“… Who are you?”
“We spoke on the phone … I’m Saito.”
He is a member of K2. I have been trying to interview him for quite a while.
“… Why are you here?”
“I don’t know.”
The man is standing there, immobile. What is this guy doing here? He looks at me with jittery eyes.
“… Just a minute, please. I’ll get my things. We can go to a coffee shop in the neighborhood.”
“Here is fine.”
He keeps staring at me.
“… Here? My apartment?”
“Yes. I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy, but don’t you want to be somewhere safe?”
This is a strange visit. I start to feel nervous. But why should I? I smile.
“No, come in. There’s nothing here though.”
The man enters my apartment. He looks around the room. There is almost no furniture. I offer him the chair from the desk, but he stands there without moving.
“Aren’t you a member of K2? There’s no doll here.”
“… I don’t know if I’d call myself a member, I just hung out a lot at the doll creator’s house.”
“… That’s not the way I understood it.”
He stands there with his coat on. Both his suit and his coat are new, and tasteful. His features are relatively refined. If I saw him on the train, I would probably take him for a respectable company man.
“Just thinking about giving you an interview is enough to make me depressed. That’s why I figured, just hurry up and get this unpleasantness over with. Quickly. Before I change my mind.”
“I appreciate your allowing me to interview you.”
“The thing is … I’m also to blame.”
“To blame?”
“No … That’s enough about that.”
I am just about to make some coffee for him when suddenly he moves.
“… I just can’t. It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“What?”
“Excuse me. I can’t do the interview.”
He makes as if to leave. I don’t understand what is going on. My cell phone rings—it is probably my editor calling. But I don’t have time to answer it now.
“… Please wait. At least let me walk you to the station.”
I run after the man as he leaves my apartment. I don’t even stop to lock the door. I soon manage to catch up with him.
He wants to talk, I think. People like him sometimes turn out to be chatterboxes. As if they overflow when their isolation is suddenly broken. Drawing abreast of him, I make a suggestion.
“Why don’t we go someplace else?… We can have a drink somewhere. It’ll be on me.”
8
WE ARE SEATED at a table at the back of a dim bar. I asked for a beer, but Saito has ordered a whiskey. An oversized ceiling fan is spinning above us without a sound.
“So you’re writing a book about Yudai Kiharazaka.”
He speaks softly, almost muttering.
“… You mean, you want to know about the psychology behind the crime. Like all those other nonfiction books … where you interview all kinds of people in order to expose his dark secrets … That kind of thing?”
He is right in front of me, asking these questions, but for some reason he seems to be looking at something behind me.
“… Yes.”
“Would my name be in it? Would I be able to check the manuscript?”
“You would, and I wouldn’t put your name in it. Whatever I would write about you, there’d be no way for anyone to know it was you.”
A woman in a short skirt brings over the beer and whiskey. A black bra is visible through her white blouse.
When the woman approaches our table, the man suddenly looks down. It’s as if he’s just trying to make it through the moment. First she places my beer on the table and then she sets down the glass of whiskey. While she does so, he doesn’t move. He seems to be waiting to confirm that she has left, disappeared again behind the counter. After a moment he brings the glass to his lips and takes in a quick breath.
“… First let’s get something straight … I didn’t kill her.”
“… Yes, I know that.”
He is that woman’s stalker.
“It was a traffic accident. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. It happened while she was on a trip with her bartender boyfriend. I don’t know. By that time, I no longer had any interest in her herself.”
“… Because you had the doll?”
“That’s right.”
He drinks his whiskey. I am the one sitting across from him, I am the one interacting with him, yet he won’t look me in the eye—it is as if he is having a conversation with someone else.
“… She wouldn’t have anything to do with me. But I was sure that was only because she didn’t really know me.”
He brings the glass to his lips again. The tone of his voice quickens a little.
“I thought that, in order for her to like me, I needed to know more about her. I was shocked when I heard the police use the word stalker.”
Saito shifts his gaze somewhat to the left of me.
“I didn’t think I was a stalker. I mean, stalkers are guys who are hated and feared by women. But I’m not like that. She just didn’t know me, that’s all, and she would like me once she had a chance … But, isn’t that what a stalker says? I was devastated.”
I nod vaguely. If I am overly sympathetic, I will come off as unnatural. The slowly turning ceiling fan casts a shadow over the right side of Saito’s body at regular intervals.
“But, you know, I really loved her … I doubt you could understand. I didn’t think it was worth living in a world where she didn’t exist … But you know, I never wanted to cause any trouble for her. I just really loved her smiling face.”
“I saw a photograph of her. She was a beautiful woman.”
“You don’t understand. Nobody else could fathom her true charm,” he says absentmindedly. “It pained me to cause her grief. But, I needed her. I wanted her so badly and there was nothing I could do about it. When I saw her walking with another man … Anyway, you know what I mean, don’t you? I attempted suicide. But I didn’t die. Because I was a coward. After that, things got worse and worse for me. Her smiling face that I had loved, it meant nothing to me anymore. I even thought about killing her along with myself. I couldn’t bear the idea of her being with another man. If I were to kill her, I’d have to kill myself too—I’d have no choice but to die.”
“… Is that when you met the doll maker?”
“I never thought he’d be such an unassuming person … To be honest, I had just figured I’d listen to what he had to say. I couldn’t imagine the prospect of living with a doll. But then when I saw his collection, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe how beautiful they were.”
Saito’s eyes are moist from the alcohol.
“Strangely enough, they were actually more appealing than real women … I gave it a shot and asked him if he’d make one for me. A doll that resembled her … But at that time, the doll maker said that was taboo.”
“… Taboo?”
“That’s right. He said that he had never created one based on a living person before. That it was very dangerous to do so. And that he was committed to creating the dolls so that people would never forget those who had passed away … Yet he made one for me. He must have realized the dreadful state I was in. That’s just how kind a man he is.”
Saito smiles vaguely.
“When I saw the finished doll … I was really surprised. It was her, right there in front of me. In fact, the doll was even more beautiful than she was in real life. The doll was smiling. I don’t know if it was directed at me but she was smiling all the same. As if she accepted all of my madness … But I know about the rumors. That I was hearing voices.”
He stops suddenly at that point.
“… What do you mean?”
“To kill the real her.”
&nb
sp; Saito is staring absentmindedly at something just off to my left.
“I knew I couldn’t do it. Still, she kept telling me to … You think I’m a lunatic, don’t you? But … that really doesn’t matter. Who cares what everybody else thinks is normal?… But I wouldn’t cross that line. Because, like I said before, I was a coward. Then, the real her died. As you know, it was bad luck. All because that stupid bartender was driving drunk, even though she was in the car. But—can I tell you this? This is a horrible thing to say …”
Saito looks directly at me for the first time since we have been in the bar.
“I wasn’t the least bit sad. And that’s not all … From then on, the doll began to look even more beautiful.”
He is still looking at me.
“And to make matters worse, I told this to Yudai Kiharazaka.”
“Kiharazaka? You knew him?”
“Yes. I saw him a few times at the doll maker’s mansion. That’s when … I told him about it.”
Saito looks down.
“That’s what I meant when I said that I was to blame. Because I talked to him about this. That’s the reason I agreed to your interview. I couldn’t let it go as if it were someone else’s problem.”
“… What do you mean?”
“What?” He looks at me again. “What are you saying? Haven’t you interviewed him yourself?”
“I have, but …”
“I’m surprised. This is too much for you. Writing a book about him.” Saito raises his voice just a little. “Do you happen to know the kind of effect people have on him?”
“What?”
“You have no idea. He … He has no desires.”
I am distractedly watching the shadows that continue to appear on the right side of his body.
“But Yudai Kiharazaka, he’s so obsessed with his photography that he would do that, kill two women.”
“Yes, he certainly is intense. But his intensity is different from his desires. Nothing exists there, inside his mind. You’re mistaken about him.”
Saito stares at me.
“This is too much for you. You should go and talk to the doll maker. He can probably speak to you logically about Kiharazaka. I bet you’ll learn something besides the facts you want to know. Also, Kiharazaka may be intense, but how did his madness turn him into an actual murderer?… That’s something I just can’t understand. No matter how easily influenced he may be.”
“How did his madness turn him into an actual murderer …?”
“Right. He didn’t take any photographs of their deaths, he simply gave in to the violence and was consumed by it. What could have possibly happened to him?”
Saito suddenly stands up.
“In any case, that’s all I have to say. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. But … I’m also to blame.”
“Please wait.”
I also stand up. He looks at me. As if for some reason he feels sorry for me.
“If you’ll forgive me, I’ll ask a different question. This may sound strange … But you … you seem like a guy who would be popular with women. Please, I hope you’re not offended, but you don’t look like the kind of person who lives with a doll.”
He stands there for a moment, and then he sits down again resignedly.
“Your question is uninteresting.”
“… I apologize.”
He smiles vaguely again at my words, and then replies.
“For example … Even if you loved someone to death, even if you thought there was absolutely no one else besides that person … after you break up with that person, eventually you would be able to feel something like that for someone else. Because otherwise, it would be impossible to go on living … Isn’t that right?”
“… Yes.”
“Love is not absolute. But such incomprehensible things are rare in this world. I’ve had normal relationships. I meet someone, then we break up, and I wallow in it … But she was really special. I never thought I would turn into a stalker. Well, I guess I’ve always had the potential for that sort of inclination, but … Anyway.”
Saito stands up again as if indicating that he intends to leave this time, no matter what I say.
