Ring

by Kōji Suzuki

  Then Shizuko was visited by misfortune. In 1954 she gave birth to her second baby, but it became ill and died at only four months of age. It had been a boy. Sadako, who was seven at the time, seemed to have showered a special affection on her newborn little brother.

  The following year, in 1955, Ikuma challenged the media to a public demonstration of Shizuko's powers. At first Shizuko didn't want to do it. She said that it was hard to concentrate her awareness the way she wanted to among a mass of spectators; she was afraid she'd fail. But Ikuma was unyielding. He couldn't stand being labelled a charlatan by the media, and he couldn't think of a better way to outwit them than by offering clear proof of her authenticity.

  On the appointed day, Shizuko reluctantly mounted the dais in the lab theatre, under the watchful eyes of nearly a hundred scholars and representatives of the press. She was mentally exhausted, to boot, so these were hardly the best conditions for her to work under. The experiment was to proceed along quite simple lines. All she had to do was identify the numbers on a pair of dice inside a lead container. If she had just been able to exert her powers normally, it would have been no problem. But she knew that each one of the hundred people surrounding her was waiting and hoping for her to fail. She trembled, she crouched down on the floor, she cried out in anguish, "Enough of this!" Shizuko herself explained it this way: everybody had a certain degree of psychic power. She just had more of it than others did. But surrounded by a hundred people all willing her to fail, her power was disrupted-she couldn't get it to work. Ikuma went even further: "It's not just a hundred people. No, now the whole population of Japan is trying to stamp out the fruits of my research. When public opinion, fanned by the media, begins to turn, then the media says nothing the people don't want to hear. They should be ashamed!" Thus the great public display of clairvoyance ended with Ikuma's denunciation of the mass media.

  Of course, the media interpreted Ikuma's diatribe as an attempt to shift the blame for the failed demonstration, and that's how it was written up in the next day's newspapers. A FAKE AFTER ALL … THEIR TRUE COLORS REVEALED . .. TAIDO UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR A FRAUD. .. FIVE YEARS OF DEBATE ENDED … VICTORY FOR MODERN SCIENCE. Not a single article defended them.

  Toward the end of the year, Ikuma divorced his wife and resigned from the university. Shizuko began to become increasingly paranoid. After that, Ikuma decided to acquire paranormal abilities himself, and he retreated deep into the mountains and stood under waterfalls, but all he got was pulmonary tuberculosis. He had to be committed to a sanatorium in Hakone. Meanwhile Shizuko's psychological state was becoming more and more precarious. Eight-year-old Sadako convinced her mother to go back home to Sashikiji, to escape the eyes of the media and the ridicule of the public, but then Shizuko slipped her daughter's gaze and jumped into the volcano. And so three people's lives crumbled.

  Asakawa and Ryuji finished reading the two-page printout at the same time.

  "It's a grudge," muttered Ryuji. "Imagine how Sadako must have felt when her mom threw herself into Mt Mihara."

  "She hated the media?"

  "Not just the media. She resented the public at large for destroying her family, first treating them like darlings, and then when the wind changed scorning them. Sadako was with her mother and father between the ages of three and ten, right? She had first-hand knowledge of the vagaries of public opinion."

  "But that's no reason to arrange an indiscriminate attack like this!" Asakawa's objection was made in full consciousness of the fact that he himself belonged to the media. In his heart he was making excuses-he was pleading. Hey, I'm just as critical of the media's tendencies as you are.

  "What are you mumbling about?"

  "Huh?" Asakawa realized that unknowingly he had been voicing his complaints, as if they were a Buddhist chant.

  "Well, we've begun to illuminate the images on that video. Mt Mihara appears because it's where her mother killed herself, and also because Sadako herself had predicted its eruption. It must have made a particularly strong psychic impression on her. The next scene shows the character for 'mountain', yama, floating into view. That's probably the first psychic photograph Sadako succeeded in making, when she was very small."

  "Very small?" Asakawa didn't see why it had to be from when she was very small.

