You close the book. If you keep it, you could read the perspective of Japanese thinkers. If you leave it, you probably won’t be able to come back here and get it. You put it in your pocket.
You hear shuffling and then a crack below you. It is probably a mouse. You slow your steps and walk down a set of stairs. You notice no one. Is there another way out? That’d be even more conspicuous? There was nothing illegal about being here. Maybe waiting would be a wise option? The sunlight is gone. There are only one or two fluorescent lights. If I stay here, I’ll be trapped for how long? You walk down the stairs and get hit on the head.
You stagger, shield your eyes with your forearms, and brace yourself. A guard grasps your arm, twists it behind you, and a second black-clad, visor-shielded guard elbows your rib, and corrals your other hand: they handcuff you. Blood flows down your forehead from a skull wound.
- “Who the hell are you?” The first guard said.
- “What are you doing here?” The second guard said.
- “You got the kid. No need to be hasty.” the third guard said.
- You turn to the three. You remain silent. You will not mention the librarian, the mission, or your present status.
- “What are you doing here at this time of night?” the second said.
- “What’s it to you?” You said and received a kick in the back.
The first guard grabs your hand and drags you across the floor through broken glass, trashed books, broken furniture, and cardboard boxes to a chair, one of the chairs outfitted for holding dissidents. They pushed you in the chair and unlock the handcuffs. The second guard and third guard strap your arms to the armrests. The first guard raises his rifle and hits you across the face. Your head falls. A broken tooth falls on the floor. You spit blood and keep your head down.
- “Good. You know your place. Just use a little force and they fall in line.” The first guard says as the other two look at you with blank stares.
- “Why are you here?” The third guard said in a calm register.
How did you get here with these screw-ups? How’d they get unlimited liability and rifles in service of the state?
- “I am here to use the administrative offices to waste time before I resume my work as a welder.”
- “There has been a delay due to shortages so that checks out,” the second guard said.
- “But these are not the administrative offices. These were never converted. This site was for academic research. What are you doing here?”
- “I walked the halls and admired the work done here. Doesn’t look like research was a priority.”
- “Yeah,” the first guard jumped in, “Great memories impaling the elites. Who the hell do they think they are? Telling us what to do! What to think! That’s the goddamn mind control that we had to bear arms to stop.”
- The second guard pushed him aside. “This guy is something! Wasting time for a welding job, huh? Do you like welding, much?”
- “You know, I like what I do, better than pressing my head to a screen the whole day.”
- “Yes, who likes that?” The second guard said.
- “But why is this guy reading this?” The third guard said and walked back with the beige book of Fukuzawa’s writings.
- “What language is this, anyway?” The first guard said.
- “Hmm…looks like Chinese. They like to write in symbols?” The second guard said.
- “What the hell are you doing reading Chinese stuff here? We hate them! Look at what they did! They started this whole thing with the….” The second guard said.
- “No wait. China is very supportive now,” the third guard said, “They helped us control the out-of-control tech companies and made monitoring people like this guy easy. China did many good things.”
- “Yes, the authorities work closely with them. Sorry about that. Just went back to the start of it all, all of a sudden,” the second guard said.
- “Looks like you were reading some notes here, they seem to be hidden. Lots of talk about education and the betterment of society. Who gave you this book?” The third guard said and passed it to the first.
- “No one gave it to me. I just found it in this trash heap.”
- “So, you, bored, just stumbled into this elitist institution and set about reading? In the middle of this mess? What are these words to you?” The first guard said.
- “I explored the place. I had never seen anything like this.”
- “And you decided to sit down and read?” The first guard said.
- “I wanted to wait out the traffic. I was ambushed on the way and pelted with eggs.”
- “Sad sack you. No money. No assignment. And three of us for company,” the second guard said.
- “But why this book? Why are the translated parts under the original text? You see this isn’t Chinese. This is Japanese. And not the Chrysanthemum League, the rightful rulers of that region. It seems that this advocates a different form of government, education, and thinking,” the third guard said.
- The second guard said, “Shouldn’t it have been burned then?”
- “They couldn’t read the original text: this translation had to be added,” the third guard said.
- “By someone else?” The second guard said.
- “Who was that?” The first guard looked at you.
- “Must’ve been some delusional student back in the day, playing translator,” you said.
You cannot name the librarian who would be in danger. The first guard must be verifying what I say. These punks think they can stop you from pursuing your mission: they are mistaken.
- “Who led a humble welder to pick up this book?” The third guard said.
- “Who is elitist now? Doesn’t mean that if you cut my head open you can find a torch there. I study what I want. I do what I want!”
The second guard slammed the hilt of his rifle into your wrist. Instead of crying, you close your eyes and draw the pain inside.
- The third guard yelled: “We do what we want. You stay in your place, you hear! You are a welder. Then go wait in your apartment and watch fight sports or reality TV until your time is up.”
- “Why do you want a better society? The authorities have sorted everything out for us. Our form of government is perfect. Don’t you think so?”
You look down and think about the government, society, friendships, and family before the takeover. They said that their government was perfect as well, but if you remember correctly “more perfect” was their phrase as if it could be improved. And it did until it didn’t. You know that if you said what they and you know to be the truth–that authority rule was a dumpster fire–that you would be sent to jail and then maybe a camp. You must complete the mission. By upholding the lie, you show fealty.
- “The government is perfect. Looking at you three down here. I see no reason to complain.”
- “And you’d better not. You know, I think we should drag you out to the city jail and let you spend a night there for insubordination. How does that sound?” The second guard said.
- “You know…,” you paused and a chuckle, “you guys remind me of soldiers in a video game.”
- “Those are for transgressives. You don’t have any, do you?” The second guard said.
- “They were removed a long time back. No, I’m talking about memories.”
- “What video game?” The first guard said.
- “I don’t remember much, you know, I didn’t play all too often, but I remember three guys in blue skin-tight suits and gray visors who were patrolling a headquarters. Very important types.”
- “Oh yeah,” the second guard cradled his gun.
- “What were they doing?” The third said.
- “Protecting the headquarters from reactionaries who would not shut up. They did not appreciate the hard work of the authorities,” you said.
- “That sounds about right,” the second holstered his gun and opened his visor.
- “We ensure domestic tranquility. We will burn this book. It is an oddity: a waste of space. We will downgrade your level of access. You must report to your room and remain in place until the authorities determine a safe time, or you receive your new assignment, whichever comes first.”
- The third rips the mask off your face. “No more masks for you. Breathe in the fresh air.”
They unlatch the handcuffs and throw the chair onto the ground. They shut the lights and the door behind you. You stumble out of the broken chair. You claw at the handle, prop it open, and walk onto the dirt path. There is no way you can pedal all the way back and the bike must be gone anyway. Under the persistent fog of smog, you cannot see the stars but imagine them there.
This was like bullying at school as the odd one out. They were violent back then, had comfort in a pack, and insulted you to pump up their ego. They also make you think so little of yourself that they could manipulate you to do what they wanted.
The bleeding subsides in your mouth. You tear your pants and make a bandage. You wrap it around your wrist. A headache throbs and you lay flat under the bare truck of a sweetgum. You look up and now some stars seem to appear.
You remember when you were fourteen years old. A teacher asked you all to compose a haiku. You read it in front of class and pasted it on the wall.
Years after, you remember a friend gave you a copy of a collection of haiku by an old master, what was his name? You fall asleep.