The air outside seemed drier and much cooler than it had earlier in the day, and Masako could distinctly smell the odour of fried food coming from the factory. She remembered the concrete cover over the culvert that followed the road by the abandoned factory, and the holes in the cover that she had noticed last night. If she dropped Kenji's key holder and wallet down one of them, they would probably never be found. And tomorrow she could find a spot to bury the head, somewhere near Lake Sayama.
She suddenly felt a strong desire to be rid of Kenji's possessions and free of the whole business. At the sight of the shutters and the thick stand of grass, she remembered that Kazuo had said he'd be waiting for her, but after their encounter this morning, she doubted he would keep his promise. Still, she looked around for a moment before she approached the edge of the drainage ditch. Straining her eyes in the darkness, she found several holes in the concrete. She took the key holder and the empty wallet from her bag and dropped them into one of them. Feeling a twinge of relief at the sound of the splash they made somewhere below her, she set off toward the twinkling lights of the factory. She never noticed Kazuo Miyamori, crouched next to the rusty shutter where he had pinned her the night before.
5
Kuniko took a deep breath the moment she had escaped Masako's house. The weather was showing signs of improvement, and there were even patches of blue sky here and there. The air was still damp, but it felt clean arid fresh and it seemed to revive her a little. What spoilt it all, though, was this black bag she had with her, containing fifteen more bags full of the most horrifying stuff. At the thought, she gagged, her face twisting in a scowl. Even the air in her lungs which had seemed so clean a minute ago now felt warm and sickening.
She set the bag on the ground and fumbled with the lock of the trunk of the Golf. On opening it, she got a whiff of gasoline mixed with dust, and again thought she might vomit. But what she had to put in there was much worse, much more sickening. As she was scraping aside a layer of tools and umbrellas and shoes to make room for the bag, she realised she still couldn't fully believe what she'd just done. The unnerving feel of the pink lumps of flesh through her rubber gloves, the shards of white bone, the slabs of pale skin with tufts of hair - as the details came back to her, Kuniko again swore off meat for ever.
She had played along with Masako and promised to be careful disposing of the bags, but now that she was standing here with them, she just wanted to unload them as soon as she could. In fact, she didn't even want to put this creepy stuff in her precious car for even a moment. It was probably already rotting and would start to stink up everything. The smell would get into her soft leather seats, and no amount of air freshener would cover it up. She'd be haunted by it for ever. By this point she had worked herself into a state and stood looking around Masako's neighbourhood for a place where she could simply dump the whole mess.
A short distance away, she could see a small cluster of houses that had just been built in the corner of one of the fields. Next to it, Kuniko noticed a concrete wall surrounding a trash collection site. Turning first to make sure that Masako wasn't watching, she headed in that direction, lugging the heavy black bag. She knew that if it were found here, it might be traced to Masako, but at this point she didn't care. They'd forced her into it, anyway, hadn't they? She tossed the bag into the neatly swept enclosure. The outer bag tore slightly as it landed, revealing one of the inner bags; but, telling herself she didn't care, Kuniko turned and ran.
'Wait!' a voice called out, and she stopped cold. An elderly man in work clothes stood in front of the place, an angry look on his tanned face. 'You don't live around here, do you?'
'No ... ' Kuniko stammered.
'You can't leave this here,' the man said, picking up the bag and shoving it at her. 'People like you are always coming around, so I keep an eye out from over there,' he said, nodding triumphantly toward the field.
'I'm very sorry,' said Kuniko, who tended to wilt under criticism. She took the bag and fled back to her car, where she tossed it in the trunk without a second thought and started the engine. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she could see that the old man was still watching her. 'Stupid old coot,' she said, putting the car in gear. 'Drop dead!' She drove around aimlessly for a while, realising at last that it was going to be difficult to find a place to drop off the stuff without being noticed. She wondered gloomily why she had ever allowed herself to get mixed up in this. And why fifteen bags? They weighed so much she was likely to be noticed just lugging them around. But still, what she wanted most was just to be rid of them. Her eyes darted from side to side as she clutched the steering wheel, brooding. She was so distracted that several times she failed to notice when the red light had changed, and the car behind her gave a rude honk.
