Tokyo Redux

by David Peace

  Shh, you whisper, sat up straight now, your fingers to her lips, your head, your ear to the window, the street –

  hear a car door close again, the garden gate close again, boots up the path, knuckles on the door: first tapping, then knocking, now banging on the door, your door –

  Wait here, you say, pushing her off your legs, the books falling to the floor as you get out of bed, grab your robe, put it on, going out of the room, down the stairs –

  at the foot of the stairs, you pause, you swallow, tighten the cord of your robe, then walk to the door, your ear, your lips to the wood of the door, you hiss, Who is it?

  It’s me, comes a voice. Terauchi.

  You open the door, the door she left unlocked, see him standing there, in the wet, black night, pale in the night: both pale with fear, with fright, you say, The hell you think –

  I’m sorry, he says. But we need to speak –

  Let him in, Don, says Mary behind you, coming down the stairs behind you, at the door now, beside you now, with her coat on now, her left hand in its pocket –

  You open the door wider and let him in, show him through into the front room, sit him down, down at the table as Mary opens the cabinet, takes out a bottle and three glasses, puts them down on the table, uncorks the bottle, fills all three glasses, then smiles: Go on, Kōji…

  He nods, takes a sip, a gulp from the drink in the glass, then begins to say, to babble, They’re going to kill him, kill Shimoyama, that’s what they say, tomorrow morning, that’s what I heard. We need to warn –

  Who, asks Mary.

  He looks up, up at you both, from Mary to you, then back to Mary, and says, Shimoyama, President Shimoyama.

  Yes, says Mary. But who’s going to kill him?

  He sips, gulps again, spills, dribbles his drink, then tries to say, to stammer, I don’t really know who…

  You take the glass, the drink from his hands, put it down, down on the table, then grab the tops of his arms, stare into his eyes, hold his arms, his eyes, and say, Slow down, Kōji, slow down, and go back to the start, the beginning, and then tell us everything, and I mean everything –

  He nods again, looks again from you to Mary, then back to you; you smile, let his eyes, his arms go, and then you wait, you wait for him to start –

  I was in the Tokyo Railway Club tonight, he says, in Yūrakuchō tonight, when I saw this man, this man who was one of my superiors in the Kwantung Army, in Manchuria, but I hadn’t seen him since, though I knew he was back and was about, had heard he was doing well, well for himself, and…

  What’s his name, asks Mary.

  Kōji Terauchi looks again from Mary to you, then back to Mary, then whispers, Shiozawa. He’s a publisher now.

  Go on, says Mary again, nodding, smiling.

  Well, you know, so we start to talk, to drink, to swap and share stories, about the war, the people we knew, them who had died, those who’d survived, then about after, and now, who’s doing this, who’s doing that, and everything, what we’re doing, we’re thinking, about China, the Russians, America and Japan, you know, of course, all that’s going on, with Yoshida, the government, the railways, the strikes, the Commies and the Reds, all the shit that’s going on, what should be going on, how it should be done, what could be done, needs to be done, and we’re quite drunk by now, yeah, him more than me, when he says, suddenly leans forward and whispers and says, We could use a man like you, Terauchi, we could, a man who served his Emperor, his country, who still loves his Emperor, his country, who wants to see the Emperor, the country restored…

  And what did you say, asks Mary.

  I said what you’d told me to say, he says, if anyone asks, drops any hints, invitations, just like you told me to say, I say, I said, Any way I can, I want to serve, still serve, and he nods, but then, very quiet, so I almost can’t hear, he says, Remember back in China, how it was in Manchukuo, how sometimes we had to do bad things, things we didn’t like, didn’t want to do, but we had to do, still had to do, those bad things so good things, good things would come, would happen, good things for the Emperor, for Japan, you remember?

  You look down at this man, this man who says his name is Kōji Terauchi, sat at your table, sat in your house, your yellow house, and say, you ask, And do you?

  Shh, says Mary. Let him finish.

