Hako1_Hako_no_naka.pdf

Narise Konohara

In the Box / In the Box

In the Box

I’ve done nothing wrong.

After two weeks of newcomer training, Takafumi Douno was assigned to Factory 8 of N.

Penitentiary. He was ordered by a prison guard, clearly years younger than him, to spend the

morning observing the routines. So he obeyed, and stood to the left of the two desks lined up

beside the manager’s station. The factory area was about the size of two classrooms put together.

The room was divided into four sections by two walkways intersecting in a cross. The work areas

were raised about twenty centimetres higher than the walkway.

Factory 8 mainly handled sewing, and several dozen sewing machines were placed in neat,

equally-spaced rows from the front of the work area to the back. A steady dut-dut-dut echoed in the

air, like the rumbling of an earthquake.

It was the beginning of September, and the temperature was still high. Douno could feel the

sweat slowly drench his back just by standing on the spot. The distinct smell of a gang of males, a

scent that mingled with body odour, irritated his nose. The barred window to his left was thrown

open wide, yet there was no breeze. There were, of course, no fans in this factory. To top it off,

these men in their mousey grey factory uniforms were perspiring at the brow, frantically sewing

none other than ladies’ fur coats.

“Permission, sir,” a man called loudly in front of his sewing machine, raising his right hand

high. He looked to be around his forties. The guard standing at the manager’s station pointed at

him promptly.

“A refill of thread, please, sir,” the man yelled. Once he was granted permission, he hastily

jogged to the shelves at the back of the factory. Holding the spool of thread, he raised his voice

again: “Permission, sir!”

During training, Douno was given an instruction booklet of sorts about living in prison. In

meticulous detail, it explained things like the daily schedule, planned right down to the minute;

how to spend time within the group cell and the factory; and what kind of things were prohibited.

Douno knew that he was not allowed to walk around freely without the guard’s permission, even

for work-related reasons. He had gotten used to restrictive life from his time spent in the detention

centre; and yet, the suffocating strictness of this place went far beyond that. Despite the fact that

there was a newcomer in the room, everyone continued to sew without so much a glance in his

direction―proof of how thoroughly the rules were enforced.

Douno could hear the cicadas buzzing through the drumming of the sewing machines.

Feeling anything but the urge to work, he could only stare dumbly at the reality before him. He

wondered what he was doing in a place like this. Why was he standing here sweating, watching

other men working in front of the sewing machines sweating just as profusely?

“Why me?”

He had repeated the question to himself hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of times

from the moment he was arrested by the police, through the year and a half in the detention centre,

up to this very moment.

He would forever remember that spring two years ago. March 16, past seven o’clock in the

evening. Douno had been on his way home from work. He stepped off the train onto the platform

of his transfer station only to be grabbed by the arm from behind. He turned around to see a

woman standing there. She was perhaps in her early twenties, with short hair and a pretty face.

Narise Konohara

In the Box / In the Box

“This man molested me!” the woman shrieked. All eyes of the passersby turned on them.

Douno could not recall doing any such thing.

“I haven’t done anything. Are you sure it wasn’t someone else?” he said.

“Don’t try to play dumb,” the woman said shrilly, her voice rising with her temper.

“I saw him do it,” chimed in another woman who had been standing nearby. The

atmosphere around him turned grim. Even though he had really done nothing, the accusing gazes

of the people around him said otherwise.

“It really wasn’t me,” he protested.

“Come with me!”

Douno was taken to the station manager’s office with the woman still holding him by the

arm. No matter how many times Douno persisted that he had not done it, his account was not

taken seriously. The police came shortly afterwards.

“We’ll hear your story at the station,” he was told. Douno had figured they would

understand if he explained himself―he was innocent, after all. But all the detective had to say was,

“You did it, didn’t you?” and refused to believe any part of Douno’s side of the story.

Douno was then put into a detention cell, and was questioned relentlessly almost every day

without even a chance to go home. The detective used a carrot-and-stick tactic, first intimidating

him by telling him to “’fess up already, because we all know you did it” before giving him smooth

talk, saying if he would just say he did it, he would be let off with a 30,000 yen fine. Douno hated

the idea of confessing to a crime he did not commit, so he continued to deny that he had done

anything.

Those days were like a nightmare. Due to the stress of his ordeal, Douno lost hair, suffered

stomach pains, and lost ten kilograms of weight. He was afraid that after being run into the ground

and blamed over and over for something he had not done, he would one day lose his sanity and

begin to feel like he actually had done it.

There was no proof―only the woman’s word. Douno continued to plead not guilty. He

figured in this situation there was no way he could be charged: after the 20-day detention period

was up, he would be set free to go home. Or so he thought.

On the last day of his detention, Douno was slapped with a conviction. He felt the world go

dark before his eyes. He applied for bail numerous times, but was turned down. He spent the year

and a half until the announcement of his guilty verdict in his detention cell. In his small, five-

square-metre room, he thought endlessly about what he had done to deserve this.

