by Kanae Minato
“Around this time one of the other children who lived in our building invited me to go see something interesting, as she put it. I had no clue it was going to be dolls, but there was nothing better to do, so I went with these grubby little country kids. They would open other people’s front doors without knocking, call out ‘We’d like to see your doll!’ and the people who lived there would yell back ‘Go right ahead!’ and not even show their faces. The kids would just swarm into people’s houses to see what was displayed there. Unbelievable.
“Still, it did turn out to be kind of interesting. Looking at all the things displayed there—not just the dolls but the paintings, certificates, and souvenirs—I painted a mental picture of the kind of people who lived in each house. And sure enough, when the people emerged with drinks for us, barley tea or Calpis, they were just like I’d imagined. I was amazed. Around the fourth house I realized that the dolls resembled the kids in that family, and I started to pay more attention to them. They looked strong-willed, or stuck-up, or none too bright—all the impressions I got were pretty negative.
“I think the second-to-last house we visited was yours. By then I was tired of it all and was thinking to quietly slip away, but the moment I laid eyes on the doll in your house, I knew I had to have it.
“This doll had an unusual face—it was hard to say if it was more a precocious-looking child or a childlike adult—and I longed to reach out and touch that face and the lithe arms and legs. It was all so charming. How wonderful it would be, I thought, to have this doll always by my side and be able to talk to it. I had some hopes for the girl who owned the doll, too, but she was a typical shabby specimen, the only resemblance the mole she had in the same spot as the doll.
“Even after I got home I couldn’t get that doll out of my mind. Whenever I heard my parents arguing in the next room, I’d think of that doll. When my classmates laughed at me for not knowing the rules to Kick the Can, the doll would come to mind. And finally I made up my mind. I had to have it for myself.
“People let down their guard on festival day even more than usual, so stealing the doll was easy. I took it back home, and did the same for the other four. I took the others so if people found out I was the thief they wouldn’t know I was in love with that one particular doll. I tossed the other dolls into the factory incinerator that same day.
“I didn’t have a guilty conscience. I was confident I could take better care of you than anyone else.
“Soon after this, that murder took place. What surprised me more than the murder itself was how everyone tried to link the murder and the theft of the dolls.
No way, I thought, they can’t mistake me for a murderer! I went to see one of the children involved in the murder to check things out for myself. That was your house. The child I went to see was on her way back from school or the police, eyes down as she walked, accompanied by her mother. For just an instant my eyes met the girl’s. That instant sent a chill through me. She had the same exact eyes as you.
“I’d thought the girl was just some grubby country child, but this could turn into something really amazing, I thought. You, at less than a meter tall, were so wonderful, but imagine a life-size version. That would be even more amazing. I could do more than just talk with you as you stood there—I could have you sit, walk with you, hold you while I go to sleep. I had a premonition that someday a miracle was going to happen.
“Soon reports in the paper said the suspect in the murder was a man in his forties or fifties, and I forgot all about it. All I could think of was you.
“You didn’t seem to notice it, but I was always looking at you. At school, on the road home, even in front of your home. Not long after this my parents were reassigned to Tokyo and we moved back there, but each holiday I’d come back to town to see how you were, pretending I wanted to visit the home of one of the more decent kids who lived in that town.
“You grew up just as I had hoped. There was a time when I was worried what would happen if you became impure enough to flirt with men, but you showed no signs of that. When I was in college I thought once of talking to you, but waited patiently, laying the groundwork to make you mine.
“‘I’m defective, as a woman.’ When I heard this it sent a greater thrill through me, greater than back when our eyes first met. Because I knew then you really were a genuine, living doll. If it was the murder that made my ideal come to life, then I had the murderer to thank.
“Come here beside me. At nighttime you’re my doll.”
Perhaps tired out from the trip, or from the long tale, he soon fell asleep, holding me gently. I was still in the dress he’d put on me, as if I really were a precious doll.
Creepy, disgusted…It’s impossible to express what I felt then. I realized now that the feeling I had felt for a long time that someone was watching me hadn’t just been my imagination. But knowing that it wasn’t the murderer didn’t give me any sense of relief. Instead, I was struck by the fear that now I was in the grip of something even more bizarre, and that night I didn’t sleep a wink. Tomorrow I’m going back to Japan. That’s all I could think about.
But at dawn, when I silently slipped out of bed, Takahiro didn’t try to stop me, though I’m sure he noticed. I took a shower, changed into ordinary clothes, and made a simple breakfast with the bread and eggs we’d bought the day before. By this time he was already up as usual.
“I have to go to work starting today,” he said in his usual cheerful way, “but if you get lonely or any problems come up, call my cell phone anytime.” He kissed me goodbye and headed to the office.
Maybe last night was all a dream? No—it had really happened. But maybe he’d had too much beer and had been drunk. Maybe he really did like the doll and had actually stolen it, and came up with that story to hide his embarrassment.
