by David Peace
You’re smoking again, tutted Kanehara as he sat down in the empty seat at the counter next to Donald Reichenbach. You said you’d given up. You swore you had.
Donald Reichenbach sighed, stubbed out the cigarette, and said, I’m sorry. I’d forgotten I’d given up.
I don’t care, said Kanehara. He ordered a beer, then lit a cigarette of his own, exhaled, and said, Do what you want.
Donald Reichenbach turned slightly to Kanehara, gently touched his arm, and said, Please don’t be like this.
Like what, laughed Kanehara, leaning away.
You know what, said Donald Reichenbach, blinking, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. So cold.
Look, hissed Kanehara in a whisper, turning to Donald Reichenbach, his cigarette hand over his mouth. If you’re going to make a scene again, then I’m going to get up and go.
Donald Reichenbach swallowed, took off his glasses, wiped his eyes, then his glasses, then put them back on. He looked up, down the counter, raised his empty glass of shōchū to the Master, and asked for a little more ice, please.
And if you’re going to get blind drunk again, then I’m going, said Kanehara under his breath. I can’t stand it.
I’ve no intention of getting drunk, blind or otherwise, said Donald Reichenbach, trying to smile, reaching for the bottle. I’m just very pleased, very grateful you’re here. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d come. Thank you.
You’re already drunk, Donald, by the look and the smell of you, said Kanehara as he took the bottle of shōchū from Donald Reichenbach, poured just a splash over the glass of fresh ice, and then said, Honestly, after last time, I wasn’t going to come. I really didn’t want to, Donald, and I wouldn’t have done – except you said it was urgent?
Yes, said Donald Reichenbach, holding the glass in both hands, but not raising it. And thank you, thank you again for coming, and I’m sorry, so sorry about last time, really.
Kanehara drained his draft beer, glanced at his watch, then ordered another beer and said, What’s so urgent then?
It’s about Grete, said Donald Reichenbach.
Kanehara lit another cigarette, blew its smoke up toward the ceiling, shook his head, and said, No.
No, what?
No, I’m not going to pick up your mail, water your plants, feed your fucking cat, and change her fucking tray again while you swan off to the sun again, Donald.
Donald Reichenbach blinked again, tried to hold his eyes open, the tears in their ducts, then swallowed again, tried to catch, to hold the sob in his throat, then said, tried to say, Please, it’s just Gre-chan, just if something happened to me, I’m just worried what would happen to her –
If you’re that fucking worried, said Kanehara, the hiss in his voice again, then stop fucking drinking and smoking so much. Because I’m not going to look after her. Or you.
Donald Reichenbach knew he was shivering, trembling. He gripped the edge of the counter, stared down at his hands, and whispered, Please, Yoshi, please.
No, said Kanehara, banging his beer down on the counter, standing up, then walking out –
Heads turned again, people stared again. The Master was shaking his head, telling Donald Reichenbach this was the last time, enough was enough, don’t come again here, not with him again here, as Donald Reichenbach got to his feet, his face wet with tears, red with shame as he apologized again, again and again, paid the bill, then walked down the long counter, the long, silent counter, through the bead curtain, the sliding door, out of the izakaya, into the alley –
I won’t let you blackmail me anymore, said Kanehara, waiting for him, turning on him. I’ve had enough, that’s it.
It’s not blackmail!
Then what the fuck is it, Donald?
I love you.
No, you don’t. You never have, never will – never loved anyone, except for that fucking cat.
Please, don’t say that…
What the fuck should I say, Donald –
I don’t know, but…
Thank you? Is that what you want me to say?
No. Never. I just want, wanted…
What? What was this?
In the alleyway, off the main road, Donald Reichenbach reached out, held out his arms, his hands, and their palms toward Yoshitaka Kanehara, and said, I just wanted, want you to love me, like I love you.
Shut up, shouted Kanehara. Shut up! It’s not love and it never was – he pointed down the alley, across the road – in that park, in the dark, you pulled me into the shadows, unzipped my flies, pulled down my pants, and sucked my cock, never looked at my face, just my cock – I could’ve been anyone. Anyone.
Is that how you remember it? Really…
How else should I remember it? That is how it was.
It wasn’t like that…
Yes, it was. I was just another suck in the dark, a fuck in the park – I could’ve been anyone, Donald.
