by Otaro Maijo
What a relief. I didn’t want my Yoji mixed up with those Armageddon assholes.
“I’ll see you in a second,” he said.
“Yoji?”
“What?”
“Be careful.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
“No, I mean it. It’s dangerous out there.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right there.”
Okay! He was coming here. For me.
For this very selfish girl.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting.”
“Okay.”
“Hurry up.”
“Okay, okay.”
“And be careful.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Okay, I’ll be waiting.”
Then the line went dead.
Maybe he was a little pissed at me?
But why was he still hanging around here? Where had he been and what had he been doing for the last few hours?
I checked V of H again. There were more than five thousand posts to “Armageddon in Chofu.” As far as I could tell, thirty or so middle and high school kids were going at it—maybe a little halfheartedly by now—down by the Tama River. Some of them apparently had lights. Fight Club after dark. When the cops came, they doused the flashlights, moved to a new spot, and started fighting all over. I wondered whether they would start jumping in the river like they did during the last Armageddon. Or throwing each other in. They lost two kids that way last time. The bodies still hadn’t turned up.
As I sat there following all this in real time on the blog—or I suppose I should say, as I was sitting there with my head as empty as a bubble—it occurred to me that I should post something.
I watched as my post appeared there in the stream, somewhere after the Fight Club in the dark business. Watched as “Aiko Katsura”—that’s me!—was trailed by “devil incarnate” and “toilet bowl” and “Find her! Rape her! Kill her!” Why had I written that? I wasn’t even sure I was the one who had. I knew my fingers had tapped out the words, but I had the feeling it wasn’t really the “core” me moving them, not the me-within-me. But at the same time it did seem like the core me had done it, and the surface me simply hadn’t realized what the deeper me was doing.
Whatever. The other users seemed to ignore my announce-ment. New posts kept coming up one after the other, and mine moved down the list, into the past. Maybe there was a mutual understanding, some natural code of ethics for this unethical bulletin board, that dictated that people ignore posts like mine, ones probably motivated by some sort of personal grudge rather than the desire to get the Round-and-Round. These guys may have been complete idiots, but they had some sense of decency, and the thing they hated most was anyone trying to manipulate them online.
But what kind of trouble had I been trying to stir up?
If Yoji was headed this way, why would I want to make sure the shit hit the fan just as he got here? Was I that desperate to see him? To turn him into a Yoji who had braved a town full of hoodlums to get to me? Was I upping the ante because I needed him to be an even bigger hero in my eyes?
Then I guess that made me the enemy of the heroes, a kind of antihero. I guess that made me the villain. And Yoji’s enemy.
I guess that made me some kind of devil. I’m not sure, but I guess that post I wrote was the truth.
I really was a demon, and something of a toilet bowl.
Really, now that you mention it, I am a toilet bowl. A toilet bowl who had meaningless sex with Sano.
Shit!
No, no. I’m not a toilet bowl. Or a devil. No, I was pretty sure I had only done it with Sano because I loved Yoji, and that I was still punishing myself as a result. That’s why I had called myself a devil and a toilet bowl on V of H. And pretending to be the voice of God was just another way of punishing myself.
But what if somebody saw that post and really did come after me? Maybe I had waded into deep shit. Was somebody really going to come after me, rape me, kill me?
And if they did, would that be a way of paying for what I’d done, making me clean again?
But how would that work? How would being beaten, raped, and killed make me pure again? Wasn’t it just the opposite? Wouldn’t that make me even dirtier? Make me even shittier? What the fuck was I thinking? What kind of dumbshit am I?
But just as I was going through all this again, my phone rang. Yoji? No. It was Kan. Fuck! Kan. Why was she calling me? I screwed up my courage and took the call.
