Evil and the Mask

by Fuminori Nakamura

  “And then there was Iraq, which became a land war, an old-fashioned shoot-out with rifles. As a result, the rate of psychological disorders among returning soldiers was abnormally high. I can’t help feeling sorry for them. The perverted history of modern warfare is all about trying to maintain the emotional balance of the soldiers who kill. That’s been the constant refrain. But it’s simply the difference between keeping the shock of killing bottled up in the subconscious and using weapons to numb the soldiers’ sensibilities. If you think that’ll work, you’re just stupid. In fact, maybe the real purpose of war is simply to replicate itself, to create more wars.”

  Ito had stayed stony-faced throughout my monologue. He continued to stare fixedly at the wall in front of him, as though something was written there.

  “You’ll never understand,” he said quietly. “Listen. Imagine there’s this guy who’s thinking about killing himself after murdering someone. Imagine he doesn’t care when he dies—or rather, he wants to die but plans to kill someone else first. He wouldn’t give a shit about beauty or malfunction or any of that. Ethics and morality are irrelevant to him. Because for us there is no god. We don’t believe in an afterlife either. Look, the only reason I’m doing this crap now is because of the bloodbath that’ll come at the end, that feast of contempt for life. Now it’s all just a preview. Thousands of people dying for no reason, hundreds per day. It’ll be a world of contempt for everything, where life is absolutely worth nothing. I can’t wait. I’ve been yearning for that from the depths of my soul, ever since I was a kid.”

  He turned towards me. Again, the noise of a motorbike engine shook the apartment.

  “Let’s say,” he continued, opening his eyes slightly and playing with his wristband again. “Let’s say there’s a guy like this. Brought up in violence from as far back as he can remember, brought up as though that was completely normal. Constantly beaten, beaten without love, without any feeling at all, as though even kicking him was a bother, indifferent kicking, because he was in the way … Shunned by people from warm, bright, caring homes just because he hadn’t taken a bath for days. Nothing but pain; no food, only fear and hatred. Unable to sleep properly because of recurring memories of violence. Slashed his wrists many times but couldn’t die …

  “Can you tell someone like that to be kind to others? Can you tell him to think about how other people are suffering, that there are people in the world worse off than you, think of the starving children in Africa? Can you say that to a man who had those feelings beaten out of him from the day he was born? To a man who has lost the ability to cherish those things? To a man who suffers because he can’t feel anything for other people, no matter how hard he tries? You can tell him not to interfere with other people’s happiness? To a man who already wants to die, you can tell him to die alone, thinking only of others, like some kind of saint? To a man who’s tried to protect himself by telling himself that the years of abuse he received weren’t such a big deal, you can tell him that violence towards others is bad? To a man who was raised by an insane, drug-addicted woman whose adored husband died in a mass suicide as part of an evil cult, and whose only thought was to ruin her son’s personality in order to pass on the malevolence of his father? To a man whose mother somehow blamed him for her husband’s death, who was filled with crazy ideas she inherited from her husband and with hatred of her son? To a man who was raised by a monster who grew tired of him and only continued the violence out of habit? To a man who was so hungry that he used to eat his own hair? To a man whose birth wasn’t even registered?”

  His shoulders heaved as he gasped for air, and his frightened eyes stared directly into mine. Father’s blood was still seeping from the wall opposite. Suddenly I remembered the doctor’s tale of the baby who died in the toilet. I had a vision of my booze-soaked father, and it felt like his blood and alcohol were running off me, mixed with my own perspiration. I could hardly breathe. Ito fell silent. I felt like I had to say something.

  “If that’s how it is, my advice is just to keep on living. Sure, malfunctions and beauty don’t mean anything to a man who’s already made up his mind to die. But still, I’d advise you to live.”

  “Obviously. If you advise a murderer to live and he follows that advice, then the idea that malfunctions and beauty don’t matter to someone who’s determined to die, that no longer applies. So I’m listening. Why should he live?”

