He laughs, ‘Welcome to the New Oasis club…’
The ceiling is low and the lights are dim. If Fujita is here, then Fujita has crossed a line. The bar is long and the staff Korean –
I see Fujita. Fujita is here. Fujita sees me. Fujita has crossed the line. I think he’ll run but he smiles. Fujita smiling. He is smiling as he stands and walks down the length of the bar towards me –
What if he has a gun? What if he pulls it here?
Down the length of the bar, still smiling –
Hayashi Jo face down in the water …
Fujita bows and says, ‘Good evening.’
‘Hayashi Jo is dead,’ I say. ‘And Adachi is looking for you.’
‘Adachi knows nothing,’ he says. ‘But he says nothing and then lets you fill in the gaps for him. Congratulations, inspector –
‘He’s probably followed you all the way here…’
‘I told Adachi nothing,’ I say. ‘But he knows things.’
‘What does Adachi know? What is there to know?’
‘Adachi knows you went to the Minpo offices,’ I tell him. ‘He knows you went there to see Hayashi Jo…’
‘And so what of it?’ asks Fujita.
‘So they told Adachi that he was the third cop in the last three days to visit them and that you were the first…’
‘But that doesn’t mean I killed him,’ says Fujita. ‘Does it?’
‘But yours is the only name he’s mentioned,’ I tell him. ‘You’re the only person Adachi is looking for…’
‘I’m not afraid of Adachi,’ laughs Fujita. ‘The captain has his secrets, just like everyone else. Just like you.’
I curse him and now I curse myself…
I ask, ‘Did you kill Hayashi Jo?’
‘Now that’s a very strange question to be asking me,’ says Detective Fujita. ‘Because I hardly knew Hayashi Jo at all and it wasn’t me who gave poor old Hayashi’s name to Senju Akira…’
Day is night. Night is day. Day is night. Night is day …
Fujita smiles, ‘I thought that was you, corporal?’
Day is night. Night is day. Day is night …
Fujita laughs, ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’
Night is day. Day is night. Day is …
I start to speak but the lights go out –
Night. Night. Night. Night …
There’s been another power cut –
Night. Night. Night …
‘That was you, wasn’t it?’ whispers Fujita again, in the dark.
*
The power is still down and it is even darker now. The lights still out and I’m even drunker now. I’m drunk on Korean liquor. The stench of the liquor sticks to the sweat on my skin. My skin itches and so I scratch. Gari-gari. I scratch and I scratch until my arms bleed beneath my shirt. Gari-gari. My shirt heavy with sweat and now blood. Blood on my hands as I walk from the Ginza back towards Atago. Back towards Atago through the debris of Yūraku-chō. The debris of Yūraku-chō piled up in mountains and in monuments. In monuments to loss, loss under every archway. Under every single archway, down every single alleyway. Down every alleyway and in every shadow. In every shadow and in every shout. Every shout of –
‘Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu…?’
I look under every single archway. Down every single alleyway. In every single shadow. Until I find the one I am looking for. The one in her yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dress –
‘Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu…?’
In her white half-sleeved chemise and pink socks –
Her white canvas shoes with red rubber soles –
‘Asobu …? Asobu …? Asobu…?’
Her hair is black. Her skin is white –
Under an archway. In a shadow –
‘Asobu …? Asobu…?’
‘Asobu?’ she asks me in a harsh Tōhoku accent and I nod and I follow her deeper under the archway, deeper into the shadows where she asks me for the money first –
‘I’ve no money,’ I tell her –
And I curse myself again …
I take out my police notebook. I show her my police notebook and she curses me now and says, ‘I’m with the White Bird Society.’
‘So what?’ I tell her as I kneel her down on all fours–
I kneel her down on all fours and I raise her dress –
Her yellow and dark-blue striped pinafore dress …
She wears no underwear. She is naked beneath –
I screw her backside as she curses and curses –
On her knees. On her knees. On her knees … I turn her over and I lie her on her back –
I screw her cunt and then I come –
No country. No heart …
‘Finished?’ she asks in her harsh Tōhoku accent and I nod as she pushes me off her and stands back up and dusts herself down, rubbing at her knees and then at her palms –
Night is day. Day is night. The men are the women …
I stand before her now and I bow. I say, ‘I’m sorry I have no money. I’m very sorry. What’s your name?’
The women are the men …
And she tilts back her head, deep under the arch, deep in the shadows, and she laughs, ‘You choose: Mitsuko? Yori? Kazuko? Yoshie? Tatsue? Hiroko? Yoshiko? Ryuko? Go on, you choose…’
The dead are the living. The living are the dead …
‘Your name is Yuki,’ I tell her. ‘Yuki.’
*
I close my eyes, but I can’t sleep. Day is night. I can hear the rain falling. I open my eyes, but I can’t think. Night is day. I can see the sun shining. I close my eyes, but can’t sleep. Day is night. The good detective visits the crime scene one hundred times. I open my eyes, but can’t think. Night is day. The black night light behind the white Shiba trees. Close my eyes, but can’t sleep. Day is night. The white trees that have seen so much. Open my eyes, but can’t think. Night is day. The white branches that have borne so much. Close my eyes, can’t sleep. Day is night. The white leaves that have come again. Open my eyes, can’t think. Night is day. To grow and to fall and to grow again. Close eyes, can’t sleep. Day is night. I turn away. Open eyes, can’t think. Night is day. I walk away from the scene of the crime. Close, can’t sleep. Day is night. Beneath the Black Gate. Open, can’t think. Night is day. The dog still waits. Can’t sleep. Day is night. The dog still waits. Can’t think. Night is day. The dog still waits. Can’t. Day is night. The dog still waits. Can’t. Night is day. The dog still waits. Can’t. Day. The dog still waits. Can’t. Night …
7. August 21, 1946
Tokyo, 89°, slightly cloudy
There are dark grey clouds in the bleached white sky as night turns to day. I am vomiting in the toilets of Atago police station. Black bile again. There are newly written signs on the peeling plaster walls as I walk back upstairs. I stand over the sink. There are local government warnings about fresh outbreaks of cholera. I spit. There are instructions to refrain from drinking unboiled water, especially well-water, and to refrain from eating uncooked foods, especially raw fish. I wash my face. I look up into the mirror. I stare into the mirror –