1Q84. Òûñÿ÷à Íåâåñòüñîò Âîñåìüäåñÿò ×åòûðå. Êíèãà 1. Àïðåëü–èþíü Ìóðàêàìè Õàðóêè
“It doesn’t matter,” Tamaru said. “Take your time. It was written over fifty years ago. It’s not like it’s crammed with hot-off-the-press information or anything.”
You might be right, Aomame thought. But maybe not. She no longer had much trust in time.
“Is that thing inside you doing all right?” Tamaru asked.
“So far, so good.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Tamaru said. “By the way, you heard about the short balding guy who has been loitering outside the Willow House, right?”
“I did. Is he still hanging around?”
“No. Not recently. He did for a couple of days and then he disappeared. But he went to the rental agencies in the area, pretending to be looking for an apartment, gathering information about the safe house. This guy really stands out. As if that weren’t bad enough, his clothes are awful. So everyone who talked with him remembers him. It was easy to track his movements.”
“He doesn’t sound like the right type to be doing investigations or reconnaissance.”
“Exactly. With looks like those, he’s definitely not cut out for that kind of work. He has a huge head, too, like one of those Fukusuke good-luck dolls. But he does seem to be good at what he does. He knows how to pound the pavement and dig up information. And he seems quite sharp. He doesn’t skip what is important, and he ignores what isn’t.”
“And he was able to gather a certain amount of information on the safe house.”
“He knows it’s a refuge for women fleeing domestic violence, and that the dowager has provided it free of charge. I think he must also have discovered that the dowager is a member of the sports club where you worked, and that you often visited her mansion to do private training sessions with her. If I were him, I would have been able to find out that much.”
“You’re saying he’s as good as you are?”
“As long as you don’t mind the effort involved, you can learn how to best gather information and train yourself to think logically. Anyone can do that much.”
“I can’t believe there would be that many people like that in the world.”
“Well, there are a few. Professionals.”
Aomame sat down and touched the tip of her nose. It was still cold from being outside.
“And that man isn’t hanging around outside the mansion anymore?” Aomame asked.
“I think he recognizes that he stands out too much. And he knows about the security cameras. So he gathered as much information as he could in a short time and then moved on.”
“So he knows about the connection between me and the dowager, that this is more than just a relationship between a sports club trainer and a wealthy client, and that the safe house is connected, too. And that we were involved in some sort of project together.”
“Most likely,” Tamaru said. “As far as I can tell, the guy is getting close to the heart of things. Step by step.”
“From what you’re saying, though, it sounds like he’s working on his own, not as part of some larger organization.”
“I had the same impression. Unless they had some special ulterior motive, a large organization would never hire a conspicuous man like that to undertake a secret investigation.”
“So why is he doing this investigation-and for whom?”
“You got me,” Tamaru said. “All I know is he’s good at what he does and he’s dangerous. Anything beyond that is just speculation. Though my own modest speculation leads me to believe that, in some form or another, Sakigake is involved.”
Aomame considered this prospect. “And the man has moved on.”
“Right. I don’t know where he has gone, though. But if I had to make a logical guess I would say that he is trying to track you down.”
“But you told me it was next to impossible to find this place.”
“Correct. A person could investigate all he wanted and never discover anything that linked the dowager to the apartment. Any possible connection has been erased. But I’m talking about the short term. If it’s long term, chinks in the armor will appear, just where you least expect them. You might wander outside, for instance, and be spotted. That’s just one possibility.”
“I don’t go outside,” Aomame insisted. But this wasn’t entirely true. She had left the apartment twice: once when she ran over to the playground in search of Tengo, the other time when she took the taxi to the turnout on the Metropolitan Expressway No. 3, near Sangenjaya, in search of an exit. But she couldn’t reveal this to Tamaru.
“Then how is he going to locate this place?”
“If I were him, I would take another look at your personal information. Consider what kind of person you are, where you came from, what kind of life you have led up till now, what you’re thinking, what you’re hoping for in life, what you’re not hoping for. I would take all the information I could get my hands on, lay it all out on a table, verify it, and dissect it from top to bottom.”
“Expose me, in other words.”
“That’s right. Expose you under a cold, harsh light. Use tweezers and a magnifying glass to check out every nook and cranny, to discover patterns in the way you act.”
“I don’t get it. Would an analysis like that really turn up where I am now?”
“I don’t know,” Tamaru said. “It might, and it might not. It depends. I’m just saying that’s what I would do. Because I can’t think of anything else. Every person has his set routines when it comes to thinking and acting, and where there’s a routine, there’s a weak point.”
“It sounds like a scientific investigation.”
