by Kōji Suzuki
The few reported cases were in the form of direct testimonies by young-sounding witnesses. The article didn’t seem particularly convincing; it was somewhat sensationalist in style, like a souped-up urban legend. But there was one point in particular that caught Kitazawa’s attention.
The location.
The supposed disturbance in the magnetic field was only ten or so kilometers south of the Fujimura house in Takato, too close to be mere coincidence. He decided that the article was worth holding on to and added it to the file that he was preparing to give to Saeko the next morning.
Perhaps she’ll be able to shed some light on this …
Chapter 5: Fissure
1Two thousand years ago, a group of early Christians assembled at a cliff face overlooking the Mediterranean Sea and dug a giant cave into its walls. It was the site they had chosen to face the end.
A series of narrow gorges snaked off from the top of the cliffs, creating a panoramic vista of conical and pointed rock faces, a topography striving for the sky. Odd pockets of weeds growing through narrow crevices in the stone walls provided occasional accents of green across the otherwise dull and gray landscape.
The devout used ropes to suspend themselves over the cliff edge and dug away at the rock face until they had a cave large enough to accommodate all that had assembled. Once the digging work was completed, they began decorating the interior of the cave. Using chisel-like tools, they carved away at the inside walls, transforming the flat surfaces into an explosion of flowers.
Their work on the interior finally completed, the people gathered together in the cave and prayed as one to the barren land. Then they sat, piously waiting for the end, full of faith in the divine prophecy they had received.
Their vigil continued for days. Each morning, when the sun rose from the horizon below, the devout continued to offer their prayers. Each night, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below proclaimed the continued existence of the world around them.
To the devout massed, the idea of the end of the world was pregnant with exquisite beauty. They had resolved to stand and face whatever was coming, to be resolute and pious so that they might welcome the coming of a better world. The end of the world signified an end to their suffering, to the misery they faced in their everyday lives. It promised a new beginning.
Yet, no matter how long they waited, the sun continued to rise and the waves continued to sound. Eventually the people left the cave in a mixture of despair and relief. The vast cave was left empty, its intricate carvings and painted flowers abandoned.
The cave related to the modern world the state of mind of these believers as they waited for the end of the world, an eloquent testimony to their creed that the world they anticipated was a place alive with color and flowers.
Saeko’s father had taken her to visit this storied Mediterranean cave when she was young. She remembered feeling an intense disappointment when she finally saw the place. It had been much smaller than the cave of her imagination. The wonderful images of flowers she had expected to see looked like nothing more than clumsy red scrawlings.
Now, looking out of the window of the bullet train, Saeko found herself remembering the story of those people and their cave. Something about the countryside quietly streaming past outside the window was telling her something. She wasn’t sure how exactly, but something was out of place, and the feeling sparked the memory of this tale of the end of the world.
The shape of Mount Fuji loomed briefly in the distance before vanishing again behind the buildings in the foreground. The famous conical contours of the mountain had been clearly visible in the bright sky, devoid of snow despite the lateness of the season. The browned peak had seemed to shudder as the train sped its way between Tanzawa and Hakone.
When Saeko thought about the end of the world it was usually in the context of a conversation with a friend, usually just a fun premise to justify posing silly questions: “Who would you spend the last day with?” “What would you eat?” “What would you do on the last day of the world?”
Saeko sat back and let her thoughts roam. She thought of death. What was death? The end of consciousness, the end of feeling … Nothingness. She noted that the idea of nothingness precluded fear. She continued to contemplate the topic until the train began to pull into Atami. Saeko was scheduled to meet the physicist who was to become the new “advisor” for the program. They had arranged to meet at the station, after which Saeko would show him to the gardens.
After exiting from the station gates she called Hashiba to let him know that she had arrived.
He appeared to have regained some of the natural energy and intimacy he had shown her before. “Great timing. I just got a call from the physicist—his name’s Naoki Isogai. He just arrived at Atami, so you probably came on the same train. Could you meet him and come together in a taxi?”
Saeko had never met Isogai before. “How will I know him?”
“Hang on. I’ll give you his cell number.”
Saeko went to take a notepad from her rucksack but struggled to hold the phone while getting the pen. “I’ll memorize the number, go ahead,” she told him.
“Sure?” Hashiba sounded doubtful.
“I’m actually pretty good with numbers, you know.”
Hashiba gave her the eleven-digit number and Saeko repeated it out loud. At that moment she caught sight of a man emerging from the station. He seemed to be looking for a taxi but stopped short and started looking around as if searching for someone. He ended up focusing on Saeko, his look full of intent.
Saeko felt herself grow tense—why was he staring so hard? She met the man’s gaze but remembered that Hashiba was still on the line. “How are things going anyway?” she asked.
She was finding it hard to focus on anything but the man staring at her. He had a striking sort of face. His build was average, but Saeko could tell that he worked out and could picture a powerful and sleek body under his leather jacket. There was something about him that seemed very un-Japanese; he had deep-set eyes and a high nose, his skin was a dark tan. Interestingly, he had a goatee but a completely shaved head. It was hard to guess his age, but Saeko placed him in his early thirties. Now she saw that he had begun walking towards her, in strong rhythmical strides. He stopped so suddenly before her that Saeko took a step back.
