It is located in the Roppongi section of Tokyo, known for its night club scene. On the second floor of an old building is Geronimo, a bar that has not much to offer except for few wooden communal tables for expats who mingle in the bar.
The etiquette for drinking sake is complicated, so I asked the waitress if she knew. She gave me a cup called sakazuki and offered me a brand of sake that is called Kunshu which is popular among foreigners.
The man sitting next to me explained how sake is made from steamed rice.
Thanking the man, I sipped my sake and started thinking about writing a short story connecting the summer drummers who play in Prospect Park, Brooklyn with the Taiko drummers of Japan. I will write a story that takes place in Tokyo—a detective story full of drum beats and music and a clever assassin. Geronimo will be where some of the action takes place.
“Are you from Indonesia?” He asked with a heavy English accent. His name was Toni.
“South of the border,” I replied, “meaning south of the United States—I am just a tourist in this beautiful city.” He agreed, but was extremely inquisitive about my background. I told him that my mother spoke the Inca language called Quechua and drunk chicha which is made of fermented corn. “How about you, what do you do?” I asked him. He said he was an Englishman who lived in Brooklyn, New York. “I also live in Brooklyn,” I said as he looked at me attentively. “What do you do in Tokyo?” I asked.
“I am a speleologist, interested in the famous caves north of Tokyo. They are called the Hyakuana tombs.” He highlighted that there were only eight people in the world who could compare their cave knowledge with his.
“The cave is the first habitat of mankind?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said and went onto explain how cave paintings, for instance, say much about ourselves.
“Do people die or get lost in caves?” I asked because I had read about several speleologists who were found dead outside of a cave in England.
“Look me in the eye,” he said. One of his eyes was glass, so I asked him about it. He explained that it was due to an accident that happened in a cave … “Yes. People die in caves,” he replied.
“Nice meeting you. I have to get up very early to see the biggest wholesale fish market in the world,” I said.
“Do you mean the Tsukiji Market?”
I explained that I was planning to photograph the market and write something about two distant neighborhoods: Tokyo’s Shimokitazawa and Park Slope, Brooklyn.
“Park Slope?” Toni jumped out of his seat. “That is my neighborhood in Brooklyn.” He asked me to sit down and ordered a whiskey for both of us. He mentioned a story dealing with the Brooklyn Academy of Music.
I left the bar at midnight, which coincided with rush hour in Tokyo. I took the Hibiya line to Shibuya and went to Shimokitazawa, a lovely neighborhood in Tokyo. Once there, I felt at home passing through the many narrow streets and many restaurants of the neighborhood. I kept on thinking about the story I wanted to write. A story where sake, a criminal on the loose, drums, samurais, and geishas would all be part of the plot. The story would include a detective investigating a number of murders that had taken place inside a cave in England. The suspect was now living in Tokyo. The London detective in charge of the case was Mubasher de Ockam, who was a well-known psychologist and semiologist. Mubasher was in Tokyo to locate a suspect … a speleologist who had a long criminal record.
The account starts with Mubasher sitting at Café Mogambo in the Roppongi District. The music in the background is that of Danzón No. 2 , conducted by Gustavo Dudamel. Detective Nishiyama finally arrived. As a former sumo wrestler, he was now somewhat overweight. He arrived with a book titled Los Detectives Salvajes. De Ockam looked at Nishiyama and told him that the name of the English criminal they were after was Bertrand Folville. Nishiyama smiled and made a note of it on a napkin. De Ockam stared at Nishiyama and asked him if he believed in mirrors, compasses, maps, labyrinths, and infinity. Nishiyama smiled at de Ockam and said that he believed in dreams, which according to him is the infinity that mirrors life and is a map to observe unknown places that a compass may or may not show us. Nishiyama asked de Ockam if he believed in colors. He told detective Nishiyama he was in Tokyo to solve several murders, not to talk about colors. Nishiyama smiled and told de Ockam that he believed in the color green.
“Green?” asked de Ockam.
“Because the peace, serenity, and tranquility it brings to life,” replied Nishiyama.
“What is wrong with a colorful forest with reds and blues?” asked de Ockam.
“A colorful forest is beautiful but not serene … colors alter our senses,” Nishiyama responded.
The two detectives were intellectually and physically different. The one from England was short and stocky with olive skin and very inquisitive black eyes. Mubasher’s father was from Pakistan and his mother was a direct descendant of the well-known philosopher and theologian, William de Ockham. Nishiyama’s background was also unique. He was born in Peru but went to Japan during his early teens. He read and spoke many languages. including Spanish. The two of them knew the dangers of the mission, and they also knew intuitively that the famous caves north of Tokyo were just the beginning of a puzzle that would lead them to other murders. De Ockam asked detective Nishiyama if he agreed that inside a cave one was unable to see reality as it is outside.
“Mr. De Ockam, for a Zen Buddhist the hand pointing to the moon is not the moon,” replied Nishiyama.
Nishiyama gave de Ockam a letter that had arrived at the police headquarters in Shimokitazawa. De Ockam opened the letter. There was a drawing of a circle like an O in it. It was sent by Bertrand Folville.
“What is the meaning of an O?” de Ockam asked.
“The circle is not a character, but a symbol. It is the circle of enlightenment known as enso. It is the way of Zen…” Nishiyama responded.
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