Passing again through a small city-run housing complex that she'd seen earlier in the day, she noticed a group of young mothers watching their children playing in a run-down park. She saw one of them toss the wrapper from a snack cake into a trash can next to a bench, and an idea suddenly popped into Kuniko's head: she would get rid of the bags in a park. There were always trash cans in parks, and not too many people around to notice. That was it! A park, preferably a big one with several unguarded entrances. Delighted with her idea, Kuniko felt almost cheerful. She drove along, humming to herself.
-
She had once come to Koganei Park with her friends from the factory to see the cherry blossom. Hadn't she heard somewhere that it was the largest park in Tokyo? Surely, if she left this Godawful garbage here, no one would find it. She drove around to the back of the park and stopped on the bank of the Shakujii River. No one was about on a weekday afternoon. Remembering the gloves Masako had given her, she put them on before taking the black bag out of the trunk. She entered the park through a back gate and carried the bag into a thick stand of tall trees that had been left to grow wild. The new foliage had a pungent smell. Leaving the path, she walked for a while though the dense, wet weeds. She soon noticed that her shoes were soaked and her hands were beginning to sweat inside the gloves. Panting from the weight of the bag, she looked around for a place to leave things without arousing suspicion, but as far as she could see, there were no trash cans here deep in the woods.
Unexpectedly, the trees thinned and she was standing on the edge of a large, open area. Since it had just stopped raining, there was almost no one in sight - a different place entirely from the crowded park she remembered from cherry blossom time. She took a quick inventory: two young men playing catch, a man taking a leisurely walk, a couple in bathing suits necking on a plastic tarp, a small cluster of housewives watching their children play, and an older man walking a big black dog. That was it. She wasn't likely to find a better spot, she thought, congratulating herself.
Walking from tree to tree as inconspicuously as she could, she made the rounds of the trash cans in the area. Her first stop was a large, basket-shaped one by the tennis courts. Leaving one bag there, she made her way to another can next to some playground equipment: two more bags. As she passed a group of old people out for a walk, she tried to look as nonchalant as possible, staring off into the woods. In all, she spent nearly an hour wandering the park in search of places where she could leave the bags without anyone noticing.
At last she was done, and along with feeling relieved Kuniko realised she was hungry, not having eaten anything since breakfast, so she went to look for a refreshment stand. When one came into view, she peeled off her gloves, stuffed them and the now empty black bag into her purse, and jogged up to the counter, where she bought herself a hotdog and a Coke. She then sat down on a long bench to enjoy them. Once she'd finished, she walked over to a garbage can to throw away the paper plate and cup; but, glancing inside it, she noticed a mass of flies gathered on a pile of noodles. If the bags ripped where she left them, she thought, the flies would come like this. The bits of flesh would rot, the flies would come, and then maggots.... Her mouth filled with a sour taste and, not for the first time that da
y, she felt like throwing up. She needed to get home and rest as soon as possible. Lighting a menthol cigarette, she set off across the wet grass.
-
A short time later, Kuniko staggered down the passageway in her building and stopped outside her door. As she stood there for a moment, dazed from lack of sleep, from the shock of what she'd seen at Masako's, and from her labours in the park, she realised that a young man who'd been standing in a corner was now walking slowly toward her. She gave him a quick once-over: dark suit, black attache case - might be a salesman of some sort. She couldn't stand salesmen, so she quickly found her key and unlocked the door; but as she was about to slip inside, the man called out to her.
'Excuse me, but are you Jonouchi-san?' he said. The voice sounded somehow familiar. How did he know her name, though? She turned and gave him a suspicious look. Smiling broadly, the man came a few steps closer. She could see now that the dark suit was made of linen, with a small check pattern, and his tie was a nice shade of yellow. All in all, his clothes made a good impression, as did the man in them, with his slender build and dyed-brown hair. Noting that he looked a lot like the young celebrities you saw on TV, she found herself becoming curious. 'I'm sorry to ambush you like this,' he said. 'My name is Jumonji.'
