Note: This story was inspired by the long descent into a Toei Mita Line station in 1995. Descending the long flights of stairs into the dark, damp, grungy station felt like a trip to the underworld, with the train arriving only to take us across the river and into the pits. I told this to the friend I was traveling with, then spun this story as we rode on the train. She told me that if I ever did that again, she was never riding with me anywhere.
Saishu Densha
(c) Wendy Dinsmore 1995
"Suzuki-chan! Hurry up!" Maki Suzuki tried to speed up enough to stay with her friends, but succeeded only in wobbling drunkenly. Her friend Sato shoved her through the wicket, down the stairs and onto the platform of the Roppongi subway station. Matsuda and three other coworkers followed on her heels. Maki forgot to show her rail pass to the man at the ticket gate, but he waved her through without commentIt was her second month at her new company, after having been recruited from Sophia University. Her days so far had been filled with training sessions, and the nights with parties. The people in her division were a social lot, and were always inviting her to nightclubs or karaoke bars after work. The drinking and gossiping sessions did much to ease the awkwardness of settling in.
She had only met Shu Matsuda two or three times before. He was a young salesman, a recruit from last year, who always seemed to be absent from the office. When he did appear, he spent his time frantically plowing through the pile of messages on his desk, sending papers and other refuse flying everywhere. Maki pitied him; the senior executives went out of their way to harrass him, and rumor had it among the female employees that the Managing Director of his department was not at all happy with his work. Despite his problems, he was single and very handsome, which kept him a hot item in the gossip circle. He had asked her out, and more curious about him than anything else, she had accepted his invitation to go drinking as soon as she could assemble a few co-workers to chaperone.
They had spent the evening in Roppongi, Tokyo's international playground district; first at an Indian restaurant, then at a dance club. Never a strong drinker to begin with, Maki lost count after two, but no one else had seemed to notice until it was time to leave. At eleven thirty, they joined the rest of the salarypeople in a mass exodus for the last trains of the night.
Two of the girls left their group at Roppongi Station, heading in the opposite direction. Sato and Matsuda herded Maki onto the train, and they rode in silence. Maki found a seat, leaned her head back against the rattling window, and fought to keep her eyes open. She had gotten drunk plenty of times at these parties, but this time was worse than usual. She didn't notice when Sato said goodbye, and she barely got up in time to get off the train at her transfer stop.
Matsuda followed her to the door. "Will you be all right?"
She waved him off. "Don't worry about me. Thank you very much for tonight. Otsukaresama deshita."
"Otsukaresan." Good night.
The doors shut between them. Maki waved goodbye to her friends as the train started forward, then staggered for the stairway.
The hour was late, and the train schedule on this line--never terribly convenient to start with--was spaced out for the evening trickle of commuters. Maki checked the timetable, found she had a fifteen-minute wait, then wobbled over to collapse on one of the chairs.
She hated this station. It was deep below ground--at least five stories beneath the earth's surface--and could only be reached by descending long, countless flights of crumbling concrete stairs, like the final descent into Hell. Someone had painted the support pillars a dismal blue and lined the walls with grey tiles, which had grown darker with the grime swept in by passing trains. The high ceiling was cracked where the ground had shifted over years of earthquakes, and water dripped noisily through black, moldy grates set beside the tracks. Some of the newer metropolitan subway stations were bright and airy, had murals on the walls and played music and birdsong over the speakers. Maki had seen cheerier tombs than this place.
Her eyelids were growing heavy, and she swayed in the seat, trying dimly to stay awake. She would probably have a hangover the next day. Thank goodness today was "Flower Friday"--that meant her paycheck had arrived and she had Saturday morning to sleep in before going shopping with her roommate.
The sound of footsteps and the hush of ventilation fans was comforting, cycling louder and softer, like the soothing sound of ocean waves. Within a few seconds, the young woman was completely oblivious to everything.
Maki awoke to find herself sprawled on the row of seats, and their curled fiberglass edges were digging into her side. Her purse was tucked under her head like a pillow, and the decorative chain on the front was pressing uncomfortably into her cheek. She sat up--her head reeling, a wave of nausea rising from her chest--then almost flopped back down. She was so drunk. How could she have done something so stupid?She looked around. It seemed like the station had already closed. The glass billboards were dark, and only two or three overhead fixtures were still on, dropping cold pools of light on the soot-blackened concrete floor. Exit signs cast a greenish glow at both ends of the platform.
She looked up at the electric signboard announcing the next train; it was blank. It was too dark to see the clock hanging from the ceiling. The entire station was silent, not even the sound of fans blowing evident in the big empty cavern.
What time is it? she wondered. Did the station close? But then, if the station was closed, wouldn't the custodian have awakened her and sent her out?
BING BONG.
The warning chime assaulted her like a slap to the head. The entire station reverberated with it. Maki let out a little scream and held her head.
