Tokyo Year Zero Read Online Free PDF Page B

flowers, now we see Rising Sun flags.
Everything khaki
. Lookout patrols are dispatched, sentries posted. This unit to the noodle factory, that unit to the match factory.
The Chinks rob the Japanese
. The soldiers cook and clean.
The Chinks rape the Japanese
. The soldiers guard and patrol.
The Chinks murder the Japanese
. The soldiers build defence zones.
The Chinks rob the Japanese
. Barbed wire and barricades throughout the city.
The Chinks rape the Japanese
. Every Chinese is challenged at every intersection.
The Chinks murder the Japanese
. There are sandbags and there are roadblocks. More units arrive. There is always sand, there is never water. More units arrive. Always dust and always dirt. More units arrive. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. Daytime duty is followed by nighttime duty. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. Nighttime duty followed by daytime duty. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. The mattresses are torn, the bedbugs hungry. I itch and I scratch.
Gari-gari
. There among the corpses, I cannot sleep.
Bayonets fixed
. I can hear their screams.
Rifles loaded
. I can hear their pleas.
The Chinks rob the Japanese
. The Japanese bosses don’t pay their Chinese workers.
The Chinks rape the Japanese
. The Chinese workers complain to their Japanese bosses.
The Chinks murder the Japanese
. The bosses insert cotton-thread needles into the gaps between the flesh and the nails of their workers’ fingers.
I can hear their screams
. The bosses thrust the needles into their ring fingers, their middle fingers and their index fingers.
I can hear their pleas
. The Japanese bosses do what they want now.
I was impertinent, lazy and bad
. Workers are lashed with wet leather whips.
This is a warning
. Workers are hung from the branches of trees.
I was impertinent
. Fifty Calmotin, fifty-one . A child shits behind a sorghum straw fence. Single-wheeled carts rush down the street.
In this city of robbery
. A woman with bound feet hurries past. The solitary wheels groan beneath the weight of huge gunnysacks.
In this city of rape
. Coolies the colour of dust sift through peanut shells and watermelon rinds. The rhombus-shaped sails of the carts inflate and disappear.
In this city of murder
. Long-eared donkeys lead a lengthy funeral

1
August 15, 1946
    Tokyo, 91°, overcast
    Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…
    The sound of hammering and hammering –
    Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
…
    I open my eyes and I remember –
    Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton
… I am one of the survivors –
    One of the lucky ones
…
    I take out my handkerchief. I wipe my face. I wipe my neck. I push my hair back out of my eyes. I look at my watch –
    Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku
…
    It is 10 a.m.; it is only 10 a.m. –
    Just four hours gone, eight still to go, then down to Shinagawa, down to Yuki. Three, four hours there and then out to Mitaka, to my wife and my children. Try to take them some food, bring them something to eat, anything. Eat and then sleep, try to sleep. Then back here again for 6 a.m. tomorrow
…
    Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku
…
    Another twelve hours in this oven
…
    I wipe the sweat from my shirt collar. I wipe the sweat from my eyelids. I look down the length of the table. Three men on my left, two men on my right and the three empty chairs –
    No Fujita. No Ishida. No Kimura
…
    Five men wiping their necks and wiping their faces, scratching after lice and swiping away mosquitoes, ignoring their work and turning their newspapers; newspapers full of the First Anniversary of the Surrender, the progress of reform and the gains of democracy; newspapers full of the International Military Tribunal, the judgment of the Victors and the punishment of the Losers –
    Day in, day out. Day in, day out. Day in, day out
…
    Turning our newspapers, thinking about food –
    Day in, day out. Day in, day out
…
    And waiting and waiting –
    Day in, day out
…
    The telephones that can’t ring, the electric fans