  Kōji Terauchi, this man who says his name is Kōji Terauchi, he looks again from Mary to you, then back to Mary, then nods and says, Yeah, I remember, we all remember, and that’s what I told him, Yes, I remember, and then he nodded, he nods and he says, Good, that’s good, Terauchi, because it’s the same, always the same, he says, Manchukuo then, Tokyo now, the battle’s the same, the war is the same, and so we have to do bad things, things we don’t like, if we want to win the battle, then win the war, for the Emperor and for Japan, you agree, Terauchi, do you agree?

  And of course you agreed, you say, you said yes?

  He looks at you, then at Mary, and he nods and says, Of course I agreed, I said yes, like you told me to say…

  Just let him finish, Don, says Mary. Please –

  Thank you, he says, thank you, because this is the part, the part you need to hear, because now he said, he says, The only way to beat the Reds, to crush the Commies, and to win that battle and then this war, is to turn the people of Japan, the people of the world, against the Reds and the Commies, and the way to do that is to shock the people, leave them appalled and horrified, and the only way, the only way to do that is to do a bad thing to a good man, to sacrifice a good man…

  Sadanori Shimoyama, you whisper –

  Yeah, he says. He said, I know President Shimoyama, met him in Manchukuo, a long time ago now, but he remembered me, took my call, listened to what I had to say, about information I had, about Commies and Reds in the union, the railway union, and so he wants to meet me, because he trusts me, asked me to meet him tomorrow, tomorrow morning at Mitsukoshi, the Nihonbashi Mitsukoshi…

  You grab Kōji Terauchi, this man who says his name is Kōji Terauchi, and shout, This is a crock of shit. Either he’s playing you or you’re playing us –

  Then why did I come here, he shouts back. Why’m I telling you all this, telling you to warn Shimoyama?

  Let go of him, Don, says Mary, taking your arm, pulling your arm off this man –

  Hell knows, you say, but this is bullshit, goddamn bullshit. He just happens to run into this guy he says he ain’t seen since the end of the war, this guy who just happens to know Shimoyama and be –

  Shut up, Don, shouts Mary, and then, softly now, she says, Please, Don, let him finish, let him tell us what the man wanted, why he’s obviously sought him out…

  Because he knows I’m back working for the railways, says Kōji Terauchi. Knows I’m in the union, so he wants me to go with him to the meeting, put Shimoyama at his ease, then help persuade Shimoyama to go with us –

  Go where, you ask. Where?

  He didn’t say.

  Kōji, says Mary, softly again, gently now. You think this man knows you’re working for us?

  No, says Kōji Terauchi.

  Are you sure?

  Yes, he says. He would have said, I know he would.

  Mary nods, nods again, then asks, And tomorrow morning, what time is the meeting, and where?

  Nine forty-five, he says. At the foot of the central staircase on the first floor of the store.

  Mary looks at you, then back at Kōji Terauchi, and asks, What time and where had you arranged to meet Shimoyama?

  He looks at you, then back at Mary, and says, Around half past nine, but at Shirokiya, not Mitsukoshi.

  Good, says Mary. That’s good; it means Shimoyama is still planning to keep his meeting with you, then to go on to Mitsukoshi to meet this guy Shiozawa.

  Hold on, you say, turning again to this man, this man who calls himself Kōj
i Terauchi. What did you tell him? Did you agree, tell him you were in?

  Yes, he said, then again, What else could I say?

  Good, says Mary again. Very good, Kōji, you did the right thing, well done. So we stick to our plan –

  What, you say, then, We have to –

  We have to warn him, nods Kōji Terauchi.

  Look, she says, says to you both. We need to give the list to Shimoyama, then Kōji can warn him.

  But what about Shiozawa, you say, both say.

  In the black, wet night, in the damp, yellow house, her coat still on, hand back in its pocket, Mary looks at you, looks at you both, then smiles at you, smiles at you both, and says, she says, I’ll deal with Shiozawa, boys, trust me –

  After all, she laughs now, turning to you, staring at you, we’re all on the same side here – right, Don?

