‘Human rights!’ everyone laughs.
‘Like all this talk of new uniforms,’ says Kai. ‘All these calls for less militaristic ones, of blue instead of khaki, of sleeve stripes instead of shoulder boards. All this talk of new uniforms when we barely have enough men left…’
‘We’ve asked and asked and asked them for new uniforms,’ says Kanehara. ‘New uniforms and new boots or, if not new uniforms or new boots, then new material to patch up our old uniforms or new soles for our old boots, anything that stops our men looking like tramps and being despised by the public as tramps…’
‘And they’ve promised and promised us,’ says Adachi –
‘Yes,’ says Kanehara. ‘But that’s all they’ve done…’
The same people, the same place, the same time and the same two conversations every day, meeting after meeting until there is another knock on the door and another interruption –
‘Excuse me,’ says another uniform –
‘What is it?’ barks the chief –
‘The mothers are ready, sir.’
*
The autopsies have been performed, the search of the area has been completed, and five of the mothers have been told to come back to Headquarters. Five mothers who read the morning paper or heard the news from neighbours two days ago. Five mothers who have taken out their last good kimonos again. Five mothers who have called upon their other daughters or their sisters for a third time. Five mothers who have once again begged the streetcar or train fare up to Sakuradamon. Five mothers still looking for their daughters –
Five mothers praying we have not found them.
A uniformed officer opens the door to the reception room for Inspector Kai and me. Kai and I apologize to these five mothers for keeping them waiting, these five mothers in their last good kimonos, their other daughters or their sisters at their sides –
Praying and praying and praying …
These five mothers whose daughters’ ages and descriptions, their heights and their weights, the scars their daughters bore or the teeth their daughters lost, the clothes they were wearing and the shoes on their feet, the bags they were carrying –
On the days they were last seen …
These features and descriptions that help us eliminate or match the missing to the dead, these features and descriptions that have brought these mothers back here –
Their hands in their laps …
These five mothers who stare up at us now as Kai asks, ‘Which one of you is Mrs. Midorikawa of Meguro Ward?’
Blinking and nodding, Mrs. Midorikawa gets to her feet with the help of her two other daughters. Blinking and nodding, Inspector Kai and I lead them into a smaller room next to the reception room. Blinking and nodding, Mrs. Midorikawa sits between her two older daughters. Blinking and nodding, Mrs. Midorikawa is twisting a piece of cloth in her hands. Blinking and nodding, Mrs. Midorikawa is staring at another piece of cloth on the table. Blinking and nodding, the tears already running down her cheeks. Blinking and nodding –
The red haramaki with the five darned holes …
‘It was her father’s. Ryuko darned it herself,’ she tells us. ‘Five times. Replaced the buttons.’
Blinking and nodding as Inspector Kai picks up the haramaki, folding it in two and then wrapping it back up inside the brown paper, the crumpled brown paper –
‘Ryuko darned it herself,’ she repeats, blinking and nodding. ‘Ryuko darned it herself.’
I excuse myself. I step outside. I go back into the reception room next door. The four other mothers look up at me. The four other mothers stare up at me –
Mouths open …
I tell the four mothers that a car will take them up to the Keiō University Hospital.
*
Mrs. Midorikawa and her two older daughters do not speak in the car to the Keiō University Hospital. They do not speak in the corridors crowded with the dying and the dead, the waiting and the grieving –
She is here. She is here. She is here. She is here …
They do not speak as we wait for the elevator, as we watch the elevator doors open, as we step inside and watch the doors close –
She is here. She is here. She is here …
They do not speak as we ride the dark elevator down, as we watch the elevator doors open again, as the light returns –
She is here. She is here …
They do not speak as they walk along the corridor to the mortuary, as they put on the slippers, as they step through the doors into the half-light of the mortuary –
She is here, here …
They bow but do not speak when they are introduced to Dr. Nakadate, as the orderlies remove a stretcher from the refrigerator –
Here is Ryuko …
They do not speak as they stare at the raised grey sheet on the stretcher, as Dr. Nakadate reaches under the grey sheet, as he takes out a hand from under the sheet, as he holds up a left hand and points out a scar on the left thumb, they do not speak but they weep –
They do not speak but they weep and they weep –
‘I am here because of you…’
They weep and they weep but they still do not speak as Dr. Nakadate slowly pulls back the grey sheet, as he shows them the bleached face of a young girl, seventeen years old –
‘I am Midorikawa Ryuko of Meguro…’
They weep and they weep but they still do not speak until Mrs. Midorikawa finally looks up from the bleached face of her daughter, from the ruined corpse of her child and cries out, ‘Kodaira!’
*
Inspector Kai and I stand in the corridor between the autopsy room and the mortuary and wait for Mrs. Midorikawa and her two older daughters to finish their discussions with the Keiō staff about the funeral arrangements for her youngest daughter. Inspector Kai is smoking a cigarette. Inspector Kai is smiling. Inspector Kai is looking at his notebook, a name written three times –
Kodaira. Kodaira. Kodaira …
‘This time tomorrow,’ laughs Inspector Kai. ‘This case will be closed and I’ll be drunk…’
Dr. Nakadate’s assistant comes down the narrow corridor. He bows. He apologizes for interrupting our conversation. He hands me a piece of paper torn from a newspaper and says, ‘This was found folded in the pocket of the skirt of the pinafore dress on your body.’
I open out the piece of newspaper. It is an advertisement –
Salon Matsu in Kanda now hiring new staff …
It is a clue, at last. It is a start, at last –
‘You never know,’ laughs Kai. ‘Maybe this time tomorrow, we’ll both be drunk…’
I bow and I thank Dr. Nakadate’s assistant as Mrs. Midorikawa and her two daughters step out of the mortuary room –
The arrangements have been made.
Now Inspector Kai puts out his cigarette. Inspector Kai stops smiling. Inspector Kai takes Mrs. Midorikawa and her daughters back to Metropolitan Police Headquarters.
Now it is my turn –
I open the glass doors. I step inside the autopsy room. I walk over to one of the sinks. I take off my jacket. I roll up the sleeves of my shirt. I wash my hands. I dry my hands. I do up my shirt cuffs. I put my jacket back on. I walk over to one of the autopsy tables, octagonal, marble and German in design. I take out my pocket knife, blunt, rusted and Japanese. I cut the string of the three brown paper parcels waiting for me here on the table. I unwrap the brown paper of the first parcel. I take out the yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dress, the white half-sleeved chemise, and the dyed-pink socks. I lay these clothes out on one of the other autopsy tables. I unwrap the brown paper of the second parcel. I take out the two white canvas shoes with the red rubber soles. I place these shoes on the same autopsy table. I unwrap the third brown paper parcel. I take out the ladies’ undergarments we found near the bodies in Shiba, these undergarments that did not belong to Midorikawa Ryuko. I lay these garments out on one of the smaller separate dissecting tables –