by Kōji Suzuki
Up until the age of three, and then from age nine to age eighteen, Sadako had lived here, at the Yamamura estate. Takashi was sixty-one now. What exactly did she mean to him? Guessing from his expression as he received her remains, Asakawa imagined that he must have loved her dearly. He didn’t even ask for assurance that this was Sadako. Perhaps he didn’t need to. Perhaps he knew intuitively that it was her inside the black cloth. The way his eyes had flashed when he’d first seen the bundle attested to that. There must be some sort of power at work here, too.
Having completed his errand, Asakawa wanted to get away from Sadako as quickly as possible. So he beat a hasty retreat, lying that “I’ll miss my flight if I don’t leave now.” If the family changed their minds and suddenly decided they wouldn’t accept the remains as Sadako’s without proof, all would be lost. If they started asking him for details, he didn’t know what he’d say. It would be a long time before he’d be able to tell anyone the whole story. He particularly didn’t feel up to telling her relatives.
Asakawa stopped by Hayatsu’s “bureau” to say thanks for all his help the other day, and then he headed for the Oshima Hot Springs Hotel. He wanted to soak away all his fatigue in a hot bath and then write up the whole sequence of events.
3
Just about the time Asakawa was settling into bed at the Oshima Hot Springs Hotel, Ryuji was dozing at his desk in his apartment. His lips rested on a half-written essay, his spittle smudging the dark blue ink. He was so tired that his hand still clutched his beloved Montblanc fountain pen. He hadn’t switched over to a word processor yet.
Suddenly his shoulders jerked and his face contorted unnaturally. Ryuji leapt up. His back went ramrod-straight, and his eyes opened far wider than they usually did when he woke up. His eyes were normally slightly slanted, and when they were wide open like this he looked different, somehow cuter than usual. His eyes were bloodshot. He’d been dreaming. Ryuji, normally not afraid of anything, was shaking through and through. He couldn’t remember the dream. But the tautness of his body, and his trembling, bore witness to the terror of the dream. He couldn’t breathe. He looked at the clock. 9:40. He couldn’t immediately figure out the significance of the time. The lights were on—the overhead fluorescent bulb and the desk lamp in front of him—and there was plenty of light, but things still felt too dark. He felt an instinctual fear of the dark. His dream had been ruled by a darkness like no other.
Ryuji swiveled in his chair and looked at the video deck. The fateful tape was still in it. For some reason, he couldn’t look away again. He kept staring at it. His breathing became rough. Misgiving showed on his face. Images raced through his mind, leaving no room for logical thought.
“Shit. You’ve come …”
He placed both hands on the edge of the desk and tried to figure out what was behind him. His apartment was in a quiet place just off a main street, and all sorts of indistinct sounds came in from the street. Occasionally the revving of an engine or the squeal of tires would stand out, but other than that the sounds from outside were just a dull, solid mass stretching out behind him to the left and right. Pricking up his ears, he could figure out what was making some of the noises. Among them were the voices of insects. This mixed-up herd of sounds now started to float and flutter like a ghost. Reality seemed to recede—that was Ryuji’s impression. And as reality receded it left an empty space around him, in which some sort of spirit matter hovered. The chilly night air and the moisture clinging to his skin turned into shadows and closed in on him. The beating of his heart grew faster, outstripping the ticking of the clock. The signs were pressing down on his chest. Ryuji looked again at the clock. 9:44. Every time he looked, he gulped.
A week ago, when I watched that video at Asakawa’s, what time was that? He said his brat always goes to sleep at around nine … Assuming we hit ‘play’ after that, we would have finished at …
He couldn’t figure out exactly when they’d finished watching the video. But he could tell that the time was fast approaching. He was well aware that these indications that were now closing in on him were no counterfeit. This was different from when one’s imagination magnified one’s fears. This was no imaginary pregnancy. It was definitely coming steadily closer. What he didn’t know was …
Why’s it only coming for me? Why is it coming for me, when it didn’t come for Asakawa? It’s not fair.