  I couldn’t answer, because the question was directed at me.

  “Why should he live? With such a background and such an emotional vacuum inside him towards other people, why? You know what I mean. Enough with the sermon already. Anyway, will you fund us? JL needs money now.” He put the empty bottle on the carpet. He looked exhausted.

  “But you’re still not ready to do it, are you?”

  “I am.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re still putting it off. You can’t join in the killing, you’ve stopped at pretend terrorism. That proves it. You satisfy the impulses inside you by stopping just short of exploding. You give yourself various reasons to make yourself feel better, but you steer clear of actually blowing things up. Besides, isn’t JL in big trouble right now? I bet that’s the real reason you need money.”

  He glared at me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re close to catching one of you, aren’t they? One of the early members. If they arrest him, the whole group could be in trouble.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “There’s a guy on the run, isn’t there, a guy with a protruding jaw? If they catch him, JL will be in deep shit. You said it yourself, when you were talking about killing politicians too early. There’s a risk you could get wiped out before you get really big.”

  “How much do you know? What do you mean?”

  “You’re smart. You need escape money for when JL is eliminated. Yeah? That’s what it’s really for, isn’t it?”

  “That’s beside the point. Just give me the money, and let me worry about what it’s for. You’ve got money to burn, haven’t you? You’re rich, you don’t need it. Besides, what’s the matter with you? Acting like your shit don’t stink, when we both know you’re just a crazy mother. You and me, I think we’re similar. Right? Because you could have ignored me but you didn’t. I’m not saying you have to give it to me right now. Next time we meet would be fine, but could you get some money together for us?”

  “How much?”

  “Five million yen.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “It’s much less than I wanted at first. Also, could you look after this for me?”

  He put his backpack on the low table.

  “What is it?”

  “A bomb. It’s just for a few days.”

  At the bottom of the squashed bag I could make out the shape of a square object.

  “I don’t have anywhere to store it any more. Coin lockers have security cameras. It’s not for long.”

  “Why do I have to look after it?”

  “We told you a lot about JL, so you should take some of the risk as well. It’s not wired, so it’s safe, but don’t drop it. This took longer than I thought. I’ve got some other business to take care of. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Not telling. Don’t be nosy.”

  THE DETECTIVE WAS waiting for me in our usual hotel room. He seemed to have lost a little weight, but his eyes were as piercing as ever. As soon as I entered he rose from the brown sofa and poured me a cup of instant coffee. His fingers were long and slender, and remarkably smooth for his age. Once again I reflected that we always drank coffee at our meetings. He produced two well-worn files and put a plastic case full of unlabelled CDs on the table.

  “Here is the material on Mikihiko Kuki,” he said.

  “You got it this quickly?”

  “No …”

  He was watching me intently. I’d never seen him so serious.

  “If you look at these,
you’ll understand what type of man he is.”

  The file nearest to me was particularly old.

  “What you do with it, that’s up to you.”

  “What’s …?”

  He looked at his silver watch.

  “It’s almost time.”

  “Huh? Ah, so it is.”

  I stood.

  “Does Konishi …?”

  “Yeah, no problem. It’s on my way, I’ll give you a lift.”

  JE LE RÉPÈTE was in the basement of a white, five-storey building in Roppongi’s entertainment district. The detective spotted Mikihiko’s PI’s car tailing us, but I told him several times to ignore it. When we arrived at the bar I straightened my tie and waited until his vehicle disappeared from view, while Mikihiko’s guy watched from his car. What had given me the push to visit Kaori was Mikihiko telling me that if I approached her he’d leave her alone, but whether I was playing for time just to hide my real motives, I wasn’t sure. There were many things I still didn’t know—not so much about what I wanted, but what I was going to do about the whole situation. Still, there I was, dressed in a suit, standing in front of Je le Répète’s stylish neon sign. Meeting Kaori felt unreal, like some kind of bad joke, but I also couldn’t imagine running away, going back to my own room. I made my way into the hushed building, feeling like something was dragging me forward, like something soft was pushing me from behind.

