Salaryman

Salaryman

He woke up in a capsule hotel. The soft slap of slippers on linoleum and the creak of people climbing down from their bunks created a muffled din that reminded him of his high school class trip to Kyoto. He rubbed his eyes, and, with the remote, thumbed on the TV at the front end. Not being able to see the screen because of his feet, he sat up, and hit the top of his head on the bottom of the bunk above. He saw stars and felt nauseated. Then, a curious sensation came over him; he didn’t know who he was.

Pulling aside the curtain, he looked around to see if he recognized where he was. No enlightenment sparked the flame of memory. Maybe, he thought, he could retrieve something from the cobwebs by taking a shower. He grabbed the plastic basket containing his shoes and clothes and half rolled into the narrow corridor. Making his way to the shower room, he walked crab like, yet it was unavoidable to brush against others. For this reason no apologies were heard above the shuffle of slippers on plastic.

Just outside the shower stalls was a wall of coin lockers, each locker big enough for the basket he held. He needed a coin to lock it. Unfolding his jacket, he shook it and heard the welcome sound of coins. He pulled out a small purse from a pocket and took out the appropriate coin. Looking around, he saw a large dispenser containing packets of liquid soap with a large washcloth, and a smaller one with packets of shaving foam and a razor. He took out another coin. Two hundred yen poorer he was ready to take a shower.

He took off the yukata provided by the hotel, tossed it into the bin next to the door, and entered the stall. Reading the instructions, he decided on ten minutes of hot water and inserted two hundred yen. He broke open the packet of soap, poured half of it onto his wet washcloth, and scrubbed his body. With the other half he washed his hair. He had just enough time to rinse his washcloth. Wringing it dry, he used it to soak up the water on his body. He tied the cloth around his waist and went to a mirror to shave with the kit he had bought. The water was cold but it was free.

He took a good look at himself. He saw a thin face with loose flabby skin over his neck, short salt and pepper hair, droopy eyes under long hairy eyebrows, and a small nose. He guessed it had seen more than four decades of existence.

He still couldn’t remember who he was, though he was confident he would as soon as he looked in his wallet. He took his clothes from his locker, got dressed, and left the hotel.

Seeing a MacDonald’s, he decided to have breakfast and investigate the mystery of his identity. He ordered an Egg Mcmuffin and coffee, paying with the coins from his small purse. He found a table and started eating. Pulling out his wallet, he noticed how bulky it was. He was surprised at the number of ten thousand yen bills in it, apparently he was well off. First, he scurtinized the driver’s license and discovered he was Sato Shinji, forty-two years old, living in Saitama. Next, a business card showed he was a salesman for a company selling mobile phones.

Now, he was puzzled, a salesman was at the bottom of the rung, so why did he have all this money? His memory started coming back. He was a failure on the financial side of life with no prospect of a meaningful change. At that point, he arrested the process of retrieving the events of his life, for he began to see his affliction as a gift from whatever controlled the destiny of mortals. He was excited for the first time in years as he saw the possibilities ahead. He had all the time in the world and neither chore nor errand to mar the prospects of his day. So, with a spring to his step, his hands in his pockets, and a tune playing in his mind he set out into the valleys of glass and stone.

The first necessity was to change his name, he looked around at all the signs. There were hundreds of them, it would be easy to choose a name. Matsumoto Kiyoshi, the name of a chain of pharmacies, caught his eye. He decided he liked the given name, Kiyoshi, and made it his. A sign for a bookstore, Amano Books and Magazines, filled the space for family. He smiled. His new name, Amano Kiyoshi, pleased him.

From the opposite way, a man in a business suit blocked his way. Kiyoshi swerved to avoid him. Mr Morita, the suited man, spoke, “Sato-san, you look spunky this morning.”

Surprised, Kiyoshi slowed down. “You are mistaken, sir. The name’s not Sato.” Mr. Morita, mouth wide open in shock, stepped aside to let his colleague pass.

