The Mystery of Yamashita's Map

by James McKenzie

  After a few minutes’ drive they entered a large estate full of tall tower blocks. Fraser slowed down as they passed row upon row of tenement buildings. In the back the professor was quiet and stared out of the window at the growing number of food stalls and small shops that lined the pavements. Smells of all sorts wafted through the open window reminding him that he hadn’t had any breakfast that day. He sniffed at the air and felt his stomach rumbling.

  ‘Perhaps, er . . .’ he began, ‘we could stop and take a little air, or perhaps a little food.’

  Lisa thought a while. ‘You know, it might be a good idea to stop and ask someone about Amichi. We hardly know where to start here.’

  Fraser pulled up in a nearby alley and he, Lisa and the professor got out. The professor straightaway headed for a fried crab stall, rubbing his hands together and moving faster than either of the other two had seen him move for years. As he neared the stall he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. Lisa laughed.

  ‘Where do we start?’ she said to Fraser.

  Fraser thought a while. ‘Well, we know that he liked books. Perhaps we should scout around to see if there’s a bookshop nearby?’

  ‘But would they know him?’

  ‘Possible on a small island. It’s worth a try anyway.’

  Lisa agreed. They decided to split up to look for a bookshop and leave the professor to his crab. An hour passed and they still hadn’t found anything. Fraser and Lisa returned to where the car and the professor stood, the latter covered in grease.

  ‘Where have you two been?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, Fraser thought there might be a bookshop on the island, or at least someone who would remember Amichi. We went to look but . . .’

  ‘Nothing,’ the professor finished.

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘It is to be expected,’ the professor said rather pompously. Lisa felt disgruntled. She was, after all doing this for the old man; she would much rather be at home now, studying for her exams that were fast approaching.

  The professor licked his fingers. ‘Hung Shing,’ he said.

  Fraser and Lisa looked at each other. ‘What?’

  ‘The oldest and largest temple on the island is Hung Shing. It’s on Main Street about a mile away. They’ll know Amichi there.’

  Fraser stood open mouthed. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘The girl. The girl committed suicide in a temple. It was a place of safety for her, a place of refuge, a place where she had gone since she was a child, perhaps. I had a student once from England, highly strung and very sensitive but a brilliant student. Every time she had an exam she would go missing and I always found her in the stationery cupboard. It got so that every time she went missing I would just go to the stationery cupboard knock on the door and say, ‘Janet, I am waiting for your presence,’ and five minutes later she would come out and get on with her exam. Do you know why she did this? Habit. When she was a small girl she had a panic attack and, not being used to these things, her mother locked her in a cupboard to calm her down. The dark and the warmth worked and ever since at times of stress she would seek out a similar place. The same with our girl – she was under great pressure and wanted to find somewhere she knew.’

  ‘Uncle, that’s brilliant, I am sure you’re right. Where did you say it was?’

  ‘About a mile away, I think, but before we go, perhaps we could just stop at the soup stall?’

  The silence in the temple made it seem a million miles away from the street as they walked in. Fraser’s shoes tapped gently on the floor as they made their way through the main entrance and into the temple’s inner rooms. The professor began to examine the many golden artefacts that lined the walls. He neared a statue of the Buddha and gazed lovingly at its curves and its grace. The air was spiced with incense that seemed to waft on some unnoticeable breeze and imbue anyone who entered with its scent.

  Lisa noticed a priest bowed in silent prayer in front a large golden idol. She quietly made her way over to him. After a while the priest opened his eyes, bowed at the Buddha and turned to her.

  ‘Yes?’

  Lisa was taken aback: he was a young man, no older than her. She had assumed that all of the priests would be at least as old as her uncle and this one’s youth surprised her. His eyes were a deep brown and seemed to sparkle with an inner strength that caught her off guard.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

  Lisa stammered for her words. ‘I . . . I . . . was wondering if you could help with a small problem I am having.’

  The priest stood. ‘I will if I can. Tell me, what is it?’

  ‘I am looking for a cousin of mine.’

  Lisa swallowed hard. Not only was the priest her age but she was now lying to him. She gave a quick glance to the golden figure on her left. She had never been particularly religious, in fact her father had been an atheist for most of his life, but she had always been drawn to spiritual people and had a respect for the beliefs of all religions, more for their psychological strength than for anything else. ‘A cousin of mine called, Amichi? Do you know him?’

  The priest thought a moment. ‘Amichi? Amichi? No, I do not know him.’ Lisa was crestfallen. She had put her faith in her uncle’s ideas; and thought that every idea he had would bear fruit. She turned to go. ‘I do know her though.’

  Lisa stopped. ‘Her?’

  ‘Yes, Akina. A beautiful but unfortunate girl. She came into the temple often, sometimes just to look around, sometimes to pray. She was a good soul.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘Yes, she died very recently. She was not, I assume, your relative, otherwise you would have been aware.’

  Lisa caught herself. ‘Oh, oh no, I was not related, but I would like to pay my respects. Have you her address? Perhaps I can make some small amends.’

  ‘A kind gesture,’ the priest said. ‘A kind gesture indeed. Yes, and I know she lived in Lee Tung. That’s about ten minutes’ drive away.’

