While we were having sex, she kept looking at the big mirror next to the bed. She lowered her hips like a crawling dog, with me lying on top of her. As her cries grew louder, she whispered to me to push her head down.
“What?”
“It’s okay, do it.”
I forced her head down and she began to shriek, still watching the mirror.
“It feels like I’m being raped. I love it. You can be rougher if you like.”
I pushed her head into the bed and gripped her neck.
“Yeah, like that. Hey,” she said breathlessly, raising her voice. “Don’t you get the feeling that all the people in the world are inside that mirror?”
She continued to stare at the glass as she gyrated her hips.
“Everyone’s watching. Watching me now, being fucked like this by a guy I hardly know who gave me money. There’ll be some men who are turned on, some women who are disgusted. So I want to show more of myself.”
She started shouting, a smile on her face.
“While they’re watching me … I reach a place no one can understand … I want to come over and over. With everyone watching me, and, and, I wish they’d all just die. Yeah, they can all die. All fucking die!”
She changed position and wound her arms tightly around my neck. For some reason her expression was full of sorrow.
IT WAS ONE o’clock in the morning. I realized that I must have fallen asleep for a while, so I got up and took a bottle of mineral water from the hotel room fridge. She was sitting up in bed, her breasts exposed, lazily reaching for the remote. The lighting had a bluish tinge and the room was quiet. When she turned on the TV, a photo of a missing boy appeared on the screen. She lit one of my cigarettes, blew out a plume of smoke. I missed my mouth and a trickle of water ran down my neck. The picture changed, and the Prime Minster was surrounded by reporters.
“Do you know about this?” she asked. “It’s funny.”
“What is?”
“This terrorist group.”
The PM frowned in response to a question.
“There’s this group doing strange things recently, isn’t there? Like simultaneous explosions in different places. The ones calling themselves JL? They’re on the news all the time. The media are condemning them, calling them ‘The Invisible Terrorists,’ but that’s just spurring them on. It looks like there have already been copycats as well.”
On the TV the interview was still going on.
“And now they’ve made a threat. ‘We’re going to assassinate all the politicians, starting with the baldest. If you want to stop us, the Prime Minister has to hold a press conference and do a perfect impression of the singer Hiromi Go.’ Wouldn’t that be hysterical?”
She laughed out loud.
“Really? That’s crazy.”
“Yeah. It’d be a riot.”
She laughed again.
“I wonder if he’ll do it?”
“I bet he won’t. But it would be amazing if he did.”
My cell phone rang and I reached for my jacket, still lying where I’d dropped it. I looked at the screen. The only people who knew this number were the detective and Azusa Konishi, but I didn’t recognize the caller. When I pressed the button, I could hear a crowd of people, and for a few seconds there was just the sound of someone breathing on the other end.
“Fumihiro Kuki?”
A man’s voice, someone I didn’t know.
“Sorry?”
“Ha, good reaction. Well, talk to you later.”
He hung up.
I REALIZED THAT I was still just standing there, so I sat on the bed. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my damp glass. I took a deep breath and reached for it. My heart was racing.
I picked up my cell phone again, hesitated for a second and then punched in the detective’s number on the room phone instead. He answered in a low voice just before it switched to the recorded message. The music I could hear in the background stopped abruptly in mid-tune.
“Shintani here. Sorry to call so late.”
“No problem. I was still up.”
At that point it occurred to me that I’d never told him that I was Fumihiro Kuki. Even if he was pretty sure that I wasn’t Shintani, he’d never heard from me who I actually was.
“Someone called me on my cell phone just now. He obviously knew it was my number. The only people who know it are you and Azusa Konishi. Is there any way anyone else could have got hold of it, like you losing your phone or something?”
“Not from me, that’s for sure. I’ll check with Konishi. Anyway, I didn’t enter your number under Shintani. And Konishi probably stored it in her address book under the name of a bar or something. I have no idea.”
Without speaking, the woman got out of bed and went into the bathroom. I sat there, racking my brains. It was hard to believe that either of them had passed my number to anyone else. There was no benefit for them, and even if there were, they weren’t stupid enough to do something that would be discovered straight away. I tried to relax.
“Well, please get in touch with Konishi right away, just in case. And I’ll check if the number could have leaked at my end. I bought the phone from a job-hopping part-timer in town, so the contract isn’t in my name. I bought his bank account as well. He has no idea who I am, of course.”
“I’ll contact Konishi. Have you got the man’s number?”
“It wasn’t blocked, so I still have it.”
“Maybe he wants you to call him back?”
“Maybe.”
I hung up and lay back on the bed. I couldn’t work out how he knew my number, but more than that, how did he know I was Fumihiro Kuki? Even the plastic surgeon didn’t know that, and nor did the former gang member I’d used to buy my current identity. He was a broker whose name I’d found in my father’s secret papers, but we never did business face to face and I didn’t tell him who I was.
