by David Peace
Little Pyongyang, Edagawa-chō, Fukagawa, Kōtō Ward: not in the city, not in the river; an island adrift, a world apart. Eight rows of weather-beaten, two-storied clapboard tenements. Their wooden backs hard against the water of the river, its filth and its stench, their shanty fronts closed to the rest of the city, its venom and its violence –
That first building on the corner, on the other side of the bridge, whispered Akira Senju, that’s a tavern, that’s their lookout. They’ve got bells, they’ve got gongs. They’re watching us, Harry, waiting for us to make the first move.
And then in the headlights from the car and the trucks, Akira Senju raised his right hand high above his head, and Harry Sweeney heard men getting out of the trucks, jumping down from the backs of the trucks, and Harry Sweeney saw Akira Senju lower his hand, then step to one side, making a space between them, a space for two men and a youth –
In the headlights from the car and the trucks, Harry Sweeney turned to glance at the youth, and Harry Sweeney saw a Zainichi kid, a Japanese-born Korean youth, his young face bloody and swollen, his old clothes ripped and torn, a rope around his hands, a rope around his neck.
Take out your Public Safety badge, Harry, whispered Akira Senju. Hold it up and follow me…
And Harry Sweeney took out his Public Safety badge, held it up, and followed Akira Senju, past the signs and their warnings – NO ENTRY, RESIDENTS ONLY, DEATH TO ALL SPIES – and onto the bridge –
Before they came to the end of the bridge, before they put a foot on the island, Akira Senju stopped, and Harry Sweeney stopped. Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney looked up at the tavern on the corner, they stared up at this lookout with its bells and its gongs, dark and silent, watching and waiting, and Akira Senju shouted, You know me, you know who I am, and you can see him, that kid over there, you know who he is. You can have him back, back tonight, if you do what I ask, if you let us speak with his brother.
And then on the bridge, before the island, still looking up at the tavern, still staring up at the lookout, Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney waited, and waited, and waited…
Until a door at the side of the tavern opened and two men stepped out of their lookout, both men thickset and armed, one with a machete, the other with a pistol. The machete beckoned to Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney, and Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney stepped off the bridge, stepped onto the island, and approached the machete and pistol –
Bad news for you, said the pistol. He ain’t here.
Akira Senju shrugged: Ain’t bad news for us, but it ain’t so good for his little brother.
That is a shame, yeah, said the pistol, as other men stepped out of the tavern, stepped out of the shadows, other men thickset and armed. But then, what’s one more dead punk when we’ve killed you, the Emperor of Shimbashi?
Akira Senju looked the pistol and machete up and down, then nodded at Harry Sweeney and smiled: Yeah, but what you going to do about him, brave man? You going to kill an American police investigator, are you?
Don’t care about him, said the pistol. He can go running back to GHQ. This is between us, Senju.
Harry Sweeney stepped forward, Harry Sweeney stared at the pistol, and said, Anything happens to him, anything happens to me, General Willoughby will come burn this fucking shithole to the ground with all of you in it. Men, women, and children. Willoughby won’t care.
Akira Senju laughed: Turns out the rumors are true: I’m the man who would not die, the man you cannot kill.
Is that right, said the pistol, stepping toward Harry Sweeney, staring back at Harry Sweeney. I wonder?
Harry Sweeney did not step back, Harry Sweeney did not blink: Well, you can keep on wondering. Or you can find out. Or you can give us the brother. Your choice.
You deaf as well as dumb, Yankee, said the machete. We already told you, the brother ain’t here.
Harry Sweeney did not turn to look at the machete, Harry Sweeney kept staring at the pistol as he said, So?
So what, said the machete.
So where is he then?
We don’t know.
Harry Sweeney stepped back, looked from the pistol to the machete, from the machete to the other men, thickset and armed, and Harry Sweeney said, Someone does.