Pulling a name card from his suit pocket, he handed it to her with a practiced motion. Kuniko glanced at the card and gasped in spite of herself when she read: 'Million Consumers Centre, Akira Jumonji, Managing Director'. She'd managed to borrow ¥50,000 from Masako, but in her rush to get rid of the bags, she'd completely forgotten to go to the bank to make the transfer. Why in the world had she gone to Masako in the first place? How stupid could she be? Normally, she hid her feelings pretty well, but her vexation showed plainly on her face.
'Look, I'm . . . I'm sorry, I've got the money, but I forgot to make the deposit. I've really got it, though.' As she pulled her wallet from her bag, the rubber gloves fell to the dirty concrete floor. Jumonji leaned over to pick them up and handed them back with a puzzled look. She felt more and more flustered; yet at the same time she was relieved that the visit was not from a yakuza type but a stylish and good-looking young man. This might just turn out okay, the optimist in her insisted. 'The payment was ¥55,200. Do you have any change?' she asked. She took the ¥50,00 0 she'd borrowed from Masako out of her wallet and, adding another ¥10,000 that she already had, held out the stack of bills.
'I'd rather not here,' he said, shaking his head.
'Fine,' said Kuniko, glancing at her watch. 'Shall we go and deposit it?' It was almost four o'clock, but they would still be able to make the transfer at an ATM.
'No, that won't be necessary. I can take it here, but I just thought you might prefer to do it someplace more private.'
'Oh, I understand,' said Kuniko, bowing shyly.
'I know how difficult this must be,' he said as he counted her change and wrote out a receipt. 'And I can tell you're acting in good faith. By the way,' he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, 'I gather your husband has quit his job.'
'Ah, yes, he has.' Kuniko was surprised and a bit alarmed that he should know this much about her. 'You're very well informed,' she added.
'When something like this happens,' Jumonji said, the smile never leaving his face, 'we make it a policy to look into the situation. Where does your husband work now?' Looking at his pleasant face and listening to his soothing voice, Kuniko was lulled, and before she realised it she blurted out her secret. 'I don't really know.'
'I'm afraid I don't follow you.' His head was cocked to one side in just the way the cute young celebrities on TV quiz shows behaved when they didn't know the answer to some easy question. In her eagerness to help him out, she said too much again.
'You see, he never came home last night and I'm quite worried.'
'I hate to ask,' he continued, 'but were you legally married?'
'No, not exactly,' said Kuniko, lowering her voice. 'I guess you'd call it just living together.'
'Oh, I see,' he said with a sigh. The next door down the corridor opened and a young woman with a baby tied on her back emerged carrying a collapsible stroller. She bowed to Kuniko, making no effort to hide her curiosity about the man standing next to her. Jumonji said nothing more but merely nodded vaguely until the woman was out of sight. He seemed to be genuinely concerned about her welfare. 'If your husband has really left,' he went on when the woman was gone, 'what do you plan to do? I'm sorry to have to ask such a personal question, but will you be able to manage financially?'
Kuniko was stumped. That was exactly the trouble. Her monthly wages from the night shift at the factory came to ¥120,000, but almost all of that went on the interest payments on loans. She had been almost completely dependent on Tetsuya's measly salary for her living expenses. If he was really gone, then she could never make do with just a part-time salary. 'You're right,' she said. 'I'm going to have to look for a proper job.'
'Um,' said Jumonji, as if pondering the problem. His head was tilted at that charming angle again. 'If you found a job, I'm sure you could get by. It's the loans that might prove a bit difficult.'
'That's true,' said Kuniko, suddenly reluctant to say more.
'If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss your repayment schedule for a moment.' He seemed intent on following her into the apartment. Kuniko panicked: she'd never had time to clean up after her tantrum that morning and the place was a mess. She couldn't let such an attractive young man see it like this.
'But... ' she murmured.
