Reiko

by James Avonleigh

  ‘I know some things,’ he said, abruptly. ‘I know some things you wouldn’t believe.’ His voice was flat and mournful and he stared out of the window as he spoke. ‘Azuma-san is an educated woman. She attended a prestigious university, she studied in America, she had a good job in Fukushima City. Maybe if she’d stayed there, things would have been better. But she had an arranged marriage to her cousin. You know her husband.’

  He turned to look at us and we both nodded.

  ‘He doesn’t talk much and likes to drink. He’s not an educated man. And maybe Kenji was like him. Maybe he didn’t inherit his mother’s academic mind. Maybe that’s why she was cruel to him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘She was cruel to Kenji when he got low grades. When he got low grades, she hurt him.’

  Sarah’s eyes opened wide in disbelief and astonishment. ‘She hurt him?’

  ‘She hurt him. Sometimes she made cuts on his arms or back. Sometimes she gave him bruises on his body. All the teachers knew this. She thought it would encourage him to concentrate on his school work. Some teachers were frightened to give him bad grades for this reason.’

  ‘Didn’t anyone speak to her?’ Sarah looked unsure whether to believe him or not.

  ‘No one wanted to challenge the Azuma family. As I said, they are aristocrats in Izumi.’

  ‘But to abuse your child. That’s a serious thing.’

  Odagiri-san bowed his head. ‘I know.’

  For a moment, we sat there in silence, listening to the rain, trying to take in what he had just told us. Mrs Azuma was cheerful, friendly and energetic and I couldn’t believe she was capable of doing what Odagiri-san had described. One thing was true however. While she’d been generally enthusiastic about her sons’ achievements, she had said harsh things about Kenji, repeatedly claiming that he was less gifted than his brother.

  Then I remembered my dream of the previous night. I remembered the descent into the bowels of the Azuma home, down dark corridors to the freezer room. I remembered the cavernous chest freezers laid out like coffins and the five students lying in state, their faces tinged white with frost. And I remembered Reiko, rising slowly from her icy coffin, her dark eyes looking at me. And I felt a chill creep through my veins.

  ‘Of course, Kenji was in love with Reiko.’

  Odagiri-san said this so suddenly that I started. It was as though he knew what I’d been thinking about, had seen what I’d seen.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Sarah said.

  ‘Kenji was in love with Reiko and Azuma-san hated it.’

  ‘Why?’ Sarah looked further unsettled by this statement.

  Odagiri-san got up, signalling his intention to leave.

  ‘Why do you say that? All the boys were in love with Reiko.’

  ‘Not like Kenji. Kenji was obsessed with Reiko and his mother knew that. How could he concentrate on his studies when he was thinking about Reiko all the time? How could he sit and do his homework when he was out taking pictures of Reiko?’

  Odagiri-san opened the door to leave, but Sarah was adamant that he stay to explain himself.

  ‘What do you mean? What does that have to do with anything?’

  Odagiri-san shook his head, as though suddenly regretting everything he’d said. ‘I don’t mean anything. It’s time to go.’

  ‘You think Mrs Azuma had something to do with it? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing.’ Having come entirely of his own accord to plead his case, he was now anxious to leave.

  ‘You can’t just say those things,’ Sarah said, but it was too late.

  The door swung shut and we watched Odagiri-san walk swiftly down the platform, his shoulders hunched, his coat flapping in the wind and rain.

  ‘I don’t know anymore.’

  Sarah was standing on the platform, her face wet and her hair dripping with rain. I’d wanted to stay in the waiting room or at least sit in the car, but she’d preferred to go out and stand in the rain. She said she needed a good soaking to clear her head.

  ‘Maybe it’s best to forget about it.’

  She turned on me aggressively. ‘I can’t forget about it. How can I forget about it? He’s telling me my host mother is a monster. I can’t just go away and forget about it.’

  ‘That’s just his take on things. It’s his opinion.’