On this island, in this different country, where the night was still heavy, where the air was still wet, the pistol and the machete and the other men, thickset and armed, they stared at Harry Sweeney and Akira Senju, with hate in their eyes, with hate in their hearts, until the pistol shook his head, until the pistol said, The father’s dead, there’s only their mother.
She’ll do, said Akira Senju.
She’s a mudang, said the pistol. A shamaness.
I don’t give a shit if she’s the reincarnation of your Queen fucking Min, said Akira Senju. Let’s see her!
The machete and the other men laughed as the pistol said, You will give a shit, you’ll soon fucking see –
And the pistol turned and led Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney between the tenements, down the alleyways, the machete and the other men walking behind them, down the alleyways, between the tenements, the air fetid, the air laden – the sound of prayers from some of the houses, the sound of songs from some of the houses; Christian manifestos and Communist hymns, the Lord’s Prayer and the Red Flag – down another alleyway to another tenement, where the pistol tapped on the door, then the pistol opened the door, showing Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney inside the tenement and into a room, saying, These men are here about your sons, Auntie…
In a headband of black, with her hair in a bun, an old woman was kneeling on a mat in the center of the small room, among statues and bowls, a lamp and a saucer, candles and oil, water and food, and a knife, an iron knife, with ribbons attached to its handle, ribbons of red and ribbons of white…
Where’s your eldest son, Auntie, said Akira Senju. Where’s Lee Jung-Hwan?
The woman did not look up at Akira Senju, did not answer Akira Senju. She leaned forward and poured water into one bowl, put kimpche into another, then dried fish and seaweed, then peppers, red peppers, mixing in ash, stirring in salt, pouring the oil and lighting the wicks, flames flickering and smoke rising…
A car was stolen from outside the Mitsukoshi department store on the morning of July fifth, said Harry Sweeney. The car was found earlier today, close to here.
The woman did not look up at Harry Sweeney, did not acknowledge Harry Sweeney. She was bowing and she was muttering…
Mister Senju here is a man of many friends, a man who hears many things, continued Harry Sweeney. He heard your youngest son stole this car from outside Mitsukoshi. He found your youngest son, spoke with your youngest son.
Still the woman did not look up at Harry Sweeney, still she did not acknowledge Harry Sweeney. Muttering, then chanting, she got to her feet and she began to sway, to sway and then dance, dancing and chanting, chanting –
The twelve gates all locked –
Open up! Open up –
Twelve gates –
Open up!
Your youngest son, said Harry Sweeney, he told Mister Senju that he stole the car at the request of his big brother, for Lee Jung-Hwan and his friends.
On this fortress island, in this different country, in the tenement, in her room, amid the flickering flames, among the rising smoke, the woman was still dancing, spinning weightless in her robes, dancing and still chanting –
O great spirits, hear us now –
We who are but beasts –
Our tenuous lives –
Hanging by threads!
We’re not interested in your youngest son, continued Harry Sweeney. He can return to you tonight, come home to you tonight. But we need to speak with Jung-Hwan.
Amid the flickering flames, among the rising smoke, her body was trembling, her eyes were shining – he
r body and her eyes free from all flesh, free from all bone, from all ground and all ties, the room gone and the ceiling gone, the island and the land gone, gone, she was spinning and swirling, weightless and free, under moons and under suns, stars falling and clouds racing, moons waxing, moons waning, suns rising and suns setting, before the gods, before the spirits, their gates unlocked, their gates open – her eyes shining, her body trembling, she was moving in circles, she was rubbing her hands, together in communion, together in prayer –
O protect us please –
From all demons –
Protect and help us –
Help and save us!
Just tell us where Lee Jung-Hwan is, said Harry Sweeney. Tell us and save your youngest son.
In her circle of flames and smoke, in her circle of statues and bowls, the woman dropped to the floor, the woman picked up a bowl. She drank from the bowl, held the water in her mouth, looked up at Harry Sweeney, stared up at Harry Sweeney, then she spat at Harry Sweeney, she screamed at Harry Sweeney, shrieked:
Shoo, demon –
Shoo!