I picked up my phone again and looked at the unknown man’s number, still showing on the screen. My finger touched the button, but then I stopped. If I called him back I had the feeling that I’d be playing into his hands. The woman came out of the shower, naked, and looked at me. I left the cell phone alone.
“It suddenly seemed like you were in trouble.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
She put on a robe. It was white.
“You were talking like it didn’t matter if I heard or not. Does that mean you’re not going to see me again?”
“That’s not it. I was so shocked that whether you heard was the least of my worries.”
On the TV a man was weeping next to the rubble of a stone house. The flames visible under the debris glimmered red, stubbornly refusing to go out. It was a fighter plane, he mumbled between sobs. A fighter plane did this. It was flying low, I could see the pilot.
“Are you some kind of criminal?”
“Well, I’m no saint, that’s for sure.”
She stared at me.
“You were talking in your sleep.”
“Was I?”
The strong blue light left her face in shadow.
“You were apologizing for something. Crying.”
My pulse quickened.
“What was I saying?”
“I didn’t really understand it, but you said something about handing over drugs. I’m sorry, you said, over and over, like a kid.”
Suddenly I saw Yajima’s face. But why should I be bothered about killing him?
“Is d’Alfaro the name of that bar? Then you were like, gonna die soon, gonna die soon, sorry.”
I looked at her blankly. She had no reason to lie. Her face moved deeper into the shadow.
“If I really had murdered someone … You’ve got guts. If I thought you knew too much I might kill you too, right?”
“I don’t think so. You won’t kill me. And I wouldn’t care if you did.”
She sat on the bed, her robe still open, lost in thought. I decided to leave, so I took out my wallet and went to give her the h
undred thousand yen. She watched me lazily.
“Are you going home? Oh, right. Look, I do need money, but …”
“Just think of it as a present if you like.”
“I can’t see it that way.”
On the TV a building of some kind was sitting in the crosshairs of a gun. Probably it was file footage. The building crumbled in a white cloud.
“But that’s fine. It’s where I am at the moment. Hey, do you want to see me again?”
“Even if I’m a dangerous person to know?”
“I don’t care. But a hundred thousand is too expensive for someone like me.”
She laughed.
“No, money doesn’t mean much to me,” I said.
“Me, even if I no longer needed money, it would make no difference in the long run, because I’m always losing things. It’s always been like that. Everything that’s important to me, I lose them one after another. I wonder what will happen to me?”
A skinny old woman in a veil was glaring at the TV camera. A child with no arms and wearing a Yankees cap was laughing in response to some question.
“Hey, can I be your girlfriend? I wouldn’t mind if I was your second or third pick to begin with.”
“No, I’m not the person you think I am.”
“Not interested?”
“I’ve had my face completely reconstructed.”
The building continued to burn. As I stared vacantly at the orange flames, I wondered why I’d told her that so easily.
“Are you on the run or something?”
“No, not exactly.”
She was still watching me. Her gaze seemed to penetrate right to the unstable core of my being, and I was lost for words. She thought for a moment.
“For someone who’s had plastic surgery, you don’t seem very attached to that face.”
“I’m not really invested in it.”
She approached softly.
“Hey, do you want to do it again? You don’t have to pay.”
In the distance I heard a police siren. When I put my arms around her, her back felt much frailer than it had before.
Aichi Prefecture Assemblyman Dies of Poison at Party
Mr. XX, a member of the Aichi Prefectural Assembly, collapsed suddenly about 8 P.M. yesterday at a party in Nagoya. He was taken to a hospital by ambulance, but was pronounced dead soon after arrival. As soon as he tasted his beer after the opening toast, he was seen to collapse. The deadly poison aconitine was detected in his body. There had been suspicions that he had been receiving illegal contributions, and the authorities had just begun a thorough investigation.
• • •
“THIS NEWS JUST in. Mr. YY, a member of the House of Representatives, has died at a hospital in Tokyo. He was visiting the Tokyo Independent Vocational Center when he collapsed suddenly while eating lunch. He was taken to hospital and received treatment, but passed away a short time ago. Traces of aconitine poison were found in his system. It appears to be similar to the substance that was used in the murder of a Prefectural Assembly member in Aichi Prefecture. The metropolitan police have opened an investigation, including whether there is any connection to JL, who had issued threats.”
While I was looking at the newspaper, the TV announcer hurriedly read out a piece of paper he’d been handed. I turned up the volume a little. The commentator sitting next to the newsreader started to speak, leaning forward and drawing his eyebrows together.
“I think it may be premature to assume that this crime is the work of JL. Until now they have caused damage to property, but have not targeted people. I think a thorough investigation is required.”
THE DOOR OF the hotel room opened and the detective came in. He glanced at the TV for a second and then sat down on the sofa opposite me. Cold air from outside seemed to emanate from his suit. He looked rather tired.
