“I’m gonna eat your red koi!” the lucky cat suddenly said, and its eyes rolled.
I can’t even describe how surprised I was at that moment. My determination to talk to Mr. Tightrope Adventurer Rogue about the preciousness of life suddenly evaporated, and I scurried away.
How mortifying. And how terrifying.
I furiously licked my candied apple to calm down and then looked around a used bookfair near the literature department. Looking at the secondhand textbooks, magazines, and records packed in cardboard boxes brought back happy memories of the summer bookfair and the things I’d found there. The candied apple and the good memories made my heart big and round again, so with renewed energy, I entered a law department building.
Outside a lecture hall was a sign announcing a debate, and when I went in to watch, there were students wearing intimidating expressions lined up at the podium and a curtain with huge characters that read RICE FUNