The fifteenth day of the eighth month of the twentieth year of Shōwa

Tokyo, 90°, fine

‘Detective Minami! Detective Minami! Detective Minami!’

I open my eyes. From dreams that are not my own. I sit up in my chair at my desk. Dreams I do not want. My collar is wet and my whole suit damp. My hair itches. My skin itches –

‘Detective Minami! Detective Minami!’

Detective Nishi is taking down the blackout curtains, bright warm shafts of dawn and dust filling the office as the sun rises up beyond the tape-crossed windows –

‘Detective Minami!’

‘Did you just say something?’ I ask Nishi –

Nishi shakes his head. Nishi says, ‘No.’

I stare up at the ceiling. Nothing moves in the bright light. The fans have stopped. No electricity. The telephones silent. No lines. The toilets blocked. No water. Nothing –

‘Kumagaya was hit during the night,’ says Nishi. ‘There are reports of gunfire from the Palace…’

‘I didn’t dream it, then?’

I take out my handkerchief. It is old and it is dirty. I wipe my neck again. Then I wipe my face. Now I check my pockets –

They are handing out potassium cyanide to the women, the children and the aged, saying this latest cabinet reshuffle foretells the end of the war, the end of Japan, the end of the world …

Nishi holds up a small box and asks, ‘You looking for these?’

I snatch the box of Muronal out of his hands. I check the contents. Enough. I stuff the box back into my jacket pocket –

The sirens and the warnings all through the night; Tokyo hot and dark, hidden and cowed; night and day, rumours of new weapons, fears of new bombs; first Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, next is Tokyo …

Bombs that mean the end of Japan, the end of the world …

No sleep. Only dreams. No sleep. Only dreams …

Night and day, this is why I take these pills …

This is what I tell myself, night and day …

‘They were on the floor,’ says Nishi –

I nod. I ask, ‘You got a cigarette?’

Nishi shakes his head. I curse him. There are five more days until the next special ration. Five more days …

The office door swings open –

Detective Fujita storms into the room. Detective Fujita has a Police Bulletin in his hand. Fujita says, ‘Sorry, more bad news…’

He tosses the bulletin onto my desk. Nishi picks it up –

Nishi is young. Nishi is keen. Too young …

‘It’s from the Shinagawa police station,’ he says, and reads: ‘Body discovered in suspicious circumstances at the Women’s Dormitory Building of the Dai-Ichi Naval Clothing Department –’

‘Just a moment,’ I tell him. ‘Surely anything to do with the Naval Clothing Department falls under the jurisdiction of the Kempeitai? This is a case for the military police, not civilian…’

‘I know,’ says Fujita. ‘But Shinagawa are requesting Murder Squad detectives. Like I say, I’m really sorry I pulled it…’

No one wants a case. Not today. Not now …

I get up from my desk. I grab my hat –

‘Come on,’ I tell Fujita and Nishi. ‘We’ll find someone else. We’ll dump the case. Just watch me…’

I go out of our room and down the main hallway of the First Investigative Division of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department; down Police Arcade, room to room, office to office, door to door –

Door to door. No one. Office to office. No one. Room to room. No one. Everyone evacuated or absent –

No one wants a case. Not today …

Just Fujita, Nishi and me now –

I curse. I curse. I curse …

I stand in the corridor. I ask Nishi, ‘Where’s Chief Kita?’

‘All chiefs were summoned to a meeting at 7 a.m….’

I take out my pocket watch. It’s already past eight –

‘7 a.m.?’ I repeat. ‘Maybe today is the day then?’

‘Didn’t you hear the nine o’clock news last night?’ he asks. ‘There’s to be an Imperial broadcast at noon today…’

I eat acorns. I eat leaves. I eat weeds …

‘A broadcast about what?’ I ask –

‘I don’t know, but the entire nation has been instructed to find a radio so that they can listen to it…’

‘Today is the day then,’ I say. ‘People return to your homes! Kill your children! Kill your wives! Then kill yourself!’

‘No, no, no,’ says Nishi –

Too young. Too keen …

‘If we’re going to go,’ interrupts Fujita, ‘let’s at least go via Shimbashi and get some cigarettes…’

‘That’s a very good idea,’ I say. ‘No cars for us, anyway…’

‘Let’s take the Yamate Line round to Shinagawa,’ he says. ‘Take our time, walk slowly and hope we’re too late…’

‘If the Yamate Line is even running,’ I remind him –

‘Like I say,’ says Fujita again. ‘Take our time.’

Detective Fujita, Nishi and I walk down the stairs, through the doors, and leave Headquarters by the back way, on the side of the building that faces away from the grounds of the Imperial Palace –

That looks out on the ruins of the Ministry of Justice.