Desiring not to be Satoed again, he looked for a clothes store and found a Uni Qlo. He picked out a pair of tan corduroys, a red cotton shirt, and a blue sweater. He laid the bills on the counter and spoke to the clerk, “I’d like to wear these now.” The clerk clipped off the tags and showed him the dressing room. When he emerged the clerk was waiting with a pair of sunglasses unfolded, “Sir, may I suggest something to complement your fine selection?”

With a polite nod of his head, Kiyoshi took the pair offered and put them on. The clerk smiled and said, “It’s perfect, sir. No one will ever know it’s you.”

Kiyoshi wondered; how do these people always know? With confidence, he stepped out to drink deeply from whatever cup the city would offer.

He didn’t plan or scheme, feeling that destiny would show its hand and point the way. An ad for a tiny movie theater showing reruns of classic movies invited all to pass unproductively the late morning. Thinking why not, he went through an inner portal with stairs leading down into darkness.

He bought a ticket, took off his shades, and entered. The movie had already started so he stood waiting for his eyes to adjust to the pitch. The place was nearly empty. He chose a seat near the last row. A few minutes later, a woman took the adjacent seat and a smell of a fancy, yet familiar perfume aroused his senses. She leaned over, “Shinji, magnificent job. I knew you would do it for me. Here’s the rest of the promised money.” She gave him an envelope and, with a kiss, left.

Surprised by the sudden developments and most of all by the kiss, he sat for a few moments stunned. By the time he rushed outside he was too late to prevent the mysterious lady from taking a taxi. All he saw was the profile of a charming face as the taxi wove into the traffic.

He peeked into the envelope. It was full of money, payment for something he’d done for a lady he should know. He remembered the perfume, a scent from his youth, more than twenty years ago: Nina Ricci. A face started to form from the vapors of the past. It was a youthful almost childish version of the lady just gone, but that was as far as the scroll of memory conceded.

Kiyoshi looked behind for the theater. It was gone, for he’d been walking in a daze and had wandered away from the main street. He turned the corner and was in another world: small parks in Tokyo. Climbing the few steps leading into the rectangular park, he studied the homes of discarded plywood walls with roofs of stolen blue tarpaulin lining the perimeter. There was no sensory evidence testifying to human habitation from within the abodes of the homeless: no music nor banter, no smell of tobacco nor aroma of cooking. From a distance the clear notes of a Peruvian street band playing El Condor Pasa invaded the dreary cages of the end of the road. Kiyoshi thought; what kind of memories do these people have?

Suddenly, a photograph of himself in a panama hat with the Nina Ricci lady in a Peruvian bowler arose from the mists of memory. Taken somewhere in Latin America long ago, it showed a laughing pair of tourists with love twinkling in their eyes. He shook his head to loosen the grip of powerful emotions. A deep exhalation blew them away.

Exiting the park, he took another flight of stairs leading down into a subway station. He saw a poster of dinosaurs advertising an exhibit in Ueno. Looking at the skeletons of huge animals appealed to him. He bought a ticket for Ueno Park. Less than half an hour later the train delivered him to his destination. He slid his ticket into the gate and walked through.

A human being gender unknowable stood just outside the gate. Like an island in a river, it parted the commuters flowing out of the station. Unmoving and silent, flowing gray hair covering the face and touching the knees, it was an eerie herald to the frigid world awaiting those straying from the well worn road. Kiyoshi thought; where did he come from and where will he go?

Leaving the station, Kiyoshi climbed the hill to the Museum of Natural Science and paid the admission charge. It was exactly twelve o’clock. He went straight to the dinosaur exhibit and to his favorite structure of bones, Allosaurus.

He took off his sunglasses to get a better view. A man in a dark suit stopped next to him, “Sato-san, did you get the payment from my wife?”

Kiyoshi took a good look at the man, he was vaguely familiar. “Yes, I did.”

“So, she thinks I’m dead. Great job.” He passed Kiyoshi an envelope, “Here’s a little something to show my thanks. You can forget everything that happened. I’ll take care of things from here on. And thanks again for warning me.” The man stepped aside, and craned his head at the bones before walking away.