“Hello?” “Aiko? It’s me, Kan.” “What do you want?” “Can you talk?” “Can I talk?” “Where are you?” “I’m home. Why do you ask?” I was suddenly on my guard. She probably wanted to get me outside and have another crack at the Crucifixion, but there was no way that was going to happen. Maybe she thought she could take advantage of the Armageddon confusion. Scary! No way I was going out now. But what she said next was completely unexpected. “It’s really scary out there,” she said. “Don’t go out, no matter what. They’re talking about you on the bulletin board. Somebody posted a threat, said they should go out and get you.” Yeah, I knew. “Why?” I said. “I don’t know, but somebody wrote on V of H that they wanted you caught and killed. They even said where you live. Does somebody have it in for you?” Does somebody have it in for me? That would be you, wouldn’t it, Kan? After all, who had tried to crucify me? But before I pointed that out, what I really wanted to know was why she was telling me this. She wasn’t my friend anymore, was she? “I don’t think anybody we know did it,” she continued, “but I’ll call around and try to find out. Anyway, Aiko, don’t go out. It’s Armageddon out there.” “Got it,” I said. “I sent a request to have them delete the post about you, so I think it’ll come down soon. In the meantime, is there someone there with you?” “No,” I told her. “What? Where’s your brother?” “He went out a while ago.” “Not good! Try to get him on the phone and tell him to come home. It’s really dangerous out there.” “Okay.” “How about your mother and father?” “Still at work.” “So, you’re all alone?” “Like I said.” “Do you mind if I come by?” she said. “Fine with me,” I told her. Kan lived in Kichijoji, so it was a hike to Chofu. Plus she kept telling me how dangerous it was to be out now. Why did she want to come all the way here? Why? If she’d offered yesterday, when she was still my friend, I’d have told her to come right over. But what was this about now? What? Did she have another bone to pick with me? Was she trying to get me to drop my guard? Still, I knew she didn’t write the post on V of H—because I wrote it myself! “I’ll be there soon,” she said. “No, don’t bother,” I said. “But if I take the bus, I can get to your house without going near Chofu Station.” “But you said the post mentioned where I live, so it’s not safe here. Don’t come. I promise I’ll stay inside and I won’t move.” I didn’t mention that I was also hoping Yoji would be showing up. No need to go into too much detail. “I’ll call my brother and tell him to come home, so you don’t have to worry about me. But thanks.” “Okay. But, Aiko, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” “About what?” “About yesterday.” “Oh that. Don’t worry about it.” I’d won anyway. “When I heard that Sano had been kidnapped, and then that his toe had shown up at his house, I guess I jumped to conclusions. I’m really sorry.” “Like I said, don’t worry about it. But I really didn’t do anything to Sano.” Other than kick him in the face. “I know,” Kan said. “I know you didn’t.” “Okay.” “I’m sorry, Aiko.” “Okay, let’s drop it.” “Sorry, I…” she said, but then her voice seemed to dissolve in tears and I had a sudden flash. Kan actually liked Sano. I was pretty sure she’d done it with him too, but she wasn’t one of the girls who’d told me I should give him a try. And somehow I
had the feeling she’d always looked happy when he was around. That was it! That explained why she’d been acting so weird and emotional about the whole thing—why she still was. It was all part of a bigger picture. When Kan had seen the post I wrote on Voice of Heaven, she’d started thinking I would probably be killed. She must have wanted to apologize while there was still time. She had always been something of a goody-goody, or at least she liked to think so, so it would have bugged her if I’d gone and died before she could apologize for the attempted Crucifixion. That’s what was behind all this. But who the hell cares? I began to relax as I listened to her sniffling and crying on the other end of the line. I knew I was just like her: we were both selfish bitches. And in the end I had no desire to punish her, no hard feelings at all. I’d have done just about anything to get Yoji to like me—just like Kan would have done anything to preserve her idea of herself as a kid who knew right from wrong, who would always try to make up for every mistake she made. Fine, that was fair enough. That’s who you are—serious and all—and that’s how you want to live your life. I’ve chosen the path of love instead…which suddenly reminded me that Yoji would be arriving any minute now, so I couldn’t stay on the phone forever listening to Kan cry. “Stop crying,” I told her. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. Thanks for calling, it’s okay. I’m fine, so you can stop crying. Uhh, so, I’ll see you at school, okay? Though I probably won’t be going tomorrow. Text me. I’ll get back to you. Okay? Thanks. Kan? Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Of course! We’re still friends. No, I don’t hate you. Okay, talk to you later. Bye!” Whoa! If this love thing, if that’s what it was, was going to make a girl like Kan do crazy shit like this, it was pretty scary.
But scary or not, it was the path I’d chosen, and I had to make the most of it.
Yoji would be here any moment. Or would he? I found it hard to believe he was really coming. Right through the middle of Armageddon.
I let myself imagine him, looking totally cool, dodging and weaving and avoiding all those people out there beating the shit out of each other, and coming straight here to me. It wasn’t hard to picture, since all I had to do was remember how cool he’d looked when he’d come breezing in to rescue me from the bathroom.