Just tell us where he is, shouted Harry Sweeney, wiping her spit from his shirt, bending down to look in her eyes, to stare into her eyes and shout again, Tell us where he is!
On the floor, in her circle, the woman reached for the iron knife with its ribbons of red and its ribbons of white, and she picked up the knife, and she held up the knife, and she pointed with the knife, pointed up at Harry Sweeney and hissed, He lives with you, he works for you…
Where, said Harry Sweeney, pushing the knife away from his face, grabbing the woman by her shoulders, her head lolling back, her eyes rolling back, shaking the woman, then gripping her face: Tell me fucking where! Where?
The woman was grinning, the woman was laughing, grinning at Harry Sweeney, laughing at Harry Sweeney, muttering and whispering, He lives with you, he works for you. In the big mansion, in its big grounds…
Fuck this, said Akira Senju, pulling Harry Sweeney off the woman, pushing Harry Sweeney toward the door, throwing him out of the room and into the alleyway. Fuck this!
Told you you’d give a shit, said the pistol, the machete and the other men laughing in the alleyway, between the tenements. You’re not in Shimbashi now, Senju.
Yeah, said Akira Senju, looking at the pistol, staring at the pistol. Well, let’s see if you’re still laughing in twenty-four hours, chonko. That’s how long you got.
For what, said the machete.
You bring me Lee Jung-Hwan, said Akira Senju, not looking at the machete, still staring at the pistol. Bring me big brother, the kid can still walk. But you don’t find him, or we find him first, then the kid is dead. And so are you.
* * *
—
His clothes still stuck to his skin, his hands still shaking, Harry Sweeney drained his glass of Johnnie Walker, his third double Scotch, and Harry Sweeney looked down the bar of the Dai-ichi Hotel, waved the empty glass at Joe the barman, saying, Hurry it up, will you, Joe. Man can die of thirst, you know…
Come on, Harry, said Joe the barman. Whatever it is, whoever she is, this ain’t gonna help, you know that, Harry.
Hey, what are you, Joe, a priest or a barman?
Maybe I’m just being a friend, Harry.
Is that right, Joe, said Harry Sweeney, slapping the top of the bar with one hand, pointing at the bottles behind the bar with the other. Well, maybe I don’t need no more friends, Joe, maybe what I need is just one more drink, Joe, please, Joe…
It’s okay, Joe, said Gloria Wilson, sitting down on the stool beside Harry Sweeney, patting Harry Sweeney on the arm, smiling at Joe the barman. I owe this man a drink, so let’s make it his one for the road, then I’ll see him home, Joe.
Is that right, said Harry Sweeney, turning to look at the young woman with the large eyes and the large nose, her hand on his arm. You gonna take me back to Montana…
Gloria Wilson smiled at Harry Sweeney and said, Sure, Mister Sweeney, if that’s what you want…
How about Muncie, Indiana?
Gloria Wilson laughed: I don’t think you’d care for Muncie, Indiana, Mister Sweeney…
How’d you know what I’d care for, said Harry Sweeney, leaning into Gloria Wilson and her big eyes, as Joe the barman placed their drinks down on the bar.
Gloria Wilson gently turned Harry Sweeney toward the bar and the drinks: You’re right, Mister Sweeney, I don’t. But how about we drink these, then go back to the hotel?
You wanna go back to my hotel with me, said Harry Sweeney, picking up his drink from the bar. You really aren’t like any librarian I ever met, Miss Wilson. You sure…
Mister Sweeney, please, laughed Gloria Wilson. What are you thinking? Your hotel is my hotel, the Yaesu Hotel.
* * *
—
They got out of the cab, they walked under the canopy and through the doors into the lobby of the Yaesu Hotel, Harry Sweeney leaning on Gloria Wilson, Gloria Wilson holding up Harry Sweeney. They crossed the lobby to the elevators, and Gloria Wilson smiled at the boy stood in number five –
Fourth floor, is it, asked the boy. Sir?