  Lisa thanked the priest and on the way out dropped a donation into the collection box. She explained to Fraser and the professor about the girl and about the priest never having heard of Amichi, the man.

  ‘Perhaps he wasn’t religious?’ Fraser ventured.

  ‘Possible,’ the professor added. ‘Or perhaps he never gave his name away. Perhaps he was too busy hiding from someone or something.’

  By the time they reached the Lee Tung estate it was beginning to get dark. Lisa parked some way from the main buildings and they made their way on foot to the tall high-rise apartments. They asked around, had anyone heard of the girl? Did anyone know Amichi? Did anyone remember anything about her? But no one said anything, everyone was tight-lipped. It was Lisa who spoke first.

  ‘If I didn’t know any better I would say that they knew but were keeping quiet.’

  ‘I thought the same thing,’ Fraser answered. ‘Everyone we ask hesitates as if they mean to answer but think the better of it. Perhaps I’m just being paranoid.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ the professor answered. ‘Whoever was following me, whoever broke into my apartment would have a lot of weight in a small place like this. Word of mouth soon gets around.’

  Fraser and Lisa agreed. There was something odd about the whole place, something strange, like walking into a party and having all the chattering stop or the obligatory scene in a Western where the stranger would walk into a bar and the piano player would stop. They decided to return to the car and plan their next move. As they neared it they noticed a shadow hovering around the bonnet. The falling dusk made it difficult to see but they could all clearly make out the figure of a small boy. They rushed up to him and Fraser caught him by the arm.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he yelled and the boy struggled to free himself. Fraser shook the boy. ‘What were you doing to the car? Tell me, tell me.’

  The boy seemed scared and began to cry a little as Fraser shook the life out of him. ‘I was waiting,’ he stammered. ‘I was waiting for yo
u to come back. I heard you were looking for Amichi.’

  Lisa stepped in and pulled the boy from Fraser. ‘Leave him alone! Leave him alone, he was trying to help us,’ she said and set the boy on the ground.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

  ‘You want to control your dog,’ the boy said, and Lisa laughed.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Huen.’

  ‘Do you want ten dollars, Huen?’

  The boy thought a moment. ‘You got to be kidding me, lady, the information I got for you is worth a hundred at least.’

  Lisa struggled to control her laughter. She liked this little street kid, who was dirty and smelled but was wise for his age.

  ‘Well, I’ll be the judge of that, shall I? What information have you got?’

  ‘About Amichi. I heard you were looking for him.’

  Fraser interrupted. ‘Him? You said him?’

  Huen recoiled. ‘You want to give him a bone or something.’

  Lisa turned to Fraser. ‘It’s OK, Fraser, let me handle this.’

  ‘Yeah, let her handle this,’ Huen said.

  ‘Yes, we are looking for Amichi. Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘Do I know anything about him?’ Huen laughed. ‘He was only my neighbour for most of my life. I only knew the whole family, him, her, the other her and the her that died.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Well, I did live there.’ He pointed behind him at the huge tenement block. ‘Until my dad died. Now I live in lots of places.’

  Lisa bought her hand to the boy’s face. He flinched a little and then stood still. ‘On the streets?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, the streets, the drains, the back of people’s houses, anywhere I can find. So, you want to know about Amichi then?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lisa, and pulled out a roll of dollars from her handbag. The boy’s eyes lit up, then faded as he looked around himself with a paranoiac air. ‘You don’t want to go flashing that around here, lady. There are some tough people around here.’

  Lisa laughed a little. ‘I think I’ll be OK.’

  ‘Well,’ said the boy. ‘It’s your money. Did we say one fifty?’

  Fraser leapt forward. ‘We said one hundred, you little creep.’

  Lisa shot him a glance. ‘One fifty it is.’

  She handed the boy the money and he counted it before bending over and stuffing the notes in his sock. He straightened himself and looked all about him, his bright eyes shining in the gloom of the evening.

  ‘Amichi’s granddaughter committed suicide recently in Hong Kong. They say his family is cursed now. They say that anyone who has their blood is sure to be in great danger. First Amichi dies, suddenly, after years of great misery, then all this business with his granddaughter, it was terrible, horrible. People round here found it hard to believe.’ He looked around him again. ‘They say that Amichi was a devil.’

  There was silence. The professor looked at Fraser, Fraser at the professor.

  ‘Is that it?’ Fraser asked. ‘Is that what we have paid you a hundred and fifty dollars for? Some mumbo-jumbo about a guy called Amichi, who we knew about anyway, whose granddaughter killed herself, that we could have guessed anyway. Why did she do it?’

  ‘The curse,’ the boy replied.

  Fraser threw his hands up into the air. ‘The curse! Well, that’s money well spent.’

  The boy lifted a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t make light of the curse. It’s all around you. If it can affect a great soldier it can affect anyone.’

  ‘Even if you don’t believe in it?’ Fraser retorted,

  ‘Listen, my friend, curse or no curse, I think you should seriously watch your step.’

  ‘Hang on . . .’ Lisa interrupted. ‘What was that last bit?’

