Seventeen

by Hideo Yokoyama

  In the past, Anzai had referred to Ito as his “lifesaver,” but he had never explained why. He’d been a great admirer of the man. It was very difficult to fathom why. Just as the nickname the Black Box suggested, nobody really knew what kind of work the Circulation Department did. Everyone in the other divisions of the company seemed to find Ito, the department head, a unique and unidentifiable specimen.

  Yuuki made a move to end the conversation.

  “She was grateful to you—for telling her he should take his time getting better.”

  “Right. Anything else?” Yuuki jabbed his red pen at the article in front of him.

  “She said a lot of things. How worried she was—things like that. You’d better send someone from General Affairs soon.”

  “Of course I will.”

  Yuuki turned back to his work. He’d decided to ignore anything else Ito might have to say. But then he felt the sharp gaze of someone else on him.

  Oimura was watching him; or rather, glaring at him. On second thought, it wasn’t Yuuki that he was glaring at. It was Ito. Or perhaps it was the apparently intimate conversation between Ito and Yuuki that had caught his attention.

  But whatever the immediate reason, Yuuki could read that look. The staff of the Circulation Department were believed to be supporters of the NKT’s managing director. Oimura, the darling of the opposite faction, the supporters of the company chairman, was probably unhappy that Ito had even set foot in the Editorial Department. And he had most likely spoken ill of Anzai—Ito’s junior—before for the same reason. It seemed to be a case of him tarring all the perceived “opposition” with the same brush.

  Ito was returning Oimura’s glare, and the two were practically baring their teeth.

  Yuuki felt his brain go numb. He’d definitely reached the peak of fatigue.

  “Here you are.”

  He heard the voice of someone from the copy team and the proofs of page two of the local news landed softly on his desk.

  His eye went straight to a large advertisement on the lower half of the page.

  “We at Japan Airlines deeply regret the loss of so many precious lives in the crash of the JA8119 aircraft…”

  It was signed with the name of the Japan Airlines president. It was what was known as an apology ad. Right above it was a large article featuring a photograph of relatives of the deceased in tears after viewing the bodies of their loved ones. Yuuki leapt to his feet.

  “Kaku-san!”

  His blood seemed to flow backward in his veins. It was as if, after a huge fire, the arsonist had posted an apology on the same page as a report on the incident. There was no way he could accept the page in front of him. On top of that, there was the testimony of the assistant cabin crew manager to consider. It was all just too neat. And it wasn’t only Japan Airlines. The North Kanto Times was equally guilty for placing the apology and the photos of the bereaved together on the same page.

  Kamejima came running, his perfectly round face registering alarm.

  “What is it? Is there a mistake?”

  Yuuki pointed to the ad.

  “Get rid of that.”

  “Why?”

  “Just get rid of it. It’s totally insensitive.”

  Kamejima stared at Yuuki, apparently not understanding.

  “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

  It was Kamejima’s job to arrange the pages of the newspaper. Kamejima just didn’t have the same level of enthusiasm for the content of the stories as Yuuki did.

  “I don’t have the authority to remove it. I’ll have to consult with Advertising.”

  Yuuki thought of the Advertising Department, and general manager Kurasaka’s furious face. He wasn’t going to put up with that man’s complaints this time. This was no hard-won advertisement. The advertising team hadn’t put in hours of legwork on this one. The money the company would make from this ad was a windfall that had simply dropped on Kurasaka’s desk.

  “I’ll take responsibility for it. Take it out.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it!”

  He hadn’t meant to sound so angry. Kamejima screwed up his face. Everyone nearby was looking at Yuuki. He felt a surge of energy.

  “How can we be so shameless as to put out a newspaper with this in it? This ad cost maybe two, three hundred thousand yen. If they want to appear to do the respectful thing, then tell them to buy flowers or something and take them to the crash site!”

  Nobody said anything, which irritated Yuuki even more.

  “Don’t you have any feelings about it? This article above this ad!”

