Deep Red

by Hisashi Nozawa

  Not knowing exactly how the words had been spoken, Kanako had to judge based on the text alone. But did they really express anger at the government or the law?

  Kanako had uttered similar words—not shouting them at anyone but as a whisper, in her heart’s hideaway.

  “Why was I the only who survived? I should have died back then, too.”

  She’d been repeating those words to herself for eight years. She could even say that she wasn’t exactly living, but rather being forced to live.

  Perhaps Tsuzuki’s daughter also felt that she was “being made to live, and to suffer.” If only she could tell herself that her father dying for his sins would free her, too, and let her embark on a new life, things would become so much easier for her. Unable to do so, Tsuzuki’s daughter was suffering.

  Why not just martyr herself when her father ascended the gallows, and thereby put an end to her suffering, since it promised to outlive his execution? Wasn’t that her thinking?

  She was like Kanako. So much like her.

  The children left behind by the victim and the aggressor were stuck at similar dead ends. What if the side that had been killed and the side that had done the killing were actually connected through an identical pain?

  Kanako wanted to meet her.

  She just had to know whether Tsuzuki’s daughter wished for ruin from the bottom of her heart and how she was hurting herself to that end.

  Kanako wanted to meet her polar opposite and ascertain whether the shape of suffering in the other’s heart vied with the one locked away in her hideaway.

  Maybe she could then feel, at long last, that she was “living” instead of “being made to.”

  Kanako stopped walking. She stood still where she could glimpse the green of the campus, and turned on her heel. She would skip school today.

  She picked a new path, to meet Miho Tsuzuki.

  The door to her hideaway cracked open, and something without form, like a shimmer of hot air, began to flow outwards.

  3

  Having turned her back on the university and walked back to her apartment with brisk steps, she found Shiina’s business card amongst others she’d carelessly thrown into an empty cookie box.

  The card had the freelancer’s home address and phone number. She dialed it praying that he hadn’t moved in the past five years.

  He must have been pulling an all-nighter working on a manuscript because when he answered “Hello?” he sounded like a drowned corpse that had come back to life. When Kanako told him her name, he seemed to awaken in an instant and sounded on guard, perhaps wary that she was making a claim against him on account of his recent article in Critique.

  Kanako said, “I read your report and found it fascinating. I actually have a request I’d like to make of you.”

  Shiina happened to be free until the afternoon, and they agreed to meet in a cafe on the second floor of a cinema complex in Shibuya.

  “Man, what a surprise, you’ve turned into such a mature young lady.”

  A wrinkled linen jacket fluttered around Koichi Shiina as he crammed his large form into a chair after having arrived fifteen minutes late. His forehead glinted with sweat as if, constantly pressed for time, he’d braved some sandstorm, looking much like he had five years ago.

  “You crossed my mind, so the report’s end became a little wishy-washy,” he said as though trying to make an excuse.

  “Your being against Norio Tsuzuki’s execution was conveyed quite clearly, Mr. Shiina. I’m okay with it.”

  “It will probably take around five years for the sentence to be carried out. I’m afraid you’ll have to feel like there’s this stiffness—”

  “I’m not as tied down to the past as everyone thinks I am.”

  That was a lie. She was shackled to her past more than anyone could imagine.

  Sipping the iced coffee that the waitress brought, she waited until Shiina finally settled down before getting to the point.

  “When I said I had a request, I was hoping you could help me meet someone.”

  “Who?”

  Despite asking back, Shiina seemed to have guessed immediately. If she wanted to meet the person after having read Critique, there was only one possibility.

  “I want to meet Miss Miho Tsuzuki.”

  “…You meet her, and then what?”

  He looked at her not with the eyes of a nonfiction writer pursuing the truth, but that of an adult anxious to keep a young woman from making the wrong decisions.

  “I want to confirm something.”

  “Do you want to hear what kind of man Norio Tsuzuki was from the mouth of his own daughter?”

  “No, I no longer have any interest in the murderer’s character.”

  “Then why?”

  “I want to see how she and I differ with my own eyes.”

  “You and the Tsuzuki girl are different. You are too different. What purpose is there in trying to understand what kind of life the criminal’s family lives?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you discover that Miho Tsuzuki is leading a more fulfilling and bright life than yours, you might not be able to forgive her.”

  “I think it may be the opposite. I think I would see someone who, regardless of how badly reality had hurt her, could stand back up again. I think she’d give me hope.”

  She thought her words were disingenuous even as she said them.

  “The things that you and she have overcome are quite different, I think. Even if she so happened to be blessed by some wonderful person and was able to find happiness, there’s no guarantee that you’ll be able to win the same good fortune.”

  “I think that maybe, the things we’ve overcome are the same.”

  “Do you mean what you’ve suffered at the hands of the media, including myself?”

  “Yes, I suppose. That may be true as well.”

  Shiina heaved a large sigh. He was unable to hide his reluctance to act as a bridge between the two women.

  “I wonder what you’re really thinking.”

  His deeply mistrustful gaze bounced back off of Kanako.

  “Norio Tsuzuki’s death sentence wasn’t enough, and now I’m planning on taking out my grudge on his daughter…Is that how you see me?”