“People need routines. It’s like a theme in music. But it also restricts your thoughts and actions and limits your freedom. It structures your priorities and in some cases distorts your logic. In the present situation, you don’t want to move from where you are now. At least until the end of the year you have refused to move to a safer location-because you’re searching for something there. And until you find that something you can’t leave. Or you don’t want to leave.”
Aomame was silent.
“What that might be, or how much you really want it, I have no idea. And I don’t plan to ask. But from my perspective that something constitutes your personal weak point.”
“You may be right,” Aomame admitted.
“And Bobblehead’s going to follow that. He will mercilessly trace that personal element that’s restraining you. He thinks it will lead to a breakthrough-provided he is as skilled as I imagine and is able to trace fragmentary clues to arrive at that point.”
“I don’t think he will be able to,” Aomame said. “He won’t be able to find a path. Because it’s something that is found only in my heart.”
“You’re a hundred percent sure of that?”
Aomame thought about it. “Not a hundred percent. Call it ninety-eight.”
“Well, then you had better be very concerned about that two percent. As I said, this guy is a professional. He is very smart, and very persistent.”
Aomame didn’t reply.
“A professional is like a hunting dog,” Tamaru said. “He can sniff out what normal people can’t smell, hear what they can’t pick up. If you do the same things everyone else does, in the same way, then you’re no professional. Even if you are, you’re not going to survive for long. So you need to be vigilant. I know you are a very cautious person, but you have to be much more careful than you have been up till now. The most important things aren’t decided by percentages.”
“There’s something I would like to ask you,” Aomame said.
“What would that be?”
“What do you plan to do if Bobblehead shows up there again?”
Tamaru was silent for a moment. The question seemed to have caught him by surprise. “I probably won’t do anything. I’ll just leave him be. There’s nothing he can do around here.”
“But what if he starts to do something that bothers you?”
“Like what, for instance?”
“I don’t know. Something that’s a nuisance.”
Tamaru made a small sound in the back of his throat. “I think I would send him a message.”
“As a fellow professional?”
“I suppose. But before I actually did anything, I would need to find out who he’s working with. If he has backup, I could be the one in danger instead of him. I would want to make sure of that before I did anything.”
“Like checking the depth of the water before jumping in a pool.”
“That is one way of putting it.”
“But you believe he is acting on his own. You said he probably doesn’t have any backup.”
“I did, but sometimes my intuition is off,” Tamaru said. “And unfortunately, I don’t have eyes in the back of my head. At any rate, I would like you to keep an eye out, all right? See if there’s anyone suspicious around, any change in the scenery outside, anything out of the ordinary. If you notice anything unusual, no matter how small, make sure you let me know.”
“I understand. I will be careful,” Aomame said. She didn’t need to be told. I’m looking for Tengo, so I won’t miss the most trivial detail. Still, like Tamaru said, I only have one pair of eyes.
“That’s about it from me,” he said.
“How is the dowager?” Aomame asked.
“She is well,” Tamaru replied. Then he added, “Though she seems kind of quiet these days.”
“She never was one to talk much.”
Tamaru gave a low growl in the back of his throat, as if his throat were equipped with an organ to express special emotions. “She is even quieter than usual.”
Aomame pictured the dowager, alone on her chair, a large watering can at her feet, endlessly watching butterflies. Aomame knew very well how quietly the old lady breathed.
“I will include a box of madeleines with the next supplies,” Tamaru said as he wound up the conversation. “That might have a positive effect on the flow of time.”
“Thank you,” Aomame said.
Aomame stood in the kitchen and made cocoa. Before going back outside to resume her watch, she needed to warm up. She boiled milk in a pan and dissolved cocoa powder in it. She poured this into an oversized cup and added a cap of whipped cream she had made ahead of time. She sat down at the dining table and slowly sipped her cocoa as she reviewed her conversation with Tamaru. The man with the large, misshapen head is laying me out bare under a cold, harsh light. He’s a skilled professional, and dangerous.
She put on the down jacket, wrapped the muffler around her, and, the cup of half-drunk cocoa in hand, went out again to the balcony. She sat down on the garden chair and spread the blanket on her lap. The slide was deserted, as usual. But just then she spotted a child leaving the playground. It was strange for a child to be visiting the playground alone at this hour. A stocky child wearing a knit cap. She was looking at him from well above, through a gap in the screen on the balcony, and the child quickly cut across her field of vision and disappeared into the shadows of the building. His head seemed too big for a child, but it might just have been her imagination.
It certainly wasn’t Tengo, so Aomame gave it no more thought and turned back to the slide. She sipped her cocoa, warming her hands with the cup, and watched one bank of clouds after another scud across the sky.
Of course, it wasn’t a child that Aomame saw for a moment, but Ushikawa. If the light had been better, or if she had seen him a little longer, she would have noticed that his large head wasn’t that of a child. It would have dawned on her that that dwarfish, huge-headed person was none other than the man Tamaru had described. But Aomame had only glimpsed him for a few seconds, and at less than the ideal angle. Luckily, for the same reasons, Ushikawa hadn’t spotted Aomame out on the balcony.
At this point, a number of “if”s came to mind. If Tamaru had hung up a little earlier, if Aomame hadn’t made cocoa while mulling over things, she would have seen Tengo, on top of the slide, gazing up at the sky. She would have raced out of the room, and they would have been reunited after twenty years.
If that had happened, however, Ushikawa, who had been tailing Tengo, would have noticed that this was Aomame, would have figured out where she lived, and would have immediately informed the duo from Sakigake.
So it’s hard to say if Aomame’s not seeing Tengo at this point was an unfortunate or fortunate occurrence. Either way, as he had done before, Tengo climbed up to the top of the slide and gazed steadily at the two moons floating in the sky and the clouds crossing in front. Ushikawa watched Tengo from the shadows. In the interim Aomame left the balcony, talked with Tamaru on the phone, and made her cocoa. In this way, twenty-five minutes elapsed. A fateful twenty-five minutes. By the time Aomame had put on her down jacket and returned to the balcony, Tengo had left the playground. Ushikawa didn’t immediately follow after him. Instead, he stayed at the playground, checking on something he needed to make sure of. When he had finished, he quickly left the playground. It was during those few seconds that Aomame spotted him from the balcony.
The clouds were still racing across the sky, moving south, over Tokyo Bay and then out to the broad Pacific. After that, who knows what fate awaited them, just as no one knows what happens to the soul after death.
At any rate, the circle was drawing in tighter. But Tengo and Aomame weren’t aware that the circle around them was closing in. Ushikawa sensed what was happening, since he was actively taking steps to tighten it, but even he couldn’t see the big picture. He didn’t know the most important point: that the distance between him and Aomame was now no more than a couple dozen meters. And unusually for Ushikawa, when he left the playground his mind was incomprehensibly confused.
By ten it was too cold to stay outside, so Aomame reluctantly got up and went back into the warm apartment. She undressed and climbed into a hot bath. As she soaked in the water, letting the heat take away the lingering cold, she rested a hand on her belly. She could feel the slight swelling there. She closed her eyes and tried to feel the little one that was inside. There wasn’t much time left. Somehow she had to let Tengo know: that she was carrying his child. And that she would fight desperately to protect it.
She dressed, got into bed, lay on her side in the dark, and fell asleep. Before she fell into a deep sleep she had a short dream about the dowager.
Aomame is in the greenhouse at the Willow House as they watch butterflies together. The greenhouse is like a womb, dim and warm. The rubber tree she left behind in her old apartment is there. It has been well taken care of and is so green that she hardly recognizes it. A butterfly from a southern land that she has never seen before is resting on one of its thick leaves. The butterfly has folded its brightly colored wings and seems to be sleeping peacefully. Aomame is happy about this.
In the dream her belly is hugely swollen. It seems near her due date. She can make out the heartbeat of the little one. Her heartbeat and that of the little one blend together into a pleasant, joint rhythm.
The dowager is seated beside her, her back ramrod straight as always, her lips a straight line, quietly breathing. The two of them don’t talk, in order not to wake the sleeping butterfly. The dowager is detached, as if she doesn’t notice that Aomame is next to her. Aomame of course knows how closely the dowager protects her, but even so, she can’t shake a sense of unease. The dowager’s hands in her lap are too thin and fragile. Aomame’s hands unconsciously feel for the pistol, but can’t find it.
She is swallowed up by the dream, yet at the same time aware it is a dream. Sometimes Aomame has those kinds of dreams, where she is in a distinct, vivid reality but knows it isn’t real. It is a detailed scene from a small planet somewhere else.
In the dream, someone opens the door to the greenhouse. An ominous cold wind blows in. The large butterfly opens its eyes, spreads its wings, and flutters off, away from the rubber tree. Who is it? She twists her head to look in that direction. But before she can see who it is, the dream is over.
She was sweating when she woke up, an unpleasant, clammy sweat. She stripped off her damp pajamas, dried herself with a towel, and put on a new T-shirt. She sat up in bed for a time. Something bad might be about to happen. Somebody might be trying to get the little one. And whoever that is might be very close by. She had to find Tengo-there was not a moment to lose. But other than watching the playground every night, there wasn’t a thing she could do. Nothing other than what she was already doing-carefully, patiently, dutifully, keeping her eyes open, trained on this one tiny section of the world, that single point at the top of the slide. Even with such focus, though, a person can overlook things. Because she only has one pair of eyes.