  "Yes, probably from when she was four or five. Next, there's the scene with the dice. Sadako was present during her mother's public demonstration; this scene means that she was watching, worried, as her mother tried to guess the numbers on the dice."

  "Hold on a minute, though. Sadako clearly saw the numbers on the dice in that lead bowl."

  Both Asakawa and Ryuji had watched that scene with their own eyes, so to speak. There was no mistaking.

  "And?"

  "Shizuko couldn't see them."

  "Is it so strange that the daughter could do what the mother couldn't? Look, Sadako was only seven then, but her power already far outstripped her mother's. So much so that the combined unconscious will of a hundred people was nothing to her. Think about it: this is a girl who could project images onto a cathode-ray tube. Televisions produce images by an entirely different mechanism from photography-it's not just a matter of exposing film to light. A picture on TV is composed of 525 lines, right? Sadako could manipulate those. This is power of a completely different order here."

  Asakawa still wasn't convinced. "If she had so much power, what about the psychic photo she sent to Professor Miura? She should have been able to produce something much more impressive."

  "You're even dumber than you look. Her mother had gained nothing but unhappiness by letting people know about her power. Her mother probably didn't want her to make the same mistake. She probably told Sadako to hide her abilities and just lead a normal life. Sadako probably carefully restrained herself so as to produce only an average psychic photo."

  Sadako had stayed in the rehearsal hall alone after everyone else had left, so that she could test her powers on the television set, still a rarity in those days. She was trying to be careful not to let anyone know what she could do.

  "Who's the old woman who appears in the next scene?" asked Asakawa.

  "I don't know who that is. Perhaps she came to Sadako in a dream or something, whispered prophecies in her ear. She was using an old dialect. I'm sure you've noticed that everyone here now speaks fairly standard Japanese. That lady was pretty old. Maybe she lived in the twelfth century, or maybe she has some connection to En no Ozunu."

  … Next year you 're going to have a child.

  "I wonder if that prediction really came true?"

  "Oh, that? Well, there's the scene with the baby boy right after that. So I originally thought it meant that Sadako had given birth to a boy, but according to this fax, that doesn't appear to be the case."

  "There's her brother who died at four months old… "

  "Right. I think that's it."

  "But what about the prediction? The old woman is definitely speaking to Sadako-she says you. Did Sadako have a baby?"

  "I don't know. If we believe the old lady, then I guess she did."

  "Whose child was it?"

  "How should I know? Listen, don't think I know everything. I'm just speculating here."

  If Sadako Yamamura did have a child, who was the father? And what was the child doing now?

  Ryuji stood up suddenly, banging his knees on the table as a result.

  "I thought I was getting hungry. Look-it's way past noon. Say, Asakawa, I'm going to get something to eat." So saying, Ryuji headed for the door, rubbing his kneecaps. Asakawa had no appetite, but something still bothered him, and he decided to tag along. He'd just remembered something Ryuji had told him to investigate, something he'd had no clue how to approach and so hadn't done anything about. This was the question of the identity of the man in the video's last scene. It might be Sadako's father, Heihachiro Ikuma, but there was too much enmity in the way Sadako looked at him for that. When he'd seen the man's face on the screen, Asakawa had felt a dul
l, heavy pain somewhere deep inside his body, accompanied by a strong feeling of antipathy. He was a rather handsome man, particularly around the eyes; he wondered why she hated him so. No matter what, that kind of gaze was not one Sadako would have turned on a relative. There was nothing in Yoshino's report to suggest that she had squared off against her father. Rather, he got the impression that she was close to her parents. Asakawa suspected it would be impossible to discover the identity of this man. Nearly thirty years had undoubtedly changed his looks considerably. Still, just on the off-chance, maybe he should ask Yoshino to dig up a photo of Ikuma. He wondered what Ryuji would think about this. Wanting to take the matter up with him, Asakawa followed Ryuji outside.

  The wind blew loudly. There was no point in using an umbrella. Asakawa and Ryuji hunched their shoulders and ran down the street to a bar in front of the harbor.