  * * *

  —

  No, he said, shaking his head sadly, sadly smiling. No jam to-day, no jam to-morrow, as he put the jar back on the shelf and blinked, blinked again then turned away, wandering off down, down the aisle, then up, up another aisle. Even Meidi-ya, this store, his favorite store, seemed subdued, restrained, even in mourning, already in mourning. No Christmas decorations, piped carols this year, no, not this year. The same everywhere, all across town, the whole nation bowed, prostrate under this “Chrysanthemum Depression”: sales of end-of-year gifts and New Year’s cards were all down, people confused, uncertain whether it was appropriate or not to send cards which usually, traditionally carried celebratory messages, not when the Emperor was sick. Not sick, he’s dying, he said, though no one else ever dared, ever did, then whispered, whispered again to himself, May already even be dead. No wonder a record number of people – mainly young people, according to the Japan Travel Bureau man in the paper – had booked flights out of here. Who could possibly blame them? And at least, he thought, looking down at the basket in his hand, Meidi-ya had not canceled their orders for Stollen bread: as his mother had often said, though rarely ever been, One must always be grateful for small mercies, dear Donald. And at the counter, the register, the two kindly staff who carefully wrapped, then packed his wine, his sausages, red cabbage, and Stollen, they seemed most relieved, even delighted to take his money, not appalled at his lack of self-restraint, not appalled in the least. They even smiled, kindly smiled as they thanked and handed him his bag, warning him it was heavy, asking him to take care, please take care. And he did, did take care as he walked, slowly walked out of the store, said goodbye to this store, his favorite store, and turned, slowly turned to the stairs down, down to the subway, stopping first to catch his breath at the top, the top of the stairs, then carefully, paying attention, holding onto the handrail, he made his way down, slowly down the stairs, then along the corridor, the underground corridor to the ticket machines. He bought a ticket, then walked slowly through the gate and down, carefully down the next flight of stairs, holding the handrail, down onto the platform of Kyōbashi station.

  On the platform, under the ground, he put down the bag, the heavy bag, caught his breath as he waited for the train, the Ginza line train, back to Ueno, to Grete and home. He blinked, blinked again, then felt the wind come down the platform, out of the tunnel, blowing the skirts of his coat, his thin strands of hair. He turned, bending down, picked up the bag, the heavy bag, and watched the train pull in, the doors open, the people get off, quickly off, then he shuffled, slowly shuffled through the doors, onto the train, the busy train, looking right then left for a space, for somewhere to sit, to rest. A young woman rose, offered him her seat, and he blushed, bowed, and thanked her, but did not refuse her, just sat down with his face still red, he knew, bright red: tomato-ojiisan, no, always gaijin-tomato-ojiisan, he knew. No wonder people glanced, then stared his way, questioning, asking why he was here, this strange, old, foreign man with his bright, shiny, red face and strange, foreign food in his bag at his feet, why the fuck was he here, still here? All these eyes, their stares, all said, they said, Can’t you see, don’t you know, you’ve outstayed your welcome, it’s time you went home, left and were gone? The doors were open again now, the train in Nihonbashi now, the kind young woman getting off now. He nodded, bowed his head, his thanks again, and though she didn’t see, would never know, it made him feel better, a little better. But not for long, no, not for long, more people getting on, so many getting, pushing on, glancing again, staring again, he felt breathless again, chest tight again, struggling to breathe, the air in the carriage humid and sweet, so humid and sweet. He stood up to get off, had to get off, but the doors were closing, already closed now, the train moving, already leaving. He edged through the people, gently through the people, though some still scowled, he knew, they scowled, but did not care, he did not care, his head against the door now, the window of the door now, the darkness of the tunnel, the underground tunnel, waiting for the light, the air, he was waiting for the light, the air of the platform, the platform of the next station, praying for the next station and the doors, for the doors to open, open again –

  Bumped, jostled as he stepped through the doors, people pushed and passed around him, he almost slipped, almost fell, but did not slip, did not fall, on the platform, stood on the platform, now he turned, suddenly he turned, back to the doors, the doors closing, already closed now, the train leaving, already leaving now, pulling away, carrying away his wine, his sausages, red cabbage, and Stollen, all carried, all taken away.

