by Yasuo Uchida
"Well, Takemura, you seem to have figured something out, right?" said Tsukamoto, disinclined to eat.
"If you'll wait just a little longer, an hour or so," said Takemura, "it should all become clear."
As Takemura had predicted, around 7:30, Inspector Kojima was summoned to the telephone. He came back to the table looking excited and whispered a word in Takemura's ear. "So I was right," said Takemura, with a nod.
"What is it? What's up?" asked Tsukamoto, impatient.
Takemura waited for a hotel employee to move away from their table before replying softly, "The stain on that pillow tested positive for cyanide."
Tsukamoto looked at Miyazaki, then asked Takemura, "Then does that mean you were right about Shishido being killed in the room?"
"It looks like it. It's just too bad I didn't think of that after Takeda's murder, until it was too late. I should have had his room examined more thoroughly. I do believe he must have been killed the same way."
"I can't for the life of me see how you can believe Takeda was killed in his room when he didn't even return to the hotel."
"I'm not at all sure he didn't. Why don't we perform a little experiment?" said Takemura, standing up and inviting Tsukamoto and Miyazaki to come with him down to the front desk on the first floor. On duty were the clerk named Aihara he had spoken to at the time of Takeda's disappearance, and another man.
"Would you mind doing me a favor?" Takemura asked them. "For the next five minutes, I'd like you to watch television on that set back there in the office. Watch it carefully, because when you're finished, I want you to tell me everything you've seen."
The puzzled clerks went somewhat reluctantly into the office behind the partition and turned on the television. As soon as Takemura was sure they were concentrating on the screen, he went out through the front doors, stayed outside for a moment or so, then came back in, walked right past the front desk and up the stairs, turned around and came down again.
When the five minutes were up and the clerks came out of the office, he asked if they had seen the guest who walked by the desk while they were watching television. Neither of them had seen a thing.
Takemura turned to Tsukamoto. "Here's what I think happened. July 3rd was a Saturday, and that's when the two-hour program "The Mystery" comes on, at 9 P.M. Mr. Aihara here likes that program, and I remember he told me he thought that night's mystery was an especially good one. So it would not have been strange at all if Mr. Takeda had returned to the hotel during the program without Mr. Aihara seeing him."
"Hmm. No, I suppose not."
"Actually, that possibility occurred to me at the time, but I still had the preconceived notion that the killer could have had no reason to get a dead body out of the hotel, so I didn't consider it too seriously. It wasn't until after the Ishiharas were murdered that I realized we were dealing with an abnormal killer, and I couldn't assume normal reasoning. And now, this. The killer must have been set on getting the body out of the hotel at any cost. My guess is that this murder was the last, so I'm not sure why he needed to do that, but I'm beginning to think that his real purpose may not have been merely—as I had believed—to send a message to the next victim. In other words, maybe he had a deeper reason for..."
"Hold on a minute!" Tsukamoto almost screamed. "This is all too much for me! I'm not following you at all. Would you mind going back and putting that in a little better order?"
"All right," sighed Takemura. But just then he was called to the phone.
It was Kinoshita, from Tokyo. "I'm in Professor Tachibana's apartment," he said. "The professor isn't here, but as I stood waiting in front of the door a while, his maid arrived. She says he left this morning on a trip."
"Oh really? Where?"
"Nagano."
"What?" Now he'd done it, thought Takemura, biting his lip. He had flippantly told the men watching Tachibana to go home, just when he could have used them.
Tachibana asked to be let out a little way past the Hoko Shrine Village.
"You mean right here?" asked the driver. It was the middle of nowhere. To the left was the forested peak of the Hoko Shrine and to the right, a stand of cedar. There was not even a side road.
"Yes," said Tachibana. "I just need a little walk."
There was no room to turn around, so after Tachibana got out, the taxi had to continue for a hundred meters or so to the entrance to the Hall of Heavenly Wisdom. Conscious of the driver's eyes as he passed on his way back, Tachibana went through the motions of exercising his arms as he walked slowly along.
