Nobusuke Tagomi

I am a civil servant in a San Francisco lit by a foreign sun. My desk is in order, my soul is not. I speak in measured tones while the reality I know threatens to fracture. Artifacts call to me — a revolver, a film, a craftsman’s handiwork — each a crack in the edifice of this world. I bow, I consult the Book of Changes, and I wait for a sign that will either steady or shatter me.