Occupied City

The Third Candle — The Testimony of a Survivor

The city is a purgatory. Night after night, the same dream, IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, night after night, 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 wake up. It is cold, in the Occupied City. It is Monday and I do not want to get up. I do not want to get dressed. I do not want to go to work. Something is wrong. I want to lie all day beneath this quilt. To sleep and to dream, of food and warmth, of the man who will come and take me away from the cold and the hunger, of the man on a white horse who will save me from the Occupied City. But I must get up. I must get dressed. I must eat breakfast and leave for work. For it is Monday.

Monday 26 January 1948.

In the Occupied City, I walk through the mud and the sleet, the mud on my shoes and the sleet in my hair. Something is wrong. Maybe today the bank will close early. Maybe today we can leave early. Maybe today I can go back home early. Maybe I can lie again beneath my quilt. Because something is wrong. But I walk through the mud and the sleet, past the shrine and up the hill.

The road is busy and crowded, people coming to Shiinamachi to work, people leaving Shiinamachi to work. An American jeep sounds its horn and makes us all jump to the side. The wheels of the American jeep turn and splatter us with mud.

I know something is 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 freezing slippers. I go down the corridor into the bank. I say good morning to Miss Akuzawa and Miss Akiyama. We talk about the weekend and we talk about the weather as we change into our blue uniforms. We wonder if today the bank will close early. We wonder if today we will be able to leave early. To go back to our homes, back to our quilts. 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.

The customers come, from out of the mud and out of the sleet, and I greet them and I serve them and I think about my lunch and I listen to the sleet turn to rain as it falls on the roof of the bank. And just after half past twelve, Mr Yoshida tells me I can take my lunch. I change places with Miss Akiyama. I go down the corridor. I sit in the changing room. I take out my bento. I open the lunch box. I eat my cold rice and sour pickle. I drink hot tea from my teacup. I listen to the rain as it falls on the roof of the bank and I know I won’t be able to leave early today. And just before one, I go back to my seat at the counter and I greet the customers and I serve the customers.

Then, just before two, Mr Ushiyama tells us that he is not feeling well, not feeling well at all. He tells us he must leave early. He apologizes to us and he bows and he leaves.

‘Poor Mr Ushiyama,’ whispers Miss Akiyama. ‘He’s been sick since last week. It must be serious. He should go to the doctor. It could be, it could be …’

I stare at the counter and I nod my head. Something is wrong.

‘And then what if it’s contagious?’ says Miss Akiyama. ‘We might all have caught it. We might all become sick. We might all…’

I stare at the counter and I nod my head. Very wrong.

But I go back to my work. I go back to my thoughts:

Will no one save me from the Occupied City?

Just before quarter past three and the bank has closed for the day, and now I have only thirty deposits left to check. I will be able to do them in ten minutes. In ten minutes, I will be able to leave.

In ten minutes, I will be able to go back to my home, back to my quilt and back to my dreams. But something is wrong, very wrong. Something is not right today …

And then I hear the knock upon the side door. I have only twenty-five deposits left to check. I see Miss Akuzawa get up to open the side door. I have only twenty deposits left to check. I see Miss Akuzawa go into the back of the bank. Fifteen deposits. I see Miss Akuzawa go to the front door of the bank. Fourteen deposits. I see the front door open and a man step inside. Is this the man? Thirteen deposits. I see the man take off his boots and put on the pair of slippers Miss Akuzawa offers him. The man who will save me? The man is in his forties but he has a handsome, oval face. Save me from the Occupied City? I hear Miss Akuzawa tell the man that the manager has already left, but that our assistant manager will see him.

I hope this does not mean extra work. I hope this does not mean I cannot leave soon. I see Miss Akuzawa lead the man past my counter and into the back of the bank. Now Miss Akiyama gets up from her seat next to mine and I turn back to the deposits:

Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six deposits. Five, four, three, two, one deposit, none. I have finished now.

But something is wrong, very wrong…

Miss Akiyama comes back to her seat at the counter. She nudges me and she whispers, ‘Did you see that man? That man is a doctor from the Ministry of Health and Welfare. I just heard him tell Mr Yoshida that the Ministry of Health and Welfare have discovered an outbreak of dysentery in Shiinamachi. The Ministry of Health and Welfare have traced the outbreak to that well in front of Mr Aida’s house. You know Mr Aida?’

I look up from my pile of deposits. I nod my head.

‘That doctor from the Ministry of Health and Welfare just told Mr Yoshida that one of Mr Aida’s tenants has been diagnosed with dysentery. That doctor said that this tenant came into the bank today and he made a deposit…’

‘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.

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:

Dear Teikoku Bank, Shiinamachi, Toshima Ward.

I am sorry I caused quite a disturbance the other day. At first I had an unpleasant feeling watching so many people writhe and squirm in agony but later I didn’t mind at all. I let Miss Murata Masako live bemuse I have some use for her later.

