Summertime of the Dead Read online

  First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Quercus

  Quercus

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  7th Floor, South Block

  London W1U 8EW

  Copyright © Gregory Hughes 2012

  The moral right of Gregory Hughes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library

  eBook ISBN 978 1 78087 997 0

  Print ISBN 978 1 78087 552 1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  You can find this and many other great books at:

  www.quercusbooks.co.uk

  SUMMERTIME OF THE DEAD

  Gregory Hughes was born in Liverpool, the eighth child in a family of nine. Expelled from school, he spent several years in a home for wayward boys. He has travelled extensively around Japan and has a deep interest in its history and culture. His first novel, Unhooking the Moon, won the Booktrust Teenage Prize in 2010 and was shortlisted for the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize and the Branford Boase Award.

  Also by Gregory Hughes

  UNHOOKING THE MOON

  For Kodi Benjamin and India Roberts.

  And for my dear old dad.

  A special thanks to Anna Dingley for her knowledge of Japanese culture and the Kyumeikan dojo for their expertise in kendo. And to all the lovely people at Quercus for their help and support.

  1

  I woke on my fourteenth birthday feeling as brilliant as the sunshine that came through my window, but I never got up. I just lay there thinking about last night. I’d won my fiftieth kendo contest for my dojo and now I could apply for my sixth dan. My father would have been so proud. He was a champion himself, at one time, and he’d brought me to the dojo when I was only four years old. There’s a photograph on my wall of that very day. Me holding a wooden sword and wearing a headband with the Rising Sun. Him dressed in his body armour and holding his headset. He looked so tall and distinguished.

  My father didn’t speak much. He was a quiet man. But he’d talk passionately about kendo for as long as you’d listen. And he knew all the stories of the great samurai swordsmen, like Musashi, who killed his first man when he was no more than a boy. And Bokuden, who beheaded over two hundred of his opponents. And he knew much about the castles of our country and the generals who lay siege to them. In fact the next photograph is of me and my beautiful mother at Hemiji, the greatest castle ever built.

  We went there when I was ten, the last vacation we’d ever take together. Dad died soon after. The truck he was driving slid off an icy road not far from Sapporo and he drowned in a lake. I’ve often imagined him struggling to climb through the cabin window. Then losing consciousness and floating in the water like a Japanese ghost. Grandmother often said he was a cold fish, but he wasn’t. He was just a little quiet like I said.

  My mother, who used to work as an air stewardess, now lives in Vancouver with her pilot boyfriend. She always sounds guilty in her letters, but she needn’t be. I don’t miss her so much and I’m glad she’s happy. Anyway, I have the twins. They’re in the next photograph over. Miko’s on one side of me and Hiroshi, her brother, is on the other. I have my arms around them and our smiling faces are pushed together. We’re ten at the time but I’ve known them since I was six. And every time the kids from school see us they say, ‘Oh, look, it’s the triplets.’ Because we’re always together and we always will be. Even now we’re planning to get an apartment when we leave school.

  I got up and put my bedroll and duvet in the built-in wardrobe and then I did a forward roll on the tatami floor. It’s just something I do and I have the space. My bedroom’s bigger than most people’s living rooms.

  ‘Yukio, are you up?’

  ‘Yes, Grandmother.’

  I sort of live with my grandmother. She has the ground floor of the house and I have the top. And I say sort of, because I only see her once a week, which is more than enough for both of us. I trotted downstairs and went into her room, which smelled of cat food and smoke. ‘Grandmother.’

  She was in the back and so I switched on a lamp and looked at her photographs. They were of the Royal Family and not a descendant was missing. Grandmother worships the Royal Family, and I mean worships. You see, our emperors are said to be descended from the Shinto sun goddess, Amaterasu. That’s how they got their divine status. But when we surrendered to the Americans General MacArthur said they couldn’t be divine any more. It must have been hard for Emperor Hirohito having to give up his divine status, and having to surrender. He did it for the good of his country, of course, and while Grandmother curses the day that he did, she still admires him. But her real hero is her husband, who died defending Iwo Jima with less than a dozen men. They’d run out of bullets and so they fixed bayonets and charged the Americans with empty rifles. They were cut to pieces, of course, but as Grandmother says, ‘It’s better to die with honour than to live with shame.’ Then I heard her come in behind me.

  ‘Morning, Grandmother.’

  She sat with some dignity in her high-backed chair, like an empress taking a throne. And then putting a cigarette in a long thin holder she lit it. Grandmother likes to smoke. She smokes like a dragon and she drinks green tea by the ton. But I’ve never seen her eat, not so much as a rice cake.

  ‘I went out this morning and a Chinaman spat right in front of me! Why they spit so much I don’t know. Their whole country must be as slippery as an ice-skating rink.’

  Grandmother doesn’t like the Chinese, or the Koreans. And she hates Americans. The only people she does like are well-dressed Japanese people. And even if you were well-dressed and Japanese, the chances are she still wouldn’t like you.

  ‘And those peasants in the park should be beaten with sticks.’

  I always found it funny that Grandmother thought Tokyo’s homeless people were peasants. She kind of lives in the past.

