Tokyo Year Zero (4 page)

The sword raised high again –

Eyes, red spots on white
…

The man begging now –

The last sunlight
…

Begging then falling, falling forward with a shudder as a cold chill courses through my own arms and legs –

The sword has come down –

Blood on the blade
…

Now a desperate, piercing lament whines up from out of the mouth of the old Korean –

My blood cold
…

‘What are you doing?’ the man cries. ‘Why? Why?’

The Kempei officer curses the Korean. He kicks the back of his legs and the Korean stumbles forward into the hole –

There is a foot-long gash on the man’s right shoulder where he has been cut by the Kempei’s sword, the blood from the wound soaking through his brown civilian work clothes –

‘Help me! Please help me! Help me!’

Now he claws wildly at the earth, screaming over and over, again and again, ‘I don’t want to die!’

‘Help me! Help me!’

But Captain Muto has lowered his bloody military sword now. He is staring down at the old Korean in the hole –

Each time the Korean comes crawling back up from the hole, the officer kicks him back down into the dirt –

The blood draining from his body –

Into the dirt and into the hole
…

‘Help me!’ gasps the man –

The Kempei captain now turns to the caretaker and the boiler-man and commands, ‘Bury him!’

The caretaker and the boiler-man pick up their spades again and begin to heap the dirt back into the hole, over the man, faster and faster, as they bury his cries –

Down in the hole
…

Until it is over –

Silence now
…

My right hand trembles, my right arm, now both of my legs –

‘Detective Minami! Detective Minami! Detective Minami!’

I close my eyes.
Eyes that are not my own
. There are scalding tears streaming from these eyes.
Eyes I do not want
…

I wipe the tears away, again and again –

‘
Detective Minami! Detective Minami!’

Finally I open these eyes –

‘
Detective Minami!’

There are flags falling to the ground, but these flags are no
flags, these buildings no buildings, these streets no streets –

For this city is no city, this country no country –

I eat acorns. I eat leaves. I eat weeds
…

The voice of a god on the radio –

Hollow and sorrowful
…

Everything distorted –

Heaven an abyss
…

Time disjointed –

Hell our home
…

Here, now –

Ten minutes past noon on the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the twentieth year of the reign of the Emperor Shōwa –

But this hour has no father, this year has no son –

No mother, no daughter, no wife nor lover –

For the hour is zero; the Year Zero –

Tokyo Year Zero.

Tokyo, 91°, overcast

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

The sound of hammering and hammering –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

I open my eyes and I remember –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
… I am one of the survivors –

One of the lucky ones
…

I take out my handkerchief. I wipe my face. I wipe my neck. I push my hair back out of my eyes. I look at my watch –

Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku
…

It is 10 a.m.; it is only 10 a.m. –

Just four hours gone, eight still to go, then down to Shinagawa, down to Yuki. Three, four hours there and then out to Mitaka, to my wife and my children. Try to take them some food, bring them something to eat, anything. Eat and then sleep, try to sleep. Then back here again for 6 a.m. tomorrow
…

Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku
…

Another twelve hours in this oven
…

I wipe the sweat from my shirt collar. I wipe the sweat from my eyelids. I look down the length of the table. Three men on my left, two men on my right and the three empty chairs –

No Fujita. No Ishida. No Kimura
…

Five men wiping their necks and wiping their faces, scratching after lice and swiping away mosquitoes, ignoring their work and turning their newspapers; newspapers full of the First Anniversary of the Surrender, the progress of reform and the gains of democracy; newspapers full of the International Military Tribunal, the judgment of the Victors and the punishment of the Losers –

Day in, day out. Day in, day out. Day in, day out
…

Turning our newspapers, thinking about food –

Day in, day out. Day in, day out
…

And waiting and waiting –

Day in, day out
…

The telephones that can’t ring, the electric fans that can’t turn. The heat and the sweat. The flies and the mosquitoes. The dirt, the dust and the noise; the constant sound of hammering and hammering, hammering and hammering, hammering and hammering –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

I get up from my chair. I go to the window. I raise the blind –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

Three floors above Sakuradamon, I look out over Tokyo –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

The Palace to my left, GHQ to my right –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

Under a low typhoid sky –

Ton-ton
…

The Capital City of the Shōwa Dead, the Losers on their hands and knees, the Victors in their trucks and jeeps –

No resistance here
.

I hear the door open. I turn round; Kimura is stood there –

Early twenties. Repatriated from the south. Only three months here and no longer the most junior member of our room, Room #2
…

Kimura is staring down the length of table at me; half in contempt, half in deference, a piece of paper in his hands –

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot
…

My stomach knots, my head pounds –

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot
…

Kimura holds out the paper marked
Police Bulletin
and says, ‘Maybe this one’s a murder, Detective Inspector Minami, sir.’

