Cult X

by Fuminori Nakamura

  “So you had best stop acting like you’re working for justice. Those who work earnestly for this organization, and those who do the same work with misgivings—in the end, they’re the same. You’re only different on the inside. You’re easing your emotional burden slightly by telling yourself that you question what you do. But if you consider the outcome, it’s exactly the same.”

  The younger man tried to respond. But he couldn’t find the words. This man knew everything about him.

  “And, unlike me, you have a family, right? Sometimes I read your tweets. I enjoy them, even though they’re so boring. It’s a good example of how childish people can become on the Internet. Your Twitter name is great. What was it again? Oh, right! ‘Child-rearing samurai’!”

  The younger man’s body tensed. He felt embarrassment and rage well up within him. But he quieted those feelings. Why does he know that? But he didn’t ask. The man knew everything.

  The older man laughed quietly. “Ha ha ha . . . Happy boy.”

  He laughed even louder. But the younger man knew it wasn’t real laughter. It was a performance. A performance that no one would enjoy. It was just to make him uncomfortable. The older man always put on these kinds of shows as if it were part of his job. The younger man had wondered before if it was just his twisted personality.

  “In a certain sense, the number of crimes committed is a numerical representation of the degree of dissatisfaction in our society.”

  As if to prove his point, the older man stopped laughing. The topic of conversation had changed.

  “Do you know why there hasn’t been a dramatic increase in crime even though class division in this country is wider than ever before? There are plenty of reasons, but one is the Internet. It serves as a place for people to vent their dissatisfaction. What a great invention! It’s a pressure valve for some of the growing unhappiness in our society. I’m genuinely grateful. Aren’t you? We can maintain people’s dissatisfaction without forcing them to commit crimes. Or to put it another way, we can maintain the level of dissatisfaction that we need. To make this country lean right we need that dissatisfaction from the class divide. We produce dissatisfaction, turn it toward another country, and militarize. Very few people realize that hate for other countries is just an expression of dissatisfaction with ourselves. Don’t you think it’s pathetic that people fail to realize that this logic has been used over and over to control people for centuries? And yet they are still so easily turned violent. It’s sad, right? Oh, that’s right, I had something to tell you.”

  He’s in a good mood today, the younger man thought, watching the other continue to talk. The younger man was unfortunate to have such a boss. The older man had a bad reputation. His education was the best one could get in Japan, and everyone said he was quite intelligent. But the gap between the brightness of his mind and the plainness of his face was unnerving, and there was nothing worse than his personality. It was so bad, supposedly, that all his subordinates eventually wound up ill.

  But the younger man had already regained his composure. He knew that in a few minutes his boss’s story would be over and he would be able to get back to his own work. He was smart, just like his boss. And he also had a way of maintaining his mental balance.

  At five o’clock, when he’d finished with work, he would leave this all behind. He would transform from his work self into a good husband and a good father. When he was at home, he didn’t think about work at all. He hugged his wife and child close to him, smiling.

  “You’re late,” Komaki told the woman, panting. She was on top of Narazaki, raising and lowering her hips. When the other woman entered the room, Narazaki hadn’t tried to stop Komaki.

  “You were late, so I’ve already started . . . Mm. He’s almost finished a second time.”

  “I’m sorry. That woman—I forgot her name. I was told to look for her,” she said, placing a tape recorder on the table.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not sure. That woman dropped it.”

  Komaki pulled Narazaki’s head toward her. Her hips continued to rise and fall. She pressed Narazaki’s face into her breasts.

  “Are you going to come? Are you going to come like this?”

  8

  The room was dark. Sawatari lay in bed looking at her.

  Mineno stared back blankly. The impression he gave off hadn’t changed much since the time she’d seen him at one of Matsuo’s talks. His eyes were sharp, and his face was disgustingly handsome. She couldn’t tell how old he was.

  “What a great expression.”

  Sawatari didn’t move, just lazed on his side, looking at her. Mineno’s chest grew taut. What was this pressure?

