The Wavering of Haruhi Suzumiya

by Nagaru Tanigawa

  “That’s the place. My grandfather used to use it to meditate. He hated people, see, so whenever he’d come to visit, he’d say something about getting away from my grandma, then lock himself up in there! It’s like, if you don’t like it, don’t come, right? But he’d get ticked off if we didn’t invite him. Tough guy to please.”

  Tsuruya sounded a little nostalgic as she explained.

  I tried to notice every little detail. A path led from the main house to the garden shack, but it had no walls—only a roof protected the stone path from snow, even on days that had light snow showers, like today. Things wouldn’t go so well if there were a blizzard.

  The freezing air gave all of us a chill as it blew through the open door. Shamisen was particularly affected, and he wriggled around, trying to get back to his warm bed. My sister seemed to find this very funny, and before I could stop her, she walked out onto the stone pathway in her slippers, bringing Shamisen closer to a drift of snow.

  “Look, Shami, it’s snow! Want to taste it?”

  Shamisen thrashed around like a bonito on a hook, and as soon as he jumped free of my sister’s arms, he expressed his heartfelt irritation with a “meow!” as he disappeared back inside the house. No doubt he was returning to the heated floor to continue his nap.

  “Goodness.”

  Having shown Keiichi to his place, Mori walked back along the stone path with a floating grace. Her smile had an ageless quality to it.

  “Is something the matter? If you are looking for Mr. Keiichi, he would be in the shack.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Haruhi. Her face was already suspicious.

  “Quite sure,” said Koizumi. “That’s what the script says.”

  Once we’d returned to the common area, the clock pointed to two o’clock on the nose, and Koizumi seemed to sigh in relief.

  “I’ll say this one more time. Please do not leave this area until after three o’clock. If you absolutely must, please tell me.”

  Koizumi went over to his rucksack in the corner and took out another item. If there was more, why didn’t he just take it all out at once?

  “Huh.”

  Something suddenly occurred to me—Shamisen was nowhere to be seen. Koizumi had left his bag in the corner with the heater, and lately the pillow in front of the heater’s vent had been the cat’s preferred location. I thought for sure he’d be spitefully sleeping there, but no. Just as I was thinking about it—

  “Shall we try this game to pass the time? Suzumiya, will this do?”

  My questions were erased by Koizumi speaking.

  “Sure,” said Haruhi, sounding somehow pleased with herself. “It might be a little early, but we’ll wind up playing anyway, so we might as well. Gimme that, Koizumi.”

  Koizumi handed over the bag, whereupon Haruhi took something curious out of it—some sheets of paper with pictures drawn on them, along with a corresponding number of envelopes. She spread them out on the hearth table around which we all sat. I was suddenly filled with a sense of nostalgia.

  “It’s fukuwarai!” said Haruhi. “You played it when you were a kid, right? Just pin the eyes, noses, and mouths on blank faces while blindfolded. I’d planned to play tomorrow, but we’ve got time, so let’s do it now. Plus, this isn’t just any old fukuwarai.”

  That much was obvious. Just looking at the facial outlines and hairstyles, it was clear that they were caricatures of our faces. They were drawn well enough that even without eyes or noses, you could still tell who was who. I could see why Haruhi was so proud of them.

  “I drew these. They’re handmade! There’s even one for Tsuruya. And I knew Kyon’s little sister was coming, so I made one for her too. Oh—sorry, Yutaka. I couldn’t really remember your face.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” said Yutaka easily. “That’s probably for the best, really.”

  “Probably!”

  Haruhi grinned and looked over the brigade members.

  “Ready? We’re gonna play with our own faces. And no do-overs! When the faces are done, we’re gonna glue them in place and hang them on the clubroom wall, so be serious. If you don’t, you’ll be stuck with a weirdo version of your face in our clubroom forever!”

  Her thinking was something else. She’d done an amazing job of capturing everybody’s features. If we managed to line them up right, they really would look like cartoon versions of us. Based on that alone, we’d want to be serious about it.

  Still, when had she found the time to do all this?

