Occupied City

The Seventh Candle — The Exhortations of a Soldier, Gangster, Businessman and Politician

The city is a market, a black market, a stock market, a free market. And I run this city. I rule this city. For I built this city. From ash, through wood, to concrete, steel and glass –

Rise up Tokyo! Rise up Nippon!

You are not ash. You are not wood. You are concrete, steel and glass. I have dragged you out of the ash, through the wood to be here now, in concrete, steel and glass –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

Beneath skies crossed and matted grey with your tangled strings, across grounds crawling and stained with your severed strings, you are all puppets. But I am no puppet –

I have cut my strings!

From Defeated and Ruined City, Surrendered and Occupied City, to Olympic and Future City, in less than twenty years –

THIS IS MY CITY …

MY CITY!

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in a wooden building, in an upstairs office, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Boss, boss!’ pants my best puppet. ‘They’ve robbed the Teikoku Bank up by the Nagasaki Shrine. They’ve killed all the staff. Police everywhere, all over the place, all over the town …’

I look up from the cards. I look up from the die. I say, ‘This is my town. No one robs a bank in my town. No one murders its staff. Not in my town. So you find out who did this …

‘And you bring them to me …

‘And you do it now!’

¥

Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

In a bunk in China, I am a soldier. I wake. I rise. Step by step. I rob. I rape. I kill. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

For you, for me –

Fight! Fight!

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night — in all these times — Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station — in all these places — Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I kill them all and I get money and I get medals –

But these fields of slaughter, these forests of skeletons, they trade not in bravery, trade not in honour, they deal in luck, they deal in death; lucky soldiers and dead soldiers –

For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, on and on, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the fields and through the forests, on and on, over looted house and over stripped corpse, on and on, and from severed hand into bloody hands, forever-bloody hands, money passes, money changes, money grows –

Lesson #1: dog kills dog.

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in a wooden building, in an upstairs office, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘It was a doctor,’ says the puppet in the uniform. ‘Or at least a man pretending to be a doctor. A public health official.’

I look up from the flowers on the cards, the spots on the die, and I say, ‘Describe this doctor to me …’

‘Aged between forty-four and fifty. About five feet three inches tall. Thin build with an oval face. A high nose and a pale complexion. Hair cut short and flecked with grey. He was dressed in a brown lounge suit, wearing brown rubber boots. He had a white armband on his left arm on which was written “LEADER OF THE DISINFECTING TEAM”. He had a raincoat over one arm and he was carrying a doctor’s bag …’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, he had two distinctive brown spots on his left cheek. The survivors also said he was a distinguished and intelligent-looking man with the air of an educated doctor.’

‘Do you have any suspects?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Not as yet.’

‘Well then,’ I say, ‘let’s see if me and my men can’t jog a few memories, get you a few names, shall we?’

‘Thank you,’ he says with a low bow, my pills in his wooden hand, his paper money in mine.

¥

Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

In a courtroom, in a dock, I am a criminal, a war criminal. I wake. I rise. Step by step. But I do not cry. I do not apologize. I do not speak. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

For you, for me –

Fight! Fight!

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night — in all these times — Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station — in all these places — Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I appal them all and I get shunned and I get accused –

And they may hang me, they may jail me, they may pardon me, or they may release me, for their courts trade not in justice, trade not in truth, they deal in retribution, they deal in vengeance –

For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, on and on, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the victors and across the losers, on and on, over justice and over injustice, on and on, and from innocent hand to guilty hands, forever-guilty hands, money passes, money changes, money grows –

Lesson #2: dog eats dog.

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in a deserted factory, in a dark space, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘But I don’t know anything!’ screams the beaten, bruised and naked puppet on the concrete floor. ‘I know nothing!’

‘That’s a great pity,’ I tell him, ‘because no one needs an ignorant man, do they? They are simply surplus to requirements. Human garbage, in fact. Waste …’

‘Please, please, please …’

‘And you know what we do with garbage and waste, don’t you? No you don’t, do you? Because you don’t know anything, you know nothing. Well then, I’ll tell you. We drive the garbage and the waste out of the city and we dump it in holes …’

‘Please, please …’

‘Deep holes,’ I tell him. ‘Because no one likes the sight or the smell of garbage and waste …’

‘Please…’

‘Next!’

¥

Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

In a market, a black market, I am a gangster, a racketeer. I wake. I rise. Step by step. I steal. I sell. I steal things. I sell things. I make money. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

For you, for me –

Fight! Fight!