  But then Yuuki’s attention was caught by something else. He stopped blinking for a moment. Diagonally above the photo of the bereaved, in small font, and squeezed into a tiny box, was a familiar article.

  Report by Sayama on Mount Osutaka

  It was Sayama’s feature piece, the one Yuuki had sent to Copy as the lead story. At some point, unbeknownst to Yuuki, it had been moved. And worse, to an inconspicuous corner of an inside page. The snakes. They’d done it again. His rage overflowed. He grabbed the proofs and marched over to Todoroki’s desk.

  Gold-Rimmed Specs was there. He was surrounded by five or six reporters from the JAL crash team, including Sayama and Hanazawa. His dark lenses were fixed on the faces of the reporters. No doubt he was making them listen to tales of his extensive reporting experience.

  “Can you make space, please?” Yuuki said, brushing the junior reporters aside and slamming the proofs down on Todoroki’s desk. “What the hell is this?”

  Sayama started in surprise when he saw the treatment his article had been given.

  Todoroki slowly removed his spectacles. He didn’t even glance at the proofs. Instead, he fixed his raw gaze on Yuuki’s face.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “This article was supposed to be the lead story. Why is it on page two of local?”

  “No idea.”

  “Don’t play dumb!”

  Todoroki got to his feet. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “You! I’ve had enough of your pathetic games!”

  They stared each other down, so close the tips of their noses were almost touching.

  “I’ll forgive you this time, if you go down on hands and knees and beg me.”

  “I know you’re responsible for this shit! Put it back on the front page! Okay?”

  “You need to speak to the managing editor.”

  Yuuki froze. Oimura was the one who had changed it?

  “Why…?”

  Todoroki laughed scornfully.

  “You know there’s no way the managing editor is going to let a story about the Self-Defense Forces get top billing!”

  He felt like he’d been slapped. He was right. The lead paragraph of Sayama’s piece had a description of a Self-Defense Forces soldier.

  Oimura became the new object of Yuuki’s anger. There was nothing wrong with that article. He looked over at Oimura’s desk, but he wasn’t there.

  “Where is he?”

  “He said he was going to General Affairs.”

  Yuuki made to snatch up the proofs again, but Todoroki put the palm of his hand down to prevent him.

  “Get off!”

  “Hmm. I will if you get down and apologize.”

  All the reporters in the vicinity held their breath. Next to him, Sayama was staring at Yuuki’s face. The gleam in Todoroki’s eyes was as sharp as a knife blade.

  “All these young kids have been watching. You’d better apologize properly.”

  Yuuki looked at him in disgust.

  “There’s no need.”

  “What did you say? You’ve been yelling at me when it was all your misunderstanding. Apologize!”

  “You did the exact same thing yesterday. Shall I explain it in front of this group?”

  Todoroki didn’t reply. The look in his eyes was ferocious. Yuuki tugged once again at the proofs, but Todoroki refused to let go. There was a ripping
sound, and Japan Airlines’s apology ad tore in two.

  “Don’t for one second think this is over.”

  Ignoring Todoroki’s threat, Yuuki made for the newsroom door. The young reporters all raced after him into the corridor.

  “Yuuki-san,” said Sayama, apparently acting as spokesman. “Of course, you can count on our support.”

  Yuuki ran down the stairs.

  It was ten in the evening. He found it hard to believe that there would be anyone in General Affairs here at this time of night. Ground floor of the west annex. The General Affairs office.

  Light was leaking out into the corridor. He pushed the door open to see Gunji, who’d joined the company at the same time as Yuuki. He was typing on a word processor. General Affairs were always recommending that the reporters use word processors, but no one would touch them. Who could write a proper article from the heart on one of those things? Yuuki felt the same way.

  “This is a surprise. Don’t see you here very often.”

  “Is our managing editor around here somewhere?”

  Gunji gestured to the door at the far end of the office.

  “The inner shrine.”

  He meant the office of the company chairman.

  “The chairman’s still here?”

