by David Peace
But he did not die and nor, in large part thanks to him, did his railways. After the defeat and the surrender, during the immediate Confusion and then Occupation, when repairing and maintaining the railways was a matter of life and death, this was perhaps his finest hour, the hour of his greatest achievement: the damage to the infrastructure of the railways, to both the railroads and the rolling stock, was tremendous, nigh on catastrophic, but he created and then implemented his “parallel diagram timetable,” which allowed both passenger and freight trains to run on the same, single lines, at the same speeds, at alternating intervals. It was a simple idea, but only he had thought of it, and only he would have been able to persuade the Minister to accept and then implement it. His “parallel diagram timetable” proved the only way the country could maintain a reliable transportation system while repairing infrastructure and improving capacity. He had saved the railways, and thus allowed the people and the country to survive. In recognition, he became Director of the Tokyo Railway Bureau in March 1946, then Vice Minister at the Ministry of Transportation in April 1948, and, finally, the very first President of the new Japan National Railways in June 1949, with his own chauffeur-driven car.
But the Man Who Loves Trains does not particularly care for cars. So some mornings, between quarter past and half past eight, when he gets into the back of the black 1941 Buick Sedan, License Number 41173, he asks Ōnishi to drop him at Shinagawa station. He would like to take the train every day; he believes all employees of the National Railways, even executives, should always travel to work by train. But he worries if he always uses the train, then his driver will be laid off; a lot of people are being laid off, or are about to be laid off, by order of GHQ SCAP. As he walks into Shinagawa station, as he climbs the stairs, stands on the platform, and then, in the passenger car, on his way to work, he cannot miss the daily headlines on the front of every paper –
TIME HAS COME FOR JAPAN TO DECREASE DEPENDENCE ON U.S. AID, DODGE WARNS / DODGE SAYS JAPAN HAS BEEN LIVING BEYOND ITS MEANS FOR TOO LONG – Government Must Slash Expenditure at Any Cost, He Declares / LABOR UNIONS CONFIRM STRUGGLE POLICY – Stiff Fight Is Planned / GOV’T IS EXPECTED TO CUT PERSONNEL BY HALF A MILLION – Administrative Reform Bills Slated to Go Before Diet Next Week / OCCUPATION PERSONNEL WARNED TO STAY INDOORS – Japan’s Communists and Labor set to Celebrate Fourth Postwar May Day / PERSONNEL SLASH OF 267,000 IS SET – TPO Bill Puts Limit of Gov’t Workers at 871,000 / MASS DISMISSALS SEEN AS BILL OK’D – 419,000 Gov’t Workers Slated for Discharge / NEW RAILWAY BODY BEGINS WORK – the New Japan National Railway Corporation Began Functioning Yesterday with Former-Transportation Vice-Minister Sadanori “Lucky Boy” Shimoyama as First President…
He is no longer known as Tetsudō-sensei, no longer known as “the Owl”; now he is known as “Lucky Boy.” But standing in the passenger car, on his way to work, reading the newspaper headlines, knowing what he has to do, knowing he has to dismiss one hundred thousand fellow employees, knowing the price the one hundred thousand fellow employees and their families will have to pay, he and his own family will have to pay, by order of the government, by order of GHQ SCAP, he does not feel a “lucky boy” at all; he feels cursed, he feels doomed, has done for months. I’m not sure, he told one friend in May, but maybe I’ll be appointed President. And if I am, the dismissal job will be a tough one. I may even be killed. After he had been appointed President, when he was congratulated by the Chairman of the National Railway Workers Union, he said, It’s embarrassing. I’ve been carrying around a letter of resignation in my pocket. Just waiting for the right timing. Large-scale dismissals are inevitable, he told his younger sister, in front of his wife, but it’s not fair if the one who fires so many people then keeps his job, and so I will resign in June. I will leave the world of bureaucracy, he told another friend. Return to my hometown and rest for two years. But he could not resign, he could not rest, could not sleep: I’m unable to sleep, to eat, or even think straight, he told the doctor at Tokyo Tetsudō Byōin, the Railway’s own hospital, due to the “strike issue.” The doctor diagnosed a “mild nervous breakdown and gastritis,” prescribed a course of vitamin injections, a glucose solution, and Brobalin to help him sleep. But still he could not sleep, could not rest or resign. They would not let him; they needed a scapegoat. I’ve been put on the chopping block, he told an old friend. Like a sacrifice…
Cursed and doomed, he feels marked and watched, and he’s right; he has been marked, he is being watched: in his car to the office or on the train to his office, at his office and in his meetings, his meetings with his colleagues and with the unions, with politicians and with GHQ, whomever he meets and wherever he goes, he is always being watched; watched by people from the unions, watched by people against the unions, watched by people from GHQ, and watched by people who have been hired by Mary and you, and by other people, too, watched by people you didn’t hire, people you don’t know. In the summer of 1949, everybody is watching the Man Who Loves Trains, watching Sadanori “Lucky Boy” Shimoyama.