The shortest route to Shimbashi from Sakuradamon is through the Hibiya Park, through this park that is now no park –

Black winter trees in the white summer heat …

‘Even if we are routed in battle,’ Nishi is saying, ‘the mountains and the rivers remain. The people remain…’

Plinths without statues, posts with no gates …

‘The hero Kusunoki pledged to live and die seven times in order to save Japan,’ he states. ‘We can do no less…’

No foliage. No bushes. No grass now …

‘We must fight on,’ he urges. ‘Even if we have to chew the grass, eat the earth and live in the fields…’

Just stark black winter trees …

‘With our broken swords and our exhausted arrows,’ I say. ‘Our hearts burnt by fire, eaten by tears…’

In the white summer heat …

Nishi smiling, ‘Exactly…’

The white heat …

Nishi in one ear and now the harsh noise of martial music from a sound-truck in the other as we leave the park that is no park, down streets that are no streets, past buildings that are no buildings –

‘Oh so bravely, off to Victory/Insofar as we have vowed and left our land behind …’

Buildings of which nothing remains but their front walls; now only sky where their windows and their ceilings should be –

‘Who can die without first having shown his true mettle/Each time I hear the bugles of our advancing army

The dates on which these buildings ceased to be buildings witnessed in the height of the weeds that sprout here and there among the black mountains of shattered brick –

‘I close my eyes and see wave upon wave of flags cheering us into battle …’

The shattered brick, the lone chimneys and the metal safes that crashed down through the floors as these buildings went up in flames, night after night –

‘The earth and its flora burn in flames/As we endlessly part the plains …’

Night after night, from the eleventh month of last year, siren after siren, bomb after bomb –

‘Helmets emblazoned with the Rising Sun/And, stroking the mane of our horses …’

Bomb after bomb, fire after fire, building after building, neighbourhood after neighbourhood until there are no buildings, there are no neighbourhoods and there is no city, no Tokyo –

‘Who knows what tomorrow will bring – life?’

Only the survivors now –

‘Or death in battle?’

Hiding under the rubble, living among the ruins, three or four families to a shack of rusted iron and salvaged wood, or in the railway or the subway stations –

The lucky ones …

‘We must fight on,’ repeats Detective Nishi. ‘For if we do not fight on, the Emperor himself will be executed and the women of Japan will be subjected to methodical rape so that the next Japanese will not be Japanese…’

I curse him…

Beneath telegraph poles that stand as grave markers, down these streets that are no streets, we walk as Nishi rants on –

‘In the mountains of Nagano, we shall make our final stand; on Maizuruyama, on Minakamiyama, on Zōzan!’

There are people on these streets that are no streets now, people that are no people; exhausted ghosts in early morning queues, bitter-enders waiting for lunches outside hodge-podge dining halls in old movie theatres, their posters replaced by slogans –

‘We Are All Soldiers on the Home Front …’

The sound-truck has gone and with it that song we have heard every day for the last seven years, ‘Roei no Uta’ –

Just the noise of Nishi’s voice now –

‘Every man under sixty-five, every woman under forty-five will take up a bamboo spear and march off…

‘To defend our beloved Japan…’

I stop in the middle of this street that is no street and I grab Nishi by the collar of his civil defence uniform and I push him up against a scorched wall, a scorched wall on which is written –

‘Let Us All Help One Another with Smiling Faces …’

‘Go back to Headquarters, detective,’ I tell him –

He blinks, open mouthed, and now he nods –

I pull him back from the black wall –

‘I want to make sure one of us, at least, is able to hear this Imperial broadcast,’ I tell him. ‘You can then report what was said, if Fujita and I are unable to hear it…’

I let go of his collar –

Nishi nods again.

‘Dismissed,’ I shout now and Nishi stands to attention, salutes and then he bows –

And he leaves.

‘Thank you very much,’ laughs Detective Fujita.

‘Nishi is very young,’ I tell him.

‘Young and very keen…’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But I don’t think he’d be too keen on our old friend Matsuda Giichi…’

‘Very true,’ laughs Fujita again as we walk on, on down these streets that are no streets, past buildings that are no buildings –

In this city that is no city –

To Shimbashi, Tokyo.

There are lines of soldiers unloading wooden crates from two Imperial Army trucks outside the temporary offices of Matsuda Giichi and his affiliates in an open lot near the back of the Shimbashi railway station; Matsuda Giichi himself giving the orders –

‘Sellers and Buyers Are All Comrades in Arms …’

Matsuda Giichi in a new silk suit, stood on a crate with a Panama hat in one hand and a foreign cigar in the other –

The brand new Emperor of Tokyo …

Matsuda smiles when he sees Fujita and me –

The only man smiling in Tokyo …

‘I thought you lot had all run off to the mountains,’ he laughs. ‘The last stand of the Japanese race and all that…’

‘What’s in the crates?’ I ask him –

‘Ever the detective, aren’t you?’ says Matsuda. ‘But you two might want to start thinking of changing your line of work…’

‘What’s in the crates?’ I ask again –

‘Army helmets,’ he says –

‘Not thinking of joining the war effort, are you?’