  “Did you give up hope? That’s not bad. But you still haven’t hit rock bottom.”

  Sawatari’s limp body looked as if it were gradually sinking deeper into the bed.

  “When I give the signal, several men will come. They will tie you up. You will be raped by me. Then, when it’s over, you will be at the very bottom.”

  Sawatari touched his left eyelid and pulled it gently with his finger. Something was moving in his mouth. That movement wouldn’t stop. Mineno couldn’t take her eyes off him. It felt like pressure was rising up around her, and she couldn’t breath.

  “I can say one word and completely change the rest of your life . . . Mm. I always think . . . in moments like this . . . There’s this strange sensation . . . You . . . you attended Matsuo’s talks, so you probably know. The connection between the brain and consciousness. And the universe and fate.”

  There were light and dark spots in the gloom of the room. Mineno thought it must be an illusion, but the room seemed darker at its furthest points.

  “I’m thinking about whether or not I will fuck you . . . Or, properly speaking, the countless particles that make up my brain, and several of the billions of nerves made up of those particles are . . . are sending countless electrical signals . . . They’re trying to decide what to do to the woman in front of me. And I, my consciousness, is watching all of that.”

  Sawatari removed his finger from his eyelid and shut his eyes. It was as if he had fallen asleep inspite of what he was saying. When he reopened his eyes, he shot Mineno a strange, brief look. He started talking again in a whisper.

  “If the movements of all the particles were decided by the Big Bang . . . What will happen to you has also been decided. But if they move randomly, your fate has not yet been set.”

  Sawatari’s eyes moved as if to reconfirm Mineno’s shape. It was as though he had forgotten who he was talking to, and had finally returned to the conversation.

  “I wonder which it is. I always think about this—is everything decided, or is it not? In moments like this when I make decisions . . . Of course, there are many factors involved. For instance, today is Monday, and I’ve already had too many women. You came on Monday. Or rather, the particles that compose you at the moment appeared in front of the particles that compose me at this moment on a Monday. Does your appearance here mean anything or not? Or does it just seem to have no meaning to us humans—does it mean something important to the particles?”

  “Do you think you’re in control?” Mineno asked. She began to smile. “You are nothing but a tool to make me give up hope.”

  Sawatari looked at Mineno questioningly. He appeared to be smiling, but it was too dark to see.

  “When I saw you at Matsuo’s talk, you would never have said anything like that. You were just a little girl . . . How wonderful.”

  Men appeared out of the darkness. They grasped Mineno’s body. She didn’t resist. She was about to face off against the darkness. Against something that could destroy every part of her being. She felt scared. But not as scared as she’d expected. She was taken over by a strange sensation—as if the darkness were a kindness. Why do I feel this way? Why do I feel this way about the darkness even though i
t’s trying to destroy me?

  “Don’t misunderstand. We won’t hurt you,” said one of the men.

  There were doors. Many doors.

  “You’re lucky. You get to see it all unfold.”

  Her head hurt. She couldn’t believe Rina would do that to her.

  She walked down the hall pressing on her temple.

  But why would they take Rina? Who had ordered such a thing? The only person who could seize an officer was the leader, or the officer’s counsel. But that didn’t matter. Rina had taken the recorder. The recorder wasn’t that important. But Rina had taken the USB drive, too. That was awful. She must still have it. But I can’t go look for it.

  I thought I’d be allowed to become Takahara-sama’s woman. But now I’ll have to keep sleeping with strange men. I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to have sex with anyone besides Takahara-sama. She’d managed to get out of the Monday activities, but her head still hurt. I want to run away. If I can’t be with Takahara-sama, I want to leave this world. There are still a few days left. I can get out. What happened to me all of a sudden? Not wanting to sleep with any other men. Is the brainwashing wearing off? Was I brainwashed? My head hurts. What will I do when I leave? I’ll just wind up clinging to another good-for-nothing man . . . Try to stop thinking. How many years ago had she realized that she didn’t have to think? A few days after she’d started working for that call girl service. She’d stopped thinking about what kind of man she was waiting for and just went to the hotel. There was less stress when she made it a kind of mechanical task.