The thread about Armageddon continued on Voice of Heaven, and my post was still scrolling down as more were added. When it finally disappeared below the bottom of the page, I felt myself relax a little and got a little more into my Yoji fantasy. But just then the doorbell rang. I put the fantasy on hold and went to answer it. “Coming, coming!” I called, just like some old lady—which was totally not what I wanted to sound like for Yoji. But when I pulled open the door, it wasn’t Yoji standing there, or even my brother back from the wars. It was Maki, her bandage gone and her face as beautiful as ever.
She’d seen the post and was here already. That was fast.
Or not.
Maki lived in Edogawa Ward on the other side of the city.
But she’d heard about Armageddon and had come to take advantage of the confusion.
Scary.
And that would explain the hammer.
The Cliffs
I’m sprawled out on the sofa in our living room, listening. The sound of Armageddon keeps getting closer. At first I think I’m imagining things, but then I’m sure that those assholes from Chofu are headed this way, getting near our house. But then I hear something even worse: the screech of tires and a dull thud, like a bad car vs. pedestrian accident. But the tires squeal again and again, like the car is trying to get away. A hit-and-run? Then I hear it again: gyrikikikikikigya! Dooooon! Like another accident. But then I realize it’s not an accident at all but just a car whacking into people one after the other. Hit-and-run, without the run. Vehicular middling? Middling homicide? Or maybe the counterattack had started—maybe this was the Revenge of the Middle School Kids. If it was, then I’m on it, hoppin’ in the driver’s seat, firing up the engine, grabbing the wheel, and smashing into the first God or Angel I see. DOOON! Gyurugyuru DOOON! Gigiggkyu DOOON! But as I imagined myself mowing down one person after another, the real car seemed to be getting closer. I could feel the air from outside, heavy with panic, slipping under the door. I could hear screams. “Whaaaaaaa!” DOOOOON! “Whoaaa! I’m serious! Cut it out!” DOOOON! “Gross! Stop!” DOOOON! More screams, footsteps running by outside. “Over there! Over there! Not there, look out!” “Kill him!” Gyarigyarigyagyagyagya DOOON! Then, right in front of my house, tires squealed, scattering gravel everywhere, and I could hear a crunching, like someone else being hit and thrown through the air. Then the shouts and screams and footsteps seemed to fade, as if everyone ran off. But just when I thought maybe the scary car had gone too, I heard the door creak open just outside and then slam shut. Someone had climbed out of the demonmobile and was standing right in front of my house. Scary. I was still lying there on the sofa, but I felt my body stiffen. What the what the what the? Then I could hear the driver’s footsteps as he ran toward our door. Who could it be? I knew I should get up and run around turning out all the lights, pretend nobody was home, but I also knew it was already too late. The doorbell was ringing. Chin-ton! I froze. What the FUCK? But then I heard somebody calling my name. “Aiko!” What? It was my dad’s voice! I jumped off the couch and ran to the hall. But when I opened the door, it turned out to be that weird old singer, Yuzo Gucci. But that was okay, I guess. A relief, really. “Are you okay, Aiko?” Yuzo Gucci said. Fine! Daddy? It was scary all alone. And my brother running off like that. What an idiot…I launched into the whole thing, standing there in the door talking to Gucci. But when I finally asked him to come on in, he told me it was dangerous to stay here and that I should come with him. Really? They weren’t kidding about Armageddon.
But then Gucci had come in his car, and it looked like his bumper had taken care of a whole lot of those V of H guys on the way. Somehow, the sight of Yuzo Gucci’s cute round face had a calming effect on my jangly nerves. He was tanned and relaxed and smiling, just like he was on TV. I told him to wait a minute and ran back to the dining room for a sweater I’d left hanging on a chair. Then I went back to the door, slipped into my shoes, and joined Gucci. Then I remembered the patio doors and told him I needed to go back and make sure they were locked. “Don’t worry,” he told me. “Nobody’s going to try to get in if you’re not in there to get.” What? Did that mean they would have tried if I’d stayed there? I’m not sure I got it. But I knew it wasn’t good. Gucci looked around as we left the house. It was cold outside. And dark. And suspiciously quiet, considering that it had sounded like a war was going on out here a minute ago. I felt like eyes were watching us from all different places around the house, and not friendly ones, eyes of people who would hurt us given half a chance. It looked like a million miles from our front door to anything that could be Gucci’s car. From inside, it had sounded as though he had pulled right up on the front lawn, but now that we were out, I wasn’t even sure which car was his. He told me to follow him, though, and we took off at a trot. I thought I glimpsed shady figures by the road, in the alley, behind the trees—but as we made our way down the street, there was no one to be seen. Had all the neighbors slipped off somewhere?