*

There is only one working car for the whole division. It is not available. So we walk again, like we walk everywhere. They promise us cars, like they promise us telephones and guns and pens and paper and better pay and health care and holidays but every day we tear apart old bicycle tires to cut out new soles to hammer onto the bottom of our boots so we can walk and walk and walk and walk and walk –

Hattori, Takeda, Sanada, Shimoda, Nishi, Kimura and me –
Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

Through the heat, through the flies and the mosquitoes –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

From Metropolitan Police Headquarters to Shiba Park –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

Jackets off, hats on. Handkerchiefs out, fans out –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

Down Sakurada-dōri and up the hill to Atago –

Ton-ton
…

Detective Nishi has the
Police Bulletin
in his hand. Nishi reads it aloud as we walk: ‘Naked body of unidentified female found at 9:30 a.m. this morning, August 15, 1946, at Nishi-Mukai Kannon Zan, 2 Shiba Park, Shiba Ward. Body reported to Shiba Park police box at 9:45 a.m. Body reported to Atago police station at 10:15 a.m. Body reported to Metropolitan Police Headquarters at 11:00 a.m.….

‘They took their time,’ he says now. ‘It’ll be two hours by the time we see the body. What were they doing at Atago…?’

‘She ain’t going nowhere,’ laughs Detective Hattori.

‘Tell that to the maggots and the flies,’ says Nishi.

‘No cars. No bicycles. No telephones. No telegraphs,’ replies Hattori. ‘What do you expect the Atago boys to do about it?’

Nishi shakes his head. Nishi doesn’t answer him.

I wipe my neck. I glance at my watch again –

Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku
…

It is almost 11:30 a.m.; only 11:30 a.m. –

Five and a half hours gone, six and a half to go. Then down to Shinagawa, down to Yuki. Three, four hours there and then out to Mitaka. The wife and the children. Eat and then sleep, try to sleep. Back here again for 6 a.m. and another twelve hours –

Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku
…

If this body isn’t a murder
…

‘This way is quicker,’ says Nishi and we pick our way over the hills of rubble and through the craters of dust until we come out on to Hibiya-dōri near Onarimon –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton
.

*

Two very young men from the Atago police station are waiting for us
in their ill-fitting, dirt-stained uniforms. They bow and they salute, they greet us and they apologize but I can’t hear a word they say –

Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…

The uniformed policemen lead us off the road, away from the sound of the hammering, and into the temple grounds –

Huge scorched trees, their roots to the sky
…

There is nothing much left of Zōjōji Temple since it was burnt to the ground in the May air raids of last year –

Branches charred and leaves lost
…

The two uniforms lead us through the ashes and up the hill, out of the sunlight and into the shadow; the graves forgotten here, this place is overgrown and its paths lost, the bamboo grass taller than a man and as thick as the insects that cloud the air; this place of foxes and badgers, of rats and crows, of abandoned dogs that run in packs with a new-found taste for human flesh –

In this place of assignation –

Of prostitutes, of suicides –

This place of silence –

This place of death –

She is here
…

In this sudden clearing where the tall grass has been flattened and the sun has found her,
she is here;
lying naked on her back, her head slightly to the left, her right arm outstretched, her left at her side,
she is here;
her legs parted, raised and bent at the knee,
she is here
…

Possibly twenty-one years old and probably ten days dead –

Namu-amida-butsu. Namu-amida-butsu. Namu-amida
…

There is a piece of red material round her neck –

Namu-amida-butsu. Namu-amida-butsu
…

This is not a suicide. This is murder –

Namu-amida-butsu
…

This case ours –

I curse her
…

I look at my watch.
Chiku-taku
. It is almost noon –

Chiku-taku
. It is August 15, 1946 –

The defeat and the capitulation. The surrender and the occupation. The ghosts all here today –

I curse her. I curse myself
…

It has been one year.

*

In among the tall weeds, an old man is on his knees, bowing and mumbling his prayers with an axe on the ground before him –

‘Namu-amida-butsu,’
the old man chants.
‘Namu-amida
…’

‘This man discovered the body,’ says one of the uniforms.

I squat down beside the old man. I swat at a mosquito with my hat. I miss. I wipe my neck. I say, ‘It’s hot today, isn’t it?’

The old man stops his chanting. The old man nods.

‘This man is a lumberjack,’ says the uniform.