  “Don’t speak too loudly. He’ll hear you.”

  “Is he here?”

  “Yes. He had some kind of meeting nearby and called in on his way home.”

  Yuuki headed for the chairman’s office.

  “Hey! Hey! What are you doing?” Gunji called after him. He sounded panicked.

  “I’ve got urgent business,” Yuuki replied.

  He wasn’t lying. The decision on the page layout couldn’t be left until eleven or twelve o’clock. Because of the Printing Department’s limited capacity, they always started work earlier with the pages that were ready, and printed bit by bit. The deadline for page two of local news was 10:30 p.m.

  Yuuki stopped in front of the door. From behind him, he heard Gunji’s voice.

  “Are you one of us, then?”

  “One of us.” He must be talking about the factions within the company. But there was no time for excuses or explanations. Without hesitation, he tapped his knuckles against the fine-grained wood of the imposing double doors.

  14

  It was the first time Yuuki had ever set foot in the chairman’s office on the ground floor.

  It used to be on the second floor, but Chairman Shirakawa had damaged his spinal cord in a traffic accident six months previously and been confined to a wheelchair. It had been necessary to relocate.

  Right now the occupants of the office were Shirakawa in his wheelchair, his personal assistant, Manami Takagi, and Oimura, who was sitting on a large, curved sofa that looked big enough to seat ten.

  “Well, sit down, then,” said Oimura casually. Probably because the boss was present, he had the most congenial of expressions on his face. He had shown just the barest flicker of confusion the moment Yuuki entered the room. There was nothing whatsoever of the usual Firecracker about him.

  “This is Yuuki,” he said amiably. “You remember, I was just talking about him earlier?”

  Shirakawa also looked cheerful.

  “I know him already. The kid started here back when I was editor in chief.”

  “He’s got the JAL crash desk right now.”

  “Well, you’ve really come up in the world, haven’t you? I remember back in those early days when you were learning the ropes. You always were a serious pupil.”

  The awkward conversation continued. Just talking about him earlier? Was Oimura reporting in detail to the chairman everything that went on in the Editorial Department?

  “Here you are.” Manami placed a glass of iced coffee on the low table in front of Yuuki. She was stunningly beautiful. Up until three months ago she’d been employed by a housing corporation. It was rumored that Oimura had headhunted her on Shirakawa’s behalf. Yuuki wondered what had happened to the last female assistant who used to push Shirakawa’s wheelchair. Her name was Mina Kuroda or something …

  It seemed the conversation between Shirakawa and Oimura was never going to run out of fresh topics.

  Yuuki had to interrupt—he really was running out of time.

  “Oimura-san, if you wouldn’t mind…”

  “What?”

  Yuuki spread the proofs out on the table.

  “Can you explain this? I asked for this to be the lead story but, somehow, it’s mistakenly ended up here on the inside.”

  He was hoping that, in the presence of the chairman, Oimura might reveal his true intentions, but the managing editor kept his cool.

  “It’s not a mistake. They were my orders.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s obvious. There’s no reason for a newspaper to do the Self-Defense Forces’ PR work for them.”

  Yuuki leaned forward. “The article just happens to mention a soldier. It’s got nothing to do with advertising.”

  “But that’s what it ends up being. What do you think, sir?”

  “What’s that?”

  Shirakawa was having his hair combed by Manami. This wasn’t the place to be having this conversation. Yuuki leaned over to whisper in Oimura’s ear.

  “Could I speak to you outside?”

  “Outside? The matter’s been decided. There’s no need for any more discussion.”

  “I don’t believe so. I’d like you to reconsider.”

  Oimura turned to Shirakawa again.

  “Sir, can you imagine the lead story of our paper being the heroic tale of some Self-Defense Forces soldier?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  Yuuki gasped. Asking the chairman’s opinion? How had it reached this point already? It was unfair. Oimura had deliberately used the phrase “heroic tale.” In any normal situation, there was nobody in the newspaper industry who would have taken that at face value. They’d assume Oimura was exaggerating or had some hidden agenda.