  “All right, who’s going first?” asked Haruhi.

  Tsuruya’s hand shot up energetically; hers was the only one.

  While Tsuruya was a force to be reckoned with, even she didn’t have X-ray vision. Blindfolded with a towel, she made a hilarious arrangement of her own features that caused the table to burst into laughter, and when she herself saw the completed portrait, she rolled over and nearly died. Not even a laugh bag could be so funny.

  Next up was Koizumi, whose clever, handsome features were totally ruined. When the blindfold was removed and he saw the results of his work, he made a disappointed face—but I couldn’t really laugh, since my turn was up next.

  I’d never felt so nervous playing fukuwarai. Just as I was psyching myself up for it—

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Koizumi muttered to me. “I need to go speak to Arakawa et al about tomorrow’s arrangements.”

  And with that, he left the common area. I didn’t know what he needed to meet with them about, but that wasn’t my problem at the moment. The fate of my clubroom portrait was in the hands of my own sense of spatial orientation.

  My round of fukuwarai ended with a burst of laughter. Oh well. It would’ve spoiled the mood if I’d arranged a perfect face, I suppose. Hey—Tsuruya, you’re laughing a little too hard, I thought.

  As I took off the towel amid Tsuruya’s and Haruhi’s cackling, I saw Koizumi return. Reflexively, I checked the clock.

  It was just past two thirty.

  “Pardon my absence.”

  For some reason, Koizumi had gone somewhere and returned carrying Shamisen. What was he doing with that cat? I asked him.

  “Ah, nothing. He was just following Mori around too much in the kitchen.”

  Koizumi set the calico down on the cushion in front of the heater, whereupon the cat curled up in front of the warm airflow. Putting a well-fed cat somewhere warm is the best way to get it to behave.

  “How did you do?”

  Koizumi sat down next to me at the table and took a look at the proceedings. My little sister had inflicted her paste upon the portraits of myself, Tsuruya, and Koizumi. Surely there was something better than these to decorate the clubroom with—Asahina’s cosplay photos, for example.

  Time passed, and the game of fukuwarai proceeded with Asahina, then Nagato. Asahina’s hands were charmingly hesitant as she felt around for the parts of her face, and in the end her portrait was just as charming. Nagato then completed a surrealist version of herself that absolutely slew Tsuruya. Nagato regarded her own work curiously, having no idea what was so funny about it.

  As we continued to play—

  “Excuse me, everyone—it will soon be three o’clock.”

  Koizumi made his announcement.

  “I’d like everyone to take a short break. I’ll need you all to stay here from three to four o’clock, so if you need to use the bathroom, now is your chance.”

  Everyone left the room except Nagato, Yutaka, Koizumi, and me. Nagato continued to regard her fukuwarai portrait, while Yutaka watched her profile, seemingly amused.

  I turned to Koizumi.

  “When will the murder happen?”

  “More important, take a look outside the window.” Koizumi pointed outside. “You can see that it is snowing, correct? Please remember that. If it hadn’t been snowing, I would have had to ask you to pretend that it was, but fortunately, things are working out nicely.”

  As I was scrutinizing Koizumi’s easy smile, the four girls returned. Y
utaka seemed like the most likely suspect to me. He had no other role to play, after all. Not that he was actually doing anything suspicious at the moment.

  Haruhi sat back down at the hearth.

  “Koizumi, let’s do that next. Get it out for me, will you?”

  “Understood. That game, yes?”

  Koizumi again went over to his rucksack. Wondering what handmade nonsense he was going to pull out this time, I followed him over. He rummaged around for a moment, then, looking back at me, produced a large sheet of paper by some sleight of hand.

  “Please give this to Suzumiya.”

  Koizumi handed me a large sheet of paper that was folded over onto itself; it fluttered slightly in the heater’s breeze. As I tried to open it, I felt suddenly uneasy. It wasn’t because of the big sheet of paper. There was Koizumi right in front of me, his hand on his bag, and next to it was the heater. Also there was Shamisen, sleeping comfortably away on the cushion.