His mind overflowed with confusion.
What the hell’s going on? Didn’t we figure out the charm? So why? Why? WHY?
His chest was beating an alarm. It felt like something had reached inside his breast and was squeezing his heart. Pain shot through his spine. He felt a cool touch on his neck, and, startled, he tried to get up from his chair, but instead he was overcome by severe pain in his waist and back. He collapsed on the floor.
Think! What should you do now?
Somehow his remaining consciousness managed to give orders to his body. Stand! Stand and think! Ryuji crawled over the floor mats to the video deck. He pushed eject and took out the tape. Why am I doing this? There was nothing else he could do but take a good long look at this tape that was behind everything. He looked at it back and front, and then went to put it back in the video deck, but stopped. There was a title written on the label on the spine of the tape. Asakawa’s handwriting. Liza Minnelli, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr/1989. It must have had some music program recorded on it, before Asakawa had used it to dub that video. An electric jolt ran down his spine. A single thought swiftly took shape in his otherwise blank mind. Nonsense, he told himself, putting the thought from his mind, but when he turned the tape over, that momentary jolt changed to a certainty. Suddenly Ryuji understood many things. The riddle of the charm, the old woman’s prophecy, and another power hidden in the images on that tape … Why had those four kids in Villa Log Cabin run off without trying to carry out the charm? Why was Ryuji facing death when Asakawa’s life had been spared? What had Sadako given birth to? The hint was right here, so close at hand. He hadn’t realized that Sadako’s power had become fused with another power. She’d wanted to have a child, but her body couldn’t bear one. So she’d made a bargain with the devil—for lots of children. What effect is this going to have? Ryuji wondered. He laughed through his pain, an ironic laugh.
You’ve got to be kidding. I wanted to watch the end of mankind. And here I am, in the vanguard …
He crawled to the telephone and started to dial Asakawa’s home number, but then he remembered: he was on Oshima.
Sonofabitch’ll sure be surprised when he hears I’m dead. The terrific pressure in his chest made his ribs creak.
He dialed Mai Takano’s number. Ryuji wasn’t sure whether it was a fierce attachment to life or just a desire to hear her voice one last time which had given rise to this impulse to summon Mai; he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. But a voice came to him.
Give it up. It wouldn’t be right to get her messed up in this.
But on the other hand, he still had a smidgen of hope—he might still be in time.
The clock on the desk caught his eye. 9:48. He put the receiver to his ear and waited for Mai to come to the phone. His head suddenly felt unbearably itchy. He put his hand to his head and scratched furiously, and felt several strands of hair come out. On the second ring, Ryuji lifted his face. There was a horizontal mirror on the chest of drawers in front of him, and he could see his face reflected in it. Forgetting that he had the phone wedged between his shoulder and his head, he brought his face in close to the mirror. The receiver fell, but he didn’t care; he just stared at his face in the mirror. Somebody else was reflected there. The cheeks were yellowish, dried and cracked, and hair was falling out in clumps to reveal brown scabs. A hallucination, it’s got to be a hallucination, he told himself. Even so, he couldn’t control his emotions. A woman’s voice came from the receiver where it lay on the floor: “Hello? Hello?” Ryuji couldn’t stand it. He screamed. His screams overlapped with Mai’s words, and in the end he wasn’
t able to hear his beloved’s voice. The face in the mirror was none other than his own, a hundred years in the future. Even Ryuji hadn’t known it would be so terrifying to meet himself transformed into someone else.
Mai Takano picked up the phone on the fourth ring and said “Hello”. The only answer was a ghastly scream. A shudder came over the line. Fear itself came through the line from Ryuji’s apartment to Mai’s. Surprised, Mai held the receiver away from her ear. The moans continued. The first scream had been one of shock, and the subsequent moans held incredulity. She’d received harassing phone calls several times before, but she immediately realized that this was different, and brought the phone back to her ear. The voice ceased. It was followed by dead silence.