  “Sir.” Yuuki spoke quickly. “It’s not a heroic tale. If you read it, you’ll see.”

  Oimura rolled his eyes. But Shirakawa made no move to pick up the proofs. His hand was now in Manami’s; he was enjoying a nail trim.

  “Sir, please. If you would just read it.”

  In response, Shirakawa turned his head in Yuuki’s direction.

  “No, I don’t think it’ll work.”

  Yuuki stopped blinking. A final decision, made without any thought. But no, he wasn’t going to give in that easily.

  “But, sir, the reporter who wrote that article spent twelve hours climbing a mountain to do it.”

  “Yuuki!” Oimura rebuked him. “You’re not thinking of defying the chairman, are you?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just—”

  “This is disgraceful. The chairman has given his opinion.”

  Shirakawa was observing their altercation with a slight smile on his face. Manami was now massaging his shoulders. What a creep, Yuuki thought.

  He bowed deeply.

  “Chairman Shirakawa, sir, please let it be the top story.”

  Shirakawa closed his eyes.

  “You really have come up in the world, haven’t you?”

  The nuance of “come up in the world” was a shade different this time. Shirakawa was definitely on the point of losing his temper. Back when he’d been editor in chief, his nickname had been the H-Bomb.

  Yuuki thought of Sayama’s face. And his voice: “Yuuki-san. Of course, you can count on our support.” He made up his mind. Jumping to his feet, he picked up the proofs and took them over to where Shirakawa sat in his wheelchair. Oimura yelled something, but Yuuki ignored him and placed the sheet on Shirakawa’s lap.

  “Please, just read it. I’m begging you.”

  He bowed as deeply as he could.

  There was a moment of silence as Manami stepped softly away from the wheelchair. Then Shirakawa’s eyes snapped open.

  “Desk chief—we don’t want to hea
r your opinion!”

  Yuuki stood up as straight as he could.

  “Please read it,” he repeated.

  Shirakawa turned his bloodshot gaze on Yuuki.

  “Are you trying to lose your job?”

  Yuuki hung his head. But he hadn’t lost his nerve, nor had he given up hope. He was trying not to punch the chairman. His heart was pumping wildly.

  Could he be fired over something like this? Fine, let them fire him. If he gave in over this, he wouldn’t keep the JAL command post anyway. Nobody would respect a leader who had killed his fellow reporter’s story not once but twice.

  He wasn’t that attached to his life as a reporter. He’d done a miserable job, anyway. And it’d only get worse from now on.

  And his family? It didn’t matter anymore. It was all pretense anyway. His heart was in pieces. Could he tell his family that there was no way he could continue to live in constant fear of his son’s moods? And when she heard he’d been fired, Yumiko would probably wash her hands of him. He’d be fine living all by himself. He’d felt this way for a long, long time. Much better alone—Yuuki clasped his forehead in his hands. He could no longer see clearly. He was tired.

  And then, suddenly, in his mind, he was back in that dark place …

  He was in the storage shed again. He could see his own tiny form. He was sitting, shaking, his arms hugging his knees.

  Yuuki almost screamed. There was a throbbing in his ears.

  He heard his mother’s flirtatious voice … the men’s wild laughter … a dog howling …

  The loneliness that soaked into the marrow of his bones.

  But then he saw other faces … Yumiko, Jun, Yuka.

  It was enough that they were there. He needed them to be there. They didn’t have to understand one another.

  He didn’t want to be alone. He never wanted to be that kid again, alone in the storage shed, hugging his knees …

  His body swayed, but just as he was about to fall, he instead planted his feet firmly on the floor.

  Through the thin membrane that was covering his field of vision, he saw the devilish face of Shirakawa. Yuuki reached down and, his hand shaking, picked up the proof of the article from the chairman’s lap. First, he folded it, then twisted it, and finally he screwed it up into a little ball.