Weeds in the Jungle

by Stuart Parker

murmured. He couldn’t get his voice to sound as proud as he had hoped.

  ‘I didn’t need to be told that. I can see you dress out of the UniQlo bargain box. If you want to get ahead in life, you need to associate with successful people like me. Well, here’s your chance.’ The man took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew the smoke into Taro’s face. ‘My name is Koki.’

  Taro found himself bowing. He had never before heard a name uttered like it really meant something.

  12

  Koki drove the latest Honda sports car. ‘We make better cars than we do swords and cigarettes,’ he said as the engine first came to life. The engine was so quiet the noise seemed to be coming from another car in another row of the dark gloomy car park.

  Koki drove to the exit boom gate and paid the parking fee and aggressively sped out into traffic towards the Tokyo bound expressway. Once on the fast, straight, pay-as-you-go roads, the Honda was able to stretch itself out. The power came with a luxurious sigh. Koki liked what he heard so much that he kept the Sony entertainment system down low. Taro recognised the system from his most recent trip to the Akihabara electronics town. It cost as much as another person’s car. It was playing a Doraemon cartoon.

  They travelled without conversing and before long they were in upmarket Ginza in the heart of Tokyo. It was where Taro had seen the first of these model cars. The streets were aglow with brand name signs.

  ‘Some people are glad the crime statistics are so low in Japan,’ said Koki, ‘but it just makes me feel alienated. I would’ve killed to get what I have now. And I’d definitely kill to keep it.’

  Taro wondered what he had really done to get what he had. There was still that element of danger and wildness in his manner. Having taken out a salaryman on his pizza round, Taro felt qualified to tell.

  They turned off into a side street. The houses were large and mind-blowingly expensive. Koki laughed at Taro’s reaction when he flicked on his indicator at one of the biggest. ‘You’re looking pale. If power makes you feel nervous, it’s probably because you haven’t been hanging out with the right kind of people.’

  The car slid into the garage like it was lubricated with butter. The other spot was occupied by a dark green jaguar. It was so shiny it might have last been polished five minutes ago. There was a man sitting on a wooden chair beside it with his arms folded. The dome of his bald head was just as polished, gleaming under the garage’s bright white lights. His bicep muscles were bulging against his chest. His eyes were still and they carried a sadistic bent.

  Koki turned off the engine and climbed out. He turned back to Taro. ‘I’m going to change jackets. I won’t be long. Why don’t you talk with Aso. He’s an old family friend. He’s our driver and man about the house.’

  The man did not acknowledge the introduction. He fired the remote control’s down button at the garage door. Koki strode out that way before the need to duck his head.

  The man named Aso waited a little longer before standing up. He put the remote control down on the chair. Taro was about to undo his seatbelt when he took in the full measure of the man’s burly frame and found himself inexplicably hesitating.

  Aso walked over to Taro’s door. His lips were like thin strips of sliced mackerel. His eyes were obscured by a permanent squint and overprotective lids. Knots of thick veins were crudely protruding around his temples and neck.

  ‘The master of the house has the privilege of saying whatever he pleases,’ Aso said with a menacing tone. ‘A simple servant like me, however, must always speak the truth. If the truth is too difficult to speak, he must forfeit his life to maintain the secret.’

  Taro had always been unnerved by the old Japan, and this man was the very embodiment of it. Taro could not recall having ever come this close to it. Not in school. Not with friends. Not delivering pizzas.

  ‘I am not a driver for the Nagashima family,’ Aso said. ‘I’m a retired jailer. I was once Nagashima Senior’s jailer. Koki’s father. We struck up a friendship. Despite being powerful and rich, he accepted my authority and complied with my directions. He knows I am a hard man capable of instilling discipline.’ His eyes locked on Taro. ‘Parents must fail first. Then teachers. And finally the young man himself. My only task is to not fail.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Now I’m an old man. Too old to be doing what I should be doing. But Nagashima-san gives me work. He does not disrespect me by asking for actions I may find objectionable. He gives me young men who are only one step away from prison. One step away from where I used to receive them. But what I do is more or less the same.’