Aomame wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. She lay down again in bed, rested her palms on her stomach, and quietly waited for sleep to overtake her.
CHAPTER 18
Tengo
WHEN YOU PRICK A PERSON WITH A NEEDLE, RED BLOOD COMES OUT
“Nothing happened for three days after that,” Komatsu said. “I ate the food they gave me, slept at night in the narrow little bed, woke up when morning came, and used the small toilet in one corner of the room. The toilet had a partition for privacy, but no lock on it. There was still a lot of residual summer heat at the time, but the ventilator shaft seemed to be connected to an AC, so it didn’t feel hot.”
Tengo listened to Komatsu’s story without comment.
“They brought food three times a day. At what time, I don’t know. They took my watch away, and the room didn’t have a window, so I didn’t even know if it was day or night. I listened carefully but couldn’t hear a sound. I doubt anyone could hear any sound from me. I had no idea where they had taken me, though I did have a vague sense that we were somewhere off the beaten track. Anyhow, I was there for three days, and nothing happened. I’m not actually certain it was three days. They brought me nine meals altogether, and I ate them when they brought them. The lights in the room were turned out three times, and I slept three times. Usually I’m a light, irregular sleeper, but for some reason I slept like a log. It’s kind of strange, if you think about it. Do you follow me so far?”
Tengo silently nodded.
“I didn’t say a word for the entire three days. A young man brought my meals. He was thin and had on a baseball cap and a white medical face mask. He wore a kind of sweatshirt and sweatpants, and dirty sneakers. He brought my meals on a tray and then took them away when I was finished. They used paper plates and flimsy plastic knives, forks, and spoons. The food they brought was ordinary prepared food in silver foil packages-not very good, but not so bad you wouldn’t eat it. They didn’t bring much each meal, and I was hungry, so I ate every bite. This was kind of weird, too. Usually I don’t have much of an appetite, and if I’m not careful, sometimes I even forget to eat. They gave me milk and mineral water to drink. They didn’t provide coffee or tea. No single-malt whiskey or draft beer. No smokes, either. But what’re you going to do? It wasn’t like I was lounging around some nice hotel.”
As if he had just remembered that now he could smoke at his leisure, Komatsu pulled out a red Marlboro pack, stuck a cigarette between his lips, and lit it with a paper match. He sucked the smoke deep into his lungs, exhaled, and then frowned.
“The man who brought the meals never said a word. He must have been ordered by his superiors not to say anything. I’m sure he was at the bottom of the totem pole, a kind of all-purpose gofer. I think he must have been trained in one of the martial arts, though. He had a sort of focus to the way he carried himself.”
“You didn’t ask him anything?”
“I knew that if I spoke to him, he wouldn’t respond, so I just kept quiet and let things be. I ate the food they brought me, drank my milk, went to bed when they turned out the lights, woke up when they turned them back on. In the morning the young guy would come and bring me an electric razor and toothbrush, and I would shave and brush my teeth. When I was done he would take them back. Other than toilet paper, there was nothing else to speak of in the room. They didn’t let me take a shower or change my clothes, but I never felt like taking a shower or changing. There was no mirror in the room, but that didn’t bother me. The worst thing was definitely the boredom. I mean, from the time I woke up till the time I went to sleep, I had to sit there alone, not speaking to anyone, in this white, completely square, dice-like room. I was bored to tears. I’m kind of a print junkie, I always need to have something to read with me-a room-service menu, you name it. But I didn’t have any books, newspapers, or magazines. No TV or radio, no games. No one to talk to. Nothing to do but sit in the chair and stare at the floor, the walls, the ceiling. It was a totally absurd feeling. I mean, you’re walking down the road when some people jump out of nowhere, grab you, put chloroform or something over your nose, drag you off somewhere, and hold you in a strange, windowless little room. A weird situation no matter how you cut it. And you get so bored you think you’re going to lose your mind.”
Komatsu stared with deep feeling at the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling up, then flicked the ash into the ashtray.
“I think they must have thrown me into that tiny room for three days, with nothing to do, trying to get me to break down. They seemed to know what they were doing when it came to breaking a person’s spirit, pushing someone to the edge. On the fourth day-after I had my fourth breakfast, in other words-two other men came in. I figured this was the pair that had kidnapped me. I was attacked so suddenly that I didn’t get a good look at their faces. But when I saw them on the fourth day, it started to come back to me-how they had pulled me into the car so roughly that I thought they were going to twist my arm off, how they had stuffed a cloth soaked with some kind of drug on my nose and mouth. The two of them didn’t say a word the whole time, and it was over in an instant.”