At the start, but…
But what? Then what? Your whore, then your nurse, your cook, your cleaner, your cat-fucking-sitter? Just because I was dumb enough, stupid enough to meet you again, then again, to fall for your tears, always with the tears –
No, whispered Donald Reichenbach, shivering, trembling as he pushed past Yoshitaka Kanehara, staggered past him down the alley to the road –
Yeah, go on, walk away, shouted Kanehara after him. Go on, like you always do, off to Zaza to drown your sorrows, dry your eyes in some young fucking crotch – don’t think I don’t know, Donald, just don’t ever fucking call me again.
He waited at the crossing, not for the lights but for the hand, the hand on his arm, but the hand never came: the lights changed and he crossed, still shivering, still trembling; barely able to see, to think, he crossed the road: bustled and jostled, banged into and bumped, by the bubbles of the Bubble, the last of the bubbles, no respect for the dying, the nearly dead, the almost dead: he nearly fell, he almost fell, almost but not quite, he made it to the curb, steadied himself, then staggered on: off the main street, back along a side street, back through the puddles and the neon, the smoke and the lanterns, back out onto and then across Shinobazu-dōri, back to the pond –
The pond dark, the park dark, his pond, his park, dark and silent, silent, so silent, he took the long way, the long way around, walked anticlockwise, against the wisdom of clocks, against time, these times: the pond on his left, the city to his right, past the steps to the porno theaters, the backs of cheap hotels, under the trees, in their shadows, the swings, the slides, still in the shadows, still under the trees, the homeless in their boxes, on their plastic sheets, more and more, day by day, night after night, they return again, returned: before the zoo, the exit to the zoo, he turned, turned left again, crossed onto Benten Island, walked through the precincts of the Benten shrine, lit golden and red, warm in the night, still the scent of incense on the air, the rustle, the creak of stems, the dead lotus stems, on the air, in the night: in der Nacht, der Nacht, round the shrine, behind the shrine he turned, turned left again: von Dunkel zu Dunkel, round past the Boat Pond, back along the promenade, Hydrangea Promenade, back to the bench, his bench: again the rustles, the creaks of stems, the dead lotus stems, again their temptations, the temptations to drink: wir trinken dich morgens und mittags, wir trinken dich abends, to drink and not think, in der Nacht, der Nacht, but no, not tonight: tonight he walked on, pushed on, past the bench, its temptations: von Dunkel zu Dunkel, away from the pond, out of the park, his pond and his park, out onto the road, to wait and then cross, back across Shinobazu-dōri, back to the slope, his slope –
Up the Slope of the Dead he walked, unremembered, unmourned, and unclaimed, he walked, slowly, slowly, up through the shadows again, under the trees again, the trees of the Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Gardens, the wind through their branches, rising again, in the shadows again, up beside its walls again, walls
of brick and stone, slowly, slowly, up he walked, through the shadows, past their walls, trying not to think, to listen to his thoughts, walls of brick and stone, to keep the darkness in: von Dunkel zu Dunkel, she smiled, she –
No, he spluttered aloud, at the top of the slope, and then again, No, as he stopped to find, to catch his breath again, slow and still his heart again: No, he said, No, then turned left, left again, then right and crossed the narrow street, right and straight to his apartment building, white in the night, the wind and now rain: through the doors, into the lobby, soft yellow and warm, warm and safe, past the mailboxes, his mailbox unchecked, he went, quickly, now quickly: to the elevator, up to his floor, along the corridor to his door: the key already in his hand, in the lock, he turned the key, the handle, the door open, he went inside, closed and locked the door: his back against the door, in the darkness of the hall, he caught his breath again, then switched on the light, blinked, and called out in tears again, Tadaima, Gre-chan. Tadaima, Papa’s home, tadaima…
Okaerinasai, she purred, against his shins, his calves, between his legs, his trouser legs. He picked her up, up into his arms, stepped out of his shoes, up into the hall. He held her, stroked her as he carried her down the short hall, over the polished wood of the unlit living-dining-kitchen room, into the bedroom, onto the mats and the bed as he stroked her again and again, as he said, I know you’re hungry, sweetheart, but we need to talk, to think, you and me, Gre-chan and Papa…
The wind, the rain against the window, its pane, the slight light of night, the night across the room, he slumped back on the bed, the cat in his arms, on his chest, still tight in his arms, she purred as he stroked her head, her back, felt her warmth through her fur, flesh and bones, quivering as he sighed and said, Don’t worry, dear, don’t worry. Papa will think of something, dear, some way out of all this…
Harder and stronger, the wind, the rain against the window pane, Grete had stopped purring, was staring into his eyes: her cat’s eyes in the dark, looking into his eyes, into him, deep into him, they questioned him…
Eine Gretchenfrage, they asked of him in the dark, the night, the wind and the rain: a question by Gretchen, a difficult question, in the wind, the rain, in his heart, his soul: a question of belief, of belief in God, in his heart and his soul, the wind and the rain, now a storm: wieder ein Sturm, a storm again.
