Occupied City (8 page)

‘What was his name?’ I ask her.

Miss Akiyama is shaking her head, flicking through her pile of deposits on the counter. ‘I didn’t catch it but if it’s that well, this
will be why Mr Ushiyama’s been so sick. This will mean we could all be infected. This could mean …’

I look back down at my pile of deposits, all checked and all finished. I start to flick through them, looking for the Aida address.

‘The doctor will have to inoculate everyone against dysentery,’ whispers Miss Akiyama. ‘And he’ll have to disinfect everything that may have been infected. All the rooms, all the money. No one will be allowed to leave until he’s finished …’

I stare at the deposits and I nod again. Now I know I won’t be able to leave soon.
Now I know something is very wrong
. Now I know I won’t be able to go back to my home, not back to my quilt, not back to my dreams, for now I know those dreams are all gone.

Mr Takeuchi comes over to the counter. Mr Takeuchi sighs and he says, ‘We all have to assemble at Mr Yoshida’s desk. We all have to take some medicine …’

‘I told you, I told you,’ whispers Miss Akiyama as we get up from our seats at the counter and go over to Mr Yoshida’s desk at the back of the bank.

Miss Akuzawa has brought all our teacups on a tray to Mr Yoshida’s desk. The doctor from the Health and Welfare Ministry is opening a small bottle. This doctor is in his forties.

And now I look him in his face.

It is round, very round.

Like an egg. And I know, I know I will never forget this face.

Now I look at the bottle in his hand. I read FIRST DRUG written in English on its label.

‘Is everybody here?’ asks the doctor.

Mr Yoshida quickly looks at each of us, counting our heads. Even Mr Takizawa’s two children are here. Mr Yoshida nods.

‘Good,’ says the doctor and picks up a pipette. The doctor drips some clear liquid into each of our cups. The doctor tells us to each pick up our own teacup. I reach for my teacup.

I lift it up to my mouth but I stop.

The doctor has his hand raised in warning. The doctor says, ‘This serum is very strong and if it touches your teeth or gums it can cause great damage. So please listen and watch carefully as I demonstrate how to swallow the serum safely.’

Now the doctor takes out a syringe. The doctor dips the syringe into the liquid. The doctor draws up a measure of the liquid
into the syringe. The doctor opens his mouth. The doctor places his tongue over his bottom front teeth and tucks it under his lower lip. The doctor drips the liquid onto his tongue. The doctor tilts back his head and lets the medicine roll back into his throat.

Now the doctor looks at his wristwatch, his right hand raised, poised in the air. Suddenly, the doctor’s hand falls and he says, ‘Because this medicine may damage your gums and your teeth, you must all be sure to swallow it quickly. Exactly one minute after you have taken the first medicine, I will administer a second medicine …’

I look down at Mr Yoshida’s desk again. I see another bottle, a bottle marked SECOND DRUG in English letters.

‘After you have taken the second medicine, you will be able to drink water and rinse out your mouths.’

We all nod. I nod.

‘Now lift up your cups,’ says the doctor.

I pick up my teacup.

‘Now drip the liquid onto your tongues.’

I put my teacup to my lips and I drink the liquid. It is horrible. It tastes so bitter, so very, very bitter.

‘Tilt back your heads.’

I tilt back my head.

‘Now swallow.’

I swallow.

‘I will administer the second drug in precisely sixty seconds, so please put your teacups back on the table.’

I put my teacup back down on Mr Yoshida’s desk. I look up at the doctor. The doctor is staring at his wristwatch. I can still taste the liquid in my mouth.

‘It tastes a bit like gin,’ laughs Mr Yoshida.

‘I don’t think I’ve swallowed any,’ says Mr Tanaka. ‘Perhaps I should have another measure. Just to be sure …

‘Just to be safe.’

But the doctor shakes his head, still staring at his wristwatch.

‘It tastes disgusting,’ says Miss Akiyama. ‘May I please gargle with some water?’

But again the doctor shakes his head, still staring at his wristwatch.

‘But it’s so very vile,’ says Miss Akiyama again.

Now the doctor begins to pour the second drug into each of our teacups. Then the doctor looks up at us all. And the doctor says, ‘Please pick up your teacups again.’

I pick up my teacup again.

Now the doctor checks his wristwatch again. Now the doctor gestures for us each to drink.

And now I put my teacup to my lips again and now I drink the second liquid and now I can taste the second liquid in my mouth, in my throat, and it is horrible too, and now I need to drink some water, some water, some water, and now I can hear people complaining and people coughing, and now I hear the doctor saying –

‘You can rinse out your mouths now …’

– and now I see everyone rushing for the sink, for the tap, for the water, and now I am rushing for the sink, for the tap, for the water, and now I see people falling to the floor, and now I see Miss Akiyama lying on the floor, and now I am trying to reach her but I need the sink, the tap, the water, and now I am thinking I’ll get to the sink, to the tap, to the water, then I’ll come back to Miss Akiyama, people coughing, people retching, people vomiting, and now I can feel people pushing past me, people clambering over me to get to the sink, to the tap, to the water and now I am drinking and drinking and drinking, but now the light is fading and fading and fading, now the light is leaving us, leaving us here, here in the Occupied City, and now I feel a grey-ness coming and into the grey-ness,

I am falling, I am falling, I am falling,

I am falling, I am falling,

I am falling,

into the grey-ness, I am falling,

falling and falling away,

away from the light,

from the Occupied City, towards a grey place,

a place that is no place. But then the light

grips me, it holds me tight, tight,

tight, it pulls me back

Down the bank’s corridors, into the bank’s
genkan. Help me!
Through the doors, into the street
. On my hands and on my knees, I crawl through the Occupied City.
Into the light, into the sleet
. Help me, I say.
She is drunk, she is mad
. In the mud and in the sleet, on my hands and on my knees, in the Occupied City.
Help me …

‘Please help me!’