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night — in all these times — Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station — in all these places — Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I exploit them all and I get money and I get respect –

I license the market stalls. I take money and I make money. I burn down rival markets. I take money and I make money. I set up gambling dens. I take money and I make money. I set up whorehouses. I take money and I make money. I get money –

For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, on and on, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the strong and across the weak, on and on, over the satiated and over the starving, on and on, and from scared hand to scarred hands, scarred hands into top-pockets and back-pockets, fat back-pockets, money passes, money changes, money grows –

Lesson #3: dog steals another dog.

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in the police station, in an upstairs office, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Thank you for coming,’ says the local chief puppet. ‘I know you are a busy man. Thank you for making the time to see me.’

‘You’re welcome,’ I say. ‘It’s my pleasure. Thank you for inviting me and taking the time yourself.’

‘Well, I wanted to thank you personally for all your efforts in helping us in our investigation …’

‘You’re welcome,’ I say again. ‘It’s not only my pleasure but also my duty as a local citizen …’

‘Thank you,’ says the chief puppet again. ‘Unfortunately, as you are aware, our investigation has yet to reach a conclusion.’

‘It’s a great pity,’ I say. ‘But I know you and your men are working tirelessly to catch this fiend. And I am certain, in the end, that you will be successful in your investigation.’

‘I appreciate your encouragement and support,’ says the chief puppet. ‘Thank you. As you are also aware, the Metro Detectives no longer believe the culprit to be a local man. They believe him to be a man with a military and medical background, who quite possibly served on the mainland during the war …’

‘Is that right?’ I say.

‘That’s their thinking, yes,’ he says. ‘That the culprit possibly even served with the Tokumu Kikan in China …’

‘Really?’ I say.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘And so the Metro Detectives are planning to question all the former members of the Tokumu Kikan they can find.’

‘That’s very interesting,’ I say.

‘Yes,’ nods the chief again. ‘I thought you’d be interested to know their present thinking, the current course of the investigation, as a concerned local citizen …’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ says the local chief puppet, being pulled to his feet. ‘It’s my pleasure. Please keep in touch …’

‘Thank you,’ I say again, bowing and leaving, a fresh fish and a bottle of sake on his desk.

¥

Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

In the upstairs room of a police station, I am a strike-breaker. I wake. I rise. Step by step. I provide men, big men. I provide sticks, big sticks. I crack heads, red heads. I break bones, red bones. In newspaper plants and in film studios, in factories and in universities. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

For you, for me –

Fight! Fight!

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night — in all these times — Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station — in all these places — Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I intimidate them all and I get money and I get more work –

I beat up strikers on their picket lines. I take money and I make money. I burn down the houses of union officials. I take money and I make money. I threaten and I bully, bully, bully –

For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, on and on, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the workers and across their unions, on and on, over their rights and over their jobs, on and on, and from dirty hand into dirtier hands, under the table and into back-pockets, back-pockets into wallets, big fat wallets, money passes, money changes, money grows –

Lesson #4: dog sells stolen dog to another dog.

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, on the Ginza, in a concrete building, in a brand-new office, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Thank you for seeing me, Boss,’ I say. ‘I know you are a very busy man so, really, thank you very much.’

‘We’re all busy men,’ laughs the Big Boss. ‘Times may be tough, but there are still lots of opportunities for the man who is prepared to be busy. Still money to be made, always money to be made. Lots of money for the busy man …’

‘That’s the truth, all right.’

‘Yes,’ says the Big Boss, ‘and that’s why none of us likes anything to stand in the way of opportunity. Anything like a police investigation, a city-wide manhunt; obstructing our opportunities, impeding our businesses; asking questions none of us want asked, turning over stones that should be left as they are …’

‘So you’ve heard about the change in the course of the investigation, the Tokumu Kikan theory, then?’

‘They’ve already been here.’

‘Is it a problem?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ll deal with the Metro Detectives. But I’d like you to deal with the newspapers …’

‘The newspapers?’

‘Yes,’ he smiles. ‘The newspapers. It’s a promotion. A step up for you. A fresh opportunity …’

‘Thank you very much.’

‘Congratulations,’ laughs the Big Boss, pulling my strings and making me rise and making me bow, making me walk backwards.

‘Thank you,’ I say again, rising and bowing, walking backwards out of the brand-new office. ‘Thank you, Boss.’

¥

Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

In a brand-new factory, I am its brand-new owner. I wake. I rise. Floor by floor. I take old parts. I turn old parts into new parts. I sell new parts. I make money. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

For you, for me –

Fight! Fight!

