whispers one of them –
‘And more stupid,’ says the other as they whisk me past the mats and the stalls, the crockery and the utensils, out into the alleys and the lanes, through the shadows and the arches, until we come to the wooden stairs and the open door at the top with its sign –
Tokyo Stall Vendors Processing Union
.
Now they let me go. Now they let me wipe my face and wipe my neck, straighten up my shirt and put on my jacket –
The calls of odd, even and play
…
There is a foreigner coming down the stairs, an American in sunglasses. At the foot of the stairs, the American turns his face to look at me and then looks away again. He nods to Senju’s men as he disappears into the alleys and the shadows –
No one is who they say they are
…
There is no ‘Apple Song’ playing here as I walk up the stairs towards the open door, just the dice and his voice –
‘You got good news for me, have you, detective?’ calls out Senju before I even reach the top of the stairs –
I stop on the stairs. I look down at his two goons. They are laughing now. I turn back to the door –
The sound of dice being thrown. The calls of odd, even and play, odd, even and play
…
‘Don’t be a coward now,’ he shouts. ‘Answer me, detective.’
I start walking again. I reach the top.
I am a policeman
. I turn into the doorway. Into the light –
‘Well?’ asks Senju –
I kneel down on the tatami mat. I bow. I say, ‘I’m sorry.’
Senju spits his toothpick onto the long low polished table. He turns his new electric fan my way and shakes his head –
‘Just look at you, officer,’ he laughs. ‘Dressed like a tramp and stinking of corpses. Investigating murders when you could be getting rich, arresting Koreans and Formosans and bringing home two salaries for the pleasure. Taking care of your family and yourmistress, fucking the living and not the dead…’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘How old are you now, detective?’
‘I am forty-one years old.’
‘So tell me,’ he asks. ‘What do they pay a forty-one-year-old detective these days, officer?’
‘One hundred yen a month.’
‘I pity you,’ he laughs. ‘And your wife, and your children, and your mistress, I really do.’
I lean forward so my face touches the tatami mat and I say, ‘Then please help me…’
And I curse him; I curse him because he has what I need. And I curse Fujita; I curse him because he introduced us. But most of all I curse myself; I curse myself because of my dependence; my dependence on him
…
‘You chase corpses and ghosts,’ he says. ‘What help are you to me? And if you can’t help me, I can’t help you.’
‘Please,’ I say again. ‘Please help me.’
Senju Akira throws down five hundred yen onto the mat in front of my face. Senju says, ‘Then get a transfer to a different room; a room where you can find things out, things that help me…
‘Like who paid Nodera Tomiji to kill my boss Matsuda; like who then killed Nodera; like why this case is now closed …’
‘I will,’ I say, then over and over. ‘Thank you.’
‘And don’t come back here until you have.’
‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.’
‘Now get out!’ he shouts –
I shuffle backwards across the mats then down the stairs, past the goons and through the alleys, back into the market –
‘Shall we all sing the Apple Song?’
The Shimbashi New Life Market –
This is the New Japan
… This is how we live –
‘Let’s all sing the Apple Song and pass the feeling along.’
*
I haggle.
To eat
. I barter.
To work
. I threaten.
To eat
. I bully.
To work
. I buy three eggs and some vegetables. There was no fish and therewas no meat. Now there is another problem on the Yamate Line and the trains have stopped running in the direction of Shinagawa, so I take the streetcar. It is crowded and I am crushed and the eggs were a mistake. I get off at Tamachi and then I walk or run the rest of the way. The
‘And more stupid,’ says the other as they whisk me past the mats and the stalls, the crockery and the utensils, out into the alleys and the lanes, through the shadows and the arches, until we come to the wooden stairs and the open door at the top with its sign –
Tokyo Stall Vendors Processing Union
.
Now they let me go. Now they let me wipe my face and wipe my neck, straighten up my shirt and put on my jacket –
The calls of odd, even and play
…
There is a foreigner coming down the stairs, an American in sunglasses. At the foot of the stairs, the American turns his face to look at me and then looks away again. He nods to Senju’s men as he disappears into the alleys and the shadows –
No one is who they say they are
…
There is no ‘Apple Song’ playing here as I walk up the stairs towards the open door, just the dice and his voice –
‘You got good news for me, have you, detective?’ calls out Senju before I even reach the top of the stairs –
I stop on the stairs. I look down at his two goons. They are laughing now. I turn back to the door –
The sound of dice being thrown. The calls of odd, even and play, odd, even and play
…
‘Don’t be a coward now,’ he shouts. ‘Answer me, detective.’
I start walking again. I reach the top.
I am a policeman
. I turn into the doorway. Into the light –
‘Well?’ asks Senju –
I kneel down on the tatami mat. I bow. I say, ‘I’m sorry.’
Senju spits his toothpick onto the long low polished table. He turns his new electric fan my way and shakes his head –
‘Just look at you, officer,’ he laughs. ‘Dressed like a tramp and stinking of corpses. Investigating murders when you could be getting rich, arresting Koreans and Formosans and bringing home two salaries for the pleasure. Taking care of your family and yourmistress, fucking the living and not the dead…’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘How old are you now, detective?’
‘I am forty-one years old.’
‘So tell me,’ he asks. ‘What do they pay a forty-one-year-old detective these days, officer?’
‘One hundred yen a month.’
‘I pity you,’ he laughs. ‘And your wife, and your children, and your mistress, I really do.’
I lean forward so my face touches the tatami mat and I say, ‘Then please help me…’
And I curse him; I curse him because he has what I need. And I curse Fujita; I curse him because he introduced us. But most of all I curse myself; I curse myself because of my dependence; my dependence on him
…
‘You chase corpses and ghosts,’ he says. ‘What help are you to me? And if you can’t help me, I can’t help you.’
‘Please,’ I say again. ‘Please help me.’
Senju Akira throws down five hundred yen onto the mat in front of my face. Senju says, ‘Then get a transfer to a different room; a room where you can find things out, things that help me…
‘Like who paid Nodera Tomiji to kill my boss Matsuda; like who then killed Nodera; like why this case is now closed …’
‘I will,’ I say, then over and over. ‘Thank you.’
‘And don’t come back here until you have.’
‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.’
‘Now get out!’ he shouts –
I shuffle backwards across the mats then down the stairs, past the goons and through the alleys, back into the market –
‘Shall we all sing the Apple Song?’
The Shimbashi New Life Market –
This is the New Japan
… This is how we live –
‘Let’s all sing the Apple Song and pass the feeling along.’
*
I haggle.
To eat
. I barter.
To work
. I threaten.
To eat
. I bully.
To work
. I buy three eggs and some vegetables. There was no fish and therewas no meat. Now there is another problem on the Yamate Line and the trains have stopped running in the direction of Shinagawa, so I take the streetcar. It is crowded and I am crushed and the eggs were a mistake. I get off at Tamachi and then I walk or run the rest of the way. The
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