“Well you deserve it!” said Jared, moving next to her on the bench and putting his arm around her and their lips touched.
Jared lit their cigarettes and from another pocket in his jacket, pulled out a stainless steel hip flask and took a swig.
“Would you like some?” he asked. Normally she would have declined but on this occasion acquiesced. It was bourbon, smelt of charred oak and was Jared’s regular tipple. Mi-Chan took tiny sips and felt increasingly relaxed and mellow.
What happened next, she did not know exactly.
She remembered waking up and first hearing the raucous humming of the cicadas in the trees outside. Then she felt the wind puffing against her legs and thighs and realised her Yukata and underwear had been taken off and crudely put back on. She was lying flat on the bench. Her head was aching. She felt confused. Her eyes wouldn’t focus and there was also a slight pain in her crotch. She closed and reopened her eyes just trying to focus, to see if Jared was there. Yet she was alone, but for the insects.
She stumbled back to her room, bathed hastily, took some aspirin and went to bed, leaving a handwritten note on the door that she was sick and slept. She awoke early in the morning before dawn and felt better although her genitals were still sore. Mi-Chan knew she had been raped and restlessly pondered on her dilemma. It was difficult to prove. There had been no witnesses. In any case Oka-san’s warning to the musume remained in place, there was to be no ‘inappropriate’ behaviour with the officers. Whilst Oka-san would perhaps be sympathetic, anything that jeopardised her own position would not be tolerated. Then there was the impressing weight of her family’s survival which Mi-Chan felt resting on her shoulders. If she left Rokko Garden how could she provide for them?
Mi-Chan had rarely been emotional and temperamental. She had not been spoilt. Her parents were loving, although conservative. Through them, she had learnt the values of hard work, diligence and perseverance. Nevertheless in the days that followed, she found herself wrought with anxiety and often tearful. Her heart was heavy with remorse, her mother’s prophesy about the Okichi was forever ringing in her ears.
The lack of any work break did not help matters. Mid-August was an important time of the year to celebrate the spirits of ancestors. It was an occasion for families to gather back together, and it was as much a part of Korean tradition as Japanese. Poignantly it was also twelve months since her father’s tragic passing, how her heart ached for his wisdom and comfort now! But Mi-Chan had no chance to leave the Rokko Garden to visit her mother and sister and grieve for her father. It all engulfed Mi-Chan leaving her very lonely. There was no one she trusted intimately in whom she could confide.
Mi-Chan performed her duties as best as she could. On the outside, she was smiling and friendly. Inside her anger and frustration were spiralling.
A typhoon signalled the end of the tempestuous summer. Fuelled by the monsoon trough and warm waters east of the Philippines they were a seasonal hazard as they barrowed up the Northern Pacific, bringing torrential rain and flattening winds. The typhoon first hit Kyushu and rolled across Honshu halting trains, ripping scaffolding from buildings and sending shaky roof tiles flying.
At the Rokko Garden, events were postponed or cancelled as the military units worked overtime securing vital installations, communications and the harbours. There was a concern that the storm would result in looting and theft, so extra Guard shifts were posted, and all leave was cancelled.
Mi-Chan was stranded at the Rokko Garden and with the other musume helped the cooking staff clean up the flattened fruit and vegetable plants in the kitchen garden. Later she sat and enjoyed a warm cup of Macha with a newer recruit whose name was Hana.
Like Mi-Chan, Hana had joined the Rokko Garden for financial reasons. She was the eldest of several siblings and moved in with an ageing aunt after her parents had been killed. She was more opinionated than Mi-Chan and had been greatly influenced by her mother, an early proponent of women’s rights. Mi-Chan liked Hana’s maternal leadership qualities. Over the following weeks, their friendship blossomed.
“I was attacked by one of the officers in the summer!” Mi-Chan blurted out one day to Hana as they sat in her room.
After Mi-Chan recounted her story, Hana shook her head. “That’s so terrible, and you say he’s hardly returned to the Rokko Garden?”
