Occupied City (9 page)

And now we are led through the crowds to the cars, the cars which are waiting to take us back, back to the bank, the bank and the scene of the crime. And so we sit in the backs of these cars and we
stare out at the cold, grey Occupied City, the cold, grey Occupied City which stares back into these cars at us and whispers through the windows,
‘In due time, in due time

The cars turn up past the Nagasaki Shrine and now the cars pull up outside the Shiinamachi branch of the Teikoku Bank and I don’t want to get out of the car, I don’t want to get out of the car, but a policeman has the door open and my hand in his as I step out of the car and into the mud and into the sleet and I want to drop to the ground and crawl on my hands and on my knees away from this place, away from this city, but where would I crawl, where would I go, for there are no white horses here, no one here to save me from the Occupied City, and now I am standing in the
genkan
of the bank, taking off my hospital shoes, putting on my freezing slippers and going down the corridor into the bank with my eyes closed tight, tight, tight; tight, tight, tight for I AM THE SURVIVOR

But of course I know: only through luck

Have I survived so many friends.

But night after night

In dream after

Dream

I hear these friends saying of me: ‘Those who survive are stronger.’ And I hate myself

I hate myself

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I wake up. It is cold, in the Occupied City. I do not know what day it is and I do not want to get up. I do not want to get dressed.
For something is wrong
. But I do not want to lie all day beneath this quilt. I do not want to sleep because I do not want to dream. So I get up and I think,
something is wrong
. The room is cold and I know,
something is very wrong
. I walk through the house but no one is here. I open cupboards and I open drawers. Among the rubbish I find the newspaper and I open the newspaper and I look for his name, for
Takeuchi Riichi
. And I find his name and I see the story he has written, a story about a letter, a letter his paper has received and I read the story, I read his words:

And now I hear the tapping on the front door and I am walking through the house and I am opening the door, hoping and praying that he will be here, here to take me away, to save me from the Occupied City, but it is only another policeman, only another car, another car come to take me back to the police station, back for another interview and another look through another book of photographs, and so I sit in the back of another car and I stare again at the cold, grey Occupied City, the cold, grey Occupied City which stares back into the car at me and whispers again and again and again through the window,
‘In due time, in due time

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in the Mejiro Police Station, the detectives say, ‘The man’s name is Hibi Shosuke. He was arrested two days ago by the Toyohashi Municipal Police on a shoplifting charge. When Hibi was taken into custody, the Toyohashi Police found on his person newspaper clippings relating to the Teigin incident as well as a map of Itabashi Ward, ¥10,000 in cash and ¥1,000-worth of lottery tickets. Subsequent inquiries have revealed that Hibi applied for a four-day vacation from the Electro Communications Engineering Bureau where he works, from 24 to 28 January. Hibi also bought ¥10,000-worth of savings bonds on 31 January. According to his company, Hibi has easy access to potassium cyanide through his work. Finally, Toyohashi Police believe Hibi’s features exactly match those of our Teigin suspect.’

Now the detectives place a piece of paper on the table before me and say, ‘So we would like you to carefully study this telephoto of the suspect from Kyodo’s Nagoya office …’

I stare down at the piece of paper on the table before me, hoping and praying that he will be here, here to take me away, but I shake my head and I say again, ‘When the killer began to distribute the poison, I looked him in his face. I will never forget that face.

‘I would know it anywhere.’

‘We know,’ they say.

‘But this is not that face. This is not his face. I am sorry.’

The detectives take away the piece of paper from the table and say, ‘Thank you for your time. A car will take you home.’

And again the police are gone, and again the questions are gone, and again I am alone in my room, alone in this city, and again I am afraid in this city, afraid in this place

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, a young woman. Help me. On her hands and on her knees, she crawls through the Occupied City. Help me, she says. In the mud and in the sleet, on her hands and on her knees, in the Occupied City
.

Please help me

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I wake up. It is warm now, springtime in the Occupied City. But it is Monday and I do not want to get up. I do not want to get dressed.
For something is still wrong
. But today I cannot lie all day beneath this quilt. Today I must get up. I must get dressed. But I do not want to eat breakfast. Today I cannot eat breakfast. For today is my first day back at work.

Work. Work. Work.

In the Occupied City, I walk through the mud and the drizzle, the mud on my shoes and the drizzle in my hair.
Something still wrong
. But I walk through the mud and the drizzle, past the shrine and up the hill, the road busy and crowded, people coming to Shiinamachi to work, people leaving Shiinamachi to work. An American jeep sounds its horn and we all jump to the side. The wheels of the American jeep turn and splatter us with mud.

Something always wrong
.

I slide open the wooden door. I step inside the
genkan
to the bank. I take off my dirty shoes. I put on my cold slippers. I go down the corridor into the bank. I say good morning to Miss Akuzawa. But we do not talk about the weekend and we do not talk about the weather as we change into our blue uniforms. We do not talk at all. Then we go down the corridor into the main room of the bank.

In the warmth of the heater, in the light from the lamps, I take my seat at the counter and I wait for the bank to open, for the working day to begin, the working week.

Just before half past nine, Mr Ushiyama makes his usual speech which starts every week and we all bow and the clock chimes half past nine and the bank opens and the working day begins, another working week, but I know
something is wrong…

For the police come every week, every day, to take me away from the bank, back to Mejiro, for more interviews and more books of photographs. And then the press come and the photographers. And I spend more time with the police and with the press than at work in the bank. And sometimes he comes, Takeuchi Riichi of the
Yomiuri
. And sometimes he takes me for coffee. And sometimes he brings me flowers. And sometimes he invites me for dinner. But every night I go back to my room, back to my quilt, and every night I close my eyes tight, tight, tight and I remember I AM THE SURVIVOR

But of course I know: only through luck

Have I survived so many friends.