Kiyoshi squeezed the edges of the envelope to look inside. This time, he wasn’t surprised to see it was filled with money. By now, he realized his subconscious was guiding him; it had sent him to two appointed locations at the correct times. He hoped there would be no more.

He spent an hour browsing in the museum before going out to sit on a park bench next to a large pond. A woman in a gray pants suit sat down and without looking at him spoke, “Keep looking straight ahead, Sato-san. My name is Kobayashi. I’m a policewoman. My colleagues are watching us. We have to be very careful that none of the accomplices or their friends are trailing you. We haven’t seen anything suspicious, so we think you’re safe. I’m going to stand up and walk away. I want you to follow me but keep about fifty meters behind. I’ll be taking you to a police box. Do you understand?”

Kiyoshi rubbed his face in frustration and said, “Yes.”

Policewoman Kobayashi sat for another minute then stood up and walked away. Kiyoshi watched her out of the corner of his eye until she was fifty meters away then he stood up and followed her. Arriving at the police box, he was motioned into a small room in the back. A man in a wrinkled blue suit bowed, “I’m Inspector Fujimoto. Thank you, Sato-san, for your help. We truly appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”

Kiyoshi looked at him with a sheepish grin, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hit my head this morning at a capsule hotel and I lost all memory of recent events.”

Inspector Fujimoto groaned. “Try to remember. We need you to testify at the trial.” He paused to think. “I’ll tell you everything as far as I know, it may bring back your memory.”

He took out a cigarette and offered one to Kiyoshi, who declined. Lighting his cigarette, the Inspector took a deep drag. “Ten days ago you called us. You said you had met your former wife, Akiko. She asked you to kill her husband, Takeda Koji, a leader of a gang of drug dealers and extortionists. She’s not an angel herself. She along with her husband are suspected of involvement in a murder case. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough evidence.”

Taking another drag, the Inspector blew the smoke up towards the ceiling. “We asked you to take part in a sting. Two days ago, we had you call Akiko to tell her you’d do the job. Then, yesterday, we had you warn Takeda. Of course, we foresaw that he’d be suspicious, so we told you to suggest having one of Takeda’s men call Akiko to say he’d been killed. She fell for it and paid you, and that convinced Takeda.”

The cigarette was short and the smoke stung his eyes as he took a final drag. “Takeda’s not the forgiving type. He’s sure to try for revenge. We’re going to arrest them both for attempted murder. Hopefully, we’ll get them to rat on each other and spill the beans on the other crimes.”

He stubbed out the cigarette. “Have I jogged your memory, Sato-san?”

Kiyoshi was amazed at himself. “I can’t believe I did those things.” He nearly laughed with delight until he saw the look of disappointment in Inspector Fujimoto’s eyes. “Sorry, I still don’t remember.”

Inspector Fujimoto took out his card. “Call me as soon as you remember anything, Sato-san. And thank you once again. Kobayashi has told me no one followed you here, but to be absolutely safe, she’ll lead you through the underground passageway to our other police box. And, I have already spoken to your boss and wife. I’ve told them you can’t talk about this. Please keep everything secret. Oh, I nearly forgot, you must leave the two envelopes of cash. It will be used as evidence.”

Kiyoshi handed over the money. “Can you give me my address and phone number?”

The Inspector laughed and said, “Certainly.” He wrote on a piece of paper and offered it with a bow and smiled. “Don’t forget, call me if your memory comes back.”

Kiyoshi returned the bow. “I will. Thank you, Fujimoto-san.”

He followed Ms. Kobayashi through the underground passage and out into the street. She bowed. “Thank you and take care.”

Kiyoshi waved good-bye and headed for a restaurant. He was hungry for udon, his mouth watered from thinking of the thick pale noodles in the hot delicious soup. He saw an udon shop up ahead, his nose captured the aroma and suddenly whatever had clogged his memory melted away.

He stopped, and was about to return to the police box when he thought; I still have the cash in my wallet and I don’t have to be Sato Shinji yet. I can be whoever I want for the rest of the day.

He laughed. He was going to have fun.