  The dim staircase seemed to go on forever. At the bottom my eyes were assaulted by a brilliant light. A young man with a smooth smile opened the door—he must have seen me from inside. The bar was larger than I expected, filled with soft jazz and lit by rows of chandeliers, which showed vases of flowers, their stalks extended like arms, shiny sofas, red carpets and lots of mirrors around the walls.

  “Hello,” he said, the smile still fixed on his face. “Are you on your own?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you wanting anyone in particular?”

  “Um, Azumi.”

  “Fine. This way, please.”

  He guided me to a black leather couch beside a glass table. When I took out a cigarette he put down the menu, dropped to one knee and lit it for me. There weren’t that many customers, perhaps because it was still early. From time to time I heard laughter.

  Azusa Konishi was wearing a red dress, and her elaborately styled hair reflected the light from the chandeliers behind her. Staying in character, she sat beside me with a smile.

  “You came,” she said, as though we were friends.

  The waiter bowed low and moved away.

  “Are you sure it’s okay?” I asked.

  “Yes. She’s free at the moment. I’m really sorry about that business with the phone.”

  “Don’t worry about it. So …”

  “Okay. I’ll call her. Ah, what would you like to drink? Gin and tonic?”

  She put ice in a glass and started to fix me a drink. With her pert breasts and beautifully made-up face, she looked every inch a hostess. She called the waiter over with a gesture. Thanking me and feigning a smile, she told him to invite Kaori to join us.

  The tip of my cigarette glowed feebly, like a chink of light in a thick fog. I stretched out my hand slowly to pick it up, but my vision was dim and although my fingers managed to find the ashtray, they couldn’t grasp properly. I heard voices, I saw the light reflecting off a corner of the table. Then the fog cleared, my view grew broader and I could see part of my glass, damp with drops of water. I heard a high-pitched voice, and when I turned towards it I could make out a white arm. A white arm extending from a white dress, elegantly curved at the elbow. It was lovely. My head felt like it weighed a ton, and as I looked up, the noise of the bar returned abruptly. And there was Kaori. Azusa was talking, but I couldn’t hear a word she was saying. A white dress, black hair down to her shoulders, two bright eyes, a small nose, thin lips glossy with lipstick.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  Her voice, clear and light, exactly as it sounded through the projector. Suddenly I could hear again. Azusa was speaking, watching me with a smile on her face.

  “This is Mr. Shintani, an old friend. He asked if I had any friends who could join us. He’s very generous.”

  She continued to watch me closely.

  “Thank you,” said Kaori. “I haven’t been very popular this month.”

  She was talking to me. Talking to me face to face. Her voice was high and pure, just as it had been back then. Her large, dark eyes shone in the light. I realized I was staring, but couldn’t tear my eyes away. She held out her business card. On it was printed a single name in block letters—KAORI.

  “Um, excuse me. Are you disappointed …?”

  I had to say something.

  “No,” I gasped. “Just the opposite … You’re extremely beautiful.”

  “Liar.” She laughed.

  Kaori was listening to me, answering me. I could hardly breathe.

  “If you’re a friend of Azumi’s, you won’t look twice at me. That reminds me, the boss here is really rude.”

  She grinned mischievously. That smile pierced me to the heart.

  “At the job interview he told me that I wasn’t up to their usual standards, but that they needed someone like me as well. A second-stringer. Isn’t that a terrible thing to say? Being told I’m not that good-looking, but they need someone plain?”

  Azusa laughed.

  “Are you still going on about that, Kaori?”

  “No,” I said. “You really are pretty.”

  And truly, she was so beautiful it took my breath away. No matter what anyone else said, Kaori was gorgeous.

  “Very pretty,” I repeated.