Trying to convince myself this had to be the case, I went into our bedroom to start cleaning up and saw the doll there, waiting for me with its usual gentle expression. It had a red dress on now. In the room there were a bed and a table and a wardrobe, the latter two with matching carvings. I slowly approached the wardrobe and yanked the double-hinged doors open wide. Inside were matching dresses in many colors, ones for the doll, and ones for me.
I flinched again and tears welled up. But gradually a smile came to my face. Last night, in the dark, it was frightening to suddenly be made to wear that dress and hear Takahiro’s bizarre story, but in the light of day the rows of dresses in the closet appeared gaudy and fun, though ultimately ridiculous. Like clothes a circus clown might wear.
Where did he buy all these clothes, and what was running through his mind when he did? I wondered. Surely he didn’t take along pictures of the dresses done in colored pencil to a store, did he? Like the Doll Memo book I’d thrown away long ago?
Back when he was a child, there must have been something missing from his life. Something vital. And the doll in our sitting room, something we might very well have tossed out a few years later, compensated for what he lacked. And now I’m the one who plays that role for him, for a few hours each day. He’s the one who brought me from my small, rural town to this far-off place. In order for two imperfect, damaged people to live, what’s needed is an absurd ceremony that allows them to hide their imperfections.
I was always good at convincing myself of things.
In the evening when Takahiro returned from work and saw I had on the same ordinary clothes I’d had on in the morning, he looked displeased. So before he could say anything, I got out the following in a rush of words:
“This is, even at night, a space for us to live in, as human beings,” I told him. “We’ll eat, use the restroom, take a shower, and then won’t you spend a real night there in that bedroom with me?”
I was a little worried it was too much for me, as a mere doll, to suggest spending a real night together, but he just smiled broadly. “What’s for dinner?” he asked.
Still, it was miserable the second day, and the third, playing at being a doll.
Listening silently as he spoke was one thing, but it was hard to bear it when he put his hand inside my dress, stroked me all over, and licked the exposed parts of my body. As time went by, though, I got used to it, wanting him to touch me even more. I could hardly wait for the time when I could become a doll, and grew to hate it when night drew to a close.
But last night was different.
I’d felt feverish since morning, my abdomen throbbing in pain, and by noon I couldn’t stand. I lay down on the sofa in the living room, pulled up a blanket, and closed my eyes. As soon as I did, though, the ticking of the clock bothered me and I couldn’t fall asleep. I shoved the clock underneath the sofa and was finally able to sleep a little, though the pain didn’t subside.
Evening came and Takahiro returned. He was worried when he saw my pale face, and when I apologized for not having dinner ready he told me not to worry.
His kind words made me let my guard down, and that was a mistake. “I’d like to sleep here tonight,” I told him. “No, I won’t allow that,” Takahiro said in an icy tone. I don’t know why I got so angry, but last night I was really upset, and rage welled up in me.
“Don’t make me play along with your perverted games when I’m feeling like this!” I shouted.
Right after I yelled this out, I felt a sharp pain in my cheek.
“What did you just say?”
Takahiro pressed his face close to me, and the way he looked frightened me. But I didn’t flinch. I was irritated beyond belief.
“I said you’re perverted. Don’t tell me you don’t realize you’re a pervert?”
A loud shout, then another sharp pain in my cheek and I collapsed on the floor. He straddled my still-throbbing abdomen and grabbed my neck with both hands.
“Take it back! If you take it back right this instant, I’ll forgive you. Get down on your hands and knees and apologize!”
That’s when it happened. I felt something warm and sticky flowing from my crotch. Without getting up and looking I knew what it was, could picture the color. In the next instant, like a speeded-up film, that murder ran through my head.
Kids playing ball, a man showing up in work clothes appraising each child one by one, Emily being led away, the scene inside the changing room…
I’m going to be killed!
I don’t remember what happened after that.
Just beyond the dining table where I’m writing this letter, in front of the sofa, Takahiro is lying on the floor. The blood flowing from his head has stopped and is starting to turn dark and thick. Lying next to him is the blood-covered clock. Even from over here it’s obvious that he’s not breathing.
I must have killed him.
From the images racing through my head from back then, a sudden thought came to me.
We had all addressed the murderer as ojisan—uncle—the typical way kids would address an unknown middle-aged man, but actually the man wasn’t so old, probably only in his midthirties. And I know now that the person who stole the French dolls was someone else. With the statute of limitations drawing near, I pray with all my heart that these will prove helpful clues, and that the case can be solved now.
Have I fulfilled my promise to you now?
I’m going to mail this letter to you and then fly back to Japan. I have no idea where or how they deal with someone who’s killed her husband abroad, but I’m going to go back to Japan and give myself up at the nearest police station.
I might have to go to prison, but that doesn’t bother me because I know, once I’ve served my time, I’ll finally live a life that’s free. To tell the truth, I feel at peace. As if finally, after all these years, I’m back to a time before you and your family came to town. Back when I breathed that clean, pure air without giving it a second thought.
Take care of yourself.
Goodbye.