  ‘Why would he lie about it? He said she abused her sons. How can I face her knowing that?’

  I didn’t know what to say. I searched around for something comforting to say, but in vain. I was the one about to get on a train and leave Izumi far behind, leaving Sarah to deal with everything I had dredged up.

  The rickety train approached the platform slowly and I knew the time had come. I had imagined a sendoff straight out of a Hollywood movie: the fumbled embraces, the hurried promises and the heroine running alongside the train as it moved off. Instead I had a torrential downpour and a heroine in a state of mental turmoil.

  ‘I need time to think,’ she said.

  The train pulled up at the platform and I still couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say.

  ‘So, will I be able to call you?’ I asked, pathetically.

  She wasn’t listening. My leaving was no longer of any significance in light of this latest twist.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can I call you?’

  The train had stopped and I opened the door, hoping that she would at least acknowledge my departure. She continued to look away, distracted, so I stepped onto the train and hauled my bag up with me.

  Then she did something I hadn’t expected.

  She got on the train and pulled the door shut.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  I looked at her in astonishment, convinced she was having me on, merely getting on to take shelter from the rain. Then the whistle blew and the train began to move off.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I need to get away,’ she said. ‘I’m coming to Osaka with you.’

  I couldn’t prevent a smile spreading across my face. This was the one event I hadn’t foreseen.

  ‘If it’s okay with you, that is.’

  I could barely speak with relief.

  25. TO OSAKA

  We said little on the short journey to the bullet train terminal in Shirakawa. We sat side by side watching the rain sheeting against the glass, as the train passed through a series of non-descript villages where no soul either joined or left the train. We were completely alone in the carriage and each time the driver announced our arrival and departure from the little stations it came as a comfort. For all we knew, we were riding a ghost train into some rain-sodden underworld, never to return. Thank God I had Sarah’s company.

  I was still stunned that Sarah had got on the train with me. Was it purely down to Odagiri-san or had the idea already occurred to her? And what would she do once she got to Osaka? How long would she stay? She was deep in thought and it wasn’t the right time to probe.

  As we alighted at Shirakawa I was convinced she’d announce a change of heart. She would tell me that it was a silly spur of the moment thing and now that she’d had a chance to dry off and think about it, she’d be heading back. After all she had no change of clothes and was expected in work the next day. But I followed her to the ticket office and watched as she bought a ticket to Osaka with an open return. Only then did I believe it.

  ‘I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t freaked you out,’ she said as we stood on the terminal platform. In contrast to Izumi, we were mercifully under cover.

  ‘I’ve seen enough this past week never to be freaked out again.’

  ‘It’s been bothering me. You going back, after what happened to the other guy.’

  ‘Charlie?’ This took me by surprise. After all that had happened, I hadn’t given him much thought.

  ‘Yeah. Call it my maternal instinct, but I need to know you’ll be all right.’

  She c
ould call it whatever she liked. I was just pleased to have her with me. Even if my relief at leaving Izumi had been soured by Odagiri-san’s revelations, I felt a renewed sense of vigour. I knew that I was leaving Reiko and the strange circumstances of her death far behind me. Wherever I went and whatever I did, she could no longer touch me. I was out of reach.

  Not surprisingly Sarah couldn’t put Odagiri-san’s words out of her head.

  As the bullet train began pulling out of Shirakawa station, with the rain pelting the concrete walls of that grey city, she took out the photograph Mrs Azuma had given us of Kenji and the four dead students.

  ‘There’s something about this photograph,’ she said, studying it intently.

  I couldn’t help looking at Kenji, seated in the middle, looking sombre and ill at ease. My perception of him had undergone some dramatic changes over the past week and I no longer knew what to think. He’d gone from the model son filling his mother’s wall with certificates of achievement, to an obsessive loner with a secret stash of pictures of Reiko, to a victim of parental abuse. And here he was, flanked by four fellow students who obviously weren’t really his friends. Four young students about to die horrific deaths.