  “Let me be straight with you. I don’t know where Miho Tsuzuki is.”

  “You’re lying,” she retorted sharply. “You, Mr. Shiina, must want to meet and interview her. Having heard out the ex-officer Mr. A’s story, you would have wanted to meet the girl yourself and would have asked where her rundown wooden apartment was.”

  “I did ask, you’re right. But Mr. Hashimoto—Former Officer A’s name is Mr. Hashimoto—wouldn’t tell me. With the death sentence confirmed, Mr. Hashimoto wanted the world to know the story of how he recalled Norio Tsuzuki’s words one day and went in search of the man’s daughter to tell her. I was lucky to be selected as the writer. But at the same time, more than anything he was scared that him going to the media would bring trouble to the Tsuzuki girl.”

  “In that case, Mr. Hashimoto might tell if it’s me.”

  “Even more impossible.”

  “Please tell me how to contact Mr. Hashimoto.”

  There was a thick personal organizer the size of a bible on the table. Kanako wished he’d hurry up and open it.

  “Would Mr. Hashimoto be unwilling to meet with me?”

  “I doubt he’d refuse. Mr. Hashimoto may have called me because he wanted to share Norio Tsuzuki’s words with you as well. Perhaps he believed that you’d see anything I wrote.”

  “Then you should leave it to Mr. Hashimoto to decide whether or not to tell me Miho Tsuzuki’s whereabouts.”

  “Have you heard of the principle of confidentiality of journalists’ sources?”

  “The media mustn’t reveal their sources without reason.”

  Kanako did not soften the pressure behind her gaze. Tell me. Come on, tell me, she chanted in her head.

  Shiina was dawdling, indecis
ive. Kanako decided to bring out her ace.

  “Of course this will depend on her, but Mr. Shiina, if you’re interested in reporting on what she and I talk about when we meet, I don’t mind.”

  She was offering him a deal. If he didn’t take the bait, Shiina didn’t cut it as a journalist.

  The confrontation between the surviving daughter of the victim’s family and the daughter of the criminal who had just been sentenced to death. It would be the kind of report that could guarantee his future as a nonfiction writer.

  Shiina stared back at Kanako for a short while. She wondered if he was bemoaning how he had been trapped by a girl.

  He averted his gaze, sighed, and murmured, “Oh dear.” Whatever he meant by that, he finally opened the address portion of his handbook.

  “I’ll contact him first today. I’ll tell him that you want to meet him, and that you’ll call in the near future.”

  Kanako wrote down the number Shiina recited on the back cover of her English notebook.

  “The Tsuzuki girl will never agree to let me report on it,” Shiina said, looking resigned.

  “I’ll convince her. I feel that with you writing, both of us will be able to entrust our entire pasts.” She was half speaking the truth, half dropping a catch line.

  “There’s no need to continue dangling bait in front of me.”

  Perhaps she had gone too far. A glint of faint anger danced in Shiina’s eyes. Don’t underestimate me, he may have wanted to say. Dropping her gaze as though ashamed, Kanako was confident that her catch line was working.

  Having promised to wait to contact Hashimoto until after Shiina had called him first, she returned to her apartment to wait until nightfall.

  In the end, she didn’t make it to school at all that day. She wrote up the data from her part-time job, then made quick work of dinner by boiling spaghetti and adding instant meat sauce.

  She contacted Eri and had her fax Kanako the notes from the lecture she had missed. There was an exam next week that would affect her credits so she wanted to at least look over them.

  They were supposed to think about Japanese laughter. According to the essay “The Japanese Smile” by Yakumo Koizumi, the Japanese were a strange people who laughed even when at their saddest. The great folklorist Kunio Yanagita analyzed this claim from an ethnographic perspective in his collection The Art of Pathos.

  The Japanese wanted their gods to be laughing. Since gods were frightening entities for humans, it was best if they just saw people as fools and a laughing matter and never got angry.

  And how did you make the gods laugh?

  If people acted funny and laughed amongst themselves, surely the gods would also laugh. This was the essence of the Japanese smile, or so Kunio Yanagita claimed. Even at their unhappiest or most terrified, the Japanese as a people still smiled.

  This triggered a memory. Kanako felt that she had smiled that way, too.

  The words “Farewell party, Kanako, we wish you the best!” was written in large characters and various colors on the chalkboard.

  It was the first time seeing them all since her family’s funeral. They all gathered around Kanako’s seat and were jotting down her new address in Hachioji. Kanako imagined her aunt’s post box stuffed from all the letters from her classmates. It would most likely be a challenge replying to them all.

  The teachers said that today, they would completely cut off the morning class periods, and the students would have a full three hours to play.

  Mr. Ihara was taking care not to make it a gloomy farewell and treating Kanako as though she were a regular student transferring away.

  “Hey, whoever’s in charge of leading today.”

  Silence. Everyone stared at Kanako.

  “Oh, right.”

  That day just happened to be Kanako’s turn to lead the morning greetings. Everyone laughed.

  “Stand up…bow…take a seat,” Kanako piped.

  Mr. Ihara quickly finished taking roll call and said, “Now, let’s go and play!” He was the first to leap out to the school courtyard. Everyone’s joyous shouts followed.

