Authors: David Peace
I should not be here
…
Until I lay her down on the pale tatami mats of a second-floor room, frayed and well worn, the chrysanthemum wallpaper limp and
peeling.
Here in the half-light
. I take the bottle out of my pocket. I unscrew the cap of the bottle. I take the cotton wool out of the neck of the bottle. I begin to count the pills –
I should not be here
…
One Calmotin, two
. I count and I count. I take out a second bottle. I count out the pills.
Thirty-one Calmotin, thirty-two
. I count and I count. I take out the third bottle.
Sixty-one Calmotin, sixty-two
. I count and I count. The fourth bottle and then the fifth –
One hundred and twenty-one Calmotin
…
I should not be here, on my knees –
This is surrender
…
I should not be here –
This is defeat
…
*
Potsu-potsu
, the rain is still falling, the hot fat drops on the kettles and the pans;
potsu-potsu
it falls in its terrible rhythm on the crockery and the utensils;
potsu-potsu
on the clothes and the shoes;
potsu-potsu
on the cooking oil and the soy sauce –
No ‘Apple Song’ here tonight –
Potsu-potsu
it falls on the corrugated tin roof which covers the stairs up to Senju Akira’s office –
Potsu-potsu, potsu-potsu
…
Heavier and heavier –
Zā-zā, zā-zā
…
I clutch my knapsack. I start to shuffle backwards towards the door, on my hands and on my knees –
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Senju laughing at me now as he asks, ‘You didn’t bring me back any souvenirs from Tochigi then? Not very thoughtful…’
‘I am very sorry,’ I tell him and I bow again –
But now Senju has said too much
…
On my hands and on my knees –
He has said too much
…
I get off my knees.
He has said too much
. I open my old army knapsack.
Get off your knees!
I take out the 1939 army-issue pistol.
He has said too much
. I raise it.
Get off your knees!
I aim and I point it at Senju Akira.
He has said too much
. Senju sat cross-legged before
the long low polished table.
Get off your knees!
Bare-chested, with his trousers unbuttoned at the waist.
He has said too much
. Revolvers and short swords lain out on the table before him –
Get off your knees! Get off your knees!
‘It was you,’ I tell him. You who ordered Ishida to kill me. You who ordered Ishida to steal that file because Fujita told you it would buy Adachi’s silence. Because you knew Adachi would find out. You knew he would find out it was you; you who introduced Fujita to Nodera; you who set them up to kill Matsuda, your own boss, your mentor, the man you called brother; it was you…
‘You who ordered the hit on Matsuda…’
Now Senju looks up at me and smiles –
Senju laughing at me again now –
He, he, he, he! Ho, ho, ho, ho
…
‘Suddenly you’re a brave man, are you? With your grey hair and your stench of death, suddenly you’re a hero again, are you? Suddenly, back from the dead. Go on then, corporal…’
The 1939 army-issue pistol pointed at him –
‘Corporal what …? What’s your name…?’
The 1939 army-issue pistol aimed at him –
‘What is it this week, corporal…?’
The army-issue pistol in my hand –
‘Who are you today, cor–’
I pull the trigger.
Bang!
His forehead shatters –
I am off my knees
…
I can hear feet coming. I pick up the file and the papers, the money and the drugs. Feet up the stairs, through the doors –
Through the doors, and I shoot again –
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The first one falls, the other turns –
I run to the door and I shoot –
Bang! Bang!
The man falls down the stairs as I follow him –
As I step over the bloodstained patterned shirt.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. As I stamp on the American sunglasses.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
…
Now I run. Now I run away again –
Zā-zā, zā-zā. Zā-zā, zā-zā
…
Run to the station –
Zā-zā, zā-zā
…
The rain coming down in sheets of sheer white water, bouncing back off the train tracks and the umbrellas on the platform.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. Now the headlights of the Shinjuku train appear and the pushing begins, the shoving begins.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I push my way forward and I shove my way on board.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
…
He said too much. He will say no more
…
Now the doors close and the train starts.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. Pushed and shoved as we crawl along the tracks through the rain.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. But I cannot see this train at all.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. Now I do not itch and I do not scratch.
Zā-zā, zā-zā
. I close my eyes –
Zā-zā, zā-zā. Zā-zā, zā-zā
…
I am not here.
*
My hat pulled down and my jacket stretched over, I run down the road to the restaurant, half-way between the station and my house –
The one lantern swinging in the rain and the wind –
Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he! Ho, ho, ho, ho!
I pull back the sheet that acts as a door and the jokes, the smiles and the laughter stop dead.
Dead
. No jokes. No smiles. No laughter. Everyone has gone. There is no one here –
No one but the man behind the counter –
No one is who they say they are
…
‘Welcome home, corporal,’ says Chief Inspector Adachi –
‘This is not my home,’ I tell him. ‘This is not my home! ’
But Adachi nods. Adachi says, ‘This is all you have.’
‘Stop!’ I shout and scream, ‘You’re lying!’
‘They shipped you home from China in a strait-jacket,’ he says. ‘And they would have locked you up in Matsuzawa with your father, if it hadn’t been for me and Chief Kita.’
‘I don’t want to hear this!’ I shout.
‘I took you in as a favour to Kita and then, after the surrender, he repaid us both with these jobs –’
‘Stop!’ I shout again –
‘With these names –’
I can’t forget
…
But I am not listening to Adachi now. Now I am ripping apart the walls of this shack. Now I am tearing off the roof –
And now in the light, here in the bright and shining light, Adachi is gone; this man is Captain Muto again –
‘And I am all you have,’ he says –
‘They are coming for you.’
And I can hear them.