In due time, I shall pay her a second visit.

Signed, Yamaguchi Jirō.

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,

the third candle which gutters, gutters and then dies,

and she is gone, back into the shadows.

But in this occult circle, you are crawling now, among its nine candles, you are crawling, in the upper chamber of the Black Gate, on your hands and on your knees, crawling around, among the ruins,

the ruins of this city, the ruins of this book,

your book, your ruined

book; here where you fluctuate between despair and elation, despair at the death and destruction, elation at the death and destruction, here among the rivers of ink and the mountains of paper, the bonfires of words and the pits in the ground, the pits to be filled in with the ashes, the ashes from those bonfires,

the ashes of meaning.

But among these ashes and ruins, among this death and destruction, you do not crawl for long –

For now beneath the Black Gate, in this occult circle, a pair of trousers, a suit of clothes, are swinging from a beam, and now you look up and now you see, you see a white clay mask where a face should be, the white clay mask of a mouse, swinging back and forth, swinging forth and back, among strange balloons, among green crosses, and beneath the cuffs of its trousers, there sits the medium,

the medium who sits and who speaks,

speaks now and says:

‘I was a medical doctor. I was a bacteriologist. And I was a colonel. I served at Camp Detrick, the secret headquarters of the US Chemical Warfare Service in Maryland. My job was to develop BW defensive measures and devise means for offensive retaliation in case of a biological attack against the United States or its combat forces. From 1943 to 1945 I was responsible for research into bacteriology, virology, medicine, pharmacology, physiology and chemistry. My job was to find out how diseases were passed from person to person, especially those diseases which can be transferred to man by rats, by fleas, by ticks, by lice or by mosquitoes. That was my job.

‘And it was a dangerous job.

‘During our exploration of brucellosis, my entire team succumbed to it. The same with tularemia. There were casualties in the workshop. Many of my fellow scientists succumbed.

‘Many of my fellow scientists died.

‘And many, many went mad.

‘But it was a race against time because we knew the Germans, the Soviets and the Japanese were already ahead of us in the game.

‘Especially the Japs. For we knew, even then, we knew –

‘For in 1944, I was called into the office of the Scientific Director, Dr Oram C. Woolpert; Intelligence had received news of Jap germ warfare attacks on the Chinese in Manchuria –

‘Tommy, we think they’ve killed a lot of people,’ he told me. ‘We think they’ve been poisoning reservoirs, poisoning wells …’

‘So we knew, even then, we all knew.

‘Then, in the Summer of 1945, General MacArthur personally requested that I join him in Manila to await the coming assault on the Japanese mainland. So I flew to Manila. I went straight to MacArthur’s headquarters. I met with General MacArthur, General Charles Willoughby and Karl T. Compton. I had met Compton before. I knew he was the former president of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, that he was a civilian who wore the three stars of a lieutenant general, the chief of Scientific Intelligence. I had not met Willoughby before. But I knew he was the head of G-2, US Military Intelligence. And I had not met General MacArthur before. But I immediately liked him. I immediately respected him. He knew the weight of the responsibility he was carrying. He also knew the dangers of BW. The General asked me what I thought. He asked me what I feared. He listened to me and then the General said –

‘We need you very badly here, Tommy.’

‘Then they told me about Operations Olympia and Coronet, the planned land, sea and air assaults on the Japanese home islands. They told me I would go ashore at H plus 6; H plus 6 meant six hours after the first bombardment; H plus 6 meant the very first wave of assault troops –

‘Be careful not to break your test tubes, Tommy,’ laughed the General. And so I waited. And I waited.

‘But H plus 6 never came.

‘The first bomb was dropped on August 6, the second bomb on August 9, and the Japs surrendered on August 15. But I was already on my way to Japan aboard the USS Sturgis. For I had been given a new mission. This time I had been well briefed.

‘This time they had knocked. This time they had introduced themselves. They told me they were from G-2. They told me they were from Scientific Intelligence. They said I was the top man in biological warfare. They said I was needed in Japan. My mission was to find out as much as I could, and as quickly as I could, about the Jap biological warfare programme. About Unit 731. About Unit 100.

‘About Shirō Ishii; they told me to find Ishii.

‘But the Japs had been told about me.

‘The Japs were waiting for me …’

And now a bundle of envelopes, a heavy, heavy wad of envelopes bound and tied with another length of rope, a thick, thick cord, falls from a dead pocket of the swinging suit and now you crawl, on your hands and on your knees, into the centre of the occult circle and you tear open these heavy, heavy envelopes and pull out a thick, thick wad of papers, and by the light of the nine candles, in the upper chamber of the Black Gate, you read through these papers, these papers that are half-letters / half-documents, sometimes hand-scrawled / sometimes type-written, but always tear-stained and already blood-blotted, you read, always tear-stained and already blood-blotted, among strange balloons, among green crosses,

you read, stained and blotted, you are

among strange balloons, among

green crosses, always stained,

already blotted …