We ended up hailing a cab.
It was a primitive taxi-cycle that took us from Asakusa—‘O-tee-san will pay for it,’ Kohana decided—as Tomeko had turned worse and was unable to walk.
The three of us crowded into the dilapidated back seat, behind the driver.
‘I don’t like this,’ I muttered, a feeling of panic in my veins. ‘Is it safe?’
‘Safer than flying.’
‘In 1948? I thinks planes were safer than you suppose.’
As we sped along over bumpy streets, Kohana gazed at the reconstruction going on around us. ‘I first met O-tee-san last year,’ she said, ‘when I was dressed as a man.’
‘I see.’
She glanced over. ‘You do? I was expecting some kind of flippant remark. This isn’t surprising?’
‘If I expressed surprise at all your yarns, I doubt we could make room for regular conversation.’
‘Oh.’ The girl turned her head and watched the road ahead. ‘There was a reason I was dressed in men’s clothes—I was trying to entice a visiting German stage actor, named Franz.’
‘And were you successful in this enterprise?’
‘Sadly, not at all. Franz was a strikingly handsome man, but he preferred other strikingly handsome men. Probably, I was too short and too skinny.’
‘How was your German?’
‘Worse.’
‘So, instead, you caught the notice of this O-tee-san character? He likes his cross-dressing women?’
‘Actually, he does. O-tee-san is a big fan of the Takarazuka Revue, a famous all-female musical theatre troupe. I was waiting for Franz in a café in the Ginza, dolled up in a grey suit and hat, with a pencil-thin moustache that I’d perfected, using my eyeliner. The customer at the next table kept on stealing peeks, and scribbled something into a sketchbook. Franz never showed up, so I asked to join this other man. He was sheepish, at first, about the undercover pet project he’d been doing, but I was charmed when I finally saw the picture he’d drawn—a caricature of me, dressed as a Renaissance European male aristocrat. The big, ribboned hat was particularly striking.’
We hit a pothole, and the taxi lurched—along with my stomach.
‘God, I hate this,’ I mumbled.
‘The story, or the ride?’
I hadn’t intended Kohana to hear. ‘The ride, my dear. I’m not at my best inside any wheeled contraptions.’
‘Car sickness? You should talk to O-tee-san about it; he can probably recommend some medicine. He acts like my doctor, always telling me to get proper bed rest and take a regular dose of vitamin C. Though he’s a year older than me, he feels like an overactive younger brother sometimes. But he’s a sweetheart.’
‘I don’t think he’ll hear my complaints,’ I reminded her.
‘I’ll mention it to him anyway. No harm.’
I looked for a long time at Tomeko, seated between us. I could feel the girl’s hip poking into my side. So, I could touch her? I raised my hand to her face.
‘Don’t, Wolram. Let her sleep.’
The drive finally came to a stop in a dead-end street, where makeshift wooden apartment blocks loomed around us. There were some children nearby—the girls skipping rope, the boys playing baseball, and never the twain shall meet. The light here had an amber, dusty hue.
Kohana waved at two grubby boys of about ten or eleven. ‘Shotaro-kun, Fujio-kun, could you come over here?’
They walked to the cab and stared at the two girls on the seat. I noticed that the younger lad carried with him a blue bucket, in which oversized beetles were crawling.
‘Kohana-chan, what happened?’ asked the oldest boy in a slow, deliberate voice.
‘A long story, Fujio-kun, not necessary now. Is O-tee-san about?’
‘He’s upstairs, working.’
‘Fetch him for me?’
‘He won’t be happy. He doesn’t like to be interrupted.’
‘I’ll take that risk. Tell him Kohana needs him—quickly now.’
The boy raced straight into the entrance of a flat, his legs faster than his tongue. While we waited, our cab driver lit himself a foul-smelling cigarette.
‘What kind of tobacco is that?’
‘I doubt it’s tobacco.’
The other boy—what was his name? Shotaro?—stood motionless nearby, with that pail full of creepy crawlies. His mouth was wide open, and I wondered if he used that pose to catch unsuspecting flying insects.
‘Shotaro-kun loves his bugs as much as his comics,’ Kohana said. ‘O-tee-san thinks he’ll either become an entomologist or will one day create a superhero team of insect people.’
‘How is Tomeko? Is she all right?’
Kohana didn’t answer.
I saw someone approaching with the other boy Fujio-kun. This man somewhat comically resembled a Frenchman, with a beret, heavy-framed glasses, and a horizontally striped T-shirt. He was carrying a half-chewed baguette.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked, as he leaned over the taxi-cycle.
‘Rape.’
‘I can see that.’ The man mixed and matched concern with anger. He tossed the breadstick aside. ‘Who did this? Who is responsible? I’ll kill them.’
‘I can’t tell you.’
I leaned close. ‘Why not?’
‘Either he’ll follow through with his threat—and get himself hurt—or he’ll call the police. Shashin-san is my responsibility. It’s the way it was then, and the way it will be now.’
‘We need to go straight to a hospital,’ the man said. ‘I’m not qualified for this.’
Kohana shook her head. ‘No hospital. Please.’
‘Kohana, I am not a doctor.’
‘Please.’
Without further argument, and with surprising vigour, O-teesan lifted Tomeko and carried her toward the same building the boy had entered earlier. We followed him, past a wooden plaque with ‘Tokiwa-sō’ on it, and went upstairs to the second floor.
‘Fujio, the door.’
The boy opened it for him, and O-tee-san hauled Tomeko to a couch, setting her down in gentle fashion. She didn’t stir. The man then cautiously started to investigate the damage.
I looked around a small living area, packed with books and boxes. Pictures completely covered the walls, mostly kids’ comic puff like robots and humanized animals, but also darker, more striking images.
‘Gekiga,’ Kohana said. ‘Dramatic pictures. A lot of the mangaka did them—they weren’t only interested in cuteness. The cute ones, however, paid the bills.’
‘Fujio,’ O-tee-san called out, ‘be a good boy: go get Fujimoto and Abiko next door. Tell them to bring boiling hot water and clean cloths. Clean, I say! And tell them to leave their stupid cat at home this time.’
He started to unravel Tomeko’s kimono, but then produced a pair of scissors to cut off the material he couldn’t undo without overly moving the girl.
The taxi driver was hovering in the open doorway, his hand out. He noisily cleared his throat.
‘I think the man wants to be paid his fare,’ I said.
‘Get out!’ O-tee-san shouted, as he jumped up, slammed the door, and whizzed back to his patient. ‘I’m begging you, let me work!’
I stood back as far as I could in that cramped space. ‘So, Kohana, what’s the plan?’
My companion looked at me with an icy expression. ‘You’ll find out. But you have to remember—you’re a spectator here. That’s all.’
‘I understand. What about Tomeko? Will she be all right?’
‘No.’ Kohana stared down at her hands. ‘She dies tonight.’
‘What? Just like that?’
‘Sometimes death is a cheap and nasty creature. Haven’t you noticed?’