  The waiter approached. Azusa had another customer, so she had to leave us. We had arranged this in advance. I asked the waiter not to disturb Kaori and me and he nodded pleasantly.

  “Do you mind?” Kaori asked. “If it’s just me?”

  “Of course not. I don’t often come to places like this, so I get nervous when I’m around lots of girls.”

  She looked at me, mystified. My forgotten cigarette had almost burned itself out in the ashtray. I stubbed it out, and Kaori immediately replaced the ashtray with a clean one.

  “Eh?” I said. “That was still fine.”

  “It’s a house rule. This too.”

  She wiped the condensation off the outside of my glass with a white cloth.

  “But,” she began, looking away hesitantly for a moment and then facing me again. “Um, have we met before or something, like, a long time ago?”

  My heart beat faster. She pushed her face closer to mine. I couldn’t tell if this was a spontaneous gesture or a practiced technique.

  “This is uncanny,” she said. “I don’t know.”

  The jazz coming from the speakers seemed to have grown louder. Breathing unsteadily, I groped for my cigarette but couldn’t find it. The room felt overheated. The ends of Kaori’s black hair seemed to tremble in a faint draught. I lowered my eyes and took my driver’s license out of my wallet.

  “See, my name’s Shintani, like I said. Look, the characters for ‘new’ and for ‘valley,’ first name Koichi. Have we really met somewhere? It might not look like it, but it’s quite an unusual name.”

  She stared at the photo.

  “Maybe it is. But mine’s even rarer.”

  I knew I was supposed to ask her what it was, but I couldn’t bring myself to hear that name. I tried to change the subject.

  “Have you got any hobbies or anything?”

  “Hobbies? Umm.”

  She glanced to one side, as though she was giving the matter some serious thought.

  “Not really, but I like reading. Thoughtful stuff.”

  “Thoughtful?”

  She nodded noncommittally.

  “Oh, I don’t mean really difficult books. I like books that make me laugh too.”

  A group of high-powered executives in expensive suits walked in.

  “There’s got to be some
thought behind it. Of course it should be interesting as well, but if you only read shallow books, you’re likely to absorb some of the ugly attitudes behind them.”

  “I see what you mean, I think.”

  “Apart from that, I collect hair-ties.”

  “Hair-ties?”

  “Yes. Rubber bands to hold my hair when I’m removing my make-up. I’ve got about fifty at home.”

  I laughed. “Really? Why do you do that?”

  “I don’t know. Is it odd?”

  The bar was slowly filling up. The music changed from jazz to classical piano, then back to jazz again. Several young women in sexy dresses were circulating through the room. I dropped my gaze, unable to look squarely at Kaori’s breasts and shoulders in her white dress.

  “You’re nice, Kaori.”

  She shook her head.

  “No, I’m not. For example, sometimes I get really annoyed. Look, see that important-looking guy over there?”

  When I followed the direction of her eyes I saw a portly man in a bow tie.

  “That’s my boss. He’s really strict—he comes around saying things like, ‘You forgot to light that customer’s cigarette twice.’ So Azumi, she came up with a plan.”

  She smiled at the memory.

  “Since he’s really busy, he often takes a nap in one of the back rooms, and he keeps a toothbrush in there. She got the janitor to use it to clean the toilet, and then put it back.”

  I laughed again.

  “That’s mean.”

  “Yes. We’re horrible. But please don’t tell anyone.”

  I wondered what the hell Konishi was doing when she was supposed to be working on a case, but I found myself laughing too. Time was slipping by. Even though I knew it was an illusion, I felt like it was flowing backwards, winding back the years.

  “You definitely don’t seem like someone you’d find in a place like this.”

  “Really?”

  She rested her slim arms on the table.

  “The first time I was invited here by a friend. Before that I was working for a company, but it went bankrupt in mysterious circumstances.”

  She raised her eyes as though she were thinking.

  “Several bad things happened around then, and I realized that I should have some money.”