And the sixth, please, said Gloria Wilson.
Oh, really, said the elevator boy, not turning around, closing the doors. If you say so, ma’am.
What the hell you mean by that, said Harry Sweeney, trying to free his arm from Gloria Wilson, trying to step toward the boy. Apologize right now, you insolent piece of shit!
I’m sorry, sir, said the boy, still not turning around, the elevator going up. Thought you were both going to the same floor, sir. My mistake, sir.
You apologize to this lady right now, goddamn you, said Harry Sweeney, still trying to free his arm from Gloria Wilson, still trying to step toward the boy –
Gloria Wilson holding back Harry Sweeney, saying, Leave it, Harry, please, Harry…
Very sorry, ma’am, said the boy as the elevator stopped, as he opened the doors. Fourth floor, sir.
Gloria Wilson gently pushed Harry Sweeney out of the doors into the corridor, then she stepped back into the elevator, smiled at Harry Sweeney, and said, Goodnight, Harry.
In the corridor, before the elevator, Harry Sweeney looked at Gloria Wilson and smiled: Goodnight…
Told you it wasn’t a lucky floor, whispered the boy as the elevator doors closed. Bad luck, sir.
Harry Sweeney reached up to try to hold open the doors, but the doors had already shut, the elevator already going up, heading to the sixth floor. Harry Sweeney cursed and shook his head, then turned and walked away from the elevators, down the corridor, his right shoulder banging into the wall on the right, his left shoulder then banging into the wall on the left, until he came to the door of his room. Harry Sweeney found his key, took out his key, dropped his key, picked up his key, stabbed his key at the door, then at the lock, but missed the lock, then found the lock, put the key in the lock, then turned the key and opened the door. He staggered through the door, over two envelopes on the floor in the doorway. He felt the envelopes under his feet, picked up the envelopes from the floor. He stared down at the two envelopes, one posted from America, with his name and the address of the hotel, the other hand-delivered, with just his name and his room number. Harry Sweeney cursed again and tossed the two envelopes back down on the floor in the doorway. He stepped back into the corridor and slammed the door shut. He walked back along the corridor, right shoulder into the right wall, left shoulder into the left wall. He came to the elevators and he pressed the call button. He waited until elevator number five arrived, waited until the doors of elevator number five opened, until the elevator boy smiled and said, Sixth floor, is it, sir?
And then Harry Sweeney reached inside the elevator, grabbed the boy, pulled him out into the corridor, threw him up against the wall of the corridor, and the
n Harry Sweeney raised his fists and –
4
Until the Last Day
July 11–July 15, 1949
The fuck you do it for, Harry?
Harry Sweeney did not open his eyes, Harry Sweeney did not turn away from the wall. He lay on the cot in the cell and he waited for the voices to stop. For the cell door to close again, for the key to turn in the lock again. For the boots to march away again, away back down the corridor again, until the next time. Until the next time he heard the boots down the corridor, heard the key turn in the lock, the cell door open, and the voices start up again –
Come on, Harry, talk to us, tell us what happened.
Maybe the dumb fuck likes it in here.
The next time, the third time, with his eyes closed, his face to the wall, until the next time, the fourth time, he heard the boots, he heard the key, he heard the door, he heard the voices, the same fucking voices, the same fucking questions, over and over, and he opened his eyes, he turned his face from the wall, and he saw the two of them, standing over him, looking down on him. The Military Police. The one with the smile and the one with the scowl, always the same, the same fucking way, and Harry Sweeney said, Fuck you twice.
Hey, hey, don’t make it worse than it need be, Harry, said the one with the smile. Delinquency Report is all it is.
Harry Sweeney shook his head: A Delinquency Report, yeah? For not taking any crap from an insolent little Jap?