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night — in all these times — Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station — in all these places — Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I take from them all and I sell to the rich and I get money –

I take from the Japanese, his goods and his labour. And I sell to the Americans, his people and his military –

For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, over the Korean War and over the Cold War, on and on, across the Vietnam War and across the Gulf War, on and on, from hand into wallet, wallet into banks, big banks / little banks, money passes, money changes, money grows –

Lesson #5: dog buys two dogs.

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in a suburb, down a lane, outside a two-storey house, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Are you Mr XXXX of the XXXX newspaper?’

‘Yes, I am,’ says the puppet in the doorway.

I step back into the shadows. My best puppet steps out of the shadows. My puppet strikes Mr XXXX of the XXXX newspaper.

Mr XXXX of the XXXX newspaper is stunned. He touches his plaster forehead. He stares at his wooden hand. At the blood.

I step back out of the shadows. I pull a string to lift up the chin of Mr XXXX of the XXXX newspaper, to look into his eyes –

His blinking and his bloody eyes –

I say, ‘No more stories.’

¥

Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

In a firm, I am its managing director. I wake. I rise. Floor by floor. I buy. I sell. I make companies. I buy companies. I sell companies. I make money. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

For you, for me –

Fight! Fight!

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night — in all these times — Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station — in all these places — Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I recruit from them all and I pick their brains and I use them –

The graduates of the Tokyo and Kyoto Imperial Universities. The alumni of Ping Fan. I buy blood. I manufacture blood. I process blood. I sell blood. Black Blood and White Genes …

For the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across the little company and across the big company, on and on, over the successful company and over the unsuccessful company, on and on, and from hand into wallet, wallet into bank, bank into loans, cheap, cheap loans at low, low interest, money passes, money changes, money grows –

Lesson #6: dog breeds dogs.

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in a wooden building, in an upstairs office, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Boss, boss! At the Kanda Myōjin Shrine, there’s a man there, looks exactly like the drawing of the Teikoku killer, wearing the same clothes and everything. It’s him! It’s got to be him!’

I look up from the flowers. I look up from the spots. I ask, ‘Where is he now, this man? Is he still at the shrine?’

‘Yes,’ says my puppet. ‘He’s still there.’

‘Then let’s go …’

¥

Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

In the boardroom of a company, I am its president. I wake. I rise. To the top floor. I buy. I sell. I make shares. I buy shares. I sell shares. I make money. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

For you, for me –

Fight! Fight!

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night — in all these times — Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station — in all these places — Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I have sold to them all and they thank me and they admire me –

For I have given them nice houses to live in and nice offices to work in, nice cars to drive and nice clothes to wear, I have given them the healthiest economy and the most stable government, the best technology and the safest streets in the world, I have given them comfort and security, good food and sound sleep –

But the War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, the War Machine rolls on, across empires and across democracies, on and on, over the well-fed and over the ill-fed, on and on, and, all the while, from hand to hand, hand into wallet, wallet into bank, bank into loan, loan to stocks and shares, my stocks and my shares, money passes, money changes, money grows –

Lesson #7: dog sells more dogs.

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, to Kanda, to the Myōjin Shrine, to the Setsubun crowds, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi! Oni wa soto…’

‘Him!’ points my puppet. ‘Over there. That’s him!’

Aged between forty-four and fifty. About five feet three inches tall. Thin build with an oval face. A high nose and a pale complexion. Two distinctive brown spots on his left cheek. Hair cut short and flecked with grey. He is dressed in a brown lounge suit, wearing brown rubber boots. He has a white armband on his left arm on which is written ‘LEADER OF THE DISINFECTING TEAM’. He has a raincoat over one arm and is carrying a doctor’s bag –

‘It’s him, Boss!’ say all my puppets. ‘It’s him!’

I nod. I say. ‘Yes, it’s him. Take him …’

‘Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!’

¥

Tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

In a backroom, I am a politician. I wake. I rise. Floor by floor. I buy. I sell. I buy people and I sell people. I buy votes and I sell votes. I make deals and I sell deals. For Dai Nippon, for the Emperor –

Fight! Fight! Fight!

For you. For me –

Fight! Fight!