‘Little late for that,’ he says. ‘Anyway, I did my bit on the continent – not that anyone ever thanked me for my trouble. But, past is past; now I’m going to help this country get back on its feet…’

‘Very patriotic of you,’ I say. ‘But we’ve not lost yet.’

Matsuda looks at his watch, his new foreign watch, and nods. ‘Not yet, you’re quite right, detective. But have you seen all those columns of smoke rising from all those government buildings…?’

Both Detective Fujita and I shake our heads –

‘Well, that means they’re burning all their documents and their records. That’s the smoke of surrender…

‘The smoke of defeat.’

Two more army trucks pull up. Horns sound. Matsuda says, ‘Now I am very sorry to be rude but, as you gentlemen can see, today is a very busy day. So was there anything you specifically wanted? Like a new job? A new name? A new life? A new past…?’

‘Just cigarettes,’ Fujita and I say simultaneously.

‘Go see Senju,’ says Matsuda Giichi.

Both Fujita and I thank him –

‘Senju’s round the back.’

Fujita and I bow to him –

And curse him.

Detective Fujita and I walk round the back of Matsuda’s temporary office to his makeshift warehouse and his lieutenant –

Senju Akira stripped to his waist, a sheathed short sword in his right hand, as he supervises the unloading of another truck –

Its boxes of Imperial Chrysanthemum cigarettes –

I ask, ‘Where did you get hold of all these?’

‘Never ask a policeman,’ laughs Senju. ‘Look, those in the know, know, and those who don’t, don’t…’

‘So what’s with your boss and all those helmets?’ I ask him.

‘What goes around, comes around,’ smiles Senju again. ‘We sold the army saucepans to make helmets, now they’re selling us helmets to make saucepans…’

‘Well then, you can sell us on some of those Chrysanthemum cigarettes,’ says Fujita.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve actually got hard cash,’ says Senju.

Detective Fujita and I both shake our heads again –

‘Fucking cops,’ sighs Senju Akira as he hands us each five packs of Imperial cigarettes. ‘Worse than thieves…’

We thank him and then we bow to him –

And we curse him and curse him …

We share a match in the shade –

In the shade that is no shade …

We smoke and walk on –

There are uniformed police officers on duty at Shimbashi railway station, checking packages and bundles for contraband –

Knapsacks and pockets for black-market cigarettes –

Detective Fujita and I take out our keisatsu techō, our police notebooks, to identify ourselves at the gate –

The station and the platform are almost deserted, the Yamate Line train almost empty –

The sun is climbing, the temperature rising. I wipe my neck and I wipe my face –

I itch –

I itch as I stare out of the windows; the elevated tracks of the Yamate Line now the highest points left in most of Tokyo, a sea of rubble in all directions except to the east –

The docks and the other, real sea.

The uniforms behind the desk at Shinagawa police station are expecting us, two waiting to lead us down to the docks –

One called Uchida, the other Murota –

To the scene of the crime …

‘They think it might be a woman called Miyazaki Mitsuko,’ they tell us as we walk, panting and sweating like dogs in the sun. ‘This Miyazaki girl was originally from Nagasaki and had been brought up to Tokyo just to work in the Naval Clothing Department and so she was living in the workers’ dormitory…’

The sun beating down on our hats …

‘Back in May, she was given leave to go back home to visit her family in Nagasaki. However, she never arrived there and she never returned to work or the dormitory…’

The neighbourhood stinks …

‘Most of the workers have actually moved out of the dormitory now as the factory of the Naval Clothing Department is no longer in operation. However, there have been a number of thefts from the buildings and so the caretaker and his assistant were searching and then securing premises…’

It stinks of oil and shit …

‘They went down into one of the air-raid shelters, one that has not been used in a while, and that was when they…’

It stinks of retreat …

‘Found the naked body of a woman…’

Surrender …

This neighbourhood of factories and their dormitories, factories geared to the war effort, dormitories occupied by volunteer workers; the factories bombed and the dormitories evacuated, any buildings still standing now stained black and stripped empty –

This is the scene of the crime …

The Women’s Dormitory Building of the Dai-Ichi Naval Clothing Department still standing, next to a factory where only the broken columns and the gateposts remain –

No equipment and no parts –

The workers have fled –

This is the scene …

Two men sit motionless before the abandoned dormitory, sheltering from the sun in the shadow of a cabin-cum-office –