  "How about a beer?" Without waiting for a reply, Ryuji turned to the waitress and called out, "Two beers."

  "Ryuji, to go back to our earlier conversation, what do you think the images on that video are, finally?"

  "Don't know."

  Ryuji was too busy eating his Korean barbecue lunch special to even look up, so he gave a curt answer. Asakawa stabbed a sausage with his fork and took a swallow of his beer. Out the window they could see the pier. There was nobody at the ticket window for the Tokai Kisen ferry line. Everything was silent. No doubt all the tourists trapped on the island were sitting at the windows of their hotels or B&Bs, looking worriedly at this same dark sea and sky.

  Ryuji looked up. "I imagine you've probably heard what people say goes though a person's mind at the moment of death, right?"

  Asakawa returned his gaze to the scene in front of him. "The scenes from your life that have made the deepest impression on you are replayed, sort of like a flashback." Asakawa had read a book in which the author described an experience along those lines. The author had been driving his car along a mountain road when he lost control of the steering wheel, plunging the car into a deep ravine. During the split second that the car hung in the air after leaving the road, the author realized that he was going to die. And at the instant he realized that, a sequence of different scenes from throughout his life came pitter-pattering up and flashed through his brain, so clearly that he could see every detail. In the end, miraculously, the writer had survived, but the memory of that instant remained vivid for him.

  "You can't be suggesting… Is that what this is?" Asakawa asked. Ryuji raised a hand and signalled the waitress to bring him another beer.

  "All I'm saying is, that's what the video reminds me of. Each one of those scenes represents a moment of extreme psychic or emotional engagement for Sadako. It's not too much of a stretch to think that they were the scenes in her life that left the deepest impression, is it?"

  "I get it. But hey, does that mean that…"

  "Right. There's a strong possibility that that's the case."

  So Sadako Yamamura is no longer of this world? She died, and the scenes which flitted through her mind at the moment of death had taken this shape and remained in the world of the living- was that it?

  "So why did she die? And another thing, what was her relationship with the man in the last scene of the video?"

  "I told you to stop asking me so many questions. There's a lot I don't understand about it, either."

  Asakawa looked unconvinced.

  "Hey, try using your head for a change. You rely too much on other people. What would you do if something happened to me and you were stuck trying to figure out the charm all by yourself?"

  That hardly seemed likely. Asakawa might die, and Ryuji might solve the riddle alone, but the opposite would never happen. Asakawa was sure of that, if of nothing else.

  They went back to the "bureau" where Hayatsu was waiting for them. "You had a call from a fellow named Yoshino. He wasn't at his office, so he said he'd call back in ten minutes."

  Asakawa sat in front of the phone and prayed for good news. The phone rang. It was Yoshino.

  "I've been trying to call you. Where were you?" There was a note of reproach in his voice.

  "Sorry about that. We went out to get a bite to eat."

  "Okay. Now, did you get my fax?" Yoshino's tone changed. The note of criticism disappeared, and his voice became gentler. Asakawa felt something unpleasant coming.

  "Yes, thanks. It was very helpful." Asakawa switched the receiver from his left hand to his right. "And, so? Did you find out what happened to Sadako after that?" Asakawa asked enthusiastically.

  There was a pause before Yoshino replied, however. "No. I hit a dead end."

  The second he heard this, Asakawa's face crumpled as if he were about to burst into sobs. Ryuji watched as if he found it amusing to see a man's expression turn from hope to despair before his eyes. Then he plopped himself down on the floor facing the garden and stretched his legs out in front of him.

  "What do you mean, a dead end?" Asakawa's voice had risen several notes.

  "I was only able to locate four of the interns who joined the troupe with Sadako. I called them, but none of them know anything. They're all middle-aged guys of around fifty now. All any of them could tell me was they hadn't seen her since shortly after the death of Shigemori, the company's representative. There's no more information to be had about Sadako Yamamura."

  "Nonsense. This can't be the end of it."

  "Well, how does it look on your end?"

