by David Peace
For you, for me –
Fight! Fight!
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night – in all these times – Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station – in all these places – Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I appal them all and I get shunned and I get accused –
And they may hang me, they may jail me, they may pardon me, or they may release me, for their courts trade not in justice, trade not in truth, they deal in retribution, they deal in vengeance –
For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, on and on, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the victors and across the losers, on and on, over justice and over injustice, on and on, and from innocent hand to guilty hands, forever-guilty hands, money passes, money changes, money grows –
Lesson #2: dog eats dog.
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IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in a deserted factory, in a dark space, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
‘But I don’t know anything!’ screams the beaten, bruised and naked puppet on the concrete floor. ‘I know nothing!’
‘That’s a great pity,’ I tell him, ‘because no one needs an ignorant man, do they? They are simply surplus to requirements. Human garbage, in fact. Waste …’
‘Please, please, please …’
‘And you know what we do with garbage and waste, don’t you? No you don’t, do you? Because you don’t know anything, you know nothing. Well then, I’ll tell you. We drive the garbage and the waste out of the city and we dump it in holes …’
‘Please, please …’
‘Deep holes,’ I tell him. ‘Because no one likes the sight or the smell of garbage and waste …’
‘Please…’
‘Next!’
¥
Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
In a market, a black market, I am a gangster, a racketeer. I wake. I rise. Step by step. I steal. I sell. I steal things. I sell things. I make money. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –
Fight! Fight! Fight!
For you, for me –
Fight! Fight!
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night – in all these times – Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station – in all these places – Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I exploit them all and I get money and I get respect –
I license the market stalls. I take money and I make money. I burn down rival markets. I take money and I make money. I set up gambling dens. I take money and I make money. I set up whorehouses. I take money and I make money. I get money –
For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, on and on, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the strong and across the weak, on and on, over the satiated and over the starving, on and on, and from scared hand to scarred hands, scarred hands into top-pockets and back-pockets, fat back-pockets, money passes, money changes, money grows –
Lesson #3: dog steals another dog.
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IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in the police station, in an upstairs office, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
‘Thank you for coming,’ says the local chief puppet. ‘I know you are a busy man. Thank you for making the time to see me.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I say. ‘It’s my pleasure. Thank you for inviting me and taking the time yourself.’
‘Well, I wanted to thank you personally for all your efforts in helping us in our investigation …’
‘You’re welcome,’ I say again. ‘It’s not only my pleasure but also my duty as a local citizen …’
‘Thank you,’ says the chief puppet again. ‘Unfortunately, as you are aware, our investigation has yet to reach a conclusion.’
‘It’s a great pity,’ I say. ‘But I know you and your men are working tirelessly to catch this fiend. And I am certain, in the end, that you will be successful in your investigation.’
‘I appreciate your encouragement and support,’ says the chief puppet. ‘Thank you. As you are also aware, the Metro Detectives no longer believe the culprit to be a local man. They believe him to be a man with a military and medical background, who quite possibly served on the mainland during the war …’
‘Is that right?’ I say.
‘That’s their thinking, yes,’ he says. ‘That the culprit possibly even served with the Tokumu Kikan in China …’
‘Really?’ I say.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘And so the Metro Detectives are planning to question all the former members of the Tokumu Kikan they can find.’
‘That’s very interesting,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ nods the chief again. ‘I thought you’d be interested to know their present thinking, the current course of the investigation, as a concerned local citizen …’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ says the local chief puppet, being pulled to his feet. ‘It’s my pleasure. Please keep in touch …’
‘Thank you,’ I say again, bowing and leaving, a fresh fish and a bottle of sake on his desk.
¥
Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
In the upstairs room of a police station, I am a strike-breaker. I wake. I rise. Step by step. I provide men, big men. I provide sticks, big sticks. I crack heads, red heads. I break bones, red bones. In newspaper plants and in film studios, in factories and in universities. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –
Fight! Fight! Fight!
For you, for me –
Fight! Fight!