Reaching the break in the cedars where the taxi had made its turn, he saw the small sign with the words "Hall of Heavenly Wisdom," practically buried in the tall grass beside the road. He stood in front of it hesitating, almost turned back, and then finally headed down the little wagon trail. Weeds grew rampant along both sides, and their rank odor assailed his nose. They had invaded the road itself as well, where they had been pressed down into two tire tracks. The bare earth visible at occasional spots in the tracks testified to the considerable number of cars that passed back and forth along them.
But the cottage that the track led him to could not by any stretch of politeness be called very nice, with the weeds growing out of its thatched roof, its soot-blackened eaves, and its crumbling walls. Seeing it, he shrank at the thought of the ghastly life that Taki must be leading.
In the open space in front of the cottage were two cars, parked as if waiting in line, their engines off, their windows and doors all open. In each of them, a man and a woman were just sitting. Fully exposed to the sun, the cars must have been terribly hot inside, but the people couldn't use their coolers because they didn't want to make noise with their engines. Sensing Tachibana's approach, they all turned his way, obviously on guard against anyone cutting in front of them.
Tachibana went up to the car closest to him and asked, in a virtual whisper, "Are you waiting in line?"
"Yeah, we sure are," answered the man. The middle-aged couple appeared to be husband and wife.
"Will you have to wait long?"
"Who knows? She hasn't even opened the door. We've been waiting more than an hour ourselves, so I imagine the people in front of us must have been waiting for a couple of hours at least."
"Do you always have to wait so long?"
"Yes, when there are a lot of people in front of us, but this is the first time she just hasn't opened the door, so I don't know what's going on."
"Could she be out?"
"No, I don't think so. We saw some smoke a little while ago. I think she must be eating. Maybe that's what's taking so long. Still... you from Tokyo?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. Terrible, isn't it? So are we. She makes me come here with her," he said, indicating the woman with his thumb.
"Do you come often?"
"Once or twice a month. No getting out of it. My wife won't let me make any business decisions without the oracle of this Hall of Heavenly Wisdom. This your first time?"
"Yes."
"You look like an intellectual. I guess you guys have got your troubles, too. I'll tell you though, this shrine maiden does make some pretty good hits. But you know," he said, lowering his voice and pointing to his head, "she's kind of funny here."
"Cut it out!" scolded his wife. The man chuckled.
"Er, does she live alone?" asked Tachibana.
"Seems to. We heard at one of the inns that she has hardly anything to do with the villagers, and if anybody so much as comes by to make sure she's all right, they get shouted at. Of course, she does such a good business that the tax collector can't just leave her alone. Trouble is, she doesn't know herself how much money she makes. She's got a tangerine crate or something in the corner where people make donations before they leave, and I hear she lets the tax collector check from time to time to see how much is in it and decide how much tax she's got to pay."
"I wonder how she takes care of herself? Housekeeping and all."
"Oh, they say
the village tradesmen see to that. Her rice is delivered, her laundry's taken out, and so on."
Tachibana thought of Keiichi Noya and the Hokushin Laundry station wagon.
Another car pulled up, carefully observing Tachibana's place in line. The driver apparently knew the man Tachibana had been talking to, because he got out and went over to say hello.
"We left around dawn, but we sure made lousy time. There was one hell of a traffic jam around Ueda. Took us two hours just to get through the city. You spend the night?"
"Yeah, in Nagano. But you see how much good it did us."
"No, I'd say that was the best thing to do. That was a really terrible tie-up. They say some Diet representative or other was murdered in Bessho. Cops all over the damn place."
So it had been done, thought Tachibana, his knees going weak. He was numbed by the thought that it was all over now. The MP officer who had shoved the rifle into his mouth that fatal night was dead. Revenge or punishment, Taki Tendoh and Keiichi Noya had achieved their goal. Forty years had not sufficed to wash away their grudge. Tachibana felt small and beaten. They had given everything, while he had lived the cowardly life of the puny little person he was. He tottered away from the cars to the shade of a locust tree beside a brook. How could he face her now—he who had not shown her one ten-thousandth of Keiichi Noya's devotion?
