluiced it over his head and winced at the unexpected iciness. It was painful but invigorating so he filled it and doused himself once more.

  He followed Jun over to the bathtub and the old men made space for them in the foaming water, their wrinkled skin lobster-red.

  ‘The last time I saw you was just before your cellmate lost his eye,’ Jun said.

  Alex shuddered at the memory. ‘I don’t like to think about it. It still gives me nightmares.’

  ‘It was the best thing to have happened to him. They had to keep him in hospital so long he missed his deportation date. He’s out on licence now. It might take a year
or more to process him again. Maybe he’ll get to stay in Tokyo permanently, even if he can only see half of it now.’

  ‘I still don’t understand why he deserved that. I told you I had taken care of him myself.’

  Jun shrugged. ‘Those are the rules,’ he said. ‘Tell me about your girlfriend. How is she?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her. I don’t think I will again.’

  ‘That’s too bad. It seemed like you were unhappy to lose her.’

  ‘I was. But it’s over now.’

  ‘Are you planning to leave Japan?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I haven’t made a decision yet. If I want to stay, I need to find a new job.’

  ‘You got sacked?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s okay. It isn’t the first time.’

  ‘You want another teaching job?’

  ‘I think so. I can’t really do anything else. Whatever happens, I need to make some money fast.’

  An attendant approached and bent down and spoke quietly into Jun’s ear. Alex watched the muscles in his face tense as he listened. He nodded his understanding and the attendant stood waiting.

  ‘Okay, Russia-jin,’ he said. ‘It’s time.’

  They dressed in their yukata and stepped out through a side door into a small, enclosed courtyard. Alex felt the cool night air against his wet skin. They walked through a rock garden, past a long, raised bed of clipped pines with lanterns strung in the branches. The attendant opened the paper door to a private room and stood aside.

  The room was dimly lit and full of thick banks of hot, drifting mist. Alex could make out a high-sided wooden tub, slightly smaller than the communal bath in the main onsen. Two men were sitting inside, the water up to their necks. They watched Alex silently as he entered. The older man had a square face and a broad chin that had weakened with age. His hair was shaved to stubble, grey and glistening with beads of sweat. He commanded the room, even in repose. Alex recognized him from the prison yard at Ushigome. The younger man had a flattened nose and a web of broken veins across his cheeks. Jun seemed to flinch slightly as the door was closed behind them. He looked nervous and uncomfortable, his shoulders slumped and his hands clasped tightly at his sides. He bowed to the old man and limped unsteadily up the wooden steps at the side of the bathtub and climbed inside. He motioned for Alex to follow him. Floating on the water was a bamboo tray with a ceramic sake jug and four small cups. Jun poured the sake and handed a cup to each of them.