But night after night

In dream after

Dream

I hear these friends saying of me: ‘Those who survive are stronger.’ And I hate myself

I hate myself

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I wake up. It is hot now, summertime in the Occupied City. And there is banging on the door and I am walking through the house and I am opening the door, hoping and praying that he will be here, here to take me away, to save me from the Occupied City, but it is only Takeuchi Riichi with another car, another car come to take me to Ueno Station, and so I sit in the back of another car and I stare again at the hot, humid Occupied City, the hot, humid Occupied City which stares back into the car at me and whispers,
‘In due time, in due time

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Ueno Station, Mr Takeuchi leads me through the crowds, through the crowds that have come to see a man, a man who everyone believes is the man who murdered my colleagues and my friends, the man who tried to kill me, a man called Hirasawa Sadamichi. But I cannot see this Hirasawa Sadamichi. For this Hirasawa Sadamichi is hiding his face beneath heavy blankets. And then this Hirasawa Sadamichi is gone, lost in the crowds, and I am holding on tight, tight, tight to Takeuchi Riichi, my eyes closed tight, tight, tight because

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, a young woman. Help me. On her hands and on her knees, she crawls through the Occupied City. Help me, she says. In the mud and in the sleet, on her hands and on her knees, in the Occupied City
.

Please help me

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, at the Sakuradamon Police Station, the detectives lead me into the interrogation room, and Hirasawa Sadamichi looks up from the table at me and now I stare back at him. I look him in his face and now Hirasawa Sadamichi looks away, back down at the table, and then the detectives take me away, away down the corridor, away to another interrogation room, another interrogation room where I say, ‘When the killer began to distribute the poison, I looked him in his face.

‘I will never forget that face.’

‘We know,’ they say.

‘I would know it anywhere.’

‘We know,’ they say again. ‘And this is that face …’

But now I shake my head and I say, ‘This man is not the killer. The killer had a round face. Very round, like an egg. That man in that room has a square face. Very square, like a box. He is also too old. He is not that man. I am sorry. He is not the killer. I am sorry.’

‘But your colleague, Mr Tanaka, is convinced that man in that room, that man Hirasawa, is the killer …’

‘I am sorry. He is not the killer.’

‘But Mr Tanaka swears he is.’

‘I am sorry.’

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, at the Sakuradamon Police Station, three times the detectives lead me into the interrogation room, and three times Hirasawa Sadamichi looks up from the table at me and three times I stare back at him. Three times I look him in his face and three times Hirasawa Sadamichi looks away, back down at the table, and three times the detectives take me away, away down the corridor, away to another interrogation room, another interrogation room where three times I say, ‘When the killer began to distribute the poison, I looked him in his face. I will never forget that face.’

And three times they say, ‘We know. We know. We know.’

‘I would know it anywhere.’

Three times they say, ‘And this is that face …’

But three times I shake my head and three times I say, ‘This man is not the killer. The killer had a round face. Very round, like an egg. That man in that room has a square face. Very square, like a box. He is also too old. He is not that man. I am sorry.

‘He is not the killer. I am sorry.’

‘But your colleague, Mr Tanaka, is convinced that man in that room, that man Hirasawa, is the killer …’

‘I am sorry. He is not the killer.’

‘But Mr Tanaka swears he is.’

‘I am sorry. I am sorry …’

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, a young woman. Help me. On her hands and on her knees, she crawls through the Occupied City. Help me, she says. In the mud and in the sleet, on her hands and on her knees, in the Occupied City
.

Please help me

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I wake up. It is still hot, September now in the Occupied City. And again there is banging on the door and again I am walking through the house and again I am opening the door, and again I am hoping and again I am praying that he will be here, here to take me away, to save me from the Occupied City, but it is only Takeuchi Riichi, Takeuchi Riichi come to tell me, ‘He’s confessed! Hirasawa has confessed!’

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in early November, I marry Takeuchi Riichi. The wedding ceremony is coordinated by Riichi’s closest friend, one of Police Chief Kita’s principal deputies.

And I know something is wrong, very, very wrong…

But I close my eyes tight, tight, tight, and try to forget. But every night I close my eyes tight, tight, tight and I remember:

I AM THE SURVIVOR

But of course I know: only through luck

Have I survived so many friends.

But night after night

In dream after

Dream

I hear these friends saying of me: ‘Those who survive are stronger.’ And I hate myself

I hate myself

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, and later in the Liberated City, I wake up. I wake up tired all the time. For they never leave me alone. I have given them interview after interview. And now I am tired all the time. I had hoped they would go away, but still they come and ask their questions. Once a year, every year, every January, they come again with their questions. Every 26 January, on my second birthday; the day I pray for my three fellow survivors. The day I pray for my
twelve murdered colleagues. The day I pray for someone to come and take me away, to save me from the Occupied City, but no one comes.

For there are no white horses, no white horses any more …

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I wake again. And I look again for him; in the doorway, at the window, at the table, by my bed, opening a small bottle, dripping its liquid into a teacup

And now I am reaching for that cup

Lifting it to my mouth

But then I stop. For he is not here. He is never here. Never

In due time, in due time …

And so I crawl on, I crawl on, through this city

This place, this purgatory, I crawl on

Beneath the Black Gate
, in its upper chamber, on her hands and on her knees, she crawls towards the ten candles, in their occult circle, on her hands and on her knees, she crawls towards the third candle,