‘But I cannot die,’ the detective continues. ‘I cannot die until I see Hirasawa executed. For I know he did that crime. I know he killed those people. So no more tears. No more tears for him.
‘For this city is a notebook. In blunt pencil and on coarse paper. A notebook now closed. A case now closed …’
A second candle now out.
But in his city of conviction, you say, you laugh, you scream, ‘I will give you tears, you dog! You deceitful, lying dog!’
Because you hate detectives, and you hate dogs, and all detectives are dogs, all dogs detectives, and so you push this detective, this dog, to the ground and you kick him in his gut and you kick him in his head, in his deceits and in his lies, and then you tip open his boxes and you rip up his notebooks, and now you take out your matches and you start a fire, a fire of his boxes and his notebooks, shouting, ‘Liar! Liar! Liar-Dog! Dog-Liar! You lie! Lie!’
But the detective is laughing at you, laughing and barking, ‘He did it! He did it! And you, you should thank me!’
Among the smoke and among the flames, his fingers and his paws, still laughing and still barking, as you shout –
‘It wasn’t him! I know it wasn’t him!’
But now the pasts and the futures, their memories and their dreams, their deceits and their lies, their voices and their words, are all gone again; the Black Gate, the occult circle spinning again, spinning and spinning, and you are spinning, spinning and spinning,
through the laden wind, through the haunted air,
spinning and spinning, the detective gone –
Only his notes, his words remain –
Taunting you, mocking you –
You and your book, your book that is no book, as you pick up your pen and then drop your pen, drop and pick up, start and then stop, stop and then –
Here beneath the Black Gate, in the occult circle of its ten candles, a voice whispers, whispers from the shadows, ‘I am a Survivor. And I have the same dream, night after night…’
And from out of those shadows, a woman crawls towards you, on her hands and on her knees, and she says again, ‘The same dream.
‘Night after night, the same dream …
The Third Candle — The Testimony of a Survivor
The city is a purgatory. Night after night, the same dream, IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, night after night, the same dream:
I AM THE SURVIVOR
But of course I know: only through luck
Have I survived so many friends.
But night after night
In dream after
Dream
I hear these friends saying of me: ‘Those who survive are stronger.’ And I hate myself
I hate myself
IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I wake up. It is cold, in the Occupied City. It is Monday and I do not want to get up. I do not want to get dressed. I do not want to go to work. Something is wrong. I want to lie all day beneath this quilt. To sleep and to dream, of food and warmth, of the man who will come and take me away from the cold and the hunger, of the man on a white horse who will save me from the Occupied City. But I must get up. I must get dressed. I must eat breakfast and leave for work. For it is Monday.
Monday 26 January 1948.
In the Occupied City, I walk through the mud and the sleet, the mud on my shoes and the sleet in my hair. Something is wrong. Maybe today the bank will close early. Maybe today we can leave early. Maybe today I can go back home early. Maybe I can lie again beneath my quilt. Because something is wrong. But I walk through the mud and the sleet, past the shrine and up the hill.
The road is busy and crowded, people coming to Shiinamachi to work, people leaving Shiinamachi to work. An American jeep sounds its horn and makes us all jump to the side. The wheels of the American jeep turn and splatter us with mud.
I know something is wrong.
I slide open the wooden door. I step inside the genkan to the bank. I take off my dirty shoes. I put on my freezing slippers. I go down the corridor into the bank. I say good morning to Miss Akuzawa and Miss Akiyama. We talk about the weekend and we talk about the weather as we change into our blue uniforms. We wonder if today the bank will close early. We wonder if today we will be able to leave early. To go back to our homes, back to our quilts. Then we go down the corridor into the main room of the bank.
In the warmth of the heater, in the light from the lamps, I take my seat at the counter and I wait for the bank to open, for the working day to begin, the working week.
Just before half past nine, Mr Ushiyama makes his usual speech which starts every week and we all bow and the clock chimes half past nine and the bank opens and the working day begins, another working week.
The customers come, from out of the mud and out of the sleet, and I greet them and I serve them and I think about my lunch and I listen to the sleet turn to rain as it falls on the roof of the bank. And just after half past twelve, Mr Yoshida tells me I can take my lunch. I change places with Miss Akiyama. I go down the corridor. I sit in the changing room. I take out my bento. I open the lunch box. I eat my cold rice and sour pickle. I drink hot tea from my teacup. I listen to the rain as it falls on the roof of the bank and I know I won’t be able to leave early today. And just before one, I go back to my seat at the counter and I greet the customers and I serve the customers.
Then, just before two, Mr Ushiyama tells us that he is not feeling well, not feeling well at all. He tells us he must leave early. He apologizes to us and he bows and he leaves.
‘Poor Mr Ushiyama,’ whispers Miss Akiyama. ‘He’s been sick since last week. It must be serious. He should go to the doctor. It could be, it could be …’
I stare at the counter and I nod my head. Something is wrong.
‘And then what if it’s contagious?’ says Miss Akiyama. ‘We might all have caught it. We might all become sick. We might all…’
I stare at the counter and I nod my head. Very wrong.
But I go back to my work. I go back to my thoughts:
Will no one save me from the Occupied City?
Just before quarter past three and the bank has closed for the day, and now I have only thirty deposits left to check. I will be able to do them in ten minutes. In ten minutes, I will be able to leave.
In ten minutes, I will be able to go back to my home, back to my quilt and back to my dreams. But something is wrong, very wrong. Something is not right today …
And then I hear the knock upon the side door. I have only twenty-five deposits left to check. I see Miss Akuzawa get up to open the side door. I have only twenty deposits left to check. I see Miss Akuzawa go into the back of the bank. Fifteen deposits. I see Miss Akuzawa go to the front door of the bank. Fourteen deposits. I see the front door open and a man step inside. Is this the man? Thirteen deposits. I see the man take off his boots and put on the pair of slippers Miss Akuzawa offers him. The man who will save me? The man is in his forties but he has a handsome, oval face. Save me from the Occupied City? I hear Miss Akuzawa tell the man that the manager has already left, but that our assistant manager will see him.
I hope this does not mean extra work. I hope this does not mean I cannot leave soon. I see Miss Akuzawa lead the man past my counter and into the back of the bank. Now Miss Akiyama gets up from her seat next to mine and I turn back to the deposits:
Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six deposits. Five, four, three, two, one deposit, none. I have finished now.