Tokyo Year Zero

To Shimbashi, Tokyo. There are lines of soldiers unloading wooden crates from two Imperial Army trucks outside the temporary offices of Matsuda Giichi and his affiliates in an open lot near the back of the Shimbashi Railway Station; Matsuda Giichi himself giving the orders —

‘Sellers and Buyers Are All Comrades in Arms…’

Matsuda Giichi in a new silk suit, stood on a crate with a Panama hat in one hand and a foreign cigar in the other —

The brand new Emperor of Tokyo…

Matsuda smiles when he sees Fujita and me —

The only man smiling in Tokyo…

‘I thought you lot had all run off to the mountains,’ he laughs. ‘The last stand of the Japanese race and all that…’

‘What’s in the crates?’ I ask him —

‘Ever the detective, aren’t you?’ says Matsuda. ‘But you two might want to start thinking of changing your line of work…’

‘What’s in the crates?’ I ask again —

‘Army helmets,’ he says —

‘Not thinking of joining the war effort, are you?’

‘Little late for that,’ he says. ‘Anyway, I did my bit on the continent — not that anyone ever thanked me for my trouble. But, past is past, now I’m going to help this country get back on its feet…’

‘Very patriotic of you,’ I say. ‘But we’ve not lost yet.’

Matsuda looks at his watch, his new foreign watch, and nods. ‘Not yet, you’re quite right, Detective. But have you seen all those columns of smoke rising from all those government buildings…?’

Both Detective Fujita and I shake our heads —

‘Well, that means they’re burning all their documents and their records. That’s the smoke of surrender…’

‘The smoke of defeat.’

Two more army trucks pull up. Horns sound. Matsuda says, ‘Now, I am very sorry to be rude but, as you gentlemen can see, today is a very busy day. So was there anything you specifically wanted? Like a new job? A new name? A new life? A new past…?’

‘Just cigarettes,’ say Fujita and I simultaneously.

‘Go see Senju,’ says Matsuda Giichi.

Both Fujita and I thank him —

‘Senju’s round the back.’

Fujita and I bow to him —

And curse him.

Detective Fujita and I walk round the back of Matsuda’s temporary office to his makeshift warehouse and his lieutenant —

Senju Akira stripped to his waist, a sheathed short sword in his right hand, as he supervises the unloading of another truck —

Its boxes of Imperial Chrysanthemum cigarettes —

I ask, ‘Where did you get hold of all these?’

‘Never ask a policeman,’ laughs Senju. ‘Look, those in the know, know, and those who don’t, don’t…’

‘So what’s with your boss and all those helmets?’ I ask him.

‘What goes around, comes around,’ smiles Senju again. ‘We sold the army saucepans to make helmets, now they’re selling us helmets to make saucepans…’

‘Well then, you can sell us on some of those Chrysanthemum cigarettes,’ says Fujita.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve actually got hard cash,’ says Senju.

Detective Fujita and I both shake our heads again —

‘Fucking cops,’ sighs Senju Akira as he hands us each five packs of cigarettes. ‘Worse than thieves…’

We thank him and we bow to him —

And we curse him and curse him…

We share a match in the shade —

In the shade that is no shade…

We smoke, then we walk on.