1q84

by Haruki Murakami

  Tamaru removed the rubber band and peeled away the plastic bag. The bag had been partly sucked into his mouth. Ushikawa’s eyes were wide, his mouth open and twisted to one side in death. His dirty, irregular teeth were bared, his tongue with its greenish moss visible. It was the kind of expression Munch might have painted. Ushikawa’s normally misshapen head looked even more lopsided. He must have suffered terribly.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Tamaru said. “I didn’t do it because I wanted to.”

  Tamaru used his fingers to relax the muscles of Ushikawa’s face, straighten out the jaw, and make his face more presentable. He used a kitchen towel to wipe away the drool from Ushikawa’s mouth. It took a while, but his face began to look a bit better. At least a person looking at it wouldn’t avert their eyes. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get Ushikawa’s eyes to shut.

  “Shakespeare said it best,” Tamaru said quietly as he gazed at that lumpish, misshapen head. “Something along these lines: if we die today, we do not have to die tomorrow, so let us look to the best in each other.”

  Was this from Henry IV, or maybe Richard III? Tamaru couldn’t recall. To him, though, that wasn’t important, and he doubted Ushikawa wanted to know the precise reference. Tamaru untied his arms and legs. He had used a soft, towel-like rope, and he had a special way of tying it so as to not leave marks. He took the rope, the plastic bag, and the heavy-duty rubber band and stowed them in a plastic bag he had brought with him for that purpose. He rummaged through Ushikawa’s belongings and collected every photo he had taken. He put the camera and tripod in the bag as well. It would only lead to trouble if it got out that Ushikawa had been conducting surveillance. People would ask who he was watching, and the chances were pretty good that Tengo Kawana’s name would surface. He took Ushikawa’s notebook, too, crammed full of detailed notes. He made sure to collect anything of importance. All that was left behind were the sleeping bag, eating utensils, extra clothes, and Ushikawa’s pitiful corpse. Finally, Tamaru took out one of Ushikawa’s business cards, the ones that said he was Full-time Director, New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts, and pocketed it.

  “I’m really sorry,” Tamaru said again as he was leaving.

  . . .

  Tamaru went into a phone booth near the station, inserted a telephone card into the slot, and dialed the number Ushikawa had given him. It was a local Tokyo number, Shibuya Ward by the look of it. The phone rang six times before someone answered.

  Tamaru skipped the preliminaries and told him the address and room number of the apartment in Koenji.

  “Did you write it down?”

  “Could you repeat it?”

  Tamaru did so. The man wrote it down and read it back.

  “Ushikawa is there,” Tamaru said. “You are familiar with Ushikawa?”

  “Ushikawa?”

  Tamaru ignored what he said and continued. “Ushikawa is there, and unfortunately he isn’t breathing anymore. It doesn’t look like a natural death. There are several business cards with Full-time Director, New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts on them in his business card holder. If the police find these, eventually they will figure out the connection with you. That wouldn’t be to your advantage, I imagine. Best to dispose of everything as soon as you can. That’s what you’re good at.”

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  “Let’s just say I’m a kind informant,” Tamaru said. “I’m not so fond of the police myself. Same as you.”

  “Not a natural death?”

  “Well, he didn’t die of old age, or very peacefully.”

  The man was quiet for a moment. “What was this Ushikawa doing there?”

  “I don’t know. You would have to ask him the details, and as I explained, he’s not in a position to respond.”

  The man on the other end of the line paused. “You must be connected with the young woman who came to the Hotel Okura?”

  “That’s not the sort of question to which you can expect an answer.”

  “I’m one of the people who met her. Tell her that and she’ll understand. I have a message for her.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We’re not planning to harm her,” the man said.

  “My understanding is that you are trying your best to track her down.”

  “That’s right. We’ve been trying to locate her for some time.”

  “Yet you’re telling me you don’t plan to harm her,” Tamaru said. “Why is that?”

  There was a short silence before the response came.

  “At a certain point the situation changed. Leader’s death was deeply mourned by everyone. But that’s over, finished. Leader was ill, and, in a sense, he was hoping to put an end to his suffering. So we don’t plan to pursue Aomame any further regarding this matter. Instead, we would simply like to talk with her.”

  “About what?”

  “Areas of common interest.”

  “That’s just what your people want. You may feel the need to speak with her, but maybe that isn’t what she wants.”

  “There should be room for discussion. There are things that we can provide you. Freedom, for instance, and safety. Knowledge and information. Can’t we find a neutral place to discuss this? Name the location. We will go wherever you say. I guarantee her safety, one hundred percent—and not just hers, but the safety of everyone involved. There’s no need to run away anymore. I think this is a reasonable request, for both sides.”

  “That’s what you say,” Tamaru said. “But there is no reason I should trust you.”

  “At any rate, I would appreciate it if you would let Aomame know,” the man said patiently. “Time is of the essence, and we’re still willing to meet you halfway. If you need more proof of our reliability, we’ll provide it. You can call here anytime and get in touch with us.”

  “I wonder if you could give me a few more details. Why is she so important to you? What happened to bring about this transformation?”