  The boy spoke. ‘If it can affect a great soldier it can affect anyone.’

  ‘A great soldier?’

  ‘Yes, Amichi was a famous captain, fought alongside many of the best generals in the war.’

  The boy looked at Fraser. ‘I thought you would have known that.’

  Lisa thought. ‘No, no we didn’t. But if we looked through the records we could find out how many Amichis there were and how many served under well-known generals. That would give us a start in finding out where the map came from.’

  Huen’s ears pricked up. ‘Map?’

  Fraser pushed him to one side. ‘Never mind that. Yes, you’re right. Perhaps we should be out of here – there doesn’t seem like anything else we could hope to find here.’ He got into the car and started tapping on the wheel.

  Lisa sighed. ‘Perhaps we should be getting back, uncle. There are things that need to be checked out.’

  ‘You said a map?’ the boy asked.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Lisa said. ‘Really, it’s nothing.’

  Lisa and the professor both got into the car and Fraser started it. As Lisa waved to Huen, they sped off into the dim Hong Kong evening, leaving a trail of stone chippings to spray up into the cooling air. They moved away so fast they did not see the shadowy figure make its way from the nearest tower block. It moved quickly but silently, just visible in the bleak light, over to where Huen stood still rubbing the bulge in his sock where the money rested against his leg. The figure reached the boy and bent down to whisper in his ear whereupon the boy talked back. There were few words spoken between the two but what was said was clearly understood. A hand reached out and gave the boy more money than he had ever seen in his life and then they parted, one leaving to the right, back to the bridge, the other back to the storm drain where he spent the nights.

  In the car Lisa was excited and she and the professor chatted furiously in Japanese, a trait that annoyed Fraser, who only spoke a smattering of it. He concentrated on the road and the lights that constantly flashed across his face. The bridge was almost full to capacity now and the cars on it crept along with a dull regularity. As he turned off the bridge and down towards the dock he noticed something: lights in his mirror. They looked as though they were following him, every turn he made, every stop, they would turn or stop too. He resolved to test his theory and made a right turn, then another, then another, resulting in him arriving back at the same place he had started from.

  He looked in his mirror. They were still there. The left light of the car was slightly duller than the right – the bulb must be old, he thought to himself – so he knew it was the same car. He strained his eyes to see the colour but the rapidly closing darkness made it virtually impossible. He turned into Hong Kong Central and noticed with a sigh of relief that the place was swarming with cars. Soon he was so lost in the crowd that even he did not know where he was any more. He looked in his mirror but could not see the distinctive lopsided lights.

  ‘We lost them,’ he said, but neither Lisa nor the professor was listening. They still chatted about maps and books and strange soldiers called Amichi whose family suffered from a curse that followed them about like a blue Nissan.

  Chapter Four

  Lisa staggered over to where the professor sat, where he always sat. She dumped the armful of books down on the table and slumped on the seat next to him. ‘These are all the army registers since 1930. Every name of every soldier enlisted during the period 1930 to 1945. There must be thousands of names here, uncle.’ ‘Hundreds of thousands, I’d say.’ Well, how are we going to get through them all?’ ‘Well,’ the professor said, ‘We know he was a soldier during the war, so we can discount every entry after, say, 1943. It is unlikely that a raw recruit would reach the rank of captain in so short a space of time. We can also discount anyone who joined before about 1935 – they would be far too old to be our Amichi. So there’s an eight-year space. However, we can also discount anyone joining from the very poor districts. You have seen Amichi’s handwriting. It was the script of an educated man, which would cut, say twenty per cent of the names. Also we know that he survived the war, so we could first check the register of war deaths; this would leave only about f
ifteen per cent of the names to check.’ The professor leaned back with his legs on the table and his arms behind his head. ‘Shouldn’t take you more than an hour or so, Lisa. If you need me, just ask.’ Lisa gave a laugh of incredulity and opened the first book.

  The smoke rose about him but the wind had stopped completely. He was in the darkness again but this time he could hear movement. Who’s there?’ he asked, but heard no reply. He became agitated. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the darkness – to see the light again, to breathe the fresh air of the outside, to be free of this oppression. He grasped at his throat and gasped for air but the harder he tried the more difficult it became; the walls seemed as if they were closing in. Once again he heard the sound of movement and once again he cried out in the darkness. ‘Who’s there? Who is it? Speak, please!’ He felt a hand on his shoulder and was suddenly calm and quiet. The hand felt warm and reassuring, like a blanket thrown about him. He fell to his knees and still it caressed his shoulder and made him feel that he was not alone. The professor raised his own hand and placed it on top of the other. He knew he was safe now, he knew this presence would not let harm come to him; he felt as if everything had fallen into place suddenly, as if the world had become still. He looked up and saw the smiling face of a man he did not recognise. It was a harsh face, a face that had seen things, evil things, but a face that had come through. The skin that was stretched tight over the cheekbones was stained with mud and blood but it radiated a beauty that was easily discernible. The kind eyes looked down on the professor and seemed to absolve him of any sin he had committed, to take away any pain. For the briefest of moments the professor thought that he was witnessing a god.