‘I really can’t understand it,’ the older man is saying. ‘I really can’t understand it. I really can’t understand it at all…’

The older man is the caretaker of the dormitory. The other, younger man is the boiler-man. It was the boiler-man who found the body and it is the boiler-man who now points at the two corrugated metal doors to an air-raid shelter and says, ‘She’s down there…

‘In a cupboard at the back of the shelter…’

The sun beating down on our hats …

I pull back the two corrugated tin doors and then immediately I step back again. The smell of human waste is overwhelming –

Human piss. Human shit. Human piss. Human shit …

Three steps down, the floor of the shelter is water –

Not rain or sea water, the shelter has flooded with sewage from broken pipes; a black sunken pool of piss and shit –

‘We could do with Nishi now,’ says Fujita.

I turn back to the caretaker in his shade –

‘When did this happen?’ I ask him –

‘In the May air raids,’ he says.

‘How did you find the body, then?’ I ask the boiler-man –

‘With this,’ he replies, and holds up an electric torch. ‘Pass it over here,’ I tell the boiler-man –

The boiler-man gets to his feet, mumbling about batteries, and brings the torch over to Fujita and me –

I snatch it from him.

I take out my handkerchief. I put it over my nose and my mouth. I peer back down the steps –

I switch on the torch –

I shine the light across the black pool of sewage water, the water about a metre deep, furniture sticking up here and there out of the pool. Against the furthest wall a wardrobe door hangs open –

She is down here. She is down here. Down here …

I switch off the torch. I turn back from the hole. I take off my boots. I take off my socks. I start to unbutton my shirt –

‘You’re never going in there, are you?’ asks the caretaker.

‘That was my question too,’ laughs Fujita –

I unbutton my trousers. I take them off –

‘There are rats down there,’ says the caretaker. ‘And that water’s poisonous. A bite or a cut and you’ll be…’

I say, ‘But she’s not going to walk out of there, is she?’

Fujita starts to unbutton his shirt now, cursing –

‘Just another corpse,’ he says –

‘You two as well,’ I say to the two uniforms from Shinagawa. ‘One of you inside, one of you holding these doors open…’

I tie my dirty handkerchief tight around my face –

I put my boots back on. I pick up the torch –

Now one, two, three steps down I go –

Fujita behind me, still cursing –

‘Nishi back in the office…’

I can feel the floor of the shelter beneath the water, the water up to my knees. I can hear the mosquitoes and I can sense the rats –

The water up to my waist, I wade towards the wardrobe –

My boots slip beneath the water, my legs stumble –

My knee bangs into the corner of a table –

I pray for a bruise, a bruise not a cut –

I reach the far side of the shelter –

I reach the wardrobe doors –

She is in here. In here …

I glimpse her as I pull at the doors, but the doors are stuck, submerged furniture trapping her within, closing the doors –

Detective Fujita holds the torch as the uniformed officer and I clear the chairs and the tables away, piece by piece –

Piece by piece until the doors swing open –

The doors swing open and, she is here …

The body bloated in places, punctured in others –

Pieces of flesh here, but only bones there –

Her hair hangs down across her skull –

Teeth parted as though to speak –

To whisper, I am here …

Now the uniform holds the torch as Fujita and I take the body between us, cold here, as we carry and then hoist it out of the black water, warm there, up the dank steps, hard here, out –

Out into the air, soft there, out into the sun –

Panting and sweating like dogs …

Fujita, the uniform and I flat on our backs in the dirt, the badly decomposed and naked body of a young woman between us –

Bloated, punctured, flesh and bones, hair and teeth …

I use my jacket to wipe myself, to dry myself –

I smoke a Chrysanthemum cigarette –

Now I turn to the two men sat in the shade, the caretaker and the boiler-man, and I say, ‘You told these officers that you think this might be the body of a Miyazaki Mitsuko…’

Flesh and bones, hair and teeth …

The caretaker nods his head.

‘Why did you say that?’ I ask him. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘Well, it was always a bit strange,’ he says. ‘The way she left and never came back. Never went home and never back here…’

‘But thousands of people have gone missing,’ says Fujita. ‘Who knows how many people have been killed in the raids?’

‘Yes,’ says the caretaker. ‘But she left after the first raids on this place and she never arrived back in Nagasaki…’

‘Who says so?’ I ask him. ‘Her parents?’

‘They might have been lying,’ says Fujita. ‘To keep their daughter from coming back to Tokyo…’

The caretaker shrugs. The caretaker says, ‘Well, if she did get back to Nagasaki, she’s as good as dead anyway…’

I finish my cigarette. I nod at the body in the dirt and I ask, ‘Is there any way you could identify this as her?’