Remembering the events, Komatsu frowned.
“One of them wasn’t very tall, but he was solidly built, with a buzzcut. He had a deep tan and prominent cheekbones. The other one was tall, with long limbs, sunken cheeks, his hair tied up behind him in a ponytail. Put them side by side and they looked like a comedy team. You’ve got your tall, thin one, and your short, stocky one with a goatee. But I could tell at a glance these were no comedians. They were a dangerous pair. They would never hesitate to do whatever had to be done, without making a big scene. They acted very relaxed, which made them all the more scary, and their eyes were frighteningly cold. They both wore black cotton trousers and white short-sleeved shirts. They were probably in their mid- to late twenties, the bald one maybe a little older than the other one. Neither one wore a watch.”
Tengo was silent, waiting for him to go on.
“Buzzcut did all the talking. Ponytail just stood there in front of the door, ramrod straight, without moving a muscle. It seemed like he was listening to our conversation, but then again, maybe not. Buzzcut sat down right across from me in a folding metal chair he had brought, and talked. There were no other chairs, so I sat on the bed. The guy had no facial expression at all. His mouth moved when he spoke, but other than that, his face was frozen, like a ventriloquist’s dummy.”
The first thing Buzzcut said when he sat down across from Komatsu was this: “Are you able to guess who we are, and why we brought you here?”
“No, I can’t,” Komatsu replied.
Buzzcut stared at Komatsu for a while with his depthless eyes. “But say you had to make a guess,” he went on, “what would you say?” His words were polite enough, but his tone was forceful, his voice as hard and cold as a metal ruler left for a long time in a fridge.
Komatsu hesitated, but then said, honestly, that if he were forced to make a guess, he would say it had something to do with the Air Chrysalis affair. Nothing else came to mind. “That would mean you two are probably from Sakigake,” he continued, “and we are in your compound.”
Buzzcut neither confirmed nor denied what Komatsu had said. He just stared at him. Komatsu kept silent as well.
“Let’s talk, then, based on that hypothesis,” Buzzcut quietly began. “What we’re going to say from now on is an extension of that hypothesis of yours, all based on the assumption that this is indeed the case. Is that acceptable?”
“That would be fine,” Komatsu replied. They were going to talk about this as indirectly as they could. This was not a bad sign. If they were planning not to let him out of here alive, they wouldn’t go to the trouble.
“As an editor at a publishing house, you were in charge of publishing Eriko Fukada’s Air Chrysalis. Am I correct?”
“You are,” Komatsu admitted. This was common knowledge.
“Based on our understanding, there was some fraud involved in the publication. Air Chrysalis received a literary prize for debut novelists from a literary journal. But before the selection committee received the manuscript, a third party rewrote it considerably at your direction. After the work was secretly revised, it won the prize, was published as a book, and became a bestseller. Do I have my facts correct?”
“It depends on how you look at it,” Komatsu said. “There are times when a submitted manuscript is rewritten, on advice of the editor-”
Buzzcut put his hand up to cut him off. “There’s nothing dishonest about the author revising parts of the novel based on the editor’s advice. You’re right. But having a third party rewrite the work is unscrupulous. Not only that, but forming a phony company to distribute royalties-I don’t know how this would be interpreted from a legal standpoint, but morally speaking these actions would be roundly condemned. It’s inexcusable. Newspapers and magazines would have a field day over it, and your company’s reputation would suffer. I’m sure you understand this very well, Mr. Komatsu. We know all the facts, and have incontrovertible proof we can reveal to the world. So it’s best not to try to talk your way out of it. It’s a waste of time, for both of us.”
Komatsu nodded.
“If it did come to that, obviously you would have to resign from the company. Plus, you know that you would be blackballed from the field. There would be no place left for you in publishing. For legitimate work, at least.”
“I imagine not,” Komatsu said.
“But at this point only a limited number of people know the truth,” Buzzcut said. “You, Eriko Fukada, Professor Ebisuno, and Tengo Kawana, who rewrote the book. And just a handful of others.”
Komatsu chose his words carefully. “According to our working hypothesis, this handful of others would be members of Sakigake.”
Buzzcut nodded, barely. “Yes. According to our hypothesis, that would be the case.”
Buzzcut paused, allowing the hypothesis to sink in. And then he went on.