Sensing movement among the people behind him, he turned around. The first couple was approaching the cottage door, and there were words of greeting as a woman dressed like a shrine maiden appeared there. He tensed up, hardly aware that he was trying to conceal himself against the trunk of the tree. She stepped out from under the eaves into the sunlight, and he was surprised to see that she was wearing the Noh mask that represented a beautiful woman. The mask with its hint of a smile, along with the white robe over scarlet pantaloons, should have had a comical effect, but somehow it didn't. In fact, it lent her a sort of majesty, testified to by the unconscious retreat of her customers with each step she advanced.
She looked up at the sky, muttered a word or two, and disappeared back inside. The first couple humbly followed her in. Apparently they were going to get their fortunes told after all.
It was a good thirty minutes before they emerged, shoulders drooping. They must have been told of some misfortune to come. Getting into their car, they sat sunk in thought for a while before slowly starting off. After sympathetically watching them go, the second couple entered the cottage. Just afterwards, a third car pulled up.
In another thirty minutes or so, the second couple came out, looking very happy. The husband was kind enough to call to Tachibana that it was his turn. Tachibana waved thanks, but called back that he would pass.
He could not bring himself to leave, though. Instead, he remained loitering under the locust tree. Around three, the sun began to be hidden behind clouds moving in faster and faster across the sky. Around four, the last customers left. By this time the clouds were quite thick, and the wind was picking up. Above his head, the large branches began to sway, and his skin told him that the temperature was dropping. A squall was on its way.
He became more and more agitated, torn between the desire to leave without seeing her and continue his life as it was, and the fear that if he did so he would never have another chance to see her again. And then he would have to live the rest of his life with the deep remorse of never having been able to do a single thing for her.
He felt a drop of rain strike his cheek. The squall was coming from the mountains to the west. There was a terrific flash of lightning, followed immediately by a peal of thunder, apparently from directly overhead. Drops began to fall faster and the intervals between streaks of lightning shortened. He had no choice but to run for cover under the eaves of the cottage.
The wind was now so strong that sometimes it blew the raindrops horizontally The predominant wind blew from behind the cottage, so not much rain got under the eaves in front, but even so, it was falling as dense as fog, and he was already soaked. The temperature was steadily dropping, and he was beginning to shiver.
"You out there, come inside," said a woman's voice from behind the wooden door he was leaning against.
He trembled all over, no longer from the cold. Whether the voice was Taki's or not, it seemed to come from somewhere deep beneath the earth, filling him with a nameless fear. He hesitated, then slowly put his hand on the knob and opened the door.
Though at first it was too dark inside to make much out, to his momentary relief at least, he could tell that the shrine maiden was not standing right there. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw that the cottage was quite unfurnished, and the only light came from a small window beside him, dimly illuminating a wooden floor a step up from the earthen entryway. In a corner of the entryway was a tiny washstand into which water, probably from a spring, was trickling through a bamboo pipe. A strange but vaguely familiar odor came to his nostrils.
Across the room he made out a wooden door that looked quite heavy, and he guessed that the shrine maiden was beyond it. He still entertained the slightest of doubts as to her identity, and he half hoped she wasn't Taki after all. Sitting down on the step with hushed breath, he persuaded himself that she had asked him to come in out of the rain simply because she had felt sorry for him. Inside, he could still hear the thunder, but the violent sound of the blowing rain was somewhat muted.
"Come in here," came the woman's voice from beyond the door.
He jumped, feeling her irresistible force. Taking off his soaked shoes, he crossed the room like a murderer going to his execution. Except when he pulled open the heavy wooden door, he did not feel he was using his own power.