“The real her is no longer here. I … I prefer ‘dolls’ to people. You seem like a pretty happy guy, so I’ll tell you just one thing. When I used to be with women, sometimes I would have trouble, you know, like ED … But now, with the ‘doll,’ that hasn’t happened once.”
That vague smile.
“… But you shouldn’t put that in your book. People wouldn’t like that. Don’t you agree? You have to write in a way that will satisfy many people, by distorting human darkness and light—the way they do in manga. You ought to be well suited to that.”
9
I EMERGE FROM the narrow alley and cross the railroad crossing.
I am drunk, with no idea why.
Maybe I am feeling depressed. Maybe I am exhausted from all this investigating Kiharazaka. A happy guy? What was that guy Saito talking about? Aren’t I just trying to take a look at other people from my own dark place? These thoughts float and hover, echoing stubbornly in my mind.
The tattered remains of a campaign poster pasted on a wall is swaying in the wind. I turn left at the corner, cut through a parking lot, and come to stand beside a telephone pole. Directly in front of me I can see Akari Kiharazaka’s apartment building.
I take out my cell phone and dial her number. My throat feels dry. With the cell phone pressed to my ear, I look up at her building. The thought crosses my mind that I want her to take me and devour me. Whatever I am hoping for, I don’t care if she just uses me however she sees fit.
“What’s the matter?”
I hear her thin voice through the receiver. She sounds formal and distant.
“… I wanted to see you. Can you meet me?”
“… I can’t.”
I am still looking up at her building, at the second apartment from the left. A dim light is on.
“Why not? I want to see you.”
“… You just want someone’s permission.”
She laughs. As if letting out a breath.
“You want me to erase your sense of guilt for cheating on your girlfriend?… I have no interest in sleeping with a guy who calls me just to see which way I might go.”
The sky is overcast with dreary clouds, even the moon is obscured.
“… I’m right outside your building now.”
“… Hmm.”
“I’m coming up.”
“You can’t tonight … Another man will be here,” she says softly.
“… That’s a lie, isn’t it?”
“… Well, now.”
Her breath comes through the receiver.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Are you a little frightened?”
She laughs faintly.
“I’m not frightened. Should I kill that man when he gets here?”
“… Really?”
I ring the buzzer on her building.
“Open the door. You know I can’t break though the auto-lock.”
The front door opens automatically. I enter the building and get on the elevator. As if confirming that I have entered, the automatic door closes, followed by the elevator door. I have no desire to turn back.
I get out on the sixth floor, where she lives, and stand before her door. I am about to ring her doorbell when, unabashedly, my hand reaches for the doorknob. It is unlocked. I grasp the cold knob and open the door, entering her apartment. She is at the end of the hallway. She is wearing a white bathrobe and looks at me with concern. As if she feels sorry for me in such a desperate state. I walk over, clasp her to me, and kiss her. Her arms embrace my neck. Her tongue thrusts inside my mouth.
“… Did you break up with that girl?” she asks me in between kisses, her eyes still narrowly open.
“I broke up with her.”
“You’re lying … You’re just ignoring her phone calls, aren’t you?”
“I broke up with her.”
I throw her down on the bed and kiss her again. Forcefully, I untie the sash on her bathrobe.
“… You seem like a bad man, with that look on your face.”
“I’m going to turn into a bad person, worse than you.”
“… Bad enough to kill someone? There are ways …”
I don’t feel like talking anymore. I don’t need any conversation. I kiss the nape of her neck over and over, pushing aside her bathrobe. My lips are drawn by the glimpse of her shoulders and breasts. Her scent spreads all around me. I feel the softness of her breast as my mouth touches her nipple.
“Ah … don’t.”
She strokes my hair. I kiss her again. Over and over. I take off my belt and unbutton my shirt.
“… Wait a minute. There’s something I want to show you.”
Heedlessly, my lips are drawn to her body. Pushing aside her bathrobe again, I drop the unfastened sash under the bed. Her voice comes out like an exhalation as she stretches out an arm and takes out something from the shelf beside the bed.
“The photo of me, that my brother took … The one I told you about … My brother sent it to me …”
Her eyes are narrow as she speaks.
“The one that reveals my true nature. Look …”
I ignore her. I put my arms around her back and take her nipple in my mouth again.
“See … Ah … Look.”
She holds the photo right in front of my eyes. My breath catches.
“… Will you … save me?”
She looks at me.
“… There’s someone I want you to kill.”
Archive 5
Your letter is really boring.
The reason why you became a member of K2. Do you think you can satisfy me with that kind of scratch? If you’re going to peer inside someone’s mind, you’re going to have to reveal something of yourself.
From now on, I’m not going to write anything about the murders. Not until you give me something definitive about your own self. No matter how lonely I may be, I’m not going to let you talk me into going there.
You got it? Don’t be so disappointed. It’s your own fault anyway.
Last Winter We Parted Page 5