  ‘And have you read the paper? Three politicians caught in a massage parlour with prostitutes. Their heads should be cut off.’

  Grandmother’s kind of bitter because she used to be rich, or her father did. And she was brought up like a princess with servants, and ponies, and people waiting on her hand and foot. But they lost everything after the war, or so she says. She owns this house, and a few more, and she’s never short of money.

  ‘How is your sword training coming along?’

  ‘I was lucky enough to win last night’s competition, Grandmother.’

  ‘Well,’ she said begrudgingly, ‘you’ve never brought shame on the family. And you never will,’ she said in a threatening tone. ‘Now, what are you up to today?’

  ‘I’m going to hang out with the twins, Grandmother.’

  She scoffed. ‘Why you associate with those children I don’t know.’

  ‘We’re the same age, Grandmother. I’m only a day older.’

  ‘But you are a man, Yukio, descended from a warrior clan! And they are just children!’

  Grandmother could trace our ancestry back to the Takeda, a powerful samurai clan who reigned during the fourteenth century. She could even name names and quote dates. Grandmother might have been as ancient as a tomb, but her mind was as sharp a
s a machete. She pointed to some envelopes. ‘Money and cards from your mother. Take them and go.’

  ‘Thank you, Grandmother,’ I bowed and left, and sprinted up the stairs to my room. I couldn’t wait for the twins to come, and then I heard them outside.

  ‘Yukio, it’s us.’

  I went out on my balcony and looked down at their smiling faces. ‘Door’s open,’ I said.

  I quickly looked at the cards and the cash and then I sat there pretending to read my manga.

  I could hear the twins take off their shoes and shuffle upstairs. Then they came in smiling and knelt on the tatami floor in front of me. They were small, even for Japanese kids, and with me being tall I kind of towered over them. But they were good-looking kids, with bronze skin and almond eyes, and their hair was more brown than black. I joke around with them sometimes and call them cartoon kids, but they don’t mind. There isn’t a kid as happy as Hiroshi, and his sister Miko is as pretty as they come. And she’s getting prettier every day. She took a present from her rucksack and bowing she put it in front of me.

  ‘Happy birthday, Yukio.’

  I couldn’t help but smile as I ripped the package apart, but I froze when I saw what it was. It was a pair of kendo gloves, which we call kotex, and they were the best money could buy. She must have spent all her babysitting money on them.

  ‘Do you like them?’ she asked.

  ‘We didn’t want your hands to get hurt,’ said Hiroshi.

  They didn’t want my hands to get hurt. That killed me! ‘Yes, I like them.’

  They could tell I was touched and so nothing more needed to be said.

  ‘Let’s go swimming!’ said Hiroshi.

  ‘OK,’ I said, and put my stuff in my rucksack.

  We stepped out into the brilliant sunshine and headed over to the Olympic Centre, just five minutes away. That’s the great thing about where we live – everything’s so close. We can walk to Shinjuku and Shibuya, and to Harajuku as well. And if we wanted to go to Ginza or Ueno we can take the train from Sangubashi station. And there’s always things to do in Tokyo. The whole city’s like a theme park. And if we had nothing better to do we just hung out in Yoyogi Park.

  We walked behind each other, because the streets are so narrow, but then we made a dash for the crossing. But the beating gong sounded and the barrier came down and so we had to wait for the train. Miko put her hand on my shoulder. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Then she looked up at me. ‘Congratulations on winning your competition.’

  ‘Who told you I won?’

  ‘You always win,’ said Hiroshi.

  I don’t always win. But I’ve been winning a lot lately and people were starting to notice.

  When the train passed the barrier raised and we walked across the tracks. Then running across the road we headed into the Olympic Centre.

  ‘I’ll pay,’ said Miko.

  Me and Hiroshi hurried into the changing rooms and rushed to get changed. Then we ran out and dived into the empty pool. I swam submerged in the cool silent water with the sunbeams flickering above me. Reaching the other end I swam back. As I did I saw Miko’s silhouette swimming above me. She could swim like a tuna and she never got tired. It was one of her many skills. But she couldn’t swim as well as she could sing. Miko could sing like a superstar. Me and Hiroshi wanted her to enter one of the talent contests on the TV. But she wouldn’t because she was shy.

  I broke the surface and sat at the side of the pool. I laughed at Hiroshi, who was splashing about in the water. That’s all he did. He didn’t like swimming and he hated contact sports. And I’m not just talking about judo or karate. He hated football and basketball or any sport where he could be bumped. It’s because he was sick when he was a kid and he had to stay in hospital. He’s not sick any more, but he still gets upset if he gets knocked over.

  Miko climbed out and sat next to me with her hair dripping. I watched her as she pushed it away from her pretty face, and then my eyes roamed. Not too much, but she raised her eyebrows and gave me a look. Hiroshi swam over to us and treaded water. ‘You two will be kissing next.’

  He always said that and we always laughed. But now we sort of blushed and looked away.

  ‘Come on, Miko, finish your laps. I wanna go see the nun.’

  ‘She’s not home yet,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, she is. Grandad saw her.’

