A Guide to Berlin by Gail Jones Page B

calm and obstinate; Gino was worried, perhaps, about what he might be called upon to reveal.
    â€˜Say no more than you wish.’
    â€˜ Certo, Marco; certo, professore! ’
    Gino shrank back into himself, implicitly conceding. The idea of their contest was intriguing to the others. Cass thought of Mitsuko’s tale – she had never heard of Hagi, or Lolita girls, or hikikomori – there was so much to discover behind each face in the room. But already she too was apprehensive, worried in advance at what she might be able to say, or not say. This was a pact of strangers and carried the danger of capricious misunderstanding. Perhaps, being the newest recruit and a kind of visitor, they might not expect her to offer up a story.
    â€˜ Alles gut ,’ said Victor. ‘Save me from being the only two-bit putz who spilt his guts at chez Oblomov …’ This was for Gino’s benefit.
    So it was resolved to continue in the spirit of sympathetic listening, and to enjoy the drinking, and the conversation, and the temporary community. Cass expected Marco to renew his dinner invitation, but after Mitsuko’s talk they all dispersed into the dark, and she watched as he turned and walked away in the opposite direction, just as he had done after they left the Pergamon Museum. It occurred to her that having witnessed his shame, further intimacy might no longer be possible. This evening Marco had been distantand formal, not unfriendly, but simply removed. There was a moment in which they had accidentally touched, each studiously winding their scarves in the vestibule, and she saw a brief flush overtake him, and the shade of an idea, perhaps an invitation, begin to form, before he turned away and shrugged silently into his overcoat.
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    Yukio’s speak-memory, entwined with Mitsuko’s, took place the next night. It was perhaps inevitable that they should wish to be paired. Yukio frowned in concentration. They saw a seriousness in him now, less visible in the couple, as though Mitsuko absorbed an aspect of his character he might only express when he spoke as one.
    â€˜My English is not so good as Mitsuko. But I will try.
    â€˜When I think about this story, my story, and Mitsuko’s Hagi story, I think we are made for each other and we needed to meet. But now, my story.’
    Yukio sat on the floor, cross-legged. He closed his eyes for a second, and then he began.
    â€˜In 1995 there was a gas attack in the Tokyo subway, somewhere near Kasumigaseki station. Sarin gas is very deadly – one tiny drop can kill a man. Psychos left sarin in plastic bags in the subway, and broke the bags open using the ends of umbrellas.’
    Yukio glanced at Victor. ‘Ferrule,’ he said carefully, making sure to pronounce the ‘l’ as best he could.
    â€˜Ferrule of the umbrella. It sounds a crazy idea, but that’s how they did it. With umbrellas to break open the plastic bags. Many people died, I don’t know how many. And very many were sick, and are still sick today. Some are blind,forever. Some cannot move. I watched Kasumigaseki station on Japan TV. The same pictures on TV, again and again. There was Takaheshi, the stationmaster, lying on the ground dead, with a spoon in his mouth. This is a horrible image. Dead with a spoon in his mouth. They said his name, Takaheshi, Takaheshi, and I had never seen a real dead man, with a real name, on television before. A Japanese man.
    â€˜And many others coughing and crying, and one man …’ – here he consulted Mitsuko for vocabulary – ‘… foaming in the mouth. Lying on the ground. No breathing at all. I was very, very scared. I was ten years old then and everyone at school talked all day about the sarin gas attack. There were many very bad stories. We lived in Waseda, a long way from the station. But it was my city, it was my subway.
    â€˜I had very bad dreams. I was afraid of the subway. I was afraid of men with