When we got near the raised banks of the Nogawa, Gucci suddenly ducked his pudgy little self down behind somebody’s garden wall and peeked out, as though studying the river. The stream stretched off in either direction. It was lined with bushes that seemed to be concealing boys who were crouching here and there. I could barely see them, just silhouettes, but I could tell that something dark was moving down there in the shadows. I guess I assumed it was boys, since we were in the middle of Armageddon, but it might have been some other low, repulsive life-form. Then I saw beams of light flickering in the gloom. Flashlights. So it was boys—not monsters—out to make the most of the chaos. But then again, I guess “monsters” wasn’t far off. They were fighting down there in the bushes, but they were doing it in
dead silence. No shouting or screaming, no sound at all, even though I was just above them. But the silence didn’t make it any less scary. I could tell someone was being beaten to a pulp down there in the dark. Which was probably what would happen to us, Gucci and me, if they caught us here. I mean, why not? To begin with, I was a girl—fair game in any Armageddon—and one who’d been singled out on the Voice of Heaven for special treatment, and to top it all off, my father had somehow become goofy TV personality Yuzo Gucci. At this point I noticed that Gucci himself was waving to me, and then he finally came out from behind the wall and into the street that ran along the raised bank of the river.
The boys were just below us in the bushes. Flashlight beams scudded along the bank, grazing Gucci as he made his way along the road. It seemed pretty risky to me, but Gucci was on the move, so I had no choice but to follow. Crouching down, we hurried along as fast as we could, and the “Gods” and “Angels” seemed to take no notice of us. They were probably too occupied with the damage they were doing down in the bushes. But the flashlights continued to sweep back and forth across our path, darting along the road and jutting up at the sky. At last we turned off, leaving the river and angling down in the direction of the main road. There wasn’t a car to be seen on the street. Everybody must be holed up at home, afraid to go out. Duh. Yet here I was wandering around with Yuzo Gucci, looking for his car. What the FUCK was I thinking? We finally came to the main road, and there we could see a single car, parked at the curb, lights on, engine running. And somebody sitting in the driver’s seat, looking this way. More surprises: even from this distance I could see it was none other than famous has-been guitarist Fuyuki Moto. He must have escaped from the same nightmare talk show that had sent me Gucci. Fucking Fuyuki Moto was sitting behind the wheel of Gucci’s car, waiting for us with a worried look on his face. The same car I’d heard scattering people like bowling pins? Maybe Moto had been the driver? Maybe it was his car? Anyway, as soon as he came into view, Gucci straightened up and made a dash for the car. I followed. He hopped in the passenger’s seat and I tried to get in back, but I suddenly realized it was pretty crowded back there—packed, in fact, with the entire cast of Your Hit Parade. What the FUCK? The show had been canceled long ago, so what was the whole crowd doing hanging out in the back of this car? Well, for one thing they were making it really hard for me to get in. I told the nearest has-been to move over, but when I looked, the has-been turned out to be the now-and-future Governor of Tokyo, Shintaro Ishihara, everybody’s favorite crazy right-wing pol. It occurred to me to wonder what the hell the fucking governor was doing in here with the city going to hell out there. But one thing was for sure, he wasn’t moving over much. “Sorry, full up,” he snapped. “Try some other car.” To tell the truth, it hurt a little to be dissed like that by the governor, maybe even more because he was dressed up like a factory worker or something. And there wasn’t much point in telling him there wasn’t another car. Even after Gucci asked him real nicely to make room for me, he wouldn’t budge. “If she can’t get in, she can’t get in,” he chanted. “What will ‘can’t’ mean if she does in the end?” someone else asked. And then celebrity warfare broke out. “Then why don’t you get out?” shouted Emily Henmi, yet another Your Hit Parade regular, pushing the governor from behind. Ishihara shouted and squirmed, but in the end Emily managed to pry him loose from the seat and shove him out the door. “Hop in, Aiko,” she said, beckoning to me, and I did just that. “What’s the world coming to?” Ishihara shouted, and then he wandered over to the railing of a nearby bridge. Staring down into the dark, he shouted again at the boys in the bushes. “And you assholes, what the FUCK are you doing down there?” He was getting more and more worked up, as only the governor can, and before we knew it he had run around the guard rail and disappeared down the bank into the dark. Oh boy. Take care, Mr. Governor. I was a little worried, but then who was going to mess with Shintaro Ishihara in full rut?