  I swam lengths with Miko until she’d finished and then we got dressed and went to see Hiroshi’s nun. We found her one day on our travels around Tokyo and she invited us to tea, and we’ve been going to see her ever since. She’s a Buddhist nun, but she lives in the grounds of a Shinto shrine. Shinto’s our other religion. It has a lot to do with being in harmony with nature. It’s even said that there are Shinto spirits called kami who dwell in rivers, mountains, and trees. And people can become kami after they die. I wouldn’t mind coming back as a tree, as long as the twins could be trees as well.

  The shrine’s at the top of a hill, just up from where we live. It’s like a little sanctuary nestled between our neighbourhood and the horrible dual carriageway that’s always under construction, and it’s really nice. There’re exotic plants and stone paths with Shinto gates above them. And the temple is carved from cedar and built on granite, and it has large lion dogs standing guard either side. And no matter how hot it gets, it’s always cool here because the tall trees bathe the place in shade.

  We rang the bell in front of the temple and we clapped to summon the gods. Then we bowed to show them respect before running to the house where the nun lives. Her name’s Natsuko, which means child of summer. And it suits her in a way because warmth comes from her. I’m not kidding. Every time you’re with her you feel warm inside. But even if you don’t, she’s still nice. She has big eyes, and a perfect bald head, and skin the colour of cream. And she always manages to make you feel special. We all liked the nun, but she was Hiroshi’s nun because he liked her the most.

  When we knocked on the door the old nun answered.

  ‘We want to see Natsuko,’ said Hiroshi.

  The nun grimaced a little. You’re not supposed to use their first names. ‘I’ll let her know that you’re here.’

  She closed the door and we sat in the wicker chairs and waited. Hiroshi kept looking at the entrance. He was dying to see the nun. I think he looked at her as a sort of mother. The twins’ real mother had run away when they were first born and she hadn’t been seen since. And he always talked to Natsuko like a boy talking to his mum, but that wasn’t it. There was a bond between them, but I could never work out what it was.

  When she appeared in the doorway we stood up and bowed. She smiled as she came towards us and putting a tray on the table she bowed back. And so we bowed lower. You always bow low to a nun, or someone more important. And as we’re still kids we bow low to just about everyone.

  ‘How are you, children?’

  ‘Very well!’ said Hiroshi.

  We took a seat and watched her preparing the tea. She even brought a single flower and some cakes to add to the occasion. It was like our own little tea ceremony. In Zen tradition the tea ceremony is to purify the spirit and make you feel peaceful. And we always felt peaceful when we watched her. But as she offered us the cakes we could see she was ready to cry.

  Hiroshi’s face clouded over. ‘You didn’t like Cambodia? The people were mean to you?’

  ‘No, the people were kind,’ said Natsuko. ‘But the children sleep in the streets and they’re hungry and afraid. Some have lost limbs to landmines and many are sick. And there’s no medicine to make them better! In the end I became sick myself and I had to come home.’

  She covered her mouth to stop herself from crying. Miko turned to me for help but I couldn’t think of anything to say, and I felt so bad for her. But Hiroshi stood up and put his hand on her shoulder. You should never touch a Buddhist nun; it’s a big insult.

  Miko’s eyes widened. ‘Hiroshi!’

  But he ignored her and putting his small hand o
n her face he smoothed away her tears. Miko looked down at the ground, while I sat there feeling embarrassed. But suddenly Natsuko seemed calm. She even smiled. Then I saw what it was between them – they were both sensitive. They felt each other’s pain and they got upset by things like landmines and poverty and kids without limbs.

  ‘You have to meditate to make yourself better,’ said Hiroshi.

  ‘I will,’ said Natsuko.

  ‘Yukio meditates. Don’t you, Yukio?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I said, wishing he’d sit down.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve made you a picture,’ said Hiroshi, and taking a roll from his rucksack he showed it to her.

  Natsuko looked amazed. ‘Oh, Hiroshi!’

  ‘He’s been working on it for weeks,’ said Miko.

  Natsuko showed it to us. It was a portrait of her looking as beautiful as she could. You see, Hiroshi, while he was just a kid, was as talented as an artist twenty years older. He could put a flower arrangement together and paint it to perfection. It was like someone had taken a photograph. And lately he’d taken to drawing the girls at school. They were lining up to be his models.

  All the sadness left Natsuko’s face then and she was happy again. And that being the case she and Hiroshi talked excitedly about art and things, and me and Miko were left out. It was always like that. But we didn’t mind and it was fun to watch them. Besides, we held hands as they talked and they didn’t even notice.

  After tea we said goodbye to the nun and headed off to Harajuku.

  ‘Come again soon, children,’ she said.

  ‘We will,’ said Hiroshi. ‘We’re off school.’

  We walked back down the hill, and crossing the train tracks we passed the small park where we used to play as kids. Then we crossed the road and ran up the concrete ramp that led into Yoyogi Park. There’re nicer parks in Tokyo, but Yoyogi is our park. It’s close to where we live and we’ve been coming here since I can remember.

  As we made our way through the trees Miko put her hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to touch the nuns, Hiroshi.’