  All of a sudden she remembered one man she’d had to sleep with because she couldn’t give him his money back. He’d been on top of her and asked, “Should I come inside you, or on your face?” She’d thought it would be absolutely horrible if he came on her face. Even though it was so much safer for him to come on her face than inside her. But she couldn’t let him. Her face was too close to the real her. Her insides were further away. Back then, she’d tried to think her insides weren’t part of her.

  She opened the door. Komaki was getting dressed. Another woman was petting the man’s hair. Who was he? Why did this man get three women?

  “You’re late. I’m leaving,” Komaki said.

  I have to make some excuse. “I’m sorry. They asked me to pat someone down.”

  “You’re too late for that to be all.”

  Her heart started racing. The recorder was on the table.

  She snatched it and hurried outside. The other women were saying something behind her, but it didn’t matter. She pressed the button for the elevator. I’ll go to the 21st floor. I will make the leader listen to this. I’ll have him lock up Takahara-sama. I’ll have him make me Takahara-sama’s caretaker—my reward for showing him this. Takahara-sama won’t be killed. They’ll lock him up, but they won’t kill him. The elevator arrived and the door opened. No one was following her. She got in, and pressed the button for the 20th floor. It will be fine. They won’t kill Takahara-sama. They probably won’t kill him. I’ll become his nurse. But if they kill him . . . Now’s not the time to think about that.

  As soon as the elevator door opened she ran up the stairs to the 21st floor. It was the first time she had run like that since she was in school. I don’t want to remember the past. I don’t need the past. I’m fine without it. I can’t think about anything besides getting my hands on Takahara-sama. That’s all I have. I don’t want to sleep with other men. I don’t want to leave here.

  “Hey! Wait!”

  There was a man in the hallway—the watchman. She ignored him and ran by.

  “Hey, what are you doing? You don’t have permission! You can’t get in anyway! The door won’t open!”

  She halted in front of the gigantic door. She was scared. But this was an emergency. The leader will forgive me. If it won’t open, I’ll scream.

  When she put her hand on the lever, it opened.

  “Leader!” she screamed, out of breath. He was lying down. He looked tired. Someone else must have just been there with him. I wonder who? It doesn’t matter.

  “Leader!”

  He didn’t answer. It was as if he didn’t see or hear her.

  “Leader. Please! Please, listen to this.”

  She pressed the button on the tape recorder. Takahara-sama’s voice rang through the silent room. His terror plot—he was organizing believers secretly. He was trying to take over the cult. She felt like something was breaking—like everything was crumbling away silently. Her body grew hot.

  “. . . Wow,” the leader finally said.

  She spoke desperately. “Leader, did you hear? He’s trying to do something terrifying. He’s trying to betray you. Please, catch him! Make me his caretaker! I’ll change him! I’ll, I’ll . . .”

  “Let me hear it again.”

  The leader stood up slowly, as if he were chasing away his sleepiness. She held out the recorder. Please make me Takahara-sama’s caretaker. I want Takahara-sama. I would do anything to have him. Whatever it takes.

  “Your reward.”

  The leader put his hands around her neck. She couldn’t breathe.

  What? What is this? I was helping him— Their eyes met. He stared into her face as he strangled her. The recorder fell to the floor.

  “Lea . . . Leader . . .”

  She gasped for breath. Her body rose up. Air. If I didn’t . . .

  “I guess you’re going to die.”

  The leader’s voice grew distant.

  “Since you’ve heard that, you must die.”

  9

  Takahara sank deep into his chair. He was so tired he didn’t want to stand back up.

  “Tomorrow we’ll begin.”

  Sasahara and Adachi sat sunk into their own chairs. They had all washed their hands over and over. And not just because they were covered in dirt. They had just handled a corpse.

  “Roger,” Sasahara replied. Though he was tired, his voice was resolute.