Yours,
Sae
An Unscheduled PTA Meeting
Thank you all for coming to this unscheduled meeting of the Wakaba Third Public Elementary School PTA. I know you must all be busy, and I appreciate your coming out despite the rain. I’m Ms. Shinohara.
Normally someone in a higher position—the principal or vice-principal—would be standing here, but the only adult who can explain best what you as parents, and those of you from the community, want to know is me, so I insisted on being allowed to speak to you.
What I’m going to say has not been written down and checked beforehand, so if by chance I happen to say something thoughtless, it’s entirely my responsibility, not the school’s. Please keep this mind.
I’d like to begin by discussing the events that took place at the beginning of this month at our school, the incident in which a child was injured.
This took place on Wednesday, July fifth, around 11:45 a.m. at the outdoor pool on the school grounds. On that day Classes 1 and 2 of the fourth grade had a combined swimming class. It was sunny, a perfect day for being in the pool. The class took place during the third and fourth periods, starting at 10:40 and scheduled to end at 12:20. I’m homeroom teacher for Class 1, and Mr. Tanabe is homeroom teacher for Class 2, and he and I were in charge.
From the entrance of this gymnasium you’re in now, the pool is on the right-hand side, diagonally across the school playground. Seen from the school buildings, from Building Number 3, which is farthest from the main gate, you go out from the place where the children change from outdoor shoes to slippers, pass by the horizontal bars and vertical climbing poles, and at the end you come to the pool. At the entrance to the pool there’s a metal sliding gate.
The only entrance is that one, facing the playground.
Except for when the pool is being used for class or for the swim club, the gate is padlocked from the outside, but when the pool is in use we leave it unlocked since we never expect any intruders to come in. We also do that to make it easy for any child who is feeling sick to go straight to the nurse’s office, which is on the first floor of Building Number 3.
There’s a storage case right inside the entrance where children store their shoes, then it’s just a few steps up to the pool. The changing rooms and showers are in the back, so the children proceed past the side of the pool where the springboards are, which is a little wider than the other side, then put on their swimsuits in the changing rooms, take a disinfectant shower, and assemble next to the springboards. In the back, beyond the chain link fence, is a privately owned tangerine orchard.
I hope you can picture the layout from this.
Whenever we have a swimming class, the parents must check off and sign a health form, so they know exactly when their children will be having a swimming class.
In TV interviews, however, several of the parents of children in my class insisted that the school had never informed them that their children were having a swim class that day. I find that hard to fathom.
The schedule for swimming classes is also printed in bold on the monthly class schedule sent out to everyone because some children need a doctor’s permission to participate. A separate schedule of swimming classes was also distributed.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not trying to be sarcastic. I want everyone to consider all this not from the standpoint of the victim, but from that of adults responsible for protecting the children, and of the parents and people in the community.
As the schedule indicated, fourth graders had swim class scheduled for eight times in the first semester, twice a week starting the third week of June. The day in question was the seventh class. By then the pupils were completely used to swimming and all seventy in the two combined classes were able to swim twenty-five meters, so none of the children were having any particular problems, and class was going smoothly.
During the final thirty minutes of class we time the pupils to see how long it takes them to swim freestyle for twenty-five meters, so at 11:35, when we were in the fourth period, the pupils were practicing for this, and we went down the alphabetical class list, having them swimming in the lanes.
> There are six lanes—lanes one to three, nearest the playground, were for Class 1, and lanes four to six for Class 2. So I was on the playground side, and Mr. Tanabe was by the changing rooms, each of us supervising and instructing the children in our respective classes.
There were approximately twelve children using each lane, divided according to the alphabetical list, with three children in each lane at any one time, with about five meters separating each one of them. The rest of the children were seated in front of the springboard.
It was 11:45 by my watch and I was thinking we should start timing the children. That’s when that man, Sekiguchi, broke in.
Kazuya Sekiguchi, thirty-five, unemployed, the TV news said.
I’d like to ask a favor of you. As you listen to what I have to say, please try to imagine the way things were at the time of the incident. Put the photos you’ve seen on TV out of your mind.
On TV they showed a photo of Sekiguchi from high school, where he looked like a slim, pale, and meek young man, but he was so different in appearance when I saw him you wouldn’t know it’s the same person. He was a little shorter than me, around five foot five, but he was very heavy, probably over twice my weight, well over two hundred pounds.
Picture that, please.
I’d been a teacher for three years, and Mr. Tanabe for six, so he was in charge of the class. I looked at my watch, saw it was time to start timed swimming, and turned toward Mr. Tanabe and blew the whistle hanging around my neck and raised a hand to signal him.
That’s when it happened. A man, wearing some kind of military uniform, leaped out from behind the changing rooms. He was clutching a survival knife, one that was over seven inches long. Not sure what was happening, I blew my whistle as loudly as I could.
Mr. Tanabe, surprised, turned around and noticed Sekiguchi, and the children started screaming. Sekiguchi plowed into Mr. Tanabe, sending him falling into the pool. Then he raised his knife up high and turned toward the children sitting by the poolside. The children screamed but were frozen in fear.