Mi-Chan had only seen Jared two or three times since the incident. She felt he had avoided all interaction with her.
“I don’t understand. Perhaps I led him on. And I was too naive.” She paused revealing the leather purse. “He gave me these gifts and now, I know he bought me.” Mi-Chan’s eyes swelled up and she sobbed. Hana put her arm around Mi-Chan.
“I suppose you’ve told no one?” Hana asked.
“Who can I tell? Who would believe me? You’re the first person I’ve told,” she whimpered.
"What about the doctor?" asked Hana, referring to the weekly gynaecological examination. Mi-Chan shook her head.
“Not even Oka-san?” continued Hana.
“I haven’t told her, she wouldn’t believe me,” replied Mi-Chan, “and I suspect she had some dealings with Jared, but I can’t be sure.”
Hana did her best to console Mi-Chan. “Remember fortune will call at the smiling gate,” she said, quoting a well-known proverb. “You must be strong and find a way to fight back.”
Hana wondered whether Oka-san might know of Jared’s whereabouts.
Later as she was leaving, Hana gave Mi-Chan a small newspaper, “when you have a moment, read this,” she said, “and let’s keep this secret between us. As for Jared, let me see what I can do.”
Hana took the purse. “This may help us.”
The Hachiman
Autumn 1946
Sakamoto kept to his promises and immediately moved from Kobe with his meagre possessions to the Umeda Yam’ichi. If he was to provide protection to Ishida from villains and thugs, there was no other solution but to be there full-time.
As in Kobe he lived rough under the railway arches.
He treated the experience like a military exercise. First he spent time gathering intelligence on the inside workings of the Yam’ichi. He followed the old adage, ‘on entering the village, obey the village.’
The Yam’ichi on first impression was a large, sprawling diaspora but like all communities it developed and ran to its own rules which Sakamoto needed to understand. As a major urban crossroads many in the Umeda Yam’ichi came from all over Japan, displaced by the tragedy of war. So there was a melting pot of characters with a range stories, personalities and values.
The calm, authoritative and natural leaders; strivers who were hard working, focused and self-contained; the depressed and lost, wandering aimlessly; socialisers and gossips who thrived on trading tittle-tattle; and the outright dishonest, shady and unscrupulous.
Sakamoto had an advantage as he was just an unknown, without any reputation. As there were so many displaced people he could blend anonymously into the locale. He used it to his full advantage and was careful not to spend too much time with Ishida-san. He was sure that it would attract unwarranted attention.
For the first two weeks or so, he positioned himself in a variety of locations, listening and looking surreptitiously. One day he was with the beggars near the station entrance seeing the flow of merchants and traders. Another time close to the police box observing their patrols and who they were following. At night hidden in the shadows seeing how vendors closed and guarded their stalls. He spoke to as many people as possible by asking simple, open ended questions, always feigning ignorance.
A key discovery was that the Meiyu-kai, a Formosan gang, led by a its thin and wiry boss, Hirata was pressing to take full control of the Yam’ichi. Sakamoto only spied Hirata once or twice early in the evenings as he strutted around. Usually he was surrounded by two or three henchmen. The whispers said he had started by looting bicycles from old military supply depots along with electric fans, steel, cast metal and tin. Everything he
put on the black market.
By all accounts he was well known to the police, but since he was not legally Japanese had not been arrested.
In fact one source surmised that he was under secret protection from the American occupation authorities who themselves were selling on the black market.
Another theory Sakamoto heard was that groups like the Meiyu-kai were right wing and nationalistic. Only tolerated by the police as they were anti-communist.
Soon Sakamoto gathered that merchants who ran street stalls were under pressure to became a ‘family union’ subject to the control and protection of the Meiyu-kai. The fees involved were significant. They comprised various elements including admission charges and a monthly fee from which the vendor would receive ‘permission’ to sell goods. On top, there were several supplementary charges for rubbish collection, sales taxes and an arbitrary performance charge depending upon the stall’s weekly sales. A further complaint Sakamoto heard was that the fees were amended without notification. Those vendors who had caved in to their demands alleged they were paying between Yen 1000 to 3000 a month extra, around five percent of total takings.