* * *
—
In a whirlwind, Don and Mary, a whirlwind romance, Mary and Don, married within a month. Mary wants you to leave the Dai-ichi Hotel, move into the house, the yellow house, the House of the Dead: Mary works for the Far East Network, and they agree, agree to the move to the house: the Diplomatic Section agree, too, agree to your move to the house: GHQ drag their feet, but then they agree, agree to and approve your move to the house: the yellow house with its fresh coat of paint, its stairs fixed, rooms cleaned and aired: not the House of the Dead now, now the House of the Newly Wed: Mary finds and hires a cook, hires a housekeeper, even a gardener: Mary has money, old or new, clean or dirty, she does not say, you do not ask: lots of money and connections, lots of connections: Mary knows everyone, everyone knows Mary: she throws open the doors of the house, the yellow house, an open house, most evenings and weekends: a whirlwind, a social whirlwind: All part of the job, dear, she says, all part of the job, Don: the drinks and the dinners, the receptions and the parties: Don and Mary, mainly Mary, first disarming the Occupation and the Occupied, then charming the Occupation and the Occupied: smiling and listening through the chitchat and the small talk, laughing and encouraging secrets to be slurred, let slip, and be shared: This is the job, dear, the job, Don: late nights, then long nights, remembering and recording, filing and reporting: this is the job, the routine and the process: the way of life, your life together, together with Mary, in a whirlwind together: by night and by day, day after day, night after night, blowing through the fall into winter, the winter into spring: the world turning, the wind blowing, the wind of change across a world of change: Whittaker Chambers appears before the House Un-American Activities Committee, accuses Harry Dexter White, Alger Hiss, and others of being Communists: the Republic of Korea is established, then the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea is declared: the Foley Square trial of ten leaders of the Communist Party of the USA begins in New York: incumbent President Harry S. Truman defies all polls to defeat Thomas E. Dewey, Strom Thurmond, and Henry A. Wallace: the International Military Tribunal for the Far East sentences seven Japanese military and government officials to death: on December 23, 1948, all seven are hanged at Sugamo Prison in Tokyo: Give ’Em Hell Harry wanted photographs of the dead, hanging by their necks, published in the press: Dugout Doug, the American Caesar, defied Rome: Mac did not wish to further antagonize or embarrass the Japanese people, had never agreed with the trials, agreed instead with the last words of Hideki Tōjō: the leaders of the United States and Great Britain have made irreversible mistakes. Firstly, they destroyed a Japan that was the barrier against Communism; secondly, they turned Manchuria into a base for Communism; thirdly, they divided Korea into two and have created a dispute in East Asia. Therefore, the leaders of the United States and Great Britain have a responsibility to resolve these issues; thus, I am very pleased to hear President Truman was re-elected since these mistakes need to be addressed and resolved. By order of the United States military, Japan has abandoned all her armed forces; this would be a wise decision, if the rest of the world will do the same. If not, it will create a paradise for criminals in which the police have quit their jobs and criminals can run amok. I believe it is necessary for humans to rid themselves of greed if we are to eliminate wars from the world. Unfortunately, in our present world, no other countries have abandoned greed or war; this might be the proof that it is impossible for humans and nations to abandon greed and war. In this sense then, World War III is inevitable and the main parties will be the United States and the Soviet Union. These two powers have completely different philosophies and values, so it will be impossible for them to avoid conflict. In World War III, the battlefields will be in the Far East, in China, Korea, and Japan. Taking this into consideration, I ask the United States to plan to protect an unarmed Japan; without doubt, this is the responsibility of the United States. Please create a path for the eighty million Japanese people to survive: the wind of change across a world of change, a cold wind, a cold world, white and red, a whirlwind of red and of white: by night and by day, day after day, night after night, until one night, one night she knocks on your door, comes into your room, sits down on your bed, hands you a file, an open file, a photograph, and says, Mary says, This is the man, Don, this is the man –
9
The End of the Line
Summer 1949, Winter 1988