Douno was ultimately given a two-year sentence. Because of his persistent, staunch refusal,

he was deemed “showing no signs of remorse” and was not favoured by the judge. What was

more, the woman had testified that Douno molested her almost every day, adding “repeat

offender” and “premeditated and malevolent” to Douno’s judgement. As a result, Douno was not

given a suspension on his sentence despite being a first-time offender. Pre-sentencing detention

days―the period of time kept in detention until the sentence is finalized―were usually deducted

from the total sentence, but only eighty per cent was applied to Douno’s, leaving about ten months

of prison time.

“Why don’t we acknowledge the crime?” Douno’s attorney had suggested when he had

been charged. According to the lawyer, once Douno was charged, there was almost no chance that

he would be found innocent. If Douno kept up his denial, his sentence would only get more severe.

“I understand you want to fight because you’re innocent, Mr. Douno. But this is reality. Yes,

you’ll be lying if you acknowledge the crime―but you’ll get a sentence suspension. You’ll be able

to get out of the detention centre.”

Douno refused to assent, and it was partly from stubbornness. He had come this far―how

Narise Konohara

In the Box / In the Box

could he bring himself to back down now? Once his sentence was passed, Douno thought of

killing himself. He had been fired from work, imprisoned in a confined space for a year and a half,

and now been slapped with a criminal record. Just because on that day, at that time, he had

happened to board a crowded train.... If he had actually been guilty, at least he would have been

able to resign himself to his crime.

The peal of a bell echoed throughout the factory.

“Stop working! Line up!”

At the orders, the sewing machines stopped drumming at once. All the inmates lined up on

the walkway for roll call.

“Number 145, Douno,” barked a guard on the podium. Douno flinched as his spine tensed.

He slowly turned around.

“Line up behind Section 3 and go to the cafeteria. Section 3 head, Shiba! Raise your hand!”

A bespectacled man in his mid-fifties standing to the very left snapped his right arm up.

“Go over there.”

Douno jogged towards the man who had put his hand up. He tripped over his feet and

nearly fell over. His eyes met with the Section 3 head. The man grinned.

“Get behind the tall one over there,” he said. “You’ll be sitting beside him in the cafeteria,

too.”

Douno fell in behind a man who looked closed to 190 centimetres in height. The line began

to move immediately. Once they entered the cafeteria, all members sat down without a word.

Douno also sat down as he was told, beside the tall man. At the signal from the factory guard,

everyone began their meal at once. Today’s menu was stewed squid and white radish, fried eggs,

spinach dressed in light broth, and barley rice. The seasoning was bland, and portions were small.

Douno did not have an appetite, and put his chopsticks down before he was even halfway

through. They were commanded to say, “thank you for the meal”, and that concluded lunch. Once

the dirty dishes were deposited into the sinks, Douno’s surroundings erupted into chatter and

noise from the TV. The silence of moments before seemed like a dream.

Some got out of their seats while others opened books, but Douno remained sitting at the

table, his face turned slightly downwards at the dirty tabletop. Douno had been kept in his own

cell at the detention centre, so apart from visitors, he hardly had the chance to speak to anyone.

Back then, he did not care who it was―he was desperate just to talk to someone. But once he was

here, that desire dissipated rapidly. Everyone seemed to have some unsavoury aspect to his face.

But of course―the people here were “real criminals”.

“Hey!”

Douno raised his head at the call, which belonged to a horse-faced man in his forties with a

lazy eye who had sat across from him.

“Case of first-day nerves, huh? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

Douno was painfully aware of the obvious attention he was drawing from those around

him. Back at the factory, they had all seemed so disinterested.

“How old are you, by the way?”

Douno could smell the other man’s bad breath, even though they were far apart. He

unconsciously knitted his brow at the odour of rotting fish.

“I’m thirty.”

“I see,” the man murmured. “And what’d you do?”

“...I didn’t do anything,” Douno answered in a small voice. The man laughed.

“You had to have done something to be thrown in here! What? Theft? Drugs?”

“I’ve been wrongly accused.”

Narise Konohara

In the Box / In the Box

“Huh?” The man grimaced.

“I’m wrongly accused. I’m innocent.”

There was a moment of silence, but before long the chatter soon resumed.

“Oh, right, okay,” muttered the man with the lazy eye. Then, with a palm to his forehead,

he chuckled. “Heh heh,” he said, his shoulders shaking. “You must have some weird preferences

to get yourself into jail when you haven’t done anything.”

Vulgar hoots and laughter erupted from around him. Douno looked down at the table. He

balled his hands into fists in his lap. Two or three more people came to talk to him after that, but

Douno put his head down on the table and pretended he was asleep.

Douno was placed into group cell 306, a five-person cell. It was about twelve square metres

in area, with toilet in the far right corner sectioned off by glass on the top half, and a simple

stainless-steel sink on the left. There were small shelves on the wall along with towel hangers for

each resident. Each person’s futon was folded and placed along the walls, with pyjamas and sheets

folded pristinely on top.

Shiba, who had introduced himself as the head of Section 3 at the factory, was also in the

same cell. Work ended at 16:20, followed by roll call. They returned to the cell and took roll call

again before going for dinner. They were able to take a breather from their minute schedule only

after dinner was over, around 17:30.