However, not all stall owners were paying up and Ishida’s Tengoku was one of them. At first the Meiyu-ka’s approach had been collaborative, arguing a union was needed to stand up the police and the occupation authorities. However, later Hirata’s henchmen had become more belligerent and intimidating in their tactics. They had started verbally shaming vendors at busy times, scaring off customers; with others reporting illicit dealings in American goods to the authorities; and for a small number physical harassment including the deliberate spoiling of perishable items flour and sugar.
Sakamoto’s idea, hatched in consultation with Ishida, was to focus first on longer term vendors, especially those with a military background. These he felt would be more resilient to intimidation. Plus those who were within a 300 metre radius of Tengoku.
At the end to stave off the thugs’ demands he knew an immediate on the ground response would be needed to ward off problems.
The resulting tension and dissatisfaction amongst the traders from the Meiyu-kai meant that they were open to a viable alternative. So Sakamoto and Ishida canvased vendors close by and encouraged them to attend a public gathering.
One morning in September, around twenty other merchants gathered in front of Tengoku. Ishida made the first address standing on an upturned beer crate.
“Fellow traders and merchants, I am Ishida of the Tengoku Okashi stall. I have called this meeting in response to the pressure and threats we are receiving from the anti-social forces around here who endangering our livelihoods. I asked my Senpai, Sakamoto who served with me in the Pacific War to help us, please hear him out.”
Ishida stepped down and Sakamoto took the stand. He stood with his back upright and wore his old military cap, bereft of any insignia and carefully looked at the audience.
“Thank you Ishida-san. Everyone, I know time is precious. Listen to this appeal. Forces beyond our control compel us to stand up and fight! Our livelihoods are under currently attack in this market.”
Sakamoto slowed down and said pointedly, “there is a defenceless woman in this market running a fish stall. The ‘Gokudo’ have stolen her fish and threatened her with violence unless she joins their ‘Union’. There is a wounded old soldier whose stall sign has been vandalised for refusing to pay his ‘union’ dues. Another vendor has been told his children are not safe anymore.”
The audience stood grim faced. A few nodded their heads in agreement, nothing that Sakamoto said was news, only he was the first to say so publicly.
“Sadly the police stand idly by and ignore our pleas. This is not right and fair. It is un-Japanese and a dishonour to our way of life. What can we do?” he asked rhetorically, pausing.
“I say we must group together and act as law abiding citizens, and demonstrate that we will not be intimidated.” Sakamoto looked directly at his audience. “Ishida and I will form a cooperative syndicate, that is legitimate, just and run communally. It will provide genuine protection for the traders against the unlawful. It will provide essential services such as lighting, toilets and rubbish collection. Only by working in unison will we be strong. We call on you to join us!” There were a few more nods.
“Merchants, please give two hours daily to patrol with me and make our stalls safe. If we do not enter the tiger’s cave we will not catch its cub!” He paused before continuing, “will you join us?”
It was a critical question and whilst he and Ishida had already sounded out interest in the idea, they were unsure who else would join. Sakamoto saw a raised hand, it was a question.
“How will we defend ourselves?”
“Firstly by acting together and secondly, if necessary by drawing the sword.” Sakamoto dramatically reached inside his jacket and brandished a Wakizashi, a short sword. There was a gasp from the audience. Swords were banned and rarely seen in public. “Army officers were trained to use them, I hope I will not be tested.” He said, putting the Wakizashi away.
There were more nods followed by a brief round of applause. The Hachiman cooperative had been born; it was named after a god of war and one of Japan’s divine protectors.
For the first time in months Sakamoto felt at peace with himself. He had an altruistic purpose to protect Japan, its people and build the country from the ashes of war. Whilst he did not believe in individualism, and as such was not a proponent of capitalism which he saw as being selfish and contrary to the common good. He despised bullying and tyranny. Under the military government, the Yakuza or Gokudo had been almost completely obliterated and Sakamoto was horrified by the re-emergence of so many poisonous ‘snakes and serpents.’