‘And you found the body?’ I ask the man.

The old man nods his head again.

‘Found her just like this?’

He nods his head again.

‘Are you sure you didn’t find any of her clothes, a bag or a purse or anything else near her?’

He shakes his head.

‘You haven’t stashed away her things to sell later, have you? Not put away some of her things to come back for?’ Again, he shakes his head. ‘Not her ration card?’

The old man looks up at me now. The old man says, ‘No.’ I nod and I pat him on his back. I apologize to him and I thank him. I put my hat back on and I stand up again –

I see her out of the corner of my eye
…

Detectives Hattori, Takeda, Sanada and Shimoda are sat down in the shade of the trees with their Panama hats in their hands, fanning and wiping themselves, swatting at flies and mosquitoes –

In the shade with the Shōwa Dead
…

The two uniformed policemen from Atago shifting from foot to foot, foot to foot; Detectives Nishi and Kimura still stood over the body, still staring at her, waiting for me –

In this City of the Dead
…

I walk over to the body –

She is here
…

‘I knew it,’ Kimura is saying. ‘Knew it’d be murder.’

‘And she’ll have been a whore,’ agrees Nishi.

‘I doubt that,’ I tell him, tell them both.

‘But this place is notorious for prostitutes,’ says Nishi. ‘We know the ones from Shimbashi bring their men up here…’

I stare down at the body, the pale grey and decaying body, the
legs parted, raised and bent at the knee –

‘This woman was raped,’ I tell them both. ‘Why would you rape and then murder a prostitute?’

‘If you had no money,’ says Kimura. ‘There are a lot of destitute and desperate men…’

‘So just rape her and leave her, beat her if you must, but she’s not going to tell anyone.’

‘Unless she knew him,’ says Nishi. ‘Knew his name…’

‘We need to find
her
name,’ I tell them now, tell them all, my men and the two men from Atago. ‘And we need to find her clothes and any other belongings she might have had with her.’

‘Just a moment!’ barks out a voice from behind me, and everyone jumps to attention, to bow and to salute –

I turn round.
I know this voice
. I bow and I salute.
I know this face well
. I greet Chief Inspector Adachi –

Adachi or Anjo or Ando or whatever he calls himself this week; he has changed his name and he has changed his job, his uniform and his rank, his life and his past; he is not the only one
…

Now no one is who they say they are
…

No one is who they seem to be
…

Behind him stand Suzuki, the First Investigative Division photographer, and two men in white coats from the Keiō University Hospital with a light, wooden coffin –

They are all sweating.

Adachi points at Suzuki and tells everyone, ‘Move out of the way and let this man get on with his work, then these other two can get this body out of here.’

Everybody steps back into the taller grasses, among the taller trees, to watch Suzuki load his film and start his work –

Click-click-click. Click-click-click
…

I look at my watch –

Chiku-taku
…

12:30 p.m. –

Everything is lost; there will be a meeting of all the section heads of the First Investigative Division; there will be verbal and written reports; there will be the assignment of command, the delegation of responsibility, the division of labour, of investigation and of evaluation; more lost hours in more hot rooms
…

‘Bad luck, your room pulling this one,’ laughs Adachi.
‘Twenty-one days straight. No time off. You all stuck down here in Atago, knowing you’ll never solve the case, never close it, knowing no one cares but knowing it’s yet another failure on your record…’

‘It’ll be just like the Matsuda Giichi case then,’ I say.

Inspector Adachi leans closer into my face now –

No one is who they say they are
…

‘That case is closed, corporal,’ he spits.

No one who they seem to be
…

I take a step back. I bow my head. I apologize.

‘You’re two men short,’ says Adachi –

I bow again. I apologize again.

‘Where’s Detective Fujita?’

Another bow, another apology.

‘That’s not an answer,’ says Adachi. ‘Just an admission.’

*

The photographer has finished his work.
The ground beneath her is crushed and darker
. The two men from Keiō Hospital have lifted up the body.
The ground is infested with insects
. The men from Keiō have lifted the body into the wooden coffin.
She is stiff and refuses to bend
. The two uniforms from Atago were called to help and the arms were folded, the lid fitted and secured with ropes and knots, bound.
She is resisting the box
. The two men from Keiō Hospital have taken her back down the hill.
She is no longer here
…

Now I take out my watch again –

Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku
…

It is almost 3 p.m. –

I am stood on the top of a wall behind the ruined Tokugawa tombs, looking up the hill and out over a sea of bamboo grass and zelkova trees, islands of fallen stone lanterns and broken down graves; I am searching for her clothes or her bag, when suddenly I see it –