“And if that hypothesis is indeed true, then they can do whatever they want to you. They can keep you here as their guest of honor for as long as they like. No problem at all. Or, if they wanted to shorten the length of your stay, there are any number of other choices they can make-including ones that would be unpleasant for both sides. Either way, they have the power and the means. I believe you already have a pretty good grasp of that.”
“I think I do,” Komatsu replied.
“Good,” Buzzcut said.
Buzzcut raised a finger, and Ponytail left the room. He soon returned with a phone. He plugged it into a jack on the wall and handed the phone to Komatsu. Buzzcut directed him to call his company.
“You have had a terrible cold and a fever and have been in bed for a few days. It doesn’t look like you’ll be able to come in to work for a while. Tell them that and then hang up.”
Komatsu asked for one of his colleagues, briefly explained what he had to say, and hung up without responding to his questions. Buzzcut nodded and Ponytail unplugged the phone from the jack and took the phone and left the room. Buzzcut intently studied the back of his hands, then turned to Komatsu. There was a faint tinge of kindness in his voice.
“That’s it for today,” he said. “We’ll talk again another day. Until then, please consider carefully what we have discussed.”
The two of them left, and Komatsu spent the next ten days in silence, in that room. Three times a day the masked young man would bring in the mediocre meals. After the fourth day, Komatsu was given a change of clothes-a cotton pajama-like top and bottom-but until the very end, they didn’t let him take a shower. The most he could do was wash his face in the tiny sink attached to the toilet. His sense of time’s passage grew more uncertain.
Komatsu thought that he had been taken to the cult’s headquarters in Yamanashi. He had seen it on TV. It was deep in the mountains, surrounded by a tall fence, like some independent realm. Escape, or finding help, was out of the question. If they did end up killing him (which must be what they had meant by an unpleasant choice), his body would never be found. He had never felt death so real, or so close.
Ten days after he had made that forced call to his company (most likely ten days, though he wouldn’t bet on it), the same duo made another appearance. Buzzcut seemed thinner than before, which made his cheekbones all the more prominent. His cold eyes were now bloodshot. As before, he sat down on the folding chair he had brought, across the table from Komatsu. He didn’t say a word for a long time. He simply stared at Komatsu with his red eyes.
Ponytail looked the same. Again he stood, ramrod straight, in front of the door, his emotionless eyes fixed on an imaginary point in space. They were again dressed in black trousers and white shirts, most likely a sort of uniform.
“Let’s pick up where we left off last time,” Buzzcut finally said. “We were saying that we can do whatever we like with you.”
Komatsu nodded. “Including choices that wouldn’t be pleasant for either side.”
“You really do have a great memory,” Buzzcut said. “You are correct. An unpleasant outcome is looming.”
Komatsu was silent. Buzzcut went on.
“In theory, that is. Practically speaking, they would much prefer not to make an extreme choice. If you were suddenly to disappear now, Mr. Komatsu, that would lead to unwanted complications. Just like it did when Eriko Fukada disappeared. There aren’t many people who would be sad if you were gone, but you’re a respected editor, prominent in your field. And I’m sure that if you fall behind in your alimony payments, your wife will have something to say about it. For them, this would not be a very favorable development.”
Komatsu gave a dry cough and swallowed.
“They’re not criticizing you personally, or trying to punish you. They understand that in publishing Air Chrysalis you weren’t intending to attack a specific religious organization. At first you didn’t even know the connection between the novel and that organization. You perpetrated this fraud for fun and out of ambition. And money became a factor, too, as things developed. It’s very hard for a mere company employee to pay alimony and child support, isn’t it? And you brought Tengo Kawana-an aspiring novelist and cram school instructor who didn’t know anything about the circumstances-into the mix. The plan itself was smart, but your choice of the novel and the writer? Not so much. And things got more complicated than you imagined. You were like ordinary citizens who had wandered across the front lines and stepped into a minefield. You can’t go forward, and can’t go back. Am I correct in this, Mr. Komatsu?”
“That might sum it up, I suppose,” Komatsu replied.
“There still seem to be some things you don’t entirely understand,” Buzzcut said, his eyes narrowing a fraction. “If you did, you wouldn’t pretend that this has nothing to do with you. Let’s make things crystal clear. You are, frankly, in the middle of a minefield.”
Komatsu silently nodded.
Buzzcut closed his eyes, and ten seconds later opened them. “This situation has put you in a bind, but understand that it has created some real problems for them as well.”
Komatsu took the plunge and spoke. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“If it’s something I can answer.”
“By publishing Air Chrysalis we created a little trouble for the religious organization. Is that what you’re saying?”
“More than a little trouble,” Buzzcut said. He grimaced slightly. “The voice no longer speaks to them. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“No,” Komatsu croaked, his voice dry.