9:49 p.m. His wish to hear the voice of the woman he loved one last time had been cruelly shattered. Instead, all he’d done was drown her in his death cries. Now he breathed his last. Nothingness enveloped his consciousness. Mai’s voice came again from the receiver near his hand. His legs were splayed out on the floor, his back was up against the bed, his left arm was thrown back across the mattress, his right hand was stretched out toward the receiver which still whispered “Hello?” and his head was bent backwards, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Just before he slipped into the void, Ryuji realized he wouldn’t be saved, and he remembered to wish with all his might that he could teach that asshole Asakawa the secret of the videotape.
Mai called “Hello, hello,” over and over again. No reply. She put the receiver back in the cradle. Those groans had sounded familiar. A premonition crept into her breast, and she picked up the receiver again to dial her esteemed professor’s number. She got a busy signal. She pressed down the hook with her finger and dialed again. Still busy. And she knew that it had been Ryuji calling, and that something horrible had happened to him.
4
October 20—Saturday
He was happy to be home again at last, but with his wife and child gone, the place seemed lonely. How long had it been since he was home? He tried to count on his fingers. He’d spent one night in Kamakura, got stuck on Oshima for two nights, spent the following night in Villa Log Cabin, and then another night on Oshima. He’d only been away for five nights. But it felt as if he’d been gone from home for much longer. He often went away for four or five nights to research articles, but when he came home it always felt like the time had flown by.
Asakawa sat down at the desk in his study and turned on his word processor. His body still ached here and there, and his back hurt when he stood up or sat down. Even the ten hours he’d slept last night couldn’t make up for all the sleepless nights of the last week. But he couldn’t stop and rest now. If he didn’t take care of the work that had piled up, he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise to take them on a drive to Nikko tomorrow—Sunday.
He sat right down in front of the word processor. He’d already saved the first half of the report on a floppy disk. Now he needed to add the rest, everything that had happened since Monday, when they had learned the name of Sadako Yamamura. He wanted to finish this document as quickly as possible. By dinnertime he’d written five pages. It was a pretty good pace. The speed of Asakawa’s writing usually picked up as the night wore on. At this rate, he’d be able to relax and enjoy seeing his wife and daughter tomorrow. Then, on Monday, he’d go back to his normal life. He couldn’t predict how his editor would react to what he was writing now, but he’d never know until he’d finished writing it. Knowing it was probably fruitless effort, Asakawa went through and put the events of the second half of the week in order. Only when the manuscript was finished would he feel that the episode was really and truly over.
Sometimes his fingers stopped over the keyboard. The printout containing Sadako’s photo was sitting by the desk. He felt as if that terrifyingly beautiful girl were watching him, and it ruined his concentration. He’d seen the same things she’d seen, through those beautiful eyes. He still had the feeling that part of her had entered into his body. Asakawa put the photo out of sight. He couldn’t work with Sadako staring at him.
He ate dinner at a local diner, and then he suddenly wondered what Ryuji was doing right now. He wasn’t really worried—somehow he just remembered Ryuji’s face. And as he went back to his room and continued working, that face floated at the edge of his consciousness, gradually becoming clearer.
I wonder what he’s up to right now?
His mental image of Ryuji’s face drifted in and out of focus. He felt strangely agitated, and reached out for the phone. After seven rings, he heard the receiver being picked up, and he felt relieved. But it was a woman’s voice he heard.
“… Hello?” The voice was faint and thin. Asakawa had heard it before.
“Hello. This is Asakawa.”
“Yes?” came the faint reply.
“Ah, you must be Mai Takano, right? I should thank you for the lunch you made the last time we met.”
“Don’t mention it,” she whispered, and waited.
“Is Ryuji there?” Asakawa wondered why she didn’t just turn the phone over to Ryuji right away.
“Is Ryuji—”
“The Professor is dead.”
“… What?” How long was he speechless? All he could say, stupidly, was, “What?” His eyes stared blankly at a point on the ceiling. Finally, when the phone felt ready to slip out of his hands, he managed to ask, “When?”