The Man Who Loves Trains leaves his British-style house in Kami-ikegami, Ōta Ward, between quarter past and half past eight every morning. Every morning, he gets into the black 1941 Buick Sedan, License Number 41173, provided for him by the National Railways, driven by his regular driver, Ōnishi. Most mornings, he will ask Ōnishi to take him directly to his office at the headquarters of Japan National Railways in Marunouchi, central Tokyo. He has recently been appointed the very first President of the newly created Japan National Railways; for the Man Who Loves Trains, who has always loved trains, you might think this job is the fulfillment of all his dreams, his childhood dreams as the Boy Who Loved Trains –
His nickname at school had been Tetsudō-sensei, “Professor Railroad,” in recognition of his ability to recite – from memory, by heart – the name of every station in Japan, from Wakkanai in Hokkaidō to Kagoshima in Kyushu; not only the names of the stations, but huge chunks of the timetable, the individual names and numbers of each locomotive, and how many passenger cars formed each train. Later, after he had graduated from the Engineering Department of Tokyo Imperial University and started working in the Transportation Bureau of the Ministry of Railways, he became known as “the Owl,” in part
due to the Harold Lloyd spectacles he wore but also from his habit of slowly turning his face to look at someone when they addressed him. Throughout his career, he has always been popular among his colleagues; he refrains from alcohol due to a persistent stomach condition, but learned to compensate for this social handicap with a repertoire of magic tricks. He is also known as a devoted son to his mother; during his interview for the Ministry of Railways, when asked who he most respected in the world, he had replied, My mother, sir. He is an equally devoted father to his four sons and husband to his wife; when he had been sent abroad on a two-year tour of the railways of the world, from February 1936 to December 1937, he wrote almost six hundred and fifty letters and postcards to his wife and children back home in Japan. Back home in Japan, the National Service Draft Ordinance and the Mobilization Law had placed the nation in a state of Total War; in 1939, he was seconded to the Ministry of the Army, attached to the Third (Transportation and Communications) Bureau of the Imperial General Headquarters; he was sent on “missions” to Karafuto, Manshūkoku, China, Korea, and French Indochina, then later to Hong Kong, Thailand, Singapore, and twice to Malaysia and the East Indies. By July 1941, he was working as a technical officer for the Planning Board of the Prime Minister’s Office; he was responsible for transportation and he had a vision: for war to become victory, transportation had to be efficient; to be efficient, transportation had to be modernized and standardized; modernization and standardization required rapid advances in science and technology; such rapid advances could only be achieved through the founding and funding of a separate new Agency of Technology. Following his successful lobbying of bureaucrats, politicians, and the military, the Agency of Technology was founded in January 1942, and he was appointed as head of the first department of its first section, in charge of General Affairs, with overall control of the Agency. His superiors, subordinates, and colleagues all noted that he had the rare ability to combine being both an engineer and a bureaucrat, of being able to explain complicated scientific and technological matters in a simple way to non-scientific and technological minds, particularly in the military. He was known to research thoroughly the backgrounds of every person he met – where they were born, which high schools and universities they had graduated from – and it was said he had inherited this political talent from his father, who had been a judge. But his family knew all the political and military machinations and maneuverings were taking their toll: he was hospitalized on a number of occasions for exhaustion and stomach ulcers. His family knew he just wanted the war to end and then to be able to return to the Ministry of Railways; he missed and pined for the railways and the trains, their absence only deepening, strengthening his enthusiasm and love. In late 1944, he got his wish, transferred back to the Ministry of Railways, promoted to Director of the Service Department, but it was only part of his wish: though defeat seemed inevitable, the war had yet to end; night after night, the destruction raining down from the skies grew only fiercer and fiercer, and, day by day, the difficulties in keeping the trains running only got harder and harder; the trains had to keep running, the railways being the lifeline of the country, but, he wrote, If I am to die, and I am certain I shall die, then I would rather die, and wish to die, in the service of that which I love most: the railways.