* * *
—
You’re actually very lucky, Donald, said Doctor Morgan.
Well, I don’t feel lucky, doc, not lucky at all.
Well, you should, said Doctor Morgan, what with all your smoking and drinking, the way you’ve carried on. Because there’s really nothing wrong with you, Donald, least not physically, not seriously. It’s all in your head, dear.
But you will give me more pills?
Yes, dear, sighed Doctor Morgan, turning back to his narrow desk and picking up his pen.
Donald Reichenbach swallowed, then said, Could you give me quite a lot, doc, save me keep coming back?
With pleasure, laughed Doctor Morgan. He stopped writing, tore off a sheet of paper, then turned back round from the desk and the prescription pad. As long as you do promise you’re not going to do anything silly, anything dramatic, dear?
Donald Reichenbach took the prescription, shook his head, smiled, and said, Of course not, doc. Thank you.
Not planning to do a General Nogi on us, are you, dear, laughed Doctor Morgan again. Re-enact Kokoro in Yushima when old Hirohito finally shuffles off stage left?
Donald Reichenbach smiled again, then said, Only a matter of time now, I suppose, doc.
It’s only ever a matter of time, said Doctor Morgan, standing up, walking over to open the door.
Donald Reichenbach swallowed again, then said, I saw her, you know? That woman I was telling you about.
That’s nice, dear, said Doctor Morgan, the door open now. Good to get out, meet new people. Helps keep us young.
Donald Reichenbach said, Not in this case.
Oh, said Doctor Morgan, pointedly glancing at his watch, then the hallway. A disappointment, was she, dear?
She’s the daughter of Gloria Wilson – you remember her, doc? She was asking about Harry Sweeney, wanting to know what happened to him. She knows what I used to do, doc, who I used to be. Even mentioned Mary…
Doctor Morgan closed the door again. He walked over to Donald Reichenbach still sat on the edge of the bed. He said, Donald, Gloria Wilson died childless of cancer fifteen, maybe twenty years ago now. What’s her name, this woman?
Julia Reeve, she says, said Donald Reichenbach, taking out his handkerchief. How do you know she’s dead?
Doctor Morgan shook his head, sighed, and said, Don’t start blubbering, Donald, you hardly knew the woman.
Not crying for her, said Donald Reichenbach, taking off his glasses, dabbing his eyes. But how do you know?
If you must know, Mary told me.
You kept in touch?
Doctor Morgan laughed: Don’t tell me you’re jealous?
I’m not jealous, I just want to know…
Doctor Morgan shook his head again and said, Christmas cards, the odd letter, that kind of thing –
Dear Miles, Gloria Wilson’s
dead. Merry Christmas and a happy New Year, love Mary – that kind of thing?
Look, I don’t remember, said Doctor Morgan. Mary just said she’d heard that Gloria had died, that’s all. It must’ve been one of her last letters, if not her last, in fact.
Donald Reichenbach put on his glasses again, put his handkerchief away, and said, But you never said.
Really, Donald, sighed Doctor Morgan. Please do try and grow up, dear. There’s still time, you know?
Donald Reichenbach stared at Doctor Morgan: Is there, doc? I hope you’re right. But what about Harry?
Sweeney? What about him, Donald?
Did Mary mention him as well?
No, said Doctor Morgan. Why would she?
You know what happened to him, doc.
And so did she, and so do you.
Donald Reichenbach, still staring at Doctor Morgan, said, No, I know what you told me happened to him…
Donald, said Doctor Morgan, his voice low. What I told you happened to him is what happened to him: as soon as he was well enough, he was shipped back stateside.
And then, doc, then what?
I don’t know, Donald.
Is he still alive?
I don’t know, Donald, honestly, I don’t.
And you don’t care.
And nor should you, Donald, okay?
Donald Reichenbach nodded, then got up from the edge of the bed as he said, But she cares.
Who?
Donald Reichenbach looked up at Doctor Morgan, smiled, and said, This Julia Reeve woman. But don’t worry, doc, that’s what I’ll tell her.
Tell her what, said Doctor Morgan, barring his way.
Just what you’ve told me, doc.
If I was you, Donald, said Doctor Morgan, his voice still low, I wouldn’t tell her anything, or see her again.
She keeps calling. She knows where I live.
Then if I was you, Donald, said Doctor Morgan again, I’d tell her that if she calls or bothers you again, then you’ll contact the embassy and the Japanese police.
Why would I tell her that?
Because this sounds to me like blackmail, Donald.
Donald Reichenbach stared up at Doctor Morgan again and said, How can it be blackmail, doc? If what you say happened is what happened, then I’ve got nothing to hide.
Oh, don’t act so damn stupid, Donald, said Doctor Morgan. If it’s not blackmail, then she’s probably some kind of journalist or writer or something. Either way, you know as well as I do that the whole thing is still classified.
Donald Reichenbach smiled and said, In the interest of national security, right, doc?