  There wasn’t anything strange about it, and yet something was off. Had Koizumi seemed nervous when I’d gotten close to him?

  “Kyon, what’re you doing? Bring it over here!”

  I reluctantly brought the mysterious sheet of paper back to the table, Koizumi following me.

  The clock indicated exactly three o’clock.

  “Koizumi and I made it!”

  Haruhi’s pride seemed to hit a crescendo. It was written all over her face.

  “It’s a board game just for the SOS Brigade! I drew every square by hand, so you’d better be grateful.”

  Incidentally, the first square my piece landed on said this:

  KYON ONLY—THIRTY PUSH-UPS.

  Other squares said things like PLAY STRIP ROCK-PAPER-SCISSORS WITH THE NEXT PERSON WHO STOPS, or SAY FIVE NICE THINGS TO THE CHIEF, or ANSWER EVERYBODY’S QUESTIONS HONESTLY (AND EVERYBODY HAS TO ASK THE MOST EMBARRASSING QUESTIONS THEY CAN), and so on. It was a board game filled with Haruhi-style punishments.

  After much fuss, obviously we wound up playing it. Asahina and Yutaka landed on the strip rock-paper-scissors square, but Asahina’s blank face made it clear she didn’t have the slightest idea what the terms meant, so I wound up playing in her stead. What followed was a parade of squares I can only assume were designed to exhaust me. An hour later, when Tsuruya finally reached the goal, I was about ready to collapse.

  I’m sure Koizumi didn’t care about me a bit, but he raised his hand and spoke, as though he’d been looking forward to it.

  “Your attention please, everybody. It is now four o’clock,” he announced like a timekeeper for a live broadcast. “It is now free time. Please assemble back here by four thirty. Also, if possible, please refrain from going outside. Of course, that only applies if you are not the murderer.”

  “Well then, if you’ll excuse me,” said Yutaka Tamaru, smiling meaningfully as he stood. “I need to unpack the luggage in my room. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  He left immediately thereafter, whereupon Haruhi announced, “I’m going to the kitchen,” and she did, taking Tsuruya with her, returning a few moments later bearing tea cakes and drinks. No one else left the table. Nobody wanted to be accused of being the murderer, after all—especially if it wasn’t true.

  Incidentally, I should add that Yutaka did indeed return five minutes later.

  It was just past four thirty in the afternoon.

  Mori entered the common area and made an announcement.

  “Mr. Keiichi is not answering the door.”

  She pretended to look unsettled.

  “I checked the shack, but there is no response, and the door has been locked.”

  “It’s time!” Haruhi said, standing up gallantly. “We’ll need to check the scene of the crime first.”

  Every inch the tour guide, Koizumi headed down the hallway, the rest of us trailing behind.

  Upon opening the doors that led to the courtyard, we found outdoor shoes set out for us in advance. After putting them on and making our way down the path to the shack, we found Arakawa waiting beside the door.

  “What’s the situation?” asked Haruhi.

  “Just as Mori said, I’m sure. The door is locked from the inside, and Mr. Keiichi is the only one who has the key. Incidentally, there are no duplicates.”

  “That’s how things are,” noted Koizumi. “However, there is no need to break the door down. Please simply assume that there are no duplicate keys. Arakawa, the key, please.”

  Arakawa the butler extended his hand, which contained a key.

  “This key does not really exist. Please act as though that were true.”

  Koizumi opened the door, through which Haruhi immediately strode.

  “Hi.”

  Keiichi waved at us. Lying next to the futon, the elder Tamaru brother pointed to his chest.

  “I’ve been stabbed again.”

  A knife handle stuck out of his chest—a gag toy I’d seen before.

  “Who stabbed you?” asked Haruhi.

  “I can’t say. I’m dead, after all, and corpses don’t talk.”

  With that, his hand flopped down onto the floor.

  “Everyone, please,” began Koizumi, “take a careful look around the room. The key to the shack is here on the desk. This is, of course, the one that Keiichi brought with him. That means that the murderer did not leave through the door.”