  Damn you, damn you, damn you, he said, his hands, his fingers under his glasses, over his eyes, his tears, aloud he said, he cried, Baka, baka, baka, you stupid, stupid fool!

  He wiped, he dried his eyes with his fingers, his hands, then swallowed, sighed, then turned away, away from the space where the train, his bag had been and walked, slowly walked down the platform to the stairs, then began to climb up, slowly up the stairs, one by one, one by one, stopping every now and then, every now and every then to catch his breath, his breath again and curse, curse himself again, until he came to the top, the top of the stairs and went through, slowly through the gates, looking for the office, the lost property office – Don’t worry, Gre-chan, don’t worry: silly old Papa will get them to call up the line, every station on the line; they’ll find the bag, our bag, and keep it for us, dear Gre-chan, don’t worry; this is Japan – but where is the damn office, the lost property office, he thought, still looking this way and that, that way and –

  This is Mitsukoshimae, he realized now, suddenly now as he stared down the corridor, the low-ceilinged corridor that led to the store, the Mitsukoshi department store, with its marble columns, its tiled floor. In fright, shock, he turned, looked away, away from the corridor, into a corner, the shadows, he looked, saw and knew, knew where he was, this place was, in this corner, its shadows, this place that was not here, but still there, in the corner, the shadows, which whispered and said, You don’t see us, they said, but we see you, see you, yes, we do, see you, in this place not here, not here but there, still there, see you, yes, we do, see you –

  Sā-sā, rei, rei…

  No, no, he said, but felt, now felt the ground tremble, then shake, beneath his feet, felt the plates move, then shift, under his feet, plates of time, plates of space, they trembled, then shook, they moved, then shifted, under his feet, from under his feet, knocking him back, pulling him down, but then, and now, back in the here, back in the now, he felt a hand, a hand on his back, his arm, holding him up, keeping him up, and he turned, slowly turned, saw her smile, heard her say, Is this a private apocalypse, or can anyone join?

  You are following me –

  She nodded, she said, Not me, no. I was just passing, saw you here, in this corner, smiling then sobbing, whispering to yourself, then shouting at yourself. I’m here to help.

  I’ve lost something, left it behind, that’s all.

  She nodded again and said, Not something. Someone.

  * * *
/>   —

  Hell is he, you hiss, walking out of the shade, the shadows of the Shirokiya department store, coming up to Terauchi.

  He looks at his watch, shakes his head, and says, I don’t know. It’s not like him. He’s never usually late.

  Fuck, you say. Fuck. Come on –

  And you start to walk, then run, the two of you run: through the morning, down Ginza Street, over the river, the Nihonbashi Bridge, then across the road, over to the store, the Mitsukoshi department store, the south entrance to the store: the cars down a side street, all parked up in a line: you walk down the line, pass a black Buick Sedan, Number 41173, its driver dozing, its back seat empty –

  Fuck, you whisper.

  In the shade, the shadows of this side street, this store, Terauchi wipes his face, his neck, looks again at his watch, shakes his head, and says, Hell we going to do now?

  Come on, you say again, already crossing the road, walking toward the doors to the store –

  He says, But Mary said –

  Fuck Mary, you say, and walk through the doors, into the store, your hat pulled down low, but looking this way and that, that way and this, whispering, Where the hell is he?

  At the foot of the central pillar on the first floor of the store, Terauchi wipes his face, his neck again, looks at his watch again, and says, Maybe he’s stood us all up?

  The fuck is his driver doing out there then, you say, looking at your own watch. We’re too late…

  Or maybe Mary warned him?

  Then where the fuck are they, you say, and reach inside your jacket pocket, take out your notebook and pen, tear off a sheet of paper, scrawl a name, a number, then hand the sheet of paper, its scrawl to Terauchi: Go down to the basement, that Coffee Shop Hong Kong, the place we usually meet, there’s a phone in there. Dial this number, then ask for this man –