Cult X

by Fuminori Nakamura

  But there was still one possible solution. He had to get this man, Takahara, to set off those explosives. The Public Security Bureau could say that the cult had pretended to surrender and then set off the bombs. And that they weren’t done yet. That they’d just gone underground. Everyone would support the government in fighting the imaginary enemy. Everything would go the way they wanted.

  But what if he got scared?

  Was it just in his head? Takahara’s face looked a little different than before. It was probably just in his head.

  “Do you know what time it is?” the thirty-something man asked quietly. Takahara nodded. “Really?” He looked at his watch. “You have two more minutes.”

  The man did not miss the look of misgiving that crossed Takahara’s face. Of course. He still wasn’t prepared. He had been right to come.

  “Do it already. No need to wait two minutes.”

  “No.” There was hesitation in Takahara’s voice. The man could hear it, even if Takahara tried to hide it. “I’ll do it on the hour.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not ready?”

  “Of course I’m ready!”

  “Tell me the numbers. I’ll do it for you.”

  Takahara’s eyes met the man’s. They were the same age, although Takahara didn’t know it.

  He slowly pulled the cell phone from his pocket. He dialed numbers with his thumb. The moment stretched between them.

  “Let’s end these games. You’re not part of R. You’re from the Public Security Bureau. Isn’t that right?”

  The thirty-something man met Takahara’s gaze. “Yes, let’s come clean. That’s right. I work for Public Security.”

  “Whether I press the buttons or not, you’ll kill me. Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right.” Of course they couldn’t let him live. He had seen their faces.

  “Even if I run now,” Takahara said after taking a deep breath. “You’ll use every agency in this country to track me down. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  It was past ten. “I have a request,” Takahara said. His own voice sounded meeker than he had ever heard. Defenseless. “Please, let me go.”

  The thirty-something man said nothing. He just stared at Takahara.

  “Politics, religion. I don’t care about any of it anymore. I’ll never tell a soul about you. I . . .” Takahara spoke in an unimaginably childish voice. “I want to live.”

  The thirty-something man took out a gun and shot him in the head.

  I have to move, Takahara thought, but his body didn’t move. A terrible heat ran through his body, like it was begging for more time. He felt himself falling to the ground, but his vision was locked on that image of the man lifting his gun. The moment he wondered if he was still conscious, he felt his eyelids closing. He felt himself being forcibly ended. It was completely different from the feeling of falling asleep. A dark shadow enveloped his vision.

  That was his final moment.

  When Tachibana saw the man take out a gun through the smartphone screen, her mind could no longer keep up with what was happening. She knew she gasped. But by that time, Takahara’s body had already fallen.

  No, she thought. This can’t be true. Takahara-kun said he’d be fine. This is some kind of mistake.

  She thought she was going to scream—she was forcing herself to stifle that scream. The smartphone slipped out of her hand.

  What am I doing? Shouldn’t I scream, run to Takahara, get myself shot by that man? Why am I still hiding here and fighting back my screams? Why? The moment she thought it, she realized she was worried about the video. If I’m killed here, he’ll take this video. Takahara-kun’s death will become meaningless. I have to hold back my screams now. Tachibana’s eyes were filled with tears. How can I make such calm judgments? How can I be so silent at a time like this? You look like your mother. Am I like her? Am I suppressing my sadness at Takahara-kun’s death? Am I trying to present myself to them as the heroine of some tragedy? Am I demanding thanks? No. No, Takahara-kun is dead. No, he’s not. He can’t be dead. You look like your mother. I don’t. And he’s not dead. I . . . I . . .

  Tachibana realized she had screamed. The moment she heard her voice, she felt something inside her drop. She felt set free. Her tears flowed. This is fine. I’ll die here with Takahara-kun. The man was coming toward her. I’ll die here. It’s fine. It’s fine now. I’ll go with Takahara-kun . . . Suddenly, the man froze. He had heard something. A scream from another direction. There was another witness.