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I hear boots in the mud, I hear sirens in the sky. But I am falling again. In the Occupied City, people are asking me my name. I am still falling. In the Occupied City, I do not know my name. For I am falling. In the Occupied City, I am moving. I am falling. In the Occupied City, I am in a white room. But I am still falling. In the Occupied City, people keep asking me my name. In the Occupied City, I do not know my name. For I am falling. In the Occupied City, people are asking me what happened. I am still falling. In the Occupied City, I do not know what happened.

And then I stop. I stop falling

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, nuns are sticking a hose down my throat, doctors are pumping my stomach, and I am coughing and I am retching, fluid and bile, rambling and ranting. But I can speak again. And I am talking now. Men sat beside my bed. Men stood beside my bed. Men holding my hand. Men whispering in my ear.

And I am talking, talking to the men beside my bed. The men who are holding my hand, holding it tight, tight, tight.

‘The drink,’ I whisper. ‘The drink …’

‘But what did you eat?’ they ask.

‘It was the drink. The drink …’

‘What did you drink?’

‘It was medicine …’

‘A medicine?’

‘A doctor …’

‘What doctor?’

‘Dysentery …’

The men beside my bed let go of my hand. The men beside my bed stand up now. The men beside my bed say, ‘This is not a case of food poisoning, Detectives.’

And now the men beside my bed leave, shouting, ‘This is a case of murder! Of robbery …’

And then the men are gone and I am alone, in the white room, I am alone again, in the Occupied City.

And I am afraid.

I am scared.

That night, that dream, IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, that night, for the first time, that dream: 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 wake and I hate myself

I hate myself

In a white room, I wake again. It is a hospital. There are nuns and there are nurses and there are doctors. They are giving me drugs. They are giving me medicines. But I am afraid.

I am afraid in this place, of this place, this hospital. I am afraid of the nuns. I am afraid of the nurses.

I am afraid of the doctors.

I am afraid of their drugs. I am afraid of their medicines.

But in this place, in this hospital, I close my eyes and, for the second time, I dream the same dream: 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 open my eyes. I am awake again in the white room. In the hospital. But a man in a white coat is holding my hand, a man whispering in my ear, a man sat beside my bed. And I am afraid and so I pull away from this man in a white coat beside my bed, this man who is whispering in my ear and holding my hand, and I say, ‘Get away! Get away! Get away from me!’

And now this man lets go of my hand and now I am alone again in this white room, 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

‘I can help you. Please believe me. I can help you …’

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, I am awake again, my hand in another hand again, the whispers in my ear again:

‘I can help you. You can trust me …’

‘Who are you? Are you a doctor?’

‘No, this white coat is just so I could talk to you. That’s all. I just want to talk to you. I just want to help you.’

‘But why? Who are you?’

‘My name is Takeuchi Riichi. I am a journalist.’

In this place, in this white room, in this hospital, I want to cry, but I am laughing, ‘You’re a journalist?’

‘Yes, with the
Yomiuri.’

I want to laugh, but I am crying, ‘Get away from me!’

And again, the hand is gone, and again the whispers are gone, and again I am alone in this place, in this white room, in this hospital, and again I am afraid in this place, and again

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

‘I can help you. Please believe me. I can help you. I can make that dream go away …’

In this place, I open my eyes. In this white room, I squeeze his hand. In this hospital, I whisper, ‘How can you help me?’

‘I can save you from this place, these dreams.’

‘Until yesterday,’ I say. ‘I thought a cup was a cup. Until then, a table was a table. I thought the war was over. I knew we had lost. I knew we had surrendered. I knew we were now occupied.

‘But I thought the war was over. I thought a cup was still a cup. That medicine was medicine. I thought my friend was my friend, a colleague was a colleague. A doctor, a doctor.

‘But the war is not over. A cup is not a cup. Medicine is not medicine. A friend not a friend, a colleague not a colleague. For a colleague here yesterday, sat in the seat at the counter beside me, that colleague is not here today. Because a doctor is not a doctor.

‘A doctor is a murderer. A killer.

‘Because the war is not over.

‘The war is never over.’

‘I know,’ says the man in the white coat beside my bed, the man who is not a doctor, the man who is a journalist, this man called Takeuchi Riichi, this Takeuchi Riichi who now squeezes my hand tight, tight, tight, and who says again and again and again, ‘I know.’

‘I was still going through that day’s thirty deposits when the killer arrived. I didn’t see what time it was when he entered, but business had closed as usual at 3 p.m., and I had then immediately begun to count up the deposits. The thirty deposits would have taken me no longer than ten minutes, which means the killer must have arrived sometime between 3 p.m. and 3.10 p.m.

‘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.’

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I know.’

‘I am a survivor,’ I tell him. ‘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.’

‘I know,’ he says again, ‘But I will help you …’

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, it is 4 February 1948.

There are flowers and there are presents, photographers and well-wishers. The nuns, the nurses, and the doctors stand in a line to bow and wish me well. And I bow back and I thank them and then I leave this place, this hospital, and I step outside.

But something is still wrong…

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, it is cold and it is grey, and there are more flowers and there are more presents, more photographers and more well-wishers. Mr Yoshida, Mr Tanaka and Miss Akuzawa are here too, and we greet each other for the first time since that day, trying to smile as the cameras flash and the reporters shout, thinking of our colleagues who are not here, who will never be here to receive these flowers and these presents as the smiles slip from our lips and fall to the floor of this cold, grey Occupied City.