It was no big deal to them now. Young punks would come by for a bit of fun after drinking. The worst thing was to be caught alone. That was when the harshest beatings were dealt out. The youngsters would gang up on a single homeless guy and just keep kicking and punching. It would carry on until they ran out of energy. The first time Ohashi had been beaten, he’d noticed as the blows went on they started not to feel so bad. It was like weathering a storm – the wind and rain had to let up eventually. Something began to numb him from the pain, or the punks started to lose energy.
Either way, the pain lessened as the beating went on. It was better to relax the body and not resist, then there would be fewer broken bones. The worst was if they kicked a tooth out. That made eating harder. Ohashi did his best to protect his head from the attacks. But then a foot or a fist or an elbow would catch him in the testicles. And then that was a whole new pain that ate away at his stomach from the insides.
Whenever Ohashi went out collecting cans, he tried his best to look around the streets and take in his surroundings. To view the things in the scenery that he felt to be beautiful, the small things that gave him pleasure. The sun rising in the morning, edging its way through the gaps between the buildings, the hazy sky that obscured the tops of the skyscrapers in the distance, the clouds that formed patterns that looked like a clowder of cats chasing one another. Life still had some pleasure for him, no matter how small.
He’d watch the people walking past too. He did his best not to be noticed, and most turned their heads away from him whenever he passed by. There were the odd few who would stare, as if he’d done something wrong, or mutter under their breath, ‘Get a job’ . . . that kind of thing. But most of the people he passed on the street would be going about their solitary lives in the big city. There was something reassuring about that.
By 11 a.m., Ohashi was in the Shimbashi area and already tired. He bought a can of coffee from a vending machine, cracked it open and sat on the ground by his cart to watch the world go by. Two taxi drivers were standing near the vending machine drinking coffee and smoking. One of them was short and fat, the other tall and skinny, but they both smiled at Ohashi and said hello. Taxi drivers always reminded him of his brother, Taro. What was Taro up to now? Another memory that filled him with shame.
The chubby taxi driver came over and handed three empty cans to Ohashi, who thanked him. After his own little break, Ohashi crushed up all four cans including his own and tossed them in with the others, before heading on his way. When he got home he hid his cart in the alleyway for the night, then went to see his friends.
He knew something was strange when he approached the camp, because he could hear shouting.
Crouched in a bush, hunched cat-like, he watched the tents from afar.
There was a man in uniform carrying Taka’s doll at arm’s length, by its leg. And there was someone in handcuffs now, being taken away. And the men in uniform were ripping up the tents, pulling up the blue tarpaulins and shoving them in the backs of pickup trucks. They were tearing the cardboard apart and piling it into stacks.
Some of the homeless were fighting back, but the men in uniform were stronger, better nourished, sober, and they had telescopic batons. Ohashi stifled a gasp as a uniformed man drew one, flicked his wrist casually to extend the baton to its full length, then advanced slowly towards a protesting man looking in the other direction. Thwack. With a sharp hit to the knee, the protester crumpled to the floor. One after another, the homeless were dragged across the remnants of the camp and shoved into the back of a vehicle. But, wait, hold on. That wasn’t a police car. That was a van. And it didn’t have a flashing light. Ohashi strained his eyes to make out the writing on the van. Clean Sweep, it said. In clear black letters.
Time to go.
Ohashi ran. He could feel his tiny paunch bounce every time his feet hit the pavement, along with the jiggling of the loose flesh that had collected under his nipples with old age. His muscles temporarily forgot the pain of a hard day’s work, and every cell in his body dedicated itself to putting as much distance between himself and the slow reverse blossoming of the blue tarpaulin city.
As he ran, a strange memory kept playing in his mind. A biology lesson from his high-school days. The teacher had told the class that if a man or woman were to jump on the spot, as long as they were in good shape, only their sexual organs would bounce. Any other form of bouncing on the human body indicated unwanted fat. Everything should be useful; everything should be muscle. He thought of the camp: was it unnecessary flab on the city? Did it need to be removed, like fatty tissue from a body by liposuction? Had it been cut and scraped away from muscle? Disposed of. Then all that came to his mind were words falling rhythmically between breaths: unwanted, unnecessary, unsightly, uninspired, unprepared, unknown, unsignificant – wait – that wasn’t a word, but it seemed like it should be—
‘Oi!’
A call from somewhere. He glanced over his shoulder but kept running.
‘Ohashi!’
There it was again. But this time it was clearly his name. He spun around.
Peeking around the corner of an alleyway was a familiar toothy face. ‘Over ’ere!’
Ohashi stumbled towards the toothiness. As he approached, a skinny arm yanked him into a back alley. Just in time, as a police car whisked past them, its siren shrieking a distorted laugh. Some kind of joke that these old men were not a part of, and never would be.
Ohashi caught his breath leaning against the grubby wall of the alleyway.
‘Ohashi-san! Praise be to God you are safe.’
Taka’s God was looking out for him.
‘Are the others all right?’ Ohashi straightened himself, having caught his breath.
‘They took Shimada.’ Hori looked grey-eyed and more gaunt than usual. ‘Taka had been to church, and I’d gone to get a drink from the vendy. When we came back, they’d already started tearing the camp down and taking people away.’
Taka’s God obviously hadn’t deemed Shimada worthy. Perhaps he was too insignificant.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Hori.
‘Perhaps we could seek refuge at the church?’ Taka looked at them both hopefully.
Ohashi hesitated. ‘I’ve an idea,’ he said slowly.
‘What is it?’ Hori smiled eagerly.
Ohashi swallowed. ‘I know a place we can all stay. There’s plenty of room.’
‘Where?’
‘But you’ll have to promise to be quiet.’
‘Of course, Ohashi. We’ll be quiet. As quiet as mice.’
‘All right. Follow me.’
Ohashi hoped his voice didn’t betray his reluctance. Was this a mistake?
‘Where on earth?’
Ohashi held the swing window open as Hori and Taka stepped inside.
‘Be careful – just stand there, by the wall. I’ll show you the way once I’m inside.’
‘It’s dark, Ohashi. Where are we?’
‘Just a second.’ He stepped down into the bathroom and pulled the window gently behind him, leaving a small gap. ‘Hold on.’
‘You don’t shut it?’ asked Hori.
‘I have a friend who likes to visit me in the mornings. I’ll introduce you tomorrow.’
‘Is it a girl-friend?’ Hori laughed.