"Omatase itashimashita. Mamonaku, ichi ban sen ni, saishu densha ga mairimasu," the announcement boomed, nearly deafening her. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. The final train will be arriving presently on Track 1." She waited for the rest of the message: "Abunai desu kara..." but there was nothing else. None of the public service warnings--to stay behind the white line, to refrain from running--that commuters had become so accustomed to ignoring.
Maki saw two or three people waiting further down the platform. In the black tunnel beyond the near end of the platform, she could see the headlights of the oncoming train. She was in luck--she wouldn't miss her transfer home after all.
A gust of cold, clammy air tore at her hair and skirt; then with a roar, the subway train leaped out of the tunnel, filling the empty station with engine noise and hot dry ozone. At last it stopped. The brakes spat sharply and the double door opened in front of her.
Each line of the Tokyo Metropolitan subway system has its own distinctive cars and colors. The Tozai Line was sky blue, the Ginza Line was gold; other lines used silver, green, red and purple. Occasionally, a line borrowed cars from a private company line, or from the above-ground Japan Railways system. This train might have been one of those. Maki had never seen any train like it. It was dull brushed metal and looked old, and the color stripes down the sides of the cars had been washed out.
The conductor blew his whistle and motioned impatiently for her to get in. Maki stepped into the car. The conductor blew his whistle and the doors hissed shut.
She staggered as the car lurched forward, her head still spinning. The train was fairly full, and all the seats were taken. She began to walk, hoping someone might take pity on her condition and offer a seat. As she walked, she noticed that the clutter of advertisements were missing from the walls and overhead hangers, and there were no briefcases or bags on the racks. The passengers stared straight ahead like mannequins, not reading or sleeping or talking. They didn't seem to notice Maki as she walked by. Uneasily she decided to move up into the next car to see if her chances were any better.
In a clipped, efficient tone, the conductor's voice announced the next station: "Mamonaku, Monzen-nakacho. Monzen-nakacho de gozaimasu."
Beneath her feet, the hydraulics creaked before a rickety compressor fired itself up and the brakes hissed again. The doors opened, and two more people got on. The other passengers moved aside, opening seats for them, and they sat down. The train was filling, and though people were boarding, no one seemed to be getting off.
The car lurched into motion. Maki reached the doors to the next car. The doors were old, and it took a lot of strength to pull them open on the moving train. They slammed shut behind her as she walked into the next car.
Here the atmosphere was as eerie as in the first car. The passengers sat, staring into space, clutching their arms or dangling their hands limply beside them as if in exhaustion. Many faces looked pale and drawn. A couple of them followed Maki with their eyes as she staggered past. A child sat on his knees, rested his arms on the back of the seat, and looked silently out the window at the black walls of the tunnel streaming by.
There were no seats here either, so Maki pushed her way into the next car and the next.
"Mamonaku, Yoyogi Koen. Yoyogi Koen de gozaimasu."
She braced herself for the stop, and heaved open the door to the next car.
A man in a business suit was running for the train. Maki saw him just as the conductor blew his whistle. The doors slammed shut just before he reached them, and she waited for the sound of impact. But the man kept coming, through the doors and into the car; how he managed, she didn't know. Two of the other passengers shifted over for him, and he sat down.
Maki hurried on toward the front of the train.
There was a woman crouched on the floor in one corner of the next car, her arms closed over her knees as she sobbed. As Maki passed, the woman paused, staring up at her with huge reddened eyes in a ghastly white face. Maki stifled a shudder and hurried on.
The car switched tracks suddenly, throwing her off balance. She flailed for a hand grip, missed the ring, and pitched sideways off her high heeled shoes, into the lap of a seated businessman.
"Mamonaku, Sakuradamon. Sakuradamon de gozaimasu."
"I'm terribly sorry!" she gasped, struggling to find her balance and get back on her feet. The man only nodded once.
Then Maki realized that part of his head was missing, from the center of his nose to the top of his right ear. His remaining eye stared dully at her.
With a shriek, she leaped to her feet and backed away from the man. The passengers all around him looked up in interest, and it was then that Maki noticed their appearance. Business suits, designer dresses and kimono were in tatters, some covered with glistening red blotches or faded brown stains. Some had bodies that were impossibly twisted under their clothing, and many were missing arms and legs. The woman two over from the man Maki had fallen on had no head at all.
The floor moaned beneath her feet, the hydraulics whimpering like voices. The doors hissed shut, and the train lurched forward, knocking Maki off her feet again. She toppled backward and sprawled in the center of the aisle.
The passengers were all watching her now. Another man got up from his seat, and reached out to her, hand and wrist dangling from a broken forearm. "Are you all right, miss--"
She screamed again, scrambled to her feet and ran, staggering in the rocking subway car. Throwing the sliding door aside with all her strength, she nearly tripped over the junction to the next car. Heads turned toward her as she entered. Hands reached out but didn't touch her as she fled, and she continued running pell-mell through the next car and the next.
She reached another door, and gave the handle a savage yank, but it was locked. She pulled against the door, rattling it in its frame and hearing the metal deadbolt clinking inside. She looked up and realized it was the engineer's compartment at the front end of the train. The sign read, No entry unless in the case of an emergency.