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night — in all these times — Dust, mud, desert, jungle, field, forest, mountain, valley, river, stream, farm, village, town, city, house, street, shop, factory, hospital, school, government building and railway station — in all these places — Soldier, civilian, man, woman, child and baby, I smile at you all and I laugh at you all, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha –

In my department stores and in my advertisements, in my newspaper columns and in my television shows, in my education acts and in my sound-trucks, in the history I teach you and the news I give you, in every piece of legislation, from every loudspeaker, I lie to you and I laugh at you, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha –

For my War Machine rolls on, never stopping, never resting, never sleeping, always rising, always consuming, always devouring. On and on, my War Machine rolls on, across the rich and across the poor, on and on, over the bad and over the good, on and on, from hand to hand, hand into wallet, wallet into bank, bank into loan, loan into stocks and shares, stocks and shares into budgets, budgets and power, power, power, money passes, money changes, money grows –

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, morning, afternoon, evening, and night, money grows, money blossoms and money blooms –

Lesson #8: dog is always hungry for more dog.

¥

IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, in Mejiro town, in a deserted factory, in a dark space, tap-tap, knock-knock, bang-bang, ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s you!’ screams the beaten, bruised and naked puppet on the concrete floor. ‘You are the killer! Not me …’

‘Just confess,’ I say again, ‘and then the fear will stop, the pain will stop, and we’ll tend to your wounds, we’ll deliver you to the police, and everything will be all right. If you just confess …’

‘Be gone from this place!’ he screams. ‘Be gone from this city, this Occult City, for this is not your city, this is my city!’

‘Leave this place?’ I laugh. ‘This city? This Occult City? This is not your city! This is my city!’

‘This is not your city,’ the puppet mumbles now, through his broken teeth and bloody lips. ‘This city, this city is a séance …’

‘A séance?’ I laugh. ‘This city is no séance.’

Now two of my good puppets lay this bad puppet down and they stretch it out upon a door which lies upon the concrete floor.

I take a mirror from my pocket. I crouch down beside it. I hold the mirror to its plaster face. I say, ‘This city is a mirror. Look!’

But the puppet upon the door upon the floor does not look. The puppet does not move. The puppet does not breathe.

‘It’s dead, Boss,’ say my own puppets.

I look up from the mirror. I say, ‘That’s a great pity’

‘What if it really was him?’ ask my puppets. ‘What if it really was the Teikoku killer? What are we going to do, Boss?’

‘There’s always another puppet,’ I say. ‘Next!’

Beneath the Black Gate, in its upper chamber, spinning and spinning, in this now-enormous room, on this now-thick carpet, spinning and spinning, high above the city, the man still-beside you shouting, ‘Look outside this window, Mister Writer! Look at the breadth of this city, the height of its buildings, the speed of its trains, and the wealth of its people. This city that was once ash, that was then wood, fields of ash and forests of wood, that is now concrete, steel and glass, mile upon mile of concrete, steel and glass.

‘In less than twenty years, this city rose from ash to become an Olympic City. Did you know that, Mister Writer? Mister Puppet?

‘Of course not! How could you? You’ll never know it, you’ll never see it. Because it’s too late, too late for you, Mister Writer –

‘But not for me! Not me! This is my time! This is my city!

‘I run this city. I rule this city. I walk where I want. I sit where I want. I eat what I want. I buy what I want. Who I want. I build what I want, where I want and when I want. I take what I want. I say what I want. I do what I want. Because this is my city. My city! And in my city, everything is mine. Everybody mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!

‘Soldier, war criminal, gangster, strike-breaker, factory-owner, managing director, company president and politician, they are all me and this is all mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! In my city! My city!’

And now beneath the Black Gate, in its upper chamber, in the occult circle of the six candles, he blows out one more candle –

‘But it’s too late, too late for you, Mister Writer …

‘For you are out of time, Mister Puppet…

‘Out of time, little puppet…’

In the light of now-five candles, in their occult circle, in the upper chamber, beneath the Black Gate, you thrash and you shout –

‘I am not a puppet! I am not a puppet!’

Hands above your head, you dance in the light of the circle, chopping and cutting at the strings and at the webs –

‘I will cut all strings. I will cut all ties –

‘I will smash all clocks, all time!’

But now you stop. You lower your head. You close your eyes. For you want to rest. You want to sleep. To never –

‘Wake up, decadent!’ now shouts a thick and heavy-accented voice and so you try to open your eyes, to open your eyes to the gloom of the five candles, still in the upper chamber,

still beneath this Black, Black Gate –

‘Wake up, degenerate!’

The medium upright, taut and still, her mouth opening, opening and speaking, speaking and saying, ‘I am Homo Sovieticus —’I am Comrade Andrei Kaidanovsky –

‘And this is my journal –

‘My martyr-log …