Douno’s seat beside the tall man at the long, rectangular collapsible table became his “usual

spot”. Even during free time, they were scolded by the guard if they were caught walking around

the cell aimlessly or lying down. This had also been the same for Douno when he was at the

detention centre.

What surprised Douno when he entered the cell was that it was equipped with a television

set, which he did not have at the detention centre. He had seen a TV in the dining hall, but had not

expected to see one in the cell as well.

“Douno,” called a voice. He turned around. “TV time starts at nineteen o’clock,” said Shiba

with a grin, which made his eyes crinkle behind his spectacles.

“I’m sure you’ve already heard the basics from the caretaker and the guard in charge, but if

there’s something you need help with, you just ask me. I’m the section head at the factory, but we

take turns being the head of the cell. That changes every week. As for where you’ll sleep, you’ll be

beside the toilet. It’ll stink, but all the newcomers start there. You don’t have to worry, though―in

a week, your spot will be shifted along with everyone else. Anything else... well, just make sure

you don’t cause trouble for anyone else. And don’t get in trouble and get points deducted. We’ll

lose TV privileges.”

Douno said he understood.

“I’ll introduce myself while I’m at it. I’m Shiba, head of Section 3 at the factory, and head of

the cell for this week. The tall guy beside you is Kitagawa. He’s the youngest in our cell―twenty

eight, I think.”

The man whom Shiba called Kitagawa had a face as expressionless as a Noh mask. Only his

eyes moved slightly to glance at Douno. His attitude seemed to say he was not interested in the

newcomer.

“I’m Mitsuhashi,” said the man sitting across from Kitagawa. He looked in this early

thirties, about the same age as Douno. “I’ll be out on parole before the year is out. It’ll be short, but

I hope we can get to know each other.” He smiled good-naturedly. He was a round-faced and

sociable man, with a mild demeanour and kind countenance. If it weren’t for his shaved head and

prison uniform, he would not look like a prisoner at all.

Narise Konohara

In the Box / In the Box

“And the guy beside Mitsuhashi is Kumon.”

He turned out to be the man with the lazy eye who had said Douno had weird tastes in the

cafeteria.

“How long’s your sentence?” Kumon asked suddenly. Douno did not want to answer him,

but he felt like it would be a wise idea not to start any conflicts off the bat with his cellmate.

“Ten months,” he said reluctantly.

“Ten months?” repeated Kumon, narrowing his already-squinty eyes. “A piss sentence,

then.”

Douno tilted his head to the side, not quite understanding him.

“That’s what we call short sentences under one year,” Mitsuhashi explained kindly.

“You said something about false charges at lunch, but you’re in this joint, so there’s gotta be

beef with your name on it.”

Everything about the way Kumon talked irritated him. He tried not to let it show on his

face.

“Indecent assault,” Douno answered calmly.

“I see. Guess you aren’t as decent as you look, making moves on women, huh,” Kumon

spat, clicking his tongue. Douno hastily explained himself.

“No, it’s not what you think. I was mistaken for molesting her.”

“Yeah, but―” Mitsuhashi butted in. “This is your first offence, right, Douno? Isn’t a full

sentence kind of harsh for a first-time indecent assault? Don’t they usually give you a suspension?”

“I was dismissed for final appeal at the Supreme Court.”

“Wow,” Mitsuhashi said with wide eyes. “Supreme Court for molestation? Couldn’t you

have settled out of court for something like that?”

It was too late for anything now. Douno bowed his head and stared at the knots in the

wooden table. All the time spent in the detention centre; exorbitant legal fees―and his guilty

verdict, which had put it all to waste. If this was what had been waiting for him, he could have lied

and admitted to the crime from the beginning. Then, he would have been let off with a 30,000 yen

fine and a summary offence and been set free within the day. He would not have had to burden his

parents and younger sister with trouble, and he would not have had to quit his job. ―His heart

ached. The year and a half he had endured, believing in his innocence, had been akin to garbage.

“Well, a lot of things happen in life. You have to think of it as a lesson and put up with it.”

Douno felt a twinge of irritation at Shiba’s matter-of-fact tone. What “lesson”? he thought.

There was no “learning” in being jailed with other criminals, living a life choked with rules and

monotonous, menial tasks. There was only humiliation.

Suddenly overcome with nausea, Douno dashed into the washroom. As he expected, he

threw up his entire dinner. He rinsed his mouth at the sink. The back of his throat burned. I want to

be alone, I want to be alone... but here, he could not even get that. He wanted to lie down, but since it

was not yet rest period, he would be reprimanded by the guard if he was spotted. Douno sat at his

“usual spot” on the floor cushion at the table, and put his head down.

“Hey, you alright?” Shiba said to him.

“Fine,” Douno replied abruptly without raising his head.

“Are you not feeling well?”

“No, it’s... I think I’m just tired.” Douno continued to sit still with his head down on the

table. Eventually people stopped approaching him. There was a burning ache in the lower part of

his stomach. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“Say, isn’t Taoka almost out on parole? I was wondering why the guy was swinging his dick

in my face yesterday in the showers, and it turns out he got more beads in. I wonder how the guy

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