She could imagine the faces turned her way, the hands reaching for her, and she clutched at the smooth, Formica-covered door, unwilling to turn around.
Something touched her shoulder.
All of Maki's muscles went rigid and she shrieked. "Don't touch me!" She gave the handle one more desperate yank and slid helplessly to the floor, eyes screwed tightly shut and leaking tears.
"Suzuki-san!"
That was her name, and the voice was familiar. Slowly, Maki turned her head and found herself looking into the face of Matsuda, from her office. He appeared shocked at her condition. With a sinking heart, she realized that the alcohol was probably causing delusions and she was making a fool of herself on the train. If she could bring it into his confidence to keep his mouth shut°.
"I--"
"Suzuki-san, what are you doing here?"
"I'm going home. I fell asleep in the station, and I woke up just in time to catch this train." She looked down. "I'm sorry I screamed. I must have been dreaming."
"Mamonaku°" the conductor began as the train slowed before another station.
Matsuda's face twisted. "This train won't take you home," he said. "We have to get you off! Here--" Roughly he grabbed her arm, pulled her to her feet and shoved her toward the opening doors.
"Matsuda-san, what are you doing?" She struggled against his hands. "The announcement said this is the last train. If I don't take this, how can I get home?"
The conductor's whistle blew from the last car.
"This isn't a normal train," he hissed, trying to shove her through the door. She grabbed the metal handrail next to it for support and stood her ground. "You must get out of here now! Please!"
"What are you saying?"
He let her go and backed away slowly, grabbing onto the rings for balance. Maki was finally able to take a good look at him. Matsuda's cheap navy suit and white shirt were covered with red, slimy stains. He stood on one leg, the other missing at the knee. His head flopped loosely to one side.
Maki's legs gave way again and she sank to the floor, hanging from the rail.
"At Ueno Station," he said. "I tripped near the edge of the platform. The train hit me before I could get out. The next thing I knew, I was here." He gestured toward the other passengers; pale corpses who regarded her with curious stares.
The door hissed, and Matsuda thrust a bloody hand at her. "Now get out of here!"
She screamed and cringed away from him.
With a dull thunk, the doors slammed shut and the train began to move.
"Go-ryou itadakimashite, arigato gozaimashita. Tsugi wa shuuten desu. Kono eki kara tomarimasen. Tsugi wa shuuten de gozaimasu."
Thank you for your patronage. Next stop is our final destination. Maki stared at the speaker overhead. There would be no more stops until then.
"No, wait! This can't be happening to me!"
Matsuda's shoulders slumped. Turning his back to her, he made his way to the seats, where the other passengers moved to make room for him. Beside him was an empty space for Maki.
Maki finally got her feet under her and staggered back to the engineer's compartment. Her fists pounded on the dark tinted glass of the door. "You can't take me there!" she screamed. "Please! Stop the train!"
The tracks clacked rhythmically under the floor and the car rocked slightly as the train picked up speed.
"Can't you hear me? Can't you understand! Somebody, please--stop this train. Help me! Somebody!"
The other passengers were statues, unmoving in their seats.
"You can't do this to me!" Maki sagged against the door, tears streaming down her face. "I'm not dead!"
At 4:30 AM, the station's fluorescent overhead lights flickered on. Fans hummed, then fresh air whistled through the vents, brushing away the damp mustiness of the night before. Footsteps echoed as an old man with a broom and bucket ambled down the stairs to the platform.At the bottom of the stairs, he squinted, not quite ready to believe what his eyes told him. He put his bucket down and shuffled over to the row of seats where a thin figure lay on its side. He bent down and shook the young woman by the shoulder. "Oi. Wake up, now. Wake up."
Her body swayed gently, then her head lolled toward him. The old man's lined mouth twisted into a grimace when he saw her eyes, half-open and staring blindly from her pallid face. He caught the strong, rotting-sweet stench of alcohol.
"Oooooooii!" he shouted.
There were footsteps, then a man in a pale green subway uniform appeared on the stairs. "What's the matter?"
"Better call an ambulance. There's a body down here!"
"Dead?"
He touched her neck. The skin was cold and clammy, but he felt a faint pulse. "No, I don't think so."
The station's other custodian and two of the ticket punchers hurried over to see. A few minutes later, they heard the ambulance siren approaching, six stories above.
The station employees stood around the ticket gate, shaking their heads in puzzlement as the stationmaster hung up the phone. "No," he said. "Nobody remembers her from last night. They said the station was cleared out. I wonder how she managed to hide?"
"Hard to imagine how she did anything," one of the ticket punchers snorted, clipping the ticket of a groggy young man as he staggered by. "I heard there was so much alcohol in her blood that she's in a coma."
"Terrible, isn't it?"
The blast of a train horn interrupted them, and the staff rushed to their places. Over the speakers, an echoing voice announced the first train of the morning.
"Mamonaku, ichi ban sen ni...."
All Japan stories (c) Wendy Dinsmore 2004.