  "How does it look on my end? I'll tell you how it looks. It looks like I'm going to die tomorrow night at ten o'clock. And not just me-my wife and daughter are going to die on Sunday morning at eleven. That's how it looks."

  Ryuji called out from behind him, "Hey, don't forget about me! You'll make me feel bad."

  Asakawa ignored him and continued. "There've got to be other things you can try. Maybe there's someone besides the interns who would know what happened to Sadako. Listen, my family's lives depend on it."

  "Not necessarily, though."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Maybe you'll still be alive after the deadline passes."

  "You don't believe me. I get it." Asakawa could feel the whole world go dark before his eyes.

  "Well… I mean, how could I really believe a hundred percent in a story like this?"

  "Now, look, Yoshino." How should he put it? What did he need to say to convince him? "I don't even believe the half of it myself. It's stupid. A charm? Come on! But you see, if there's even a one-in-six chance that it's all true… It's like Russian roulette. You've got a gun with one bullet in it, and you know that there's only one chance in six that when you pull the trigger it'll kill you. But could you pull that trigger? Would you risk your family on those odds? No, you wouldn't. You'd move the muzzle away from your temple- if you could you'd throw the whole damned gun into the ocean. Right? It's only natural."

  Asakawa was all wound up now. Behind him Ryuji was wailing, "We're idiots! Both of us, idiots!"

  "Shut up!" Asakawa shielded the receiver with the palm of his hand as he turned to yell at Ryuji.

  "Something wrong?" Yoshino lowered the tone of his voice.

  "No, it's nothing. Listen, Yoshino, I'm begging you. You're the only one I can count on." Suddenly Ryuji grabbed Asakawa's arm. Giving way to anger, Asakawa spun around, but when he did he saw that Ryuji was looking unexpectedly earnest.

  "We're idiots. You and I both have lost our cool," he said, quietly.

  "Could you hold on a minute?" Asakawa lowered the receiver. Then, to Ryuji, "What's the matter?"

  "It's so simple. Why didn't we think of it before? There's no need to follow Sadako's trail chronologically. Why can't we work our way backwards? Why did it have to be cabin B-4? Why did it have to be Villa Log Cabin? Why did it have to be South Hakone Pacific Land?"

  Asakawa's expression changed in a heartbeat as he came to a realization. Then, in a much calmer mood, he picked up the receiver again.

  "Yoshino?"

  Yoshino was sti
ll waiting on the other end of the line.

  "Yoshino, forget about the theatre company lead for a while. There's something else I urgently need you to check on. It's just come up. I believe I've already told you about South Hakone Pacific Land…"

  "Yeah, you did. It's a resort club, right?"

  "Right. As I recall, they built a golf course there about ten years ago, and then gradually expanded into what they are now. Now, listen, what I need you to look up is, what was there before Pacific Land?"

  He could hear the scratching of pen on paper.

  "What do you mean, what was there before? Probably nothing but mountain meadows."

  "You may be right. But then again, you may be wrong."

  Ryuji tugged at Asakawa's sleeve again. "And a layout. If there was something standing on that land before the resort, tell your gentleman caller to get a map that shows the layout of the buildings and the grounds."

  Asakawa relayed the request to Yoshino and hung up the phone, willing him to come up with something, anything, by way of a lead. It was true: everybody had a little psychic power.

  10

  October 18-Thursday

  The wind was a little stronger, and low white clouds raced by in the otherwise clear sky. Typhoon No. 21 had passed by the previous evening, grazing the Boso Peninsula to the northeast of Oshima before dissipating over the ocean. In its wake it left painfully dazzling blue seas. In spite of the peaceful autumn weather, as Asakawa stood on the deck of the boat watching the waves he felt like a condemned man on the eve of his execution. Raising his eyes he could see the gentle slope of the Izu highlands in the middle distance. Today, at last, he would face his deadline. It was now ten in the morning; in another twelve hours, it would come, unerringly. It had been a week since he watched the video in cabin B-4. It seemed like ages ago. Of course it felt like a long time: in just one week he'd experienced more terror than most people experience in a lifetime.