“Last night, at around ten o’clock.”
Ryuji had finished watching the video at Asakawa’s condominium last Friday night at 9:49. He’d died right on schedule.
“What was the cause of death?” He didn’t need to ask.
“Sudden heart failure … but they haven’t determined an exact cause of death.”
Asakawa barely managed to stay on his feet. This wasn’t over. They’d just entered the second round.
“Mai, are you going to be there for a while?”
“Yes. I need to put the Professor’s papers in order.”
“I’ll be over right away. Wait for me.”
Asakawa hung up the phone and sank to the floor. His wife and daughter’s deadline was tomorrow morning at eleven. Another race against time. And this time, he was alone in the fight. Ryuji was gone. He couldn’t stay on the floor like this. He had to take action. Quickly. Right now.
He stepped out onto the street and gauged the traffic situation. It looked like driving would be faster than taking the train. He crossed at the crossing and climbed into the rental car, parked at the curb. He was glad he’d extended the rental another day so he could pick up his family.
What did this mean? Hands gripping the wheel, he tried to get his thoughts together. Scene after scene flashed back to him, but none of them made any sense. The more he thought, the less his mind could absorb, and the thread connecting events got more and more tangled until it seemed ready to snap. Calm down! Calm down and think! He lectured himself. Finally, he realized what he had to focus on.
First of all, we didn’t really figure out the charm—the way to escape death. Sadako didn’t want her bones to be found and laid to rest with an appropriate memorial service. She wanted something entirely different. What? What is it? And why am I still alive like this if we didn’t figure out the charm? What does that mean? Tell me that! Why did only I survive?
At eleven o’clock next morning, Shizu and Yoko would face their deadline. It was already nine at night. If he didn’t do something, he’d lose them.
He’d been thinking of this from the perspective of a curse pronounced by Sadako, a woman who’d met an unexpected death, but he began to doubt that approach now. He had a premonition of a bottomless evil, sneering at human suffering.
Mai was kneeling formally in the Japanese-style room with an unpublished manuscript of Ryuji’s on her lap. She was turning the pages, casting her eyes over each one, but it was a difficult subject at the best of times, and now nothing was sinking in. The room felt cavernous. Ryuji’s parents had picked up his body early this morning and take
n it back home to Kawasaki. He was gone.
“Tell me everything about last night.”
His friend was dead. Ryuji was like a brother-in-arms to him. He grieved. But he hadn’t time now to wallow in sentiment. Asakawa sat next to Mai and bowed.
“It was after nine-thirty at night. I got a call from the Professor …” She told him the details. The scream that had come from the phone, the silence that had followed. Then when she’d rushed to Ryuji’s apartment she’d found him leaning against the bed, legs spread wide. She fixed her gaze on the spot where Ryuji’s corpse had been, and as she described the scene tears came to her eyes.
“I called and called, but the Professor didn’t respond.”
Asakawa didn’t give her time to cry. “Was there anything different about the room?”
“No,” she said shaking her head. “Only that the telephone was off the hook and making an ear-splitting sound.”
At the moment of death, Ryuji had called Mai. Why? Asakawa pressed further. “He didn’t tell you anything there at the end? No last words? Nothing, say, about a videotape?”
“A videotape?” Mai’s expression showed that she couldn’t see any possible connection between her professor’s death and a videotape. There was no way for Asakawa to know whether or not Ryuji had figured out the true nature of the charm just before he’d died.
But why did he call Mai? He must have done it knowing his death was at hand … Was it just that he wanted to hear a loved one’s voice? Isn’t it possible that he’d figured out the charm and needed her help in carrying it out? And that’s why he called her? In which case, it takes another person to make the charm work.
Asakawa started to leave. Mai walked him to the door.
“Mai, will you be staying here tonight?”
“Yes. I need to take care of his manuscript.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you when you’re so busy.” He went to leave.