  They played dodgeball first. She was put on the same team as Maiko and Yumi and Shoko, and they avoided the throws from the boys.

  “Why are they all targeting me?”

  She was the center of attention today so it couldn’t be helped, they all said. She moved front, back, left, right. As the target, she was kept busy fleeing.

  It felt like a lie how she had closed off all the nerves in her entire body every day since the incident. Her facial expressions had been paralyzed, a blank mask pasted onto her face like a shield. Yet that day, she was laughing so much.

  On the one hand, she did feel a little uncomfortable at how they were all being considerate and trying to have fun in a “normal” way, but on the other she also couldn’t help but laugh when a ball hit her back.

  After they had all worked up a sweat with dodgeball, they decided to do the folk dance that they had practiced for the school trip. Only Kanako had been unable to participate.

  Everyone formed a circle. The music played. All of the boys’ hands were sweaty. She thought they may have been nervous at the thought of dancing with her.

  It was a bit embarrassing, but she was happy that she also got to dance with Yohei Murakami.

  “Didn’t you once sew my jersey patch at a soccer match?”

  “Oh, you remember?”

  “Of course. That was the day I did a hat trick.”

  She told him to tell her when his games were, and swore to go and see them. Even as she made the promise, some part of her knew that it wasn’t one she could likely keep.

  The hours passed in a flash and soon it was time to say farewell. Everyone lined up for her before the school building. The girls were struggling to hide their tears. Mr. Ihara had no doubt told them the previous day to see her off with a smile.

  “Stay well!”

  “Come say hi once in a while!”

  The kids from the other classes also gathered to see her off. Their numbers kept increasing and she felt overwhelmed. She decided to pass through the school gate as quickly as possible.

  As she cut across the courtyard she turned back again and again. Every time, they waved their hands in response.

  Her uncle had parked the car outside the gate and was waiting for her.

  “How was the farewell party?”

  “It was fun.”

  It wasn’t a lie. She had truly had fun. But she was exhausted. She was so sleepy she could barely stay up.

  She knew it wasn’t very well-mannered but lay down on her side in the rear seat. The vibration of the car caressed the back of her head. Then she fell asleep in an instant as though the thread of her consciousness had snapped.

  When she awoke, they had arrived at Hachioji. She could still hear the commotion of the school courtyard lingering in her ears. It was quiet outside her aunt’s house. Kanako felt as though her farewell party with Grade 6, Class 1 had been a very long time ago.

  Perhaps she had made a deal with the gods and laughed the day of the farewell party eight years ago.

  She had managed to laugh so much, despite extreme sorrow and despair, and she wanted a reward in return, however small. At the very least, she didn’t want to be hurt anymore.

  A certain weekly published an article about the day. “I could hear Miss Kanako Akiba’s laughter ringing all the way to my office, and it soothed my heart,” the principal had said in an interview. The other teachers must also have been peering out with bated breath from the shadow of the school building.

  What had the gods given her in return for her laughter? She felt they still owed her a large debt.

  She waited until ten before calling Hashimoto’s cell phone.

  “Hello? My name is Akiba.”

  “Ah…Mr. Shiina contacted me earlier.”

  She could tell from his voice that he’d been expecting the call. She’d heard that he was thirty, but he sounded more mature. Or pe
rhaps he was just tired.

  “It’s a pleasure to speak with you. Thank you for back then.”

  “I doubt you remember me, but we actually spoke a little at your family’s funeral.”

  She didn’t remember. Adults had stood in front of her and switched out. Not knowing what to say to her, the majority of them had been silent, simply bowing deeply before moving on. It had been an endless black wave that waxed and waned.

  “I heard from Mr. Shiina. You want to meet Norio Tsuzuki’s daughter, correct?”

  She didn’t want him to turn her down over the phone. Her tone was rather clinging as she said, “Could we meet once? I don’t mind where.”

  Hashimoto was working security from noon the next day, but he would just be standing outside a concert hall until evening. She could come whenever she wanted if she’d be fine with him not sitting down with her.

  “Am I troubling you, asking you to meet with me?”

  “Not at all. I’ve always wanted to meet with you to talk.”

  Hashimoto was already caught in Kanako’s net. She had to hold herself back from guffawing triumphantly.

  She promised to come see him at 1 p.m. at the Shibuya Public Hall entrance and ended the call.

  Young women with their hair and lips dyed purple were milling around outside the hall though it was still four hours before opening time.

  It was apparently the symbolic color of the Visual Kei rock band that would be performing tonight. Although it was all purple, the shades were subtly different. The early autumn sunlight reflected off of the wild gradations and made Kanako’s eyes sting.

  Kazumasa Hashimoto’s job was most likely to guard the entrance area where the fans were swarming until the concert staff started organizing the hall for its evening opening.

  She saw someone that could be him and cautiously approached, and Hashimoto politely took off his regulation cap.

  The navy blue of his uniform proudly displayed his thick pectorals. He was only an inch or two taller than Kanako, but his body made it look like he trained every day. Perhaps he was a bodybuilder.

  “I’m Hashimoto.”