It was even darker beyond the door, the only light coming from a sacred taper and cedar sticks burning on two altars, but they dimly illuminated the shrine maiden. He stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and sat down on the crude straw matting which covered the floor.
At first he kept his eyes lowered, but after he calmed down, he raised them and looked directly at her. Still wearing the Noh mask, she threw some sort of dried grass into the fire on the cedar-stick altar which stood between them. With a sputter, the grass sent up a column of smoke like that from a smudge pot, the smoke at the top of the column quickly dispersing. This was the source of the odor he had been smelling.
She didn't speak, and he couldn't tell whether she was looking at him from behind the mask.
"Are you Taki?" he asked, unable to bear it any longer. He could not see her expression for the mask, but neither could he see any other sign of reaction. "You are Taki Tendoh, aren't you?" he pressed. But she remained silent. Her silence could be interpreted in so many ways that it threw him into confusion.
When she had put all the dried grass she had onto the fire, she picked up an earthen teapot and teacup beside her, poured a cup of what looked like some kind of unrefined sake, and held it out to him to drink. Taking it and raising it to his lips, he could tell the liquid was definitely alcoholic. Without knowing what was in it, he unhesitatingly gulped it down, sending a cold feeling through his empty stomach.
After a time, the air became so dense with smoke that the shrine maiden, though right in front of him, appeared hazy. But the smoke did not bother him in the least. Rather, he felt as though he were enjoying a superb cigar.
All at once, he began to feel himself part of a limitless universe through which he could roam at will, freed of all doubts, fears and inhibitions, his whole being overflowing with a rich, expansive feeling and a mood of exaltation that made him want to laugh for joy.
Slowly, the shrine maiden removed her mask.
"Taki!" he cried, overcome with emotion. Before his eyes was his radiantly beautiful Taki Tendoh. "It's me! Tomohiro!"
"Tomohiro!" She stood up, quivering and swaying.
He stood too, nearly forty years erased from his being. Tachibana the youth embraced and kissed Taki the maiden. The heady fragrance of a young girl tingled in his nostrils.
After a
while, she gently pulled away, took his hand and led him to the back of the room, where she opened a door to the left of the second altar. There was a light behind it, and he realized he was looking at their secret room of so long ago. Though dizzy, he followed her into it without question.
On the soft bedding, they embraced again and lay there entwined, Taki overcome with shyness as Tachibana buried his face in the nape of her neck, his lips roving over it. With a presage of supreme bliss, he sank into a world of dreams and visions.
* * *
Tachibana crawled desperately up out of the darkness, head, arms and legs as heavy as lead, feeling like a squirming, wriggling slug.
Seeming somehow to have made it to the surface, into the burning brightness, he raised himself on both arms. Little by little, the feel of the crude straw matting under his palms reminded him of the world of reality. In front of him was the cedar-stick altar. Beyond it, on the second altar, the sacred taper was burning with a faint sputter, almost consumed.
Taki was not there.
He got up, went over to the altar, took out a new candle and lit it with the old one. Then he slowly pulled open the wooden door to the left of the altar. In a corner of the dark little bedroom, the crude bedding was piled up. There was, of course, no one there.
He no longer knew which was reality and which was a dream. Awake, he found it too ridiculous even to imagine that his beautiful Taki had really been there and that he had behaved as he did with her. But the memory of their embrace was strangely vivid.
Taking the candle, he went out into the front room. The sun had set and he had only the light of the candle to guide him. One step into the room, he saw a woman's face at his feet. It was the Noh mask Taki had been wearing. Its chin was pointing toward him, and from the angle of his gaze, the mask that was supposed to represent a woman smiling seemed to be crying instead. He winced.
There was a white envelope beside the mask, addressed to him. Picking it up and turning it over, he saw that it was from Keiichi Noya. Still holding the candle, he anxiously tried to open it. Suppressing a cry of pain as a drop of melted wax fell on the back of his hand, he looked down, saw the deep wrinkles there, and felt his age all the more keenly.