  The man took a short breath before he replied. “We have to keep hearing the voice. For us it’s like a never-ending well. And we can’t ever lose it. That’s all I can tell you at this time.”

  “And you need Aomame in order to keep that well.”

  “It’s hard to explain. It’s connected, but that’s all I can say.”

  “What about Eriko Fukada? You don’t need her anymore?”

  “No, not anymore. We don’t care where she is, or what she’s doing. Her mission is finished.”

  “What mission?”

  “That’s sensitive information,” the man said after a pause. “I’m sorry, but I can’t reveal anything more at this time.”

  “I suggest you consider your position very carefully,” Tamaru said. “In this game we’re playing, it’s my serve. We can get in touch with you anytime we want, but you can’t get in touch with us. You don’t even know who we are. Correct?”

  “You’re right. You do have the advantage. We don’t know who you are. But this isn’t something we should speak about on the phone. I’ve already said too much, more than I’m authorized to.”

  Tamaru was silent for some time. “All right. We’ll consider your proposal. We need to talk it over on our end. I will probably be getting in touch with you later.”

  “I will be waiting to hear from you,” the man said. “As I said before, this could be to the advantage of both sides.”

  “What if we ignore your proposal, or reject it?”

  “Then we would have to do things our way. We have a certain amount of power, and unfortunately, things might get a little rough. This could cause problems for everyone involved. No matter who you are, you won’t come through this unscathed. I don’t see how that could be the ideal outcome for either of us.”

  “You may be right. But it will take a while before we get to that point. And as you said, time is of the essence.”

  The man gave a small cough. “It might take time. Or maybe
not so much.”

  “You won’t know unless you try.”

  “Exactly,” the man said. “There’s one more important thing I need to point out. To borrow your metaphor, in this game it’s your serve. But it doesn’t seem to me like you’re familiar with the basic rules of the game.”

  “That’s another thing you can’t know unless you actually try it.”

  “If you do try it and it doesn’t work, that would be a shame.”

  “For both of us,” Tamaru said.

  A short, suggestive silence followed.

  “What do you plan to do about Ushikawa?” Tamaru asked.

  “We’ll take charge of him at the earliest opportunity. As early as tonight.”

  “The apartment is unlocked.”

  “Much appreciated,” the man said.

  “By the way, will you all deeply mourn Ushikawa’s death?”

  “We deeply mourn any person’s death.”

  “You should mourn over him. He was, in his own way, a capable man.”

  “But not capable enough. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No man is capable enough to live forever.”

  “So you say,” the man said.

  “Yes, I do think that. Don’t you?”

  “I’ll wait for your call,” the man said, without answering, his voice cold.

  Tamaru silently hung up the phone. There was no need for any more talk. If he wanted to talk further, he would call them. He left the phone booth and walked to where he had parked his car—an old, drab, dark blue Toyota Corolla van, totally inconspicuous. He drove for fifteen minutes, pulled up next to an empty park, checked that there was no one watching, and tossed the plastic bag with the rope and the rubber band into a trash can. Plus the surgical gloves.

  “They deeply mourn any person’s death,” Tamaru said in a low voice as he started the engine and snapped on his seatbelt. Good—that’s what’s most important, he thought. Everyone’s death should be mourned. Even if just for a short time.

  CHAPTER 26

  Aomame

  VERY ROMANTIC

  The phone rang at just past noon on Tuesday. Aomame was seated on her yoga mat, legs wide apart, stretching her iliopsoas muscles. It was a much more strenuous exercise than it looked. A light sheen of perspiration was starting to seep through her shirt. She stopped, wiped her face with a towel, and answered the phone.

  “Bobblehead is no longer in that apartment,” Tamaru said, as always omitting any sort of greeting. No hellos for him.

  “He’s not there anymore?”

  “No, he’s not. He was persuaded.”

  “Persuaded,” Aomame repeated. She imagined this meant that Tamaru had, through some means, forcibly removed Bobblehead.

  “Also, the person named Kawana who lives in that building is the Tengo Kawana you have been looking for.”

  The world around Aomame expanded, then contracted, as if it were her own heart.

  “Are you listening?” Tamaru asked.

  “I am.”

  “But Tengo Kawana isn’t in his apartment right now. He has been gone for a couple of days.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’s not in Tokyo now, but he’s definitely all right. Bobblehead rented an apartment in Tengo’s building, and was waiting there for you to come see Tengo. He had set up a hidden camera and was keeping watch over the entrance.”

  “Did he take my picture?”

  “He took three photos of you. It was nighttime, and you had on a hat, glasses, and a muffler, so you can’t see any facial details in the photos. But it’s you. If you had gone there one more time, things could have gotten sticky.”

  “So I made the right choice leaving things up to you?”

  “If there is such a thing as a right choice here.”

  “Anyway,” Aomame said, “I don’t have to worry about him.”

  “That man won’t be trying to do you any harm anymore.”

  “Because you persuaded him.”