  The thirty-something man took off at a run.

  Tachibana ran toward Takahara. Tears were dripping down her face. She held her mouth. His head—he’d been shot in the head. Of all places, that man shot him in the head.

  “Hey . . .”

  She heard that word come from his mouth. But Takahara was no longer conscious. He was probably not aware of his voice.

  “Am I forgiven for my sins?”

  “Sins?” she asked, holding his arm and crying. “You’ve never sinned. There’s no way you could have. You were hurt when you were a little boy, and just tried your best to live in your own clumsy way. You don’t have any sins.”

  Takahara lay still. Tachibana couldn’t speak. “Takahara-kun,” she tried to say, crying. But she couldn’t. Her words vanished halfway through.

  “Let’s run away togeth . . .”

  The thirty-something man got in his car and drove away from the scene.

  He turned the steering wheel gently and thought about the witnesses. Who was that woman? And there was another woman behind me. But they are harmless. They don’t know who I am.

  The police in that jurisdiction were under their control. There was no problem.

  He noticed there was blood on his sleeve. The man clicked his tongue. I just took this shirt to the cleaners. If I keep taking it in, the fabric will wear thin.

  He was forgetting something. That’s right. I need to sympathize with that man, Takahara. Because that’s what proper humans do.

  How sad, the man in his thirties made himself think. He’s another sacrifice. Another sacrifice for this system called the country. I don’t want to do these things either. He was a noble sacrifice. There’s no helping it. He had no luck. The man thought about all of the things he should think at a time like this. He was the sort of person who could instantly come up with a reason for his actions. And once people have a good enough reason, they can do anything. He did think it was a bit of a bother to justify everything he did, but it also made him feel safe inside. Why do I have to do this instead of someone else? And get my sleeve dirty too? He should have just killed himself. If he had, I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble.

  The man went home. He lived in a rather nice apartment. It was owned by the government and used to house government employees. He only paid a small rent, but he was unhappy to have to pay rent at all.

  When he opened the front door, his wife came to greet him. Normally she’d take his bag, but for some reason she was excited today.

  “What is it?”

  “He stood up.”

  “Huh?”

  “Kai-kun stood up!”

  The man rushed inside. His son, Kaito, was standing. He was standing on his own two unstable legs.

  “Kai-kun!” the man yelled. This wasn’t a performance. It was a moment acknowledged to be beautiful in every culture around the globe. “You’re standing! You’re amazing!”

  His wife smiled and watched her overjoyed husband hug their child. She had already noticed the spots of blood on his sleeve. But she didn’t show any reaction. She didn’t care what her husband did to whom outside of this apartment. If her family was happy—and more important than anything, if everyone thought her family was happy—that’s all that mattered. If her husband was a gangster or something, of course that blood would bother
her. But her husband worked for the government. That made him a just, honorable man.

  A speck of blood clung to Kaito, and a little gunpowder residue.

  After getting out of the bath, the man checked Twitter on his smartphone. His handle was Child-Rearing Samurai.

  I’ve got a big announcement! he typed. For the first time ever, Kai-kun stood up!

  The man wasn’t sure which emoji to put at the end. A crying one, or a happy one? The man’s face showed far less expression than any emoji. He chose a crying one, and tweeted his message. Responses came from his followers, one after another. The man smiled faintly. He wasn’t satisfied unless he could tell others about every happy part of his life.

  But those responses were slightly strange. Many of them seemed excited about some news.

  How great! Remembering my childhood makes me cry, too. The world is so scary, we have to hang on to these happy moments.

  There was a photo attached. It was him standing in front of Takahara’s body.

  Congratulations, Kai-kun! Good job! I guess you don’t know, but everyone’s riled up over the big news. This man shot a terrorist. How scary! Check it out on YouTube! They started showing it on TV, too! So shocking!

  Everything was there in that video. His conversation with Takahara. His face.