The caretaker looks at the remains of the corpse on the ground. He looks away again. He shakes his head –

‘Not like that,’ he says. ‘All I remember is that she had a watch with her name engraved on its back. It was a present from her father when she moved to Tokyo. Very proud of it, she was…’

Fujita puts his handkerchief back over his mouth –

He crouches down again. He shakes his head –

There’s no watch on the wrist of this corpse –

I nod back towards the air-raid shelter and say to Detective Fujita, ‘It might still be down there somewhere…’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘And it might not be.’

‘How about you?’ I ask the boiler-man. ‘Did you know her?’

The boiler-man shakes his head. He says, ‘Before my time.’

‘He only started here this June,’ says the caretaker. ‘And Miyazaki was last seen around here at the end of May.’

I ask, ‘Can you remember the exact dates?’

He tilts his head to one side. He closes his eyes. He screws them up tight. Then he opens his eyes again and shakes his head –

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘But I lose track of the time…’

I can hear an engine now. I can hear a jeep …

I turn round as the vehicle approaches –

It is a military police vehicle –

It is the Kempeitai.

The jeep stops and two Kempei officers get out of the front, both wearing side-arms and swords. They are accompanied by two older men sporting the armbands of the Neighbourhood Association –

I want to applaud them. The Kempeitai. I want to cheer –

No one wants a case. Not today. Not now …

This body was found on military property; this is their dominion, this is their body, this is their case.

Detective Fujita and I step forward. Fujita and I bow deeply –

These two Kempei officers look very much like Fujita and I; the older man is in his late forties, the other in his late thirties …

Detective Fujita and I introduce ourselves to the men –

I am looking in a mirror. I am looking at myself…

We apologize for being on military property –

But they are soldiers, we’re just police …

There are briefer reciprocal bows –

This is their city, their year …

The younger officer introduces the older man as Captain Muto and himself as Corporal Katayama –

I am looking in a mirror …

I bow again and now I make my report to the two Kempei officers, the two men from the Neighbourhood Association still standing close enough to hear what I am telling them –

The times and dates. Places and names …

I finish my report and I bow again –

They glance at their watches.

Now Captain Muto, the older of the two Kempei officers, walks over to the corpse stretched out in the dust. He stands and he stares at the body for a while before turning back to Fujita and me –

‘We will need an ambulance from the Keiō University Hospital to transport this body to the hospital. We will need Dr. Nakadate of Keiō to perform the autopsy on the body…’

Detective Fujita and I both nod –

This is their body, their case …

But Captain Muto turns to the two uniforms now and says, ‘You two men return to Shinagawa and request that the Keiō University Hospital send an ambulance immediately and that Dr. Nakadate is made available to perform the autopsy.’

Uchida and Murota, the two uniforms, both nod, salute and then bow deeply to the Kempei man –

Fujita and I both curse –

No escape now …

Now Captain Muto gestures at the caretaker and then the boiler-man and asks us, ‘Which of these men work here?’ ‘They both do,’ I reply.

Captain Muto points to the boiler-man and shouts, ‘Boiler-man, you go get a blanket or something similar and as many old newspapers as you can find. And do it quickly as well!’

The boiler-man runs off inside the building.

The older Kempei officer glances at his watch again and now he asks the caretaker, ‘Do you have a radio here?’

‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘In our cabin.’

‘There is to be an Imperial broadcast shortly and every citizen of Japan has been ordered to listen to this broadcast. Go now and check that your radio is tuned correctly and in full working order.’

The caretaker nods. The caretaker bows. The caretaker goes off to his cabin, passing the boiler-man as he returns with a coarse grey blanket and a bundle of old newspapers –

The younger Kempei man now turns to Fujita and me and tells us, ‘Lay that body out on these newspapers and then cover it with this blanket ready for the ambulance…’

Fujita and I tie our handkerchiefs back over our mouths and our noses and set to work, laying the newspapers and then the body out, partially covering it with the blanket –

This is not our case any more …

But now the boiler-man nervously approaches the younger of the Kempei officers. The boiler-man’s head is bent low in apology, first mumbling and then nodding, pointing here and there in answer to the questions the officer is asking –

The conversation ends.

Now Corporal Katayama strides over to his senior colleague and says, ‘This man says there have been a number of thefts from our property and that he suspects these robberies to have been committed by the Korean labourers billeted in that building over there…’

The younger Kempei man is pointing to a scorched three-storey building on the opposite side of the dormitory –

‘Are these workers under any kind of supervision?’ asks the older man. ‘Or are they just free to come and go?’

‘I heard that they were under guard until the end of May,’ says the boiler-man. ‘Then the younger and stronger ones were taken to work in the north but the older, weaker ones were left here.’

‘And do they do any kind of work?’