Sakamoto was principled and had a long term perspective. He wanted the Hachiman to become a legitimate venture and by making it a cooperative, owned, run and organised by its members, a beacon of stability for the community. However, he was not naïve and from his military experience knew nothing could be taken for granted.
He quickly established several principles that would guide the Hachiman.
The first was the importance of high visibility and being seen to conduct frequent patrols. They would not hide in the shadows.
The second, and one of his most lasting, was the start of ‘eating meals from the same iron pot.’ Most of the vendors operated independently and although they were neighbours, often knew little about each other. To build the community spirit, he established a soup and rice communal kitchen for merchants. A place where they could get nourishment as well as swap and exchange ideas.
A third, was to refresh his patrol members in basic fighting and blocking techniques some of which they had learnt in the military. There were even a couple of merchants who had martial arts experience.
There was a fourth principle: to be quick to respond.
Getting ongoing information fast about the comings and goings in the Yam’ichi was vital if the Hachiman were to survive. Ishida introduced Jun, an adolescent boy to Sakamoto, in one of their discussions. Jun was just an orphan and lived in a recently established home called ‘Peace Bridge.’ During the day he did a range of odd jobs for vendors. He carried stock, guarded stalls when staff were absent, and cleared up rubbish. Ishida provided Jun with tiny pieces of chocolate and other tidbits in lieu of payment and Jun looked up to him as a father figure.
Sakamoto quickly discovered there were a large number of orphans hanging around the Yam’ichi who if motivated and organised would become valuable intelligence sources. Jun was called upon to select a group of reliable and trustworthy friends and Sakamoto briefed them on his requirements. In return they were promised a full serving of soup and rice every day from the communal kitchen.
Ishida jokingly referred to them as the Hachiman scouts.
Sakamoto’s first run-in with the Meiyu-kai was not long in coming. A few days later on a Friday morning, Jun rushed up to Sakamoto, breathless and exclaimed, “Sir, the Ikeda fish sta
ll, there is an argument about squid, please come now!”
Accompanied by two patrol staffs they rushed over. Ikeda had brought in some squid and a young Meiyu-kai enforcer was trying to confiscate it as illegal contraband. An argument and physical tussle had broken out. Sakamoto strode up and placed himself between the thug and Ikeda.
“No! Stop!” He grasped the bag of squid off the thug and gave it to Ikeda. “That doesn’t belong to you.”
The thug sneered. “Wait until Hirata-san hears about this,” and seeing he was outnumbered slunk off.
Sakamoto stepped up patrols for the rest of the day and night. He expected quick retaliation and was not mistaken.
Around ten that evening, he entered an alleyway and five metres in front was a man. He was in his mid-30s, medium height, muscular with his chest pushed out, he had crew cut hair and dark beady eyes. He stood with his legs apart and had his hands on his waist. He was accompanied by two henchmen who stood at either side. They carried batons.
Sakamoto went hand in hand with two colleagues, one of whom immediately turned around to protect their rear.
“So you’re Hirata,” said Sakamoto, unsmiling.
“Hirata Oyassan,” replied the man. “This is our territory, get out of here,” he commanded. He spoke Japanese with a distinctive Chinese accent.
Sakamoto stood his ground and said firmly, “No, this area is Hachiman.”
Hirata nodded and his two henchmen suddenly rushed and attacked using their batons.
It ended quickly.
Sakamoto expertly deflected the charge and drawing his hidden Wakizashi slashed the first man across his back, causing a wailing howl. The second attacker was thrown to the ground by Sakamoto’s colleague, picked himself up and escaped when he saw the sword.
By this time Hirata had also vanished.
It was a small but important first victory in what became an on-going series of skirmishes and stand offs between the Hachiman and the Yakuza gangs.
The Naked Blood of the Cherry Blossoms Page 8