“Fine. I can’t explain any more to you than that. And it’s better for you not to know. The voice no longer speaks to them. That’s all I can tell you now.” Buzzcut paused. “And this unhappy turn of events was brought about by the publication of Air Chrysalis.”
Komatsu posed a question. “And did Eriko Fukada and Professor Ebisuno expect that by making Air Chrysalis public, they would bring about this unhappy turn of events?”
Buzzcut shook his head. “No, I don’t think Professor Ebisuno knew things would turn out this way. It’s unclear what Eriko Fukada’s intentions were. Saying it was unintentional is just conjecture. But even if you assume it was intentional, I don’t believe it was her intention.”
“People read Air Chrysalis as a fantasy novel,” Komatsu said. “A harmless, dreamy little tale written by a high school girl. Actually the novel was criticized quite a lot for being a bit too surreal. No one ever suspected that some great secret, or concrete information, was exposed in the pages of the book.”
“I imagine you’re right,” Buzzcut said. “The vast majority of people would never notice. But that’s not the issue. Those secrets should never have been made public. In any form whatsoever.”
Ponytail stood rooted to a spot in front of the door, staring at the wall, at some prospect that no one else could see.
“What they want is to get the voice back,” Buzzcut said, choosing his words. “The well hasn’t run dry. It has just sunk down deeper, where it can’t be seen. It will be quite difficult to restore, but it can be done.”
Buzzcut looked deep into Komatsu’s eyes. He looked like he was measuring the depths of something inside, like eyeballing a room to see if a piece of furniture would fit.
“As I said earlier, all of you have wandered into a minefield. You can’t go forward, and you can’t go back. What they can do is show you the path, so you can get out safely. If they do, you’ll have a narrow escape, and they’ll peacefully manage to get rid of some bothersome intruders.”
Buzzcut folded his arms.
“We would like you to quietly withdraw from all this. They aren’t really concerned if you leave here in one piece. But it will present problems if we make a lot of noise here right now. So, Mr. Komatsu, I will show you the way to retreat. I will guide you back to a safe place. What I ask for in return is the following: You must stop publishing Air Chrysalis. You won’t print any more copies, or reprint it in paperback. And all advertising for the book will cease. And you will sever all connections with Eriko Fukada. What do you say? You have enough influence to handle that.”
“It won’t be easy, but maybe I can manage it,” Komatsu said.
“Mr. Komatsu, we didn’t bring you all the way here to talk about maybes.” Buzzcut’s eyes grew even redder and sharper. “We’re not asking you to collect all the copies of the book that are out there. Do that, and the media would jump on the story. And we know your influence doesn’t extend that far. We would just like you to quietly take care of things. We can’t undo what has already happened. Once something’s ruined, it can’t go back to the way it was. What they would like is to remove this from the spotlight. Do you follow me?”
Komatsu nodded.
“Mr. Komatsu, as I have explained, there are several facts here that must not come to light. If they did, all those involved would suffer repercussions. So for the sake of both parties, we would like to conclude a truce. They will not hold you responsible beyond this point. Peace will be guaranteed. You will have nothing further to do with Air Chrysalis. This isn’t such a bad deal, you know.”
Komatsu thought it over. “All right. I will begin by making sure Air Chrysalis is no longer published. It may take some time, but I’ll find a way. And speaking personally, I can put this entire matter out of my mind. I think Tengo Kawana can do the same. He wasn’t enthusiastic about it from the very beginning. I got him involved against his will. His role in this is long past. And I don’t think Eriko Fukada will be a problem. She said that she doesn’t plan to write any more novels. Professor Ebisuno is the only one whose reaction I can’t gauge. Ultimately he wanted to determine if his friend, Tamotsu Fukada, was all right. He wants to know where he is now and what he’s doing. Whatever I might tell him, he may continue to pursue information on Mr. Fukada.”
“Tamotsu Fukada is dead,” Buzzcut said. His voice was quiet, uninflected, but there was something terribly heavy within.
“Dead?” Komatsu asked.
“It happened recently,” Buzzcut said. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “He died of a heart attack. It was over in a moment, and he didn’t suffer. Due to the circumstances, we didn’t submit a notification of death, and we held the funeral secretly at our compound. For religious reasons the body was incinerated, the bones crushed and sprinkled in the nearby mountains. Legally, this constitutes desecration of a body, but it would be difficult to make a formal case against us. But this is the truth. We never lie when it comes to matters of life and death. I would like you to let Professor Ebisuno know about this.”
“A natural death.”