‘They are meant to help us with the repairs to the buildings but they are either too sick or there are not enough materials available, so usually they just stay in there…’

Captain Muto, the older Kempei officer, who still keeps looking at his watch, now abruptly waves at all of the surrounding buildings and shouts, ‘I want all these buildings searched!’

Fujita and I have finished laying out the body on the newspapers. Now I glance at Fujita. I am not sure if Captain Muto means for us to search or not. Fujita doesn’t move –

But now the Kempei captain barks –

‘You two take this dormitory!’

Not our case any more …

Fujita and I both salute him. Fujita and I both bow to him. Then we march off towards the building –

I am cursing. Fujita cursing … ‘Nishi back in the office…’

Detective Fujita takes the top floor. I take the second floor. The knotted wooden floorboards of the corridor squeak. Knock-knock. Door to door. Room to room. Every room exactly the same –

The tatami mats, frayed and well worn. The single window and the blackout curtain. The thin green walls and the chrysanthemum wallpaper, limp and peeling –

Every room empty, abandoned.

The very end of the corridor. The very last room. The very last door. Knock-knock. I turn the handle. I open the door –

The same old mats. The single window. The same blackout curtain. The thin walls. The same peeling paper –

In another empty room.

I walk across the mats. I pull back the curtain. The sunlight illuminates a partially burnt mosquito coil on a low table –

The stench of piss. The stench of shit –

Human piss and human shit …

I open the closet built into the wall and there, among a heap of bedding, crouches an old man, his face buried in a futon –

I crouch down. I say, ‘Don’t be afraid…’

Now he turns his head from the bedding and looks up at me; the old man’s face is flat and his lips are chapped and parted, showing broken yellow dirt-flecked teeth –

He stinks of piss and of shit –

The old man is a Korean –

I curse and I curse …

He is a Yobo –

‘Congratulations!’

I look round; Corporal Katayama, the younger Kempei officer, is stood in the doorway, Fujita behind him, shaking his head –

‘Bring him downstairs!’ orders the Kempei man –

I stare at this Corporal Katayama –

I am looking into a mirror … ‘Quickly!’ he barks.

The old man buries his head back in the bedding, his shoulders shaking, mumbling and moaning –

‘I didn’t do anything! Please…’ His breath foul and rotten –

I take him by his shoulders and start to pull him from the bedding, from the closet, the old man wriggling and struggling –

‘I didn’t do anything! Please, I want to live!’ ‘Help him!’ the corporal orders Fujita –

Fujita and I drag the old man from the closet, from the room, by his shoulders, by his arms, then out into the corridor, back along the floorboards; we have an arm each now –

The man’s trunk and legs aslant –

His feet are trailing –

The Kempei officer marching behind with his sword in one hand, kicking at the soles of the old man’s feet, striking him with his sword to hurry him along –

Down the stairs –

Into the light …

‘That’s him!’ cries the boiler-man now. ‘That’s him!’

‘Get me two spades now!’ shouts the older Kempei officer and the caretaker runs back inside his cabin-cum-office –

‘You two, bring the suspect over here.’

Fujita and I march the old Korean man over to Captain Muto in the shade of the other dormitory –

Into the shadows …

The caretaker comes back with the two spades. Captain Muto takes one of the spades from the caretaker and hands it to the boiler-man. He nods at a patch of ground that might once have been a flowerbed, then perhaps a vegetable patch, but now is nothing but hard, packed soil stained black –

‘Dig a hole,’ he says.

The caretaker and the boiler-man begin to dig up the ground, the caretaker already sweating and saying, ‘He made a peephole to spy on the women workers as they bathed…’

The boiler-man wiping his skull, then his neck and agreeing, ‘We caught him and we beat him but…’

‘But he kept coming back…’

‘He couldn’t keep away…’

Captain Muto points at a spot just in front of where the two men are digging. The captain orders Fujita and me to stand the old Korean man in front of the deepening hole –

The old man just blinking –

His mouth hanging open.

Fujita and I push the Korean towards the spot, his body weaving back and forth like rice-jelly. I tell him, ‘There’s nothing to worry about. Just stand over here while we sort this out…’

But the old Korean man looks at each of us now –

The two Kempei officers, the Neighbourhood Association officials, the caretaker, the boiler-man –

Detective Fujita and me –

The dead body lain on the newspapers, the dead body partially covered by the blanket –

‘I am here …’

Then the Korean glances back at the freshly dug ground, at the hole that the caretaker and the boiler-man are digging, and now he tries to run but Fujita and I grab him and hold him, his body shaking, his face contorted as he cries out, ‘I don’t want to be killed!

‘I didn’t do anything! Please, I want to live!’

‘Shut up, Yobo!’ says someone –

‘But I didn’t do anything…’

‘So why did you just try to escape, Yobo?’ asks Captain Muto. ‘In Japan, innocent men don’t run away.’ ‘Please don’t kill me!