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night – in all these times – Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station – in all these places – Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I intimidate them all and I get money and I get more work –
I beat up strikers on their picket lines. I take money and I make money. I burn down the houses of union officials. I take money and I make money. I threaten and I bully, bully, bully –
For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, on and on, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the workers and across their unions, on and on, over their rights and over their jobs, on and on, and from dirty hand into dirtier hands, under the table and into back-pockets, back-pockets into wallets, big fat wallets, money passes, money changes, money grows –
Lesson #4: dog sells stolen dog to another dog.
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IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, on the Ginza, in a concrete building, in a brand-new office, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
‘Thank you for seeing me, Boss,’ I say. ‘I know you are a very busy man so, really, thank you very much.’
‘We’re all busy men,’ laughs the Big Boss. ‘Times may be tough, but there are still lots of opportunities for the man who is prepared to be busy. Still money to be made, always money to be made. Lots of money for the busy man …’
‘That’s the truth, all right.’
‘Yes,’ says the Big Boss, ‘and that’s why none of us likes anything to stand in the way of opportunity. Anything like a police investigation, a city-wide manhunt; obstructing our opportunities, impeding our businesses; asking questions none of us want asked, turning over stones that should be left as they are …’
‘So you’ve heard about the change in the course of the investigation, the T
okumu Kikan theory, then?’
‘They’ve already been here.’
‘Is it a problem?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ll deal with the Metro Detectives. But I’d like you to deal with the newspapers …’
‘The newspapers?’
‘Yes,’ he smiles. ‘The newspapers. It’s a promotion. A step up for you. A fresh opportunity …’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘Congratulations,’ laughs the Big Boss, pulling my strings and making me rise and making me bow, making me walk backwards.
‘Thank you,’ I say again, rising and bowing, walking backwards out of the brand-new office. ‘Thank you, Boss.’
¥
Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
In a brand-new factory, I am its brand-new owner. I wake. I rise. Floor by floor. I take old parts. I turn old parts into new parts. I sell new parts. I make money. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –
Fight! Fight! Fight!
For you, for me –
Fight! Fight!
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night – in all these times – Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station – in all these places – Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I take from them all and I sell to the rich and I get money –
I take from the Japanese, his goods and his labour. And I sell to the Americans, his people and his military –
For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, over the Korean War and over the Cold War, on and on, across the Vietnam War and across the Gulf War, on and on, from hand into wallet, wallet into banks, big banks / little banks, money passes, money changes, money grows –
Lesson #5: dog buys two dogs.
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IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in a suburb, down a lane, outside a two-storey house, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
‘Are you Mr XXXX of the XXXX newspaper?’
‘Yes, I am,’ says the puppet in the doorway.
I step back into the shadows. My best puppet steps out of the shadows. My puppet strikes Mr XXXX of the XXXX newspaper.
Mr XXXX of the XXXX newspaper is stunned. He touches his plaster forehead. He stares at his wooden hand. At the blood.
I step back out of the shadows. I pull a string to lift up the chin of Mr XXXX of the XXXX newspaper, to look into his eyes –
His blinking and his bloody eyes –
I say, ‘No more stories.’
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Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
In a firm, I am its managing director. I wake. I rise. Floor by floor. I buy. I sell. I make companies. I buy companies. I sell companies. I make money. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –
Fight! Fight! Fight!
For you, for me –
Fight! Fight!
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night – in all these times – Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station – in all these places – Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I recruit from them all and I pick their brains and I use them –
The graduates of the Tokyo and Kyoto Imperial Universities. The alumni of Ping Fan. I buy blood. I manufacture blood. I process blood. I sell blood. Black Blood and White Genes …
For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the little company and across the big company, on and on, over the successful company and over the unsuccessful company, on and on, and from hand into wallet, wallet into bank, bank into loans, cheap, cheap loans at low, low interest, money passes, money changes, money grows –
Lesson #6: dog breeds dogs.
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IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in a wooden building, in an upstairs office, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
‘Boss, boss! At the Kanda Myōjin Shrine, there’s a man there, looks exactly like the drawing of the Teikoku killer, wearing the same clothes and everything. It’s him! It’s got to be him!’
