Tokyo Zero | Page 5

The squid were obviously the least appetizing to a Westerner so I would choose them to signal who I was.
There were several types of squid, but I chose the ones that seemed softest and least crunchy. For good measure I ordered three packs.
Nothing much happened and half an hour later, after pushing the snacks to the bottom of my suitcase where they might never be found I got back on the train and continued to the correct station (the school-boys were very helpful) where I bought one packet of "oishii-squido" and was met by a man in a navy blue suit called Takeshi Honda.
***
We transferred trains twice to get to our final destination, Koiwa. Honda helped me carry my bag: insisted on it.
I noticed that he looked a little different from other Japanese men in their thirties. His skin was tan and smooth, like someone who exercises outside a lot, but not like some weather-beaten sailor. I also noticed that the mask of his suit was occasionally threatened by bustling muscles. He actually had a muscular head, once you observed it, most noticeably two powerful muscles set perpendicular to the line of his mouth that looked well positioned to drive his long slabs of tooth through rope, planks and any other minor restraint. His face was relaxed and long; his manner was confident and ready for a minor challenge such as a punch in the stomach or a request for an explanation of his apocalyptic beliefs.
For he was a member of "The Path of Forgetting", the obviously dangerous Japanese Buddhist sect who felt the end of the world in every moment and that was why he was helping me with my suitcase.
FOUR
Honda was quiet on the whole, and didn't look at me much. I expect he didn't want to draw too much attention to us. But before we left Koiwa station, he asked me if I wanted a Pocari Sweat. "It has high levels of isotonic elements such as Niacin: it's a real pick-me-up," he explained. "Isotonic elements sound good to me," I replied.
I decided that even if he came back with a can of Pocari Piss I would just drink it and not ask what a Pocari was.
Koiwa station platform was a good 100 feet above street level. In fact, beneath us was the beginning of a four-mile long department store. So I could see a lot of what Koiwa was. In front of the south entrance to the station was a small plaza, and several arcades split off from it. The Plaza showed signs of being a political speaking place as there were posters of boring looking people scattered around it. There were two tall buildings on the south side. One was very close to the station and I judged it to be one of those capsule hotels that had fascinated the Western media in the eighties. In fact it looked somewhat run down, as if that fascination were the only reason it was still around. The other, more distant, building looked newer, more curved, and had some colorful artwork that I couldn't appreciate as yet.
On the north side were a big supermarket called Ito Yokado, more shopping streets and, in the distance, the bruise-colored Edo river.
The rails throbbed like electric heating elements. No doubt in the summer people incinerated themselves on the rails, flashing away before the train even touched them. It might be beautiful: the yellow train of the Sobu line bursting through a small pink cloud.
Honda returned with a can that looked like a slim blue Coca-Cola. I opened it up and downed the slightly milky, slightly salty, damn good soft drink while Honda looked on with a note of worry on his face that disappeared when I wiped my hand across my mouth and said "aahhhh!"
He then gestured to move down the stairs and we were soon out of the station. The Pocari was making it bearable: I estimated that I had twenty minutes walking in me before I had to tear my shirt off and burst a water melon on my head.
Slowly and softly, Honda began to talk as we walked down a covered street full of small shops, mainly fruit and veg.
"This is Koiwa City, on the eastern perimeter of Tokyo Prefecture. It is part of old Down Town... very old-style."
I couldn't see the old style, unless 20 years after the fire-bombings constituted old. Maybe it did. Tokyo was destroyed in cycles and, as Honda and I were particularly aware, it was currently overdue.
"We will be staying here as our country facility has been under heavy surveillance recently. Our headquarters here is positioned near a fish market and between several karaoke bars, including a Korean bar and a Chinese bar, so we have good cover for smells and sounds."
"Excellent," I noted. With