  “You two will leave now. I’ve gotten permission from the leader. Rest up in a hotel somewhere. You need to get as much sleep as possible. Tomorrow at eleven. We’ll meet where we discussed.”

  The two stood up. But Sasahara turned to Takahara.

  “And the others?”

  “They’ve already gone. The machinery and materials are ready, so all that’s left is to meet tomorrow. You two, hurry.”

  “And you?”

  “I still have a few things to take care of. I have a meeting with the leader.”

  “Understood.”

  The two left the room. Takahara got up from his chair. He unlocked the drawer of his desk and took out the pistol.

  The moment he touched it, the sensation sent a shiver through the nerves of his arm. Something greater than me, he thought. This machine is far greater than me—far crueler.

  He put the pistol in his pocket, got in the elevator, and pressed the button for the 20th floor. His legs grew weak. I have to go beyond myself. He took several deep breaths. I will have to be the gear that sets the machine in motion.

  He got out of the elevator and quietly climbed the stairs. The watchman was standing in front of the leader’s door, looking troubled.

  “Takahara-sama,” he said. He seemed relieved. “A woman, one of the Cupro girls, forced her way into the leader’s room. I can’t touch the door. It’s a sin. I don’t know what’s happening inside. I . . .”

  Takahara silenced him with a gesture. The gun in his pocket felt horribly heavy.

  “I see. Leave it to me.”

  “But Takahara-sama—”

  “I’ve been summoned.”

  “I . . .”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Yes.”

  “How strange . . . But I’ve been summoned . . . You don’t believe me?”

  “No, of course I do,
but . . .”

  His mind grew hazy. Suddenly everything seemed like such a burden. Should I kill him? I’ll certainly feel much better the moment I throw my whole future into this. A feeling like dense, coarse mud rose up within him. He thought about the gun in his pocket.

  But Takahara smiled. I must do what’s required of me as an agent.

  “This is an emergency. A woman entered this room without the leader’s permission. Isn’t that right? I, an officer, must resolve this. I’ll take all responsibility.”

  “Roger.” The man had relented.

  “Stand back.”

  The man looked at Takahara uncertainly, but took a step back. Takahara continued to stare at him, and he took another.

  “Return to your regular position! Do you want the leader to see you all flustered?”

  The man left, surprised. Takahara laid his hand on the door. It was unlocked. How convenient.

  The leader was sitting on the ground in the dark facing Takahara. His legs were crossed, and he was hunched forward. He was sucking on some woman’s lips as if he were eating them. Takahara froze in shock. She lay there lifeless and fully dressed, her head supported by one of the leader’s arms, while his other hand pinched her chin and pulled it up. The leader was devouring her lips like he was sucking the seeds from a slice of watermelon.

  “Mm . . . What is it?” the leader asked when he noticed Takahara. He immediately returned to the woman’s lips.

  “Who is that woman?’

  “Hm? . . . She seems to be unconscious . . . Or maybe dead . . . I don’t know.”

  The leader continued to suck on her lips. This insect, Takahara thought. This disgusting insect.

  Takahara gripped his pistol with trembling fingers. It’s a perfect shot, Takahara thought. The leader’s posture is perfect. The position of his head is perfect.

  Takahara wasn’t ready. But he took out his gun. Humans can act, even when they aren’t ready. He breathed in deeply. His vision narrowed, and he tried to force the stiffening joints of his arm to move. He was too tense, but he didn’t know how to relax. He inhaled deeply again. His fingers and palm gripping the pistol were soaked with sweat. In his mind he thought, I want to stop. Even now he was searching for a way to justify his actions. I heard a woman burst into your room, so I came to protect you. If he said that now, he could still turn around. But he moved his body. He felt like throwing up. I should do it. If I do this, everything else will fall into place on its own. The leader was still crouched on the ground. Takahara pressed the muzzle of the gun to the back of his head. His heart was beating loud, and the strength suddenly left his legs. But it was too late. There was nothing left but for him to do it. He couldn’t go back.