The man spoke without smiling and apparently not caring that she was on the phone. “That number you just said is my phone number.”
Saeko felt her throat tighten but nodded quickly in his direction, finally understanding. “It looks like he’s just found me,” she managed. “We’ll come directly to the park.” She hung up and put her phone back. The man stood staring as she did so.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
Saeko’s voice trembled slightly as she attempted to explain. “Dr. Isogai? My name is Saeko, I work with Hashiba.”
The man’s features softened almost immediately. “Oh, right, of course!” He smiled at her. “Thanks for coming to meet me.”
Saeko was relieved but couldn’t help wondering why he’d reacted so testily to someone repeating his cell number. They walked to the taxi line together. Saeko opened the door to the first waiting cab and gestured for Isogai to get in first. He stood back and shook his head, gesturing for her to go first. Saeko remembered that he had spent time living in America; he seemed to have picked up the custom of “ladies first.” She relented and shuffled into the rear of the cab, giving the driver the name of their destination. They were going to meet up with Hashiba and the rest of the crew outside the front gate of the herbal gardens.
2Hashiba walked up the slope of the gardens with Kagayama, looking for places to mark for filming. The sun had been beating down at the entrance—so warm it was hard to believe it was winter—but the western slope was shaded, causing an abrupt drop in temperature.
Hashiba wanted to establish a detailed plan for the shooting tomorrow, to get all the scenes straight in his head. He hoped to get through it
quickly as he only had today to finalize the scripts; as the show’s director it was always a race against the clock. Saeko and Isogai were already in a taxi on their way over. The TV announcer, Shoko Akagi, was scheduled to arrive the next morning. If possible, Hashiba wanted Isogai to see the area before she arrived. The scientist could provide the gist of his commentary so the basic flow of dialogue could be mapped out.
Hashiba realized he was looking forward to hearing Isogai’s analysis of the incident and began to stride up the path with renewed determination. Indeed, he felt a much greater personal investment in the program now that the focus was on science and not the occult. Finally, he was able to enjoy the sense of exhilaration that things were going his way.
Kagayama followed lethargically, a few steps behind. He’d been full of energy at lunchtime, but now he seemed hunched and withered.
“You okay there? You look pretty tired,” Hashiba asked, wondering what had brought about the sudden change.
Kagayama stopped and looked up, and even that seemed like it took effort. “I really hate this place. I feel nauseous every time we come.”
Hashiba knew exactly what he meant—the magnetic disturbance here did seem to have an adverse affect on the body. He remembered the time a couple of years ago when he’d visited an abandoned building to report on a succession of suicide cases. One of his cameramen had started to complain that he felt ill; the poor guy looked the part too. But Hashiba was sure that it had been a simple case of the man dwelling too much and convincing himself that because of the suicides there was something creepy about the place itself.
But this was different. Hashiba felt it too, a sort of crawling feeling under the skin. And there was a scientific basis for it, he was sure. They climbed a path up the middle of a small hillock of flowers, and from the top they had a clear view of the sea beyond. The path continued upwards, a shortcut to the top; they had almost come this way during the last visit. As it was their first time up this path, Hashiba stopped to take in the view.
The familiar shape of Hatsushima was visible ten kilometers out towards the horizon. The shadow cast by the hill stretched out across the sea, reaching towards the island. He had seen the same shadow on their last visit, but somehow it looked different this time. It wasn’t just the time of day—it looked strangely white, cloudy. Whereas a view of the sea usually helped calm him, today it seemed to further fan his nervous excitement. He looked back to Kagayama who was still treading laboriously up the wooden steps of the path. His close, tardy gait betrayed his desire to be somewhere else.
“Let’s just hurry and get this done before the sun sets,” he moaned.
Hashiba ignored Kagayama’s negativity and pushed on upwards. Where was this strange sense of excitement coming from? It felt as though something was spurring him on. Looking down he saw the snaking route of Route 135 towards the bottom of the valley, cars bumper to bumper. A few had their windows open, blaring loud Christmas songs that carried up the valley on the sea breeze. Hashiba recognized one of the songs: “Silent Night.” Someone was blasting the soft tune far too loudly. The melody blended together with the grumble of the engines, leaking through the trees around them as cacophonous white noise.
Ahead, there was a patio whose cobblestoned area lay beneath a wisteria-covered arch. If it were noon, the sun would cast a flecked mix of shadow and light on the ground. Passing through the arch, Hashiba came to a stop at the top of a small hill. The open space had a small wooden bench, a round table, and a small hut in the middle that resembled an oversized doghouse.
Hashiba walked around the bench and started to cross by the hedgerow at the edge of the patio when he stopped dead, frozen to the spot. He stretched his hand out in shock, almost forgetting to breathe. Only his eyes continued to move, darting around the edges of the thing that he saw. Hashiba thought to call out but was at a loss for words. How could he ever describe what he saw? Kagayama would catch up in a minute and could see for himself, but it was possible that he wouldn’t believe his eyes, his mind negating what his optical nerves were telling him.