'Perhaps there's a restaurant or someplace nearby where we could chat?' he said. 'I've got my car.' Kuniko breathed a sigh of relief.
'Fine, give me just a second then. I'll be right back.'
'I'll wait for you downstairs. It's the navy blue Cima in the parking lot.' Smiling his friendly smile, he bowed once and disappeared down the passage.
-
A navy blue Cima! A chat at a restaurant about her payment schedule! Kuniko forgot all about what had happened at Masako's as she hurried into the apartment. Why had she gone out without any make-up, today of all days? Why had she let herself be seen in jeans and this T-shirt? She looked almost as bad as the Skipper! And why had she been so sure that they'd send a yakuza type to collect on her loan? She'd never imagined it would be someone so young, so good-looking. As she quickly spread foundation on her face, she pulled out his card. 'Million Consumers Centre, Akira Jumonji, Managing Director.' Managing Director. Wasn't that the boss? Captivated as she was by his looks, she never wondered why the boss should be checking on her loan in person, or why he should have a flashy stage name like Jumonji.
6
As he sipped his weak, tasteless coffee, Jumonji studied the face of the woman who sat across from him in the booth at the chain restaurant. While she had kept him waiting in the car, she had apparently applied a coat of make-up, and there was some improvement from what he'd seen in the half-light of the passageway at the apartment block. On the other hand, the layers of cheap foundation and eyeliner were like a slightly sinister mask, assumed to conceal her age and personality. To Jumonji, who as a matter of principle didn't care much for women over twenty, she looked repulsive at best - a living embodiment of his belief that all women as they grew older had something grimy about them.
Another bad credit risk, he thought to himself as he listened to her prattle on about the rigours of her factory job. His eyes had become fixed on her slightly protruding front teeth, one of which was tinged with a smear of rose-pink lipstick.
'So then, you're interested in finding a day job?' he asked.
'I am, but I haven't been able to find anything that suits me,' she said, sounding discouraged.
'Just what would you like to do?'
'I'd like to find something in an office, but nothing seems quite right.'
'If you keep looking, I'm sure you'll get something.' He was thinking that he would never hire her if she came to him. Her sloppy, self-indulgent nature was all too obvious, as though yo
u could see through her like a jellyfish. In his thirty-one years, he had already met more people like this than he could count. If you didn't keep an eye on them, they would steal your pens and pencils, or make private calls on the company phone, or just not show up for work at all. Unless you caught them red-handed embezzling or up to some other scam, they came across as model employees. She was one of them, the type he'd never employ in his own office. 'For the moment then, you plan to get by on just the night job?' he asked.
'Night job?' Kuniko said, laughing flirtatiously. 'You make it sound as though I'm a hostess or something.' Laugh away, lady, thought Jumonji. I bet you wish you were a hostess, you and your lousy pile of debts. I'm starting to hate this woman, he thought, setting his heavy coffee cup down on the table with a thump.
'Mind if I speak frankly?' he said.
'No, go ahead,' said Kuniko, her face growing serious.
'To put it bluntly, do you think you'll be able to make next month's payment?' He was secretly quite proud of the expression he wore as he said this, with his well-shaped eyebrows arched at the corners and sincerity sparkling in his eyes. Few women could resist this look, and sure enough, Kuniko melted in a puddle of submission. But, he remained unimpressed. Does she think I'm that naive?
'Well, I'll manage somehow,' Kuniko said, i don't have much choice.'
'That's true. But what'll we do about a guarantor for your loan now that your husband is gone?' Though Tetsuya had only worked there for a couple of years, his old company had been fairly reputable, having a listing on the stock exchange, and it was for this reason that Million Consumers had been willing to lend Kuniko the ¥800,000. She seemed to be under the impression that she simply had to say the magic words and money would appear, like rubbing Aladdin's lamp. But the truth was, without her husband - common-law or otherwise - as guarantor, they would never have lent her anything. Since this partner of hers had quit his job and disappeared, they had effectively lost their only real prospect for collecting on the debt. Her stupidity made him want to scream. What kind of fool would lend money to a cow like you?
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