Buzzcut nodded deeply. “Mr. Fukada was a very important person for us. No-important is too trite a term to express what he was. He was a giant. His death has only been reported to a limited number of people. They grieved deeply for the loss. His wife-Eriko Fukada’s mother-died several years ago of stomach cancer. She refused chemotherapy, and passed away within our treatment facility. Her husband, Tamotsu, cared for her to the end.”
“Even so, you didn’t file a notification of her death,” Komatsu asked.
No words of denial came.
“And Tamotsu Fukada passed away recently.”
“Correct,” Buzzcut said.
“Was this after Air Chrysalis was published?”
Buzzcut’s gaze went down to the table for a moment, then he raised his head and looked at Komatsu.
“That’s right. Mr. Fukada passed away after Air Chrysalis was published.”
“Are the two events related?” Komatsu dared to ask.
Buzzcut didn’t say anything for a while, pondering how he should respond. Finally, as if he had made up his mind, he spoke. “Fine. I think it might be best to let Professor Ebisuno know all the facts, so he will understand. Mr. Tamotsu Fukada was the real Leader, the one who hears the voice. When his daughter, Eriko Fukada, published Air Chrysalis, the voice stopped speaking to him, and at that point Mr. Fukuda himself put an end to his existence. It was a natural death. More precisely, he put an end to his own existence naturally.”
“Eriko Fukada was the daughter of Leader,” Komatsu murmured.
Buzzcut gave a concise, abbreviated nod.
“And Eriko Fukada ended up driving her father to his death,” Komatsu continued.
Buzzcut nodded once more. “That is correct.”
“But the religion still continues to exist.”
“The religion does still exist,” Buzzcut replied, and he stared at Komatsu with eyes like ancient pebbles frozen deep within a glacier. “Mr. Komatsu, the publication of Air Chrysalis has done more than a little damage to Sakigake. However, they are not thinking to punish you for this. There is nothing to be gained from punishing you at this point. They have a mission they must accomplish, and in order to do so, quiet isolation is required.”
“So you want everyone to take a step back and forget it all happened.”
“In a word, yes.”
“Was it absolutely necessary to kidnap me in order to get this message across?”
Something akin to an expression crossed Buzzcut’s face for the first time, a superficial emotion, located somewhere in the interstice between humor and sympathy. “They went to the trouble of bringing you here because they wanted you to understand the seriousness of the situation. They didn’t want to do anything drastic, but if something is necessary, they don’t hesitate. They wanted you to really feel this, viscerally. If all of you do not keep your promise, then something quite unpleasant will occur. Do you follow me?”
“I do,” Komatsu replied.
“To tell you the truth, Mr. Komatsu, you were very fortunate. Because of all the heavy fog you may not have noticed this, but you were just a few inches from the edge of a cliff. It would be best if you remember this. At the moment they do not have the freedom to deal with you. There are many more pressing matters at hand. And in that sense, too, you are quite fortunate. So while this good fortune still continues…”
As he said this he turned his palms faceup, like someone checking to see if it was raining. Komatsu waited for his next words, but there weren’t any. Now that he had finished speaking, Buzzcut looked exhausted. He slowly rose from his chair, folded it, and exited the cube-shaped room without so much as a glance back. The heavy door closed, the lock clicking shut. Komatsu was left all alone.
“They kept me locked away in that square little room for four more days. We had already discussed what was important. They had told me what they wanted to say and we had come to an agreement. So I couldn’t see the point of keeping me there any longer. That duo never appeared again, and the young man in charge of me never uttered a word. I ate the same monotonous food, shaved with the electric razor, and spent my time staring at the ceiling and the walls. I slept when they turned off the lights, woke up when they switched them on. And I pondered what Buzzcut had told me. What really struck me most was the fact that he said we were fortunate. Buzzcut was right. If these guys wanted to, they could do anything they wanted. They could be as cold-blooded as they liked. While I was locked up in there, I really came to believe this. I think they must have kept me locked up for four more days knowing that would be the result. They don’t miss a beat-they’re very meticulous.”
Komatsu picked up his glass and took a sip of the highball.
“They drugged me again with chloroform or whatever, and when I woke up it was daybreak and I was lying on a bench in Jingu Gaien. It was the end of September, and the mornings were cold. Thanks to this I actually did wind up with a cold and a fever and I really was in bed for the next three days. But I guess I should consider myself fortunate if that’s the worst that happened to me.”
Komatsu seemed to be finished with his story. “Did you tell this to Professor Ebisuno?” Tengo asked.
“Yes, after I was released, and a few days after my fever broke, I went to his house on the mountain. I told him pretty much what I told you.”
“What was his reaction?”
Komatsu drained the last drop of his highball and ordered a refill. He urged Tengo to do the same, but Tengo shook his head.
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