  Koizumi approached the window that faced the veranda.

  “The window is closed, but it is not locked, which means that the killer escaped through it. Also, snow is piling up outside.”

  Once Koizumi opened the window, we all peered out at the courtyard.

  “Allow me to explain the killer’s escape route. We know that he or she did not leave through the door, but escaped through the window. While walking through the snow would of course leave footprints behind, none are visible. Look above the window—the eaves of this shack overhang all four corners, and directly beneath them, the layer of snow is very thin. The killer walked along the outside wall to get to the path that returns to the house.”

  I looked down at the ground that Koizumi was pointing to, then back up to the sky. Snow was slowly falling.

  “The falling snow has covered up the killer’s footprints. Based on this rate of snowfall… the footprints wouldn’t have disappeared in less than thirty minutes.”

  Then, as if to confirm that everybody understood, he added, “This is the scenario. I ask for your cooperation. The corpse cannot talk, but as the game’s master, I will not deceive you.”

  “Hmm.”

  Haruhi looked back and forth from the snow to Koizumi, then frowned and folded her arms.

  “Is that all?”

  Koizumi only pointed to the futon. Something seemed to be moving around beneath the soft comforter. Could it be—?

  It was Haruhi who pulled the comforter aside, to reveal—

  “Shamisen?”

  It was definitely our cat, narrowing his eyes at the sudden light.

  We returned to the common area and sat around the table.

  Mori and Arakawa quietly stood back, while Keiichi—his corpse duties concluded—was probably enjoying a nice cup of coffee somewhere.

  “Let’s put the facts in order. Keiichi entered the shack at exactly two o’clock. His body was discovered just a moment ago, at four thirty. We know for sure that the crime was committed sometime during those two and a half hours. The doors were locked from the inside, and the key was inside the room. Let me reiterate that you must assume that there were no duplicate keys. The window that faced the veranda was unlocked, which means the killer escaped through that window.”

  Koizumi explained the facts.

  “It would be impossible to reach the path to the shack from the window without leaving footprints. The fact that there are no footprints means that the prints that were once there have been covered by the falling snow.”

  He looked at the calico cat that my sister held.

  “Moreover, Shamisen was present
at the scene of the crime when the corpse was discovered. Now, let’s think back. Before discovering him with the body, when did we last see the cat?”

  I’d seen him right after Koizumi told everyone to take a bathroom break. He’d been sleeping by the rucksack when Koizumi took Haruhi’s punishment board game out of it, I told everyone.

  “What? Really?”

  Haruhi pushed on her forehead with her finger.

  “Now that you mention it, I don’t have any memory of seeing the cat for the last three hours. Was he really there?”

  “I think he was there…” said Asahina without much confidence. “I, um, saw him a few times when we were playing fukuwarai. He was sleeping on the cushion.”

  “That was the last I saw of him too!” said Tsuruya. “Right when I stood up to head to the bathroom, I saw the kitty cat all curled up there. I think he was there when we were board-gamin’ it up too.”

  It seemed that based on witness testimony, I was the last one to have seen him. Which meant that Shamisen had no alibi from three to four o’clock.

  Sometime during the time we were absorbed with the game, he’d woken up and wandered off somewhere. Eventually he’d found his way into Keiichi’s room, then snuck into the futon…

  Wait—that can’t be right.

  “There’s no way the cat would decide to go into the shack of his own volition,” I said. “He hated the cold so much he freaked out just by being outside for a bit. He flinched away from the snow, and he couldn’t have opened the door from the main house to the courtyard by himself.”

  “True.”

  Koizumi voiced his mild agreement.

  “It stands to reason that someone must have taken him there. Either Keiichi or the killer.”

  “Well, it couldn’t have been Keiichi.”

  Haruhi butted in.

  “He said he was allergic to cats. That was foreshadowing, although it was kinda fake.”

  “Of course, that was part of the setup for the mystery. It would have been a bit problematic otherwise. So whoever brought the cat into the room must be the killer. This seems to be a hint.”