  Taro felt as helpless as the freshmen being bullied by a merciless prefect. He would have tried to swing across to the opposite door but the interior was too narrow and he was trembling too much. Was the man crazy? Could Taro just wait for Koki to return and shoo the nightmare away? Taro knew that was wishful thinking. He had never encountered a nightmare he could simply wake up from. It took all his strength but he managed to open his door. That was the only solution. To establish that he was simply dealing with some oddball bluff.

  Aso stepped with casual nimbleness before the door hit his legs.

  ‘I want to go home,’ said Taro. ‘I have things to do.’

  ‘You are not going anywhere,’ said Aso in a soft command that Taro could feel reverberate under his trembling skin.

  Taro forced his rubbery legs to the roller door. He tried to open it but it was closed fast.

  ‘Come back here or you’ll be sorry.’ Aso’s voice had raised a fraction.

  Taro tried the door again. It merely trembled the way his body was trembling. Aso moved beside him with a series of predatory strides. His hand was clenched in a fist. ‘This is the last time you’ll ever doubt me.’

  13

  Taro woke up after that first beating in a tiny dark room. It might have been in the Ginza house, and it might have been anywhere. There were no clues to be had out the solitary window so small he could not have poked his head through it. Just a neighbouring concrete wall for a view. The glass must have been thickened, for only the rumble of heavy trucks could penetrate it and even then only as a barely perceptible murmur. Certainly there were no voices to be heard – not through the window and not through the door. Not even Aso’s. He was silent with the things he brought: food buckets, toilet buckets and beatings. It was the beatings that kept him in the room the longest. Every time they were different, finding new ways to hurt Taro in nerve points he hadn’t even known existed. Many a time Taro was certain his nerve endings were being crushed into paralysis. Sometimes he screamed, sometimes he cried, sometimes he was as silent as Aso.

  Was it days, months or years? His broken spirit was haemorrhaging lost time. He didn’t think, he didn’t dream, he didn’t move. And then one day, long after he had accepted that this was all there was, Aso spoke.

  ‘Tonight you will attend Koki. You will stay in the room you are taken to and you will do exactly what he orders. If you do your duties satisfactorily, it will be better for you. On the other hand, if you cause trouble, it will bring upon a very bad result. Do you recall that I never lie?’

  Taro nodded. Aso left the room then, no buckets and no beatings. He returned hours later with a bucket of water, a towel and a clean yukata robe.

  ‘Step outside when you’re ready.’

  Taro couldn’t move as quickly as he wanted to. It had been so long. Still, in all those countless beatings, no bones had been broken. He could do what he had to. He hurriedly washed, put the robe on and opened the door to a searing white light, which he realised was merely the ceiling light.

  Aso grabbed him impatiently by the arm. ‘Hurry up.’

  Taro lowered his head, shielded his eyes and allowed himself to be led. There was a downflight of stairs. There was a long corridor. He was almost collapsing with the head-rush, his dizziness accentuated by a jasmine fragrance that left no room for oxygen.

  A door was opened. He was taken into the room and pushed down onto a stool.

  �
�This is the spot,’ said Aso. ‘Stay here. Get your head together. There’s sake, food, towels and personal products. None of it is for you. When Koki arrives, you will attend him. And you will do a good job. Don’t embarrass me.’

  Taro was left alone then. His head was on his knees. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the light. There were tatami mats on the floor. There was a bar refrigerator and a hamper basket on the polished wooden benches.

  Taro looked around for a phone. Who would he call anyway? His mother? He tried to remember her number. His head dropped back down. She was lost in a mist of arbitrary numbers and thoughts.

  Koki found him in that state.

  ‘Hello, Taro,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It’s been awhile. I hear you’ll be working for us now. That’s great news. I’ve got an important house guest tonight. Actually, she’s very cute. So let’s do our best to make a good impression.’

  Taro shakily straightened himself up on the stool.

  Koki, wearing a white bathrobe, shook his head sympathetically. ‘Aso-san said you might not be so good on your feet to start with. Let’s work together and I’m sure everything will be fine. How does that sound?’

  Taro had not used his voice for so long that he was not even sure if it still worked. He nodded his head and coughed.

  ‘Okay,’ said Koki. ‘Now a nice bottle of expensive champagne