  30

  Many members had gathered at Matsuo’s mansion.

  People talked happily in the garden and the sitting rooms. The police had busted into the mansion and arrested many of them, but they were all released right away. They resumed the regular meetings Matsuo had held on the second Tuesday of every month.

  Yoshiko removed herself from the group and walked quietly to the front gate. A woman in a hat and a blue coat was waiting there. It was Tachibana.

  “I’m sorry . . . Making you come out here.” Tachibana had been one of Sawatari’s group that had scammed Matsuo. She couldn’t enter the mansion.

  “Don’t worry . . . I’m sure you were innocent. An unintentional accomplice. Isn’t that right?”

  That was true. But still Tachibana felt responsible.

  Yoshiko read Tachibana’s mind. “Please, don’t worry about it. Come in.”

  “I . . . I can’t.” Tachibana looked into Yoshiko’s eyes. “I’m going to the police now.”

  The aftermath of the events was still a hot topic on the news.

  A body had been found in the basement of the cult’s facility; the specific cause of death was unknown. The explosives Takahara and his gang had set up had been located, thanks to the confessions of several of the believers, and had all been safely disposed of. All in all, no ordinary civilians had died. In fact, the only person who died was the leader, who committed suicide (and the gun found in the burned wreckage had been empty—he’d had only a single bullet). Takahara, a leading insurgent, had been shot by an investigator for the Public Security Bureau, but miraculously lived. The Public Security Bureau’s shady behind-the-scenes work had come to light. It would be strange if people didn’t get riled up over such a story.

  The believers were currently being held in prison. How they would be tried and sentenced was also getting a lot of attention. No one was sure what kind of crimes they could be charged with. They had fake guns—that was all. Those who occupied the TV station—especially Sasahara, who also shot a security guard—were expected to receive heavy sentences, but the other believers? They had all turned themselves in.

  Because of the video showing Takahara’s exchange with that man from Public Security, a feeling of distrust spread through the country. People speculated that the person who took that video was the woman who escaped from the cult’s facility in an ambulance, disguised as a hostage. So of course Tachibana, who really did release that video, was wanted.

  “I have to testify for their sake.”

  Yoshiko’s eyes filled with tears. Tachibana was so earnest. This child. Life must be hard on her.

  “I see. That’s the way you live, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  Yoshiko hugged Tachibana. She’s warm, Tachibana thought. Tears began to well up in her eyes as well.

  “We are all on your side. No matter what happens, we’ll protect you. Trust us.”

  Tachibana nodded. She wiped tears from her eyes, still wrapped up in Yoshiko’s small arms.

  “How is Takahara-kun?” Yoshiko asked.

  Tachibana shook her head. “He’ll probably never regain consciousness . . . But.”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re still not sure. There may be a miracle.”

  “You don’t have to fight so hard,” Yoshiko said. She looked straight into Tachibana’s eyes. “You never did anything wrong. We will support you. When you get out, please come back here.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll go with you to the police.”

  “No. I’ll go alone.”

  Yoshiko noticed Narazaki standing off to the side. Yoshiko looked at him, then at Tachibana, hugged her once again, and walked away.

  Tachibana had noticed Narazaki long ago. A warm wind flowed from the mansion through the gate.

  “I . . . said some horrible things to you.” Narazaki spoke in a whisper.

  “It’s fine,” Tachibana said, smiling. “It’s all fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  They shared a silence. They both knew they would never be together again.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to the police.”

  “I see. I, I really . . . Tachibana-san, I . . .” Narazaki’s voice was growing fainter, but he somehow managed to put some strength into it. “I’m glad I met you.”

  Tachibana looked at Narazaki’s face. She could have chosen to be with him.

  “Thank you. I’m glad, too.”

  “Take care.”

  “You, too.”

  Yoshiko watched them from afar, and let out a faint sigh.

  “They would have made such a great couple,” she found herself muttering. “But even they couldn’t stick together.”