They are coming for me
. Door to door.
They are coming for me
. I can hear them.
They are coming for me
. Kita is coming, the Victors are coming.
They are coming for me
…
Now Captain Muto puts down a razor on the counter –
I should not be here, not tonight. I should be home
…
Next to the razor, the bottles of Calmotin –
‘Sweet dreams, Corporal Katayama.’
*
She is lying naked on the futon.
Her eyebrows shaved, her teeth black
. Her head is slightly to the right.
Her eyebrows shaved, her teeth black
. Her right arm outstretched.
Her eyebrows shaved, her teeth black
. Her left arm at her side.
Her eyebrows shaved, her teeth black
. Her legs parted, raised and bent at the knee.
Her eyebrows shaved, her teeth black
. My come drying on her stomach and on her ribs.
Her eyebrows shaved, her teeth black
. She says –
‘Marry me, please marry me…’
Now she brings her left hand up to her stomach. She dips her fingers in my come. She puts her fingers to her lips. She licks my come from her fingers and she asks –
‘Does this become me?’
Dressed in her yellow and dark-blue striped kimono, I smile, ‘It more than becomes you…’
The pills all gone
…
‘Marry me…’
I pick up the razor
. Nobody knows my name. Everybody knows my name.
I open up the razor
. Nobody cares. Everybody cares.
I untie the kimono
. The day is night. The night is day.
The yellow and dark-blue striped kimono
. Black is white. White is black.
It falls open
. The men are the women. The women are the men.
The razor in my right hand
. The brave are the frightened. The frightened are the brave.
I lower my right hand
. The strong are the weak. The weak are the
strong.
I lower the razor
. The good are the bad. The bad are the good.
The blade touches my skin
. Communists should be set free. Communists should be locked up.
I lift up my cock with my left hand
. Strikes are legal. Strikes are illegal.
The blade is cold
. Democracy is good. Democracy is bad.
My mouth is dry
. The aggressor is the victim. The victim is the aggressor.
My stomach aches
. The winners are the losers. The losers are the winners.
My heart aches
. Japan lost the war. Japan won the war.
I start to cut
. The living are the dead –
I cut and I cut and I cut and I cut and I cut
…
Until the dead are the living.
I cut
…
I am one of the survivors!
Until the walls of her room are stained red with blood, the tatami mats soaked black, and now her walls are gone, her mats are gone, and I am running through the streets –
One of the lucky ones!
Down these streets that are no streets, past shops that are no shops. In this city of the dead –
The Shōwa Dead
…
Their voices calling to me, their hands reaching out to me.
The Shōwa Dead
. The master of my usual restaurant.
The Shōwa Dead
. The friend from elementary school.
The Shōwa Dead
. The old man in the bar.
The Shōwa Dead
. My teammates from my high school baseball club.
The Shōwa Dead
. The woman at the streetcar stop.
The Shōwa Dead
. The colleagues with whom I graduated.
The Shōwa Dead
. The children, the children –
In the City of the Dead –
The Shōwa Dead
…
They call me –
Home
.
*
Running down my street, running towards my house.
In the half-light, I can’t forget
. The dirt on my knees, the blood on my hands –
The sun setting in the west, rain threatening –
The sides of the road littered with corpses on mats, men and women, young and old, soldiers and civilians, their eyes blank or closed, their flesh rotting and their bones dust –
The stench of rotten apricots
…
But there are no cars upon my street, the bridge collapsed into the river, all the restaurants destroyed and the farms abandoned –
Endless burnt fields, burnt fields of ash and weeds –
I cannot tell which of these houses is mine –
I cannot see for the tears in my eyes –
Now I remember. I remember
…
I have been away for too long –
I remember. I remember
…
I have failed my wife –
Now I remember
…
My children.
But then I recognize the gate to my house, now I recognize the path to my house. I open the gate, I go up the path –
Now I open the door to my house –
Their shoes face the door
…
I stand in the
genkan –
‘I’m home…’
Home
…
My wife and my children step out of the half-light, their airraid hoods are scorched, the bedding on their backs is black, their faces blistered and their eyes sunken, but they are alive –
I rush towards them, my arms around them –
I fall to my knees as I bring them close –
‘I thought you were dead,’ I cry –
‘I thought I had lost you…’
But now they push me away, they step back into the shadows as they raise their fingers and point at me –
The rain falling on me now
…
‘We’re already dead…’
Now there is no roof and there are no walls, only ashes, no mats and no screens, only ashes, no furniture and no clothes, only ashes, no
genkan
and no door, only ashes –
Their shoes are cinders
…
My right hand trembles, my right arm, now my legs –
For I have no wife, I have no children, only ashes –
Masaki, Banzai! Sonoko, Banzai!
…
I have no son and I have no daughter –
Daddy, Banzai! Banzai!
…
I have no home. I have no family –
Daddy, Banzai!
I have no heart –
Banzai!
…
In this House of Oblivion, I am death.
*
Through the buildings in disrepair and the grounds untended, the gates gone and the trees cut down, they are coming; past the faded paint and the worn linoleum, the stained uniforms and the grubby offices, they are coming; through the sounds of screams and sobs, the smells of DDT and disinfectant, they are coming now –
To the Matsuzawa Hospital for the Insane –
They are coming now. They are coming
…
Down these corridors and up these stairs, up these stairs and along another long corridor of locked metal doors, they are coming now; through locked metal doors into the secure wards, into the secure wards and down more corridors, they are coming now; down more corridors to the secure rooms, they are coming now –
They are here! They are here! They are here!
Dr. Nomura before the locked metal door –
Before the bolted metal hatch –
‘Here we are,’ he says.