The internal telephone on the narrow desk buzzed once and flashed red –
Exactly, said Doctor Morgan, glancing at the phone, then opening the door again. And so if you must see or speak to her again, Donald, then call her bluff. Tell her to save her damn questions for Washington and the State Department.
Donald Reichenbach looked down at the prescription in his hand, then back up at Doctor Morgan, and said, You know what Reeve means in Old English, Miles?
No, Donald, I don’t.
Donald Reichenbach smiled again, then blinked, blinked again, and said, A steward or a bailiff.
* * *
—
This is the list of the men we want rid of, the names he’s to make sure are included in the next round of dismissals, you say as you hand the envelope across the coffee-shop table, over the two cups and the ashtray to Kōji Terauchi –
Kōji Terauchi was employed on the railways prior to the draft and enlistment. He was captured in Manchuria and interned in a Soviet prisoner-of-war camp. Upon repatriation, like thousands of other former railway employees he was reinstated and re-employed on the railways. And like thousands of others, he joined the National Railway Workers Union, and he joined Nihon Kyōsan-tō, the Japanese Communist Party, or at least that’s his story, so he says –
Kōji Terauchi is another of the men Mary found and hired, another of the eighteen native hires allowed under the finances provided by Frank, the ceiling dictated to the Rat Palace by Washington –
Kōji Terauchi takes the envelope, nods, then smiles and asks, Is it the same as the list I gave you?
With a few additions, you say.
Am I still on it?
Yes, you say. But don’t worry, you’ve done a good job so far. And your work’s not done yet. You’ll be okay.
He nods: Thank you.
You light another cigarette, exhale, then lower your voice and ask, So when and where’s the next meeting?
He’s nervous, almost a wreck – I mean, you’ve seen all those KILL SHIMOYAMA posters all over town? He’s had death threats, too, letters and calls – so he insists on somewhere public, a department store, either Shirokiya or Mitsukoshi.
You nod, you ask, When?
The morning after the first round of dismissals, says Kōji Terauchi. Early, before he starts work.
You nod, put out your cigarette, put the packet back in your pocket, pick up your hat, and stand up: Soon as you know the exact time and place, call the yellow house, okay?
Hey, he says. What about my money?
You lean down toward him, smile, and say, Mary’s the one with the money, not me, you know that.
Please, he whispers. I’m broke, I got nothing.
You take some yen from the pocket of your pants, unfold a few notes, put them down on the table: That’s all I got on me. Pick up the tab, then keep the change.
Gee, thanks, he says, looking down at the notes on the table, then laughs: You guys sure know how to beat the Reds.
You take your packet of cigarettes back out of your pocket, put it down on the notes, and say, Don’t waste ’em, yeah? We’re at war, and I got to get back to the front line –
You put on your hat, turn, and walk out of the Coffee Shop Hong Kong into the basement corridor. But you do not go up the stairs, back up and along the street, back to your cramped, tiny office in the Mitsui building. No, you check your watch, then the corridor, the faces, the eyes and the ears of the passers-by, the customers for the department store, and the passengers for the subway. You walk away from the coffee shop to the ticket gate, buy a ticket, then go through the gate, down the steps, down onto the platform –
You stand on the platform, watch the passengers getting off and on the trains heading east, the trains heading west. But you do not get on either train; you wait for the next trains, wait until every other passenger has boarded the next train heading west to Shibuya, then slip on board just as the doors are closing. You do not sit down; you stay stood up as the train passes through Nihonbashi, Kyōbashi, and Ginza, then get off the train again at Shimbashi. You go up the steps but do not exit the station. You go into the toilets and you take a piss. You come out of the toilets, check the passengers again, their faces, their eyes and their ears, then walk down the other flight of steps, down to the platform, the platform for the trains heading east. You stand on the platform, bend down to tighten your shoelaces, and do not board the first train. You wait until every other passenger has boarded the next train, then slip on board just as the doors are closing. You sit down, take off your hat, take out your handkerchief, and wipe your face, then your neck. You put away your handkerchief, put your hat back on, looking up and down the car, then left and right across the aisle at the women with their empty shopping bags, the men with their newspapers, reading their headlines –
RED-LED RIOTERS STIR DISORDERS IN NORTH JAPAN – Agitators Seize Police Stations in Taira, Koriyama / RAILROAD WORKERS WARNED AGAINST USING FORCE – President Shimoyama Reminds Employees that Union Directive to “Resort to Force” is Illegal / RAILWAY SABOTAGE CASES ON INCREASE – Four Cases in Tokyo: Throwing of Stones Against Passenger Trains Reported on Jōban line / GOV’T HELD READY FOR EMERGENCIES �
� Situation After Personnel Cut Can Be Handled, Minister says / RED INDOCTRINATION – Repatriates Schooled in Ideas of Communism, Told Nothing About Truth Here / INQUIRY DEMANDED INTO RED ACTIVITIES – JCP Accused of Plotting Revolt in Japan: Revolution by Force Sometime in August or September –