  Unrest crept over Yoshiko as she walked back into the mansion. She remembered what Matsuo had said after filming his final message.

  Only killing Sawatari will end this tragedy. But if he dies, many believers will commit suicide.

  Sawatari was dead, and so far no one had committed suicide. It seemed like nothing had gone as Matsuo had prophesied. But what if it wasn’t over yet?

  Yoshiko shook her head, willed her thoughts to clear. We just have to get through this.

  Yoshiko tried to smile. If Shotaro were here, that’s what he’d tell me. We just have to get through this.

  Tachibana tried to hail a cab.

  She needed courage to go to the police. She couldn’t be sure what sorts of crimes she’d be charged with, but her testimony would certainly be problematic for the courts.

  They’ll crucify me in the media. All my faults, my darkest secrets, will be in every paper.

  No taxis passed by. When she began walking, thinking it best to try another road, she saw Mineno. The other woman had a shopping bag in her hand.

  “Tachibana-san! You’re not going to the mansion?”

  “I’m going to the police.”

  “Oh . . .” Mineno looked at the ground. She thought of many things she could say, but eventually decided to be frank. “We’ll never be friends, will we?”

  “I guess not.”

  The two smiled faintly at each other.

  “It’s fine, though. I’m not particularly unhappy,” Tachibana said. She wasn’t just putting on a strong face. “Takahara-kun won’t wake up, so I doubt I’ll be able to stay entirely faithful to him.”

  Mineno caught herself smiling at Tachibana’s words.

  A taxi came by, and Tachibana hailed it.

  “Tachibana-san,” Mineno
said as Tachibana was about to get in the cab. “I hated you, but . . . I was just jealous.”

  “Yeah?” Tachibana stepped into the cab. “I probably felt the same. I wanted to be like you.”

  The members gathered around Yoshiko. Yoshiko’s voice still carried well, and she didn’t need a mic. In the middle of the sitting room was Matsuo’s picture.

  “Everyone, thank you for coming today.”

  Today was the forty-ninth day after Matsuo’s death. While it varies from sect to sect, in Buddhism it is thought that on the forty-ninth day, the soul of the deceased finally leaves this world. In other words, where it will go in the next life had been decided. There’s a customary service, and close friends and relatives gather.

  “Yoshida-san was supposed to chant a sutra for us, but he’s ill and has lost his voice. He’s called a monk to serve in his place. Everyone, please boo Yoshida-san.”

  The crowd booed Yoshida. He tried to reply, but he couldn’t speak. Everyone laughed.

  “For Matsuo, pacifism was the ultimate ideal. But if we just call it an ideal and make excuses about reality, it’s easy to fall into the pattern of not acting to make reality better. If we abandon our ideals, humanity will move backward. What’s important is to hold up our ideals proudly, and work hard to try and make them real. Let’s be proud as Japanese people striving for peace. As we follow in Shotaro Matsuo’s footsteps, we will not simply follow him lock-step, our heads lowered. Let’s also add our own ideas to his!”

  Yoshiko took a deep breath.

  “We will affirm this world. It doesn’t have to be the whole world. Let’s affirm parts of it. There are certainly good things in this world, and there are good parts of each of us, even though we have our faults. Matsuo had his faults.” Yoshiko paused. “Long ago when I was poor and working in a brothel, I went for a walk outside in the snow. I was hungry, and I found a small cart selling steamed potatoes on a dark road. I had almost no money, but I bought one. When I took a bite, I thought, Wow, this is delicious. Suddenly, I found myself crying. I thought, even someone like me can find happiness in food. There are parts of this world that are kind even to the lowliest of us . . . Even if you have no sense of taste, there must be something else you can appreciate. Maybe beautiful scenery. If you can’t see, maybe you can appreciate beautiful sounds. If you can’t hear, maybe you can appreciate warm touches. Even if you can’t feel the touch of another . . .”