I look up from the flowers. I look up from the spots. I ask, ‘Where is he now, this man? Is he still at the shrine?’
‘Yes,’ says my puppet. ‘He’s still there.’
‘Then let’s go …’
¥
Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
In the boardroom of a company, I am its president. I wake. I rise. To the top floor. I buy. I sell. I make shares. I buy shares. I sell shares. I make money. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –
Fight! Fight! Fight!
For you, for me –
Fight! Fight!
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night – in all these times – Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station – in all these places – Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I have sold to them all and they thank me and they admire me –
For I have given them nice houses to live in and nice offices to work in, nice cars to drive and nice clothes to wear, I have given them the healthiest economy and the most stable government, the best technology and the safest streets in the world, I have given them comfort and security, good food and sound sleep –
But the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across empires and across democracies, on and on, over the well-fed and over the ill-fed, on and on, and, all the while, from hand to hand, hand into wallet, wallet into bank, bank into loan, loan to stocks and shares, my stocks and my shares, money passes, money changes, money grows –
Lesson #7: dog sells more dogs.
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IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, to Kanda, to the Myōjin Shrine, to the Setsubun crowds, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
‘Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi! Oni wa soto…’
‘Him!’ points my puppet. ‘Over there. That’s him!’
Aged between forty-four and fifty. About five feet three inches tall. Thin build with an oval face. A high nose and a pale complexion. Two distinctive brown spots on his left cheek. Hair cut short and flecked with grey. He is dressed in a brown lounge suit, wearing brown rubber boots. He has a white armband on his left arm on which is written ‘LEADER OF THE DISINFECTING TEAM’. He has a raincoat over one arm and is carrying a doctor’s bag –
‘It’s him, Boss!’ say all my puppets. ‘It’s him!’
I nod. I say. ‘Yes, it’s him. Take him …’
‘Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!’
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Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
In a backroom, I am a politician. I wake. I rise. Floor by floor. I buy. I sell. I buy people and I sell people. I buy votes and I sell votes. I make deals and I sell deals. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –
Fight! Fight! Fight!
For you. For me –
Fight! Fight!
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night – in all these times – Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station – in all these places – Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I smile at you all and I laugh at you all, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha –
In my department stores and in my advertisements, in my newspaper column
s and in my television shows, in my education acts and in my sound-trucks, in the history I teach you and the news I give you, in every piece of legislation, from every loudspeaker, I lie to you and I laugh at you, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha –
For my War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, my War Machine rolls on, across the rich and across the poor, on and on, over the bad and over the good, on and on, from hand to hand, hand into wallet, wallet into bank, bank into loan, loan into stocks and shares, stocks and shares into budgets, budgets and power, power, power, money passes, money changes, money grows –
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night, money grows, money blossoms and money blooms –
Lesson #8: dog is always hungry for more dog.
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IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in a deserted factory, in a dark space, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s you!’ screams the beaten, bruised and naked puppet on the concrete floor. ‘You are the killer! Not me …’
‘Just confess,’ I say again, ‘and then the fear will stop, the pain will stop, and we’ll tend to your wounds, we’ll deliver you to the police, and everything will be all right. If you just confess …’
‘Be gone from this place!’ he screams. ‘Be gone from this city, this Occult City, for this is not your city, this is my city!’
‘Leave this place?’ I laugh. ‘This city? This Occult City? This is not your city! This is my city!’
‘This is not your city,’ the puppet mumbles now, through his broken teeth and bloody lips. ‘This city, this city is a séance …’
‘A séance?’ I laugh. ‘This city is no séance.’
Now two of my good puppets lay this bad puppet down and they stretch it out upon a door which lies upon the concrete floor.
I take a mirror from my pocket. I crouch down beside it. I hold the mirror to its plaster face. I say, ‘This city is a mirror. Look!’
But the puppet upon the door upon the floor does not look. The puppet does not move. The puppet does not breathe.
‘It’s dead, Boss,’ say my own puppets.