Please!’

‘You lying Yobo bastard!’

‘Shut up!’ shouts the younger Kempei officer now and he points over to the body beneath the blanket, the body lain out in the dirt and the sun by the corrugated metal doors to the air-raid shelter, and he asks the old Korean man, ‘Did you rape that woman?’

And the old Korean man glances again at the body on the newspapers, the body beneath the blanket –

Bloated and punctured …

‘Did you kill that woman?’

He shakes his head –

Flesh and bone …

Captain Muto steps forward. The older Kempei officer slaps the Korean’s face. ‘Answer him, Yobo!’

The Korean says nothing.

‘This Yobo is obviously a criminal,’ says Captain Muto. ‘This Yobo is obviously guilty. There’s nothing more to say…’

The old man looks up at us all again; the two Kempei officers, the Neighbourhood Association officials, the caretaker, the boiler-man, Detective Fujita and me; the old man shakes his head again –

But now all our eyes are fixed on Captain Muto’s sword, the Kempei man’s bright and shining military sword –

The sword unsheathed and drawn –

The blade raised high –

All our gazes slowly falling to one single spot above the old Korean man’s back –

One spot …

‘It’s time!’ shouts the younger Kempei officer suddenly –

The caretaker rushing back into his cabin-cum-office, shouting, ‘The Imperial broadcast! The Imperial broadcast!’

Everyone turns to stare at the office, then back again to Captain Muto. The Kempei man lowers his sword –

‘Bring the Yobo over to the radio,’ he shouts and marches off towards the caretaker’s cabin himself –

And everyone follows him –

To stand in a semi-circle before the open window of the caretaker’s cabin-cum-office –

To listen to a radio –

Listen to a voice –

His voice …

A voice hollow, sorrowful and trembling –

‘To Our good and loyal subjects …’

The voice of a god on the radio –

‘Oh so bravely, off to Victory/Insofar as we have vowed and left our land behind …’

I can hear the strains of that song from a sound-truck again, the strains of ‘Roei no Uta’ and the voice of a god on the radio –

‘After pondering deeply the general trends of the world and the actual conditions in Our Empire today, We have decided to effect a settlement of the present situation by resorting to an extraordinary measure …’

‘Who can die without first having shown his true mettle/Each time I hear the bugles of our advancing army

The strains of the song, the voice of a god, and the heat of the sun beating down on all our hats and all our heads –

‘We have ordered Our government to communicate to the governments of the United States, Great Britain, China, and the Soviet Union that Our Empire accepts the provisions of their Joint Declaration …’

‘I close my eyes and see wave upon wave of flags cheering us into battle …’

The strains of the song, the voice of a god, the heat of the sun, and the men from the Neighbourhood Association on their knees, heads in their hands, already sobbing –

‘To strive for the common prosperity and happiness of all nations as well as the security and well-being of Our subjects is the solemn obligation handed down by Our Imperial Ancestors, and which We hold close to heart. Indeed, We declared war on America and Britain out of Our sincere desire to ensure Japan’s self-preservation and the stabilization of East Asia, it being far from Our thought either to infringe upon the sovereignty of other nations or to embark on territorial aggrandizement. But now the war has lasted for nearly four years. Despite the best that has been done by everyone –the gallant fighting of military and naval forces, the diligence and assiduity of Our servants of the State, and the devoted service of Our one hundred million people, the war situation has developed not necessarily to Japan’s advantage, while the general trends of the world have all turned against her interests. Moreover, the enemy has begun to employ a new and most cruel bomb, the power of which to do damage is indeed incalculable, taking the toll of many innocent lives. Should We continue to fight, it would not only result in the ultimate collapse and obliteration of the Japanese nation, but also it would lead to the total extinction of human civilization. Such being the case, how are We to save the millions of Our subjects, or to atone Ourselves before the hallowed spirits of Our Imperial Ancestors? This is the reason We have ordered the acceptance of the provisions of the Joint Declaration of the Powers …’

‘The earth and its flora burn in flames/As we endlessly part the plains …’

The song, the voice, and the heat; men on their knees, heads in hands, sobbing and now howling –

‘We cannot but express the deepest sense of regret to Our allied nations of East Asia, who have consistently cooperated with the Empire towards the emancipation of East Asia. The thought of those officers and men as well as others who have fallen in the fields of battle, those who died at their post of duty, or those who met an untimely death and all their bereaved families, pains Our heart night and day. The welfare of the wounded and the war sufferers, and of those who have lost their home and livelihood, are the objects of Our profound solicitude. The hardships and sufferings to which Our nation is to be subjected hereafter will be certainly great. We are keenly aware of the inmost feelings of all ye, Our subjects. However, it is according to the dictates of time and fate that We have resolved to pave the way for a grand peace for all generations to come by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is insufferable …’