  ‘Why did she give it to us?’

  I shook my head. If there had been an ulterior motive, I didn’t know what it was. It was certainly no weirder than lending us Kenji’s home video. And in the light of Odagiri-san’s accusations, my perception of Mrs Azuma had also changed dramatically. I knew now she possibly wasn’t the model citizen and all-round do-gooder I had assumed. So what could you read into this gift of a photograph? Possibly nothing. It was just a picture of five high school students posing reluctantly for a photograph at a meal none of them were enjoying. Maybe she took a perverse pride in knowing that her son was the only one left standing. They might have scored better grades than him at school, but those grades hadn’t saved their lives.

  ‘And if they weren’t really friends with Kenji, why were they over there?’ Sarah asked, continuing to stare at the photo.

  ‘The same reason Odagiri-san came to dinner yesterday. Mrs Azuma invited them and no one turns down her dinner invitations.’

  She leaned back in her seat, dissatisfied. The train had left the outskirts of Shirakawa and plunged back into the countryside.

  ‘Maybe she thought they really were Kenji’s friends. He probably talked about them, so she just assumed they were. He’s not going to tell his mum he doesn’t have any friends, is he?’

  ‘The timing seems a bit odd, doesn’t it.’

  ‘One of their friends had disappeared off the face of the earth. I presume she wanted to cheer them up.’

  She started to laugh sarcastically. ‘Looks like she failed on that count. Look at them all.’

  ‘You have to feel sorry for them.’

  It was an unfortunate choice of phrase. Was I sorry that they were having to put up with an unwelcome dinner invite or that four of them were about to die?

  ‘They’re eating exactly the same stuff as we did,’ she said, pointing to the plates on the table. ‘Raw meat. That could well be the horse meat right there.’

  I let out an involuntary laugh. The food did look eerily familiar and I felt a shudder down the spine as I cast my mind back to that first night with Mrs Azuma, being overawed by the sheer force of her enthusiasm and devouring every dish she set before me, raw horse meat and all. I thought about the incense stick burning before the shrine, the porcelain dolls staring out from their glass cases, the incongruous meeting of East and West in the décor and furniture. And I was overcome with relief to be putting that unholy place far behind me.

  In a while Sarah was asleep, the photograph of the unhappy diners still lying on her lap. I turned to the window and watched the rain pelt upon the glass as we passed through more non-descript towns and villages shrouded in semi-darkness. I tried to settle my mind, to put some emotional distance between myself and the hell I was leaving behind. I tried to tell myself that what had happened in Izumi was not my business and it was useless to think about it. I should have heeded Professor Atami’s advice and stayed well clear of the place, but what was done was done. I had to look forward and enjoy my time in Osaka. God knows I needed some relief.

  But if I hadn’t gone to Izumi I would never have met Sarah and, as I watched her asleep beside me, I was overcome by my feelings for her. She had admitted that her motivation for getting on the train was to protect me from harm and it choked me to think that she cared that much.

  She had been thinking about Charlie, my tragic predecessor. And now, as I embarked on the same journey, I started to think about him too. What was it he had seen in Izumi? Had he seen everything I had seen? Was it really that which finally caused him to break? It struck me as strange that he had made a six-hour journey before ending his life. Leaving Izumi behind, I could feel my spirits lifting and by the time I reached Osaka, I imagined I would feel completely restored. So why hadn’t Charlie felt his spirits lift? Why hadn’t he felt restored?

  At Tokyo Station, we made our way to the Tokkaido bullet train terminal through a maze of tunnels and afternoon crowds carrying umbrellas. It was comforting to see so many people, all hurrying about, going about their business. Sarah still seemed preoccupied and spoke only to point out the signs directing us to our terminal. I didn’t know exactly what was on her mind, but neither did I want to ask. I simply kept my head down and let her have some space.

  It was on the train that she was finally ready to talk.

  ‘Do you ever wonder why Charlie killed himself?’