  “I had to adjust some things as we went, but in the end, yes,” Tamaru said. “I got all the photos. Bobblehead’s aim was to wait until you showed up, and Tengo Kawana was merely the bait he was using to reel you in. So I can’t see that they would have any reason now to harm Tengo. He should be fine.”

  “That’s a relief,” Aomame said.

  “Tengo teaches math at a cram school in Yoyogi. He is apparently an excellent teacher, but he only works a few days a week, so he doesn’t make much money. He’s still single, and he lives modestly in that simple apartment.”

  When Aomame closed her eyes she could hear her heartbeat inside her ears. The boundary between herself and the world seemed blurred.

  “Besides teaching math at the cram school, he is writing a novel. A long one. Ghostwriting Air Chrysalis was just a side job. He has his own literary ambitions, which is a good thing. A certain amount of ambition helps a person grow.”

  “How did you find all this out?”

  “He’s gone now, so I let myself into his apartment. It was locked, not that I would count that as a lock. I feel bad about invading his privacy, but I needed to do a basic check. For a man living alone, he keeps his place clean. He had even scrubbed the gas stove. The inside of his fridge was very neat, no rotten cabbage or anything tucked away in the back. I could see he had done some ironing as well. Not a bad partner for you to have. As long as he isn’t gay, I mean.”

  “What else did you find out?”

  “I called the cram school and asked about his teaching schedule. The girl who answered the phone said that Tengo’s father passed away late Sunday night in a hospital somewhere in Chiba Prefecture. He had to leave Tokyo for the funeral, and his Monday classes were canceled. She didn’t know when or where the funeral would take place. His next class is on Thursday, so it seems he will be back by then.”

  Aomame remembered that Tengo’s father was an NHK fee collector. On Sundays Tengo had made the rounds of his father’s collection route with him. She and Tengo had run across each other a number of times on the streets of Ichikawa. She couldn’t remember his father’s face very well. He was a small, thin man who wore a fee collector’s uniform. He didn’t look at all like Tengo.

  “Since there’s no more Bobblehead, is it all right if I go see Tengo?”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Tamaru shot back. “Bobblehead was persuaded, but I had to get in touch with Sakigake to get them to take care of one last piece of business. There was one particular article I didn’t want to fall into the hands of the authorities. If that had been discovered, the residents of the apartment would have been gone over with a fine-tooth comb, and your friend might have gotten mixed up in it too. It would have been difficult for me to wrap up everything by myself. If the authorities spotted me lugging that article out in the middle of the night and questioned me, I don’t know how I would talk my way out of it. Sakigake has the manpower and the resources, and that’s the sort of thing they’re used to. Like the time they transported another article out of the Hotel Okura. Do you follow what I’m saying?”

  In her mind Aomame translated Tamaru’s terminology into more straightforward vocabulary. “So this persuasion got rather rough, I take it.”

  Tamaru gave a low groan. “I feel bad about it, but that man knew too much.”

  “Was Sakigake aware of what Bobblehead was doing in that apartment?”

  “He was working for them, but on that front he was acting on his own. He hadn’t yet reported to his superiors on what he was doing. Fortunately for us.”

  “But by now they must know that he was up to something.”

  “Correct. So you had best not go near there for a while. Tengo Kawana’s name and address have to be on their checklist. I doubt they know yet about the personal connection between you and Tengo. But when they search for the reason Bobblehead was in that apartment, Tengo’s name will surface. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “If we’re lucky, it might be some time before they discover i
t. They might not make the connection between Bobblehead’s death and Tengo right away.”

  “If we’re lucky,” Tamaru said. “If they’re not as meticulous as I think they are. But I never count on luck. That’s how I’ve survived all these years.”

  “So I shouldn’t go near that apartment building.”

  “Correct,” Tamaru said. “We made a narrow escape, and we can’t be too careful.”

  “I wonder if Bobblehead figured out that I’m hiding in this apartment.”

  “If he had, right now you would be somewhere I couldn’t get to.”

  “But he came so close.”

  “He did. But that was just coincidence, nothing more.”

  “That’s why he could sit there on the slide, totally exposed.”

  “Right,” Tamaru said. “He had no idea that you were watching him. He never expected it. And that was his fatal mistake. I said that, didn’t I? That there is a very fine line between life and death?”

  A few seconds of silence descended on them. A heavy silence that a person’s—any person’s—death brings on.

  “Bobblehead might be gone, but the cult is still after me.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Tamaru said. “At first they wanted to grab you and find out what organization planned Leader’s murder. They know you couldn’t have done it on your own. It was obvious that you must have had backup. If they had caught you, you would have been in for some tough questioning.”

  “Which is why I needed a pistol,” Aomame said.

  “Bobblehead was well aware of all this,” Tamaru went on. “He knew the cult was after you to grill you and punish you. But somehow the situation has drastically shifted. After Bobblehead left the stage, I spoke with one of the cult members. He said they have no plans to do you any harm. He asked me to give you this message. It could be a trap, but it sounded genuine to me. The guy explained that Leader was actually hoping to die, that it was a kind of self-destruction. So there’s no need anymore to punish you.”