‘Helmets emblazoned with the Rising Sun/And, stroking the mane of our horses …’

The endless song, the endless voice, and the endless heat; men on their knees, howling, now prostrate upon the floor in lamentation, weeping in the dust –

‘Having been able to safeguard and maintain the structure of the Imperial State, We are always with ye, Our good and loyal subjects, relying upon your sincerity and integrity. Beware most strictly of any outburst of emotion which may engender needless complications, or any fraternal contention and strife which may create confusion, lead ye astray, and cause ye to lose the confidence of the world …’

‘Who knows what tomorrow will bring – life?’

The song is ending, the voice ending, the sky darkening now; the sound of one hundred million weeping, howling, wounded people borne on a wind across a nation ending –

‘Let the entire nation continue as one family from generation to generation, ever firm in its faith of the imperishableness of its divine land, and mindful of its heavy burden of responsibilities, and the long road before it. Unite your total strength to be devoted to the construction for the future. Cultivate the ways of rectitude; foster nobility of spirit; and work with resolution so as ye may enhance the innate glory of the Imperial State and keep pace with the progress of the world.’

‘Or death in battle?’

It is over and now there is silence, only silence, silence until the boiler-man asks, ‘Who was that on the radio?’

‘The Emperor himself,’ says Fujita.

‘Really? What was he saying?’

‘He was reading an Imperial Rescript,’ says Fujita.

‘But what was he talking about?’ asks the boiler-man and this time no one answers him, no one until I say –

‘It was to end the war…’

‘So we won…?’

Only silence …

‘We won…’

‘Shut up!’ shouts Captain Muto, the older Kempei officer –

I turn to look at him, to bow and to apologize –

His lips still moving but no words are forming, tears rolling down his cheeks as he brings the blade of his sword up close to his face, the thick blade catching the last sunlight –

His eyes, red spots on white …

He stares into the blade –

Bewitched.

Now he turns from the blade and looks into each of our faces, then down at the old Korean man still in our midst –

‘Move!’ he shouts at the Korean –

‘Back over there, Yobo!’

But the old Korean man stands shaking his head –

‘Move! Move!’ shouts the Kempei man again and begins to shove the old Korean back over towards the hole –

Kicking, prodding him with the sword –

‘Face the hole, Yobo! Face the hole!’

The Korean with his back to us –

The sword raised high again –

Eyes, red spots on white …

The man begging now –

The last sunlight …

Begging then falling, falling forward with a shudder as a cold chill courses through my own arms and legs –

The sword has come down –

Blood on the blade …

Now a desperate, piercing lament whines up from out of the mouth of the old Korean –

My blood cold …

‘What are you doing?’ the man cries. ‘Why? Why?’

The Kempei officer curses the Korean. He kicks the back of his legs and the Korean stumbles forward into the hole –

There is a foot-long gash on the man’s right shoulder where he has been cut by the Kempei’s sword, the blood from the wound soaking through his brown civilian work clothes –

‘Help me! Please help me! Help me!’

Now he claws wildly at the earth, screaming over and over, again and again, ‘I don’t want to die!’

‘Help me! Help me!’

But Captain Muto has lowered his bloody military sword now. He is staring down at the old Korean in the hole –

Each time the Korean comes crawling back up from the hole, the officer kicks him back down into the dirt –

The blood draining from his body –

Into the dirt and into the hole …

‘Help me!’ gasps the man –

The Kempei captain now turns to the caretaker and the boiler-man and commands, ‘Bury him!’

The caretaker and the boiler-man pick up their spades again and begin to heap the dirt back into the hole, over the man, faster and faster, as they bury his cries –

Down in the hole …

Until it is over –

Silence now …

My right hand trembles, my right arm, now both of my legs –

‘Detective Minami! Detective Minami! Detective Minami!’

I close my eyes. Eyes that are not my own. There are scalding tears streaming from these eyes. Eyes I do not want …

I wipe the tears away, again and again –

‘Detective Minami! Detective Minami!’

Finally I open these eyes –

‘Detective Minami!’

There are flags falling to the ground, but these flags are no flags, these buildings no buildings, these streets no streets –

For this city is no city, this country no country –

I eat acorns. I eat leaves. I eat weeds …

The voice of a god on the radio –

Hollow and sorrowful …

Everything distorted –

Heaven an abyss …

Time disjointed –

Hell our home …

Here, now –

Ten minutes past noon on the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the twentieth year of the reign of the Emperor Shōwa –

But this hour has no father, this year has no son –

No mother, no daughter, no wife nor lover –

For the hour is zero; the Year Zero –

Tokyo Year Zero.