  We were gliding through the endless Tokyo suburbs, a concrete jungle submerged under a tropical deluge. The bullet train had begun to feel like a submarine passing through some industrial Atlantis.

  ‘I guess he was depressed.’

  ‘Do you think he saw the exact same things you did?’

  I breathed in deep. ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Have you ever thought you were capable of doing it?’

  ‘Suicide? Never. I don’t have it in me.’

  She stared at me hard. ‘How do you know? How can you be certain? He saw her too…’

  ‘Listen, I don’t know why Charlie killed himself. But I know what I’m feeling now. I’m feeling elation that I’ll never see Reiko again.’

  She wasn’t done with me yet. ‘How do you know you’ll never see her again?’

  ‘There’s something evil in Izumi. I wouldn’t have believed it before I went, but I believe it now. There’s something unholy and awful and Charlie and I both seem to have got mixed up in it. I accept that. I accept that totally. Maybe what I saw was a ghost. If so, I’ll have to live with that. But I’m absolutely certain that what I saw in Izumi will stay in Izumi.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Because ghosts don’t travel – we’ve talked about this. It’s funny, but my whole thesis was meant to challenge the accepted wisdom on the supernatural and here I am finally accepting it. It’s the same in all cultures and all traditions. Ghosts don’t get on trains and travel cross-country. They haunt those places where they have unfinished business.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m just trying to get everything out in the open, so I know what to expect. It just seems to me that whatever it is you see – and I only know what you tell me – is inside your head.’

  ‘Look, I’m just starting to get over it. Give me a break.’ It annoyed me that she was saying all the wrong things. I wanted her to cut me a little slack.

  ‘I know it’s not what you want to hear. But I’m trying to look at this rationally. I want to know what’s in your mind.’

  ‘Nothing. There’s nothing in my mind. Whatever I saw, whatever it was, I left behind in Izumi. Reiko, or whatever it was, is gone for good.’

  I turned away, letting Sarah know that I had nothing more to say on the matter. How could I explain what I knew to be true? Maybe Sarah was right and I was just making childish assumptions. Maybe Reiko would follow me to the
ends of the earth and back. I just didn’t believe it. I believed that what I’d seen in Izumi would stay in Izumi.

  I glanced over and saw that Sarah had folded her arms and closed her eyes. I had the clear feeling of being in the dog-house. Not to be outdone I closed my own eyes and took refuge behind their dark lids.

  Within minutes fatigue got the better of me and I fell into a deep, unquiet sleep.

  I dreamt I was still on the train, travelling through a bleak, featureless landscape. I watched as the rain lashed the window, while Sarah slept peacefully by my side. Up ahead I could see the lights of a station emerge through the gloom.

  The train began to slow and I realized we would be making a stop at the station. As we slowed to a halt, I saw queues of people, standing with their luggage waiting to join the train. I was a little surprised as I’d thought the bullet train was non-stop to Osaka. I craned my neck to make out the name of the place, but there was no obvious sign.

  I sat back and watched as the train stopped in front of a long queue of people, all preparing to board. But my eye was caught by someone else, standing on the other side of the platform, watching the train pull in. He was wearing beige chinos and a white T-shirt, not dressed for the weather.

  At first I couldn’t see him clearly through the bodies of people waiting to get on the train. But I was curious, as he seemed to be smiling in my direction. Then the queue began to move and I saw him properly. It was Yoshi.

  Unsure how to react, I lifted a hand in salutation. On the other side of the platform, he lifted a hand to return the gesture.

  But what was he doing there, standing on a platform, somewhere between Tokyo and Osaka, when only a week ago I’d seen him fall from a seven-storey dormitory tower?

  Yoshi seemed to think of something and fished around in his pocket, eventually pulling out a one thousand yen note. He began rubbing it between his hands, much as he’d done that night in Osaka. Satisfied, he held it up with both hands so I could see it, as if he wanted to make sure I remembered him. As if I could ever forget.