Hashiba stood staring at the middle of the gentle valley, at the large gaping hole that had seemingly been hollowed out of the ground.
It was obviously not the work of human engineering.
It looked about 100 meters wide, maybe 50 meters deep. More appropriate to call it a crater than a hole, thought Hashiba. He strained his eyes towards the bottom. A dark, jagged fissure running northwest to southeast through its base gave the impression of a terrible force hidden below it.
Hashiba began to feel like he was looking down the caldera of a live volcano. He knew there were none in the area, although there were a couple of dormant ones nearby, Omuroyama and Komuroyama. Komuroyama had a caldera-like crater at its peak, and you could walk around the whole thing.
Of course, that crater had been the result of a volcanic explosion. This was something else entirely. Hashiba didn’t know what to think. He was sure that the crater hadn’t been there when they last visited three days ago. There hadn’t been any reports of disturbances over the last few days. Everything suggested that the crater had formed over the last few hours.
It was the overwhelming quiet that was the strangest. Just how could such a crater appear without any noise or fanfare? It was as though some consciousness was at work, reveling in the contradiction.
Why has nobody noticed this?
Hashiba looked up to the sky. Three days ago the sky above the park had been buzzing with helicopters, but today it was completely empty. Had people seen it and somehow lost interest, despite the scale of the thing? Or, more likely, had no one noticed it yet?
Footsteps approached from behind, Kagayama finally catching up. Hashiba kept his eyes on the mysterious crater. Kagayama drew up to his side and followed Hashiba’s line of sight, peering down. He threw his hands up in an exaggerated motion.
“I really do hate this place!” he exclaimed, laughing with a grimace.
This was the kind of thing you just had to laugh at. What else were you supposed to do?
One side of the crater reached as far as the Soga Shrine. Hashiba could made out the red of the torii gate standing before the stone steps that led up to the shrine itself. It was teetering over the threshold, one of the wooden legs hanging over the edge, the other still lodged in the ground. The red gate looked like a staple holding two disparate worlds together.
3The silence in the cab was becoming unbearable. Saeko had some confidence in her ability to make easy conversation even when meeting someone for the first time. It was awkward to share the confined space of a vehicle with another person in complete silence; usually she would have found a topic of conversation by now. But the moment the taxi departed, without excusing himself Isogai had sat back and pulled out his laptop as though announcing that he was not to be disturbed. Since then he had shown no interest in speaking or, for that matter, acknowledging her presence.
He just sat, tapping away at the keyboard, occasionally rubbing his fingers against his teeth as though lost in thought. Now and then he would grunt, pause for a moment, and then recommence typing with even more vigor. He was so focused that Saeko found it hard to interrupt. At the same time, she knew she couldn’t handle the silence anymore.
She had never come across anyone like this. People were at the very least polite towards her, strange men included. Saeko was becoming increasingly frustrated and angry. She didn’t mind that he was busy—that was fine—but he could have at least told her that he’d have to work on the journey. That was simply common courtesy, and she wouldn’t think twice about doing so herself. This man was just ignoring her completely, and she couldn’t help but feel annoyed at his complete lack of manners. Saeko pulled the file she had on him out of her bag. Two could play that game.
The night before, Hashiba had sent her a file with Isogai’s profile. It was quite long, so she’d printed it out and put it in her bag to read later. She made a show of putting the file on her lap and flipped it
open. If he was going to ignore her, she might as well find out what type of person he was. She wondered what kind of background would give rise to such a stark lack of manners.
Naoki Isogai was his parents’ eldest child, born soon after their marriage. They had met at the university where they both taught; his father lectured in acoustics, his mother in piano. By the time he was enrolled in junior high, Naoki Isogai showed a talent in mathematics and physics that far outstripped that of his peers and even his teachers.
After experiencing difficulties fitting into the Japanese school system, Isogai had transferred to a high school in the U.S. The next year he secured early admission into Yale University to study mathematics and theoretical physics. Before he could graduate, he started on a master’s degree at Carnegie Mellon University; before he could complete his master’s thesis, he enrolled in the doctorate course. That last one, he did complete. Because he hadn’t officially graduated from high school or college, his academic record officially showed him becoming a Doctor of Science after graduating from junior high. If he hadn’t finished his doctorate, his highest qualification would have been his junior high school diploma.
He specialized in a wide range of fields including mathematics and theoretical and particle physics. Saeko knew that many people in the States held more than one doctorate, say in chemistry and quantum physics, medicine and theoretical physics, number theory and biology. Isogai was one of those people.
At the age of twenty-four, Isogai had been recruited by a research institute run by the Pentagon. That struck Saeko as being very young, but the file explained that most recruits at such facilities were of the young prodigy sort and that their age upon joining generally ranged from eighteen to twenty-five, putting Isogai at the older end of the scale. He had spent three years working at an underground facility in the middle of the Arizonan desert.