“I’m very sorry,” he said, lowering his head. “Konishi lost her cell phone for a few minutes without realizing it. At around lunchtime that day she called you about Ms. Kaori. She was in a café, and after the call she went to the toilet, paid her bill and left. Of course she thought she had her phone with her the whole time. Immediately afterwards, however, the waitress came running after her with a phone, asking if it was hers. Another customer had picked it up from under her table, so she knew she’d dropped it, but thought it had only been missing for a few seconds. Even when I talked to her, at first she denied it and only remembered later. It seemed like such an insignificant event.”
My mind whirled.
“If that’s what happened,” he continued, “it means that someone must have stolen the cell phone while she was in the café. Then the thief gave it to the waitress so that Konishi would think that she’d just dropped it, not that it had been lifted. She hadn’t stored your number under your name—it was listed as a bar. But she had called you just before, and she probably mentioned Kaori’s name several times. Someone must have been nearby, listening to the conversation. If they stole it after that and looked at the call history, they could easily find out the number of the person she was talking to.”
“In other words …”
“Someone has been tailing me or Konishi. And whoever it is knows that we are investigating Ms. Kaori.”
At that moment the TV newsroom grew hectic. There was a babble of voices from off camera and someone handed the announcer a sheet of paper.
“Apparently the group calling itself JL have just claimed responsibility for the murders,” he said.
“Is it really JL?” the commentator demanded. “It could be a copycat.”
“They’ve confirmed that it’s genuine. When JL claim responsibility, they normally use a code word in the letter, one that hasn’t been released to the public. It matches. The communiqué was faxed a short while ago to ‘News Run.’ I’ll read it out.”
He took a breath.
“This is JL. Okay, we said the Prime Minister had to do an impression, right? No good standing on his dignity, he’s got to do it. By the way, we might start going after people now. If the PM doesn’t do an impression at a press conference, we’ll start targeting ordinary citizens next. No, we’re just kidding. Most likely the next people will be other politicians—in order of baldness. But if he still doesn’t do it, civilians really might get caught up in it. We hate happy people, so we might start with the ones who look happiest. Happiness is a fortress. Get it? You don’t? Oh, well.”
I stared at the screen with a sense of dread as the announcer started to read the proclamation again. Happiness is a fortress. My father’s face appeared before me. What did it mean? I felt a headache coming on. The detective was speaking.
“I always wonder if it’s a good idea to read the statement out like that. Isn’t that what they want? Well, I suppose that news of groups like JL will make the ratings skyrocket, and during the recession the media … Mr. Shintani?”
He was looking closely at my face. Just as I was deciding how to respond, my cell phone rang. Somehow it sounded louder than usual. When I looked at the display it was the man who had called me Fumihiro. I glanced at the detective, suddenly nervous.
“It’s the same guy. The one who called me before.”
He took a black ballpoint from his bag.
“We can record him with this.”
I held it close to the phone and pressed the Talk button.
From the other end I could hear the bustle of a crowd of people.
“Fumihiro Kuki?”
It was the same voice.
“I thought maybe you’d call me back, but I also knew you were very patient.”
“Um, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The room seemed to be gradually getting colder.
“A long line of cancers.”
“Huh?”
“You’re not exactly living up to the tradition, are you? Just a stalker!”
“Who is this?”
He laughed.
“Okay, so that’s how you want to play it. L
et’s meet up.”
He raised his voice slightly.
“Tomorrow at six o’clock. Nishiguchi Park in Ikebukuro.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then something bad will happen to Kaori. See you.”
The phone went dead.
By now the room was freezing. I wondered what the hell this was all about. How did he know me? I cringed at that word “cancer.” I was sure I’d never heard the voice on the phone before, and I had no idea who he was or what he wanted.
The detective was studying me. I realized that I still hadn’t told him I was Fumihiro. My heart was thudding erratically.
“Can I borrow this pen for a while?”
“You click the top to record, and if you take off the cap there’s a plug so you can connect it to a computer to play it back.”
“I’ll work on this guy for a bit. I’d like you to stick with my—Shintani’s—past.”
I stood up. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t say anything as I left the room.
I HAD A dream.
I was sitting on a high-backed chair in a room so big I couldn’t see the walls. Directly in front of me six empty chairs, solidly built and slightly larger than mine, were arranged in a line. They made me feel the difference in our relative power and status.
I’d been waiting for a long time for someone to come. For someone to come and sit in those chairs. For some reason I knew that this place was where my whole life would be judged. It was freezing but I didn’t feel the cold.
I kept on waiting for the beings who would summarize my life in this vast and icy place, empty except for the chairs. No matter how long I waited, however, no one appeared. I was completely abandoned. Solemnly, calmly, the air around me grew colder.
When I woke I was sweating. My body was soaked with individual beads of perspiration, each clamoring urgently for attention. I remembered Kaori in a white dress searching my room for porn. I remembered thinking about all sorts of things—my future with her, building a house by the sea and living there, not passing on my melancholy to our children, what I should do when we quarreled. On the screen Kaori was chatting with Azusa Konishi in a bar. The recording was set on continuous play. I stood up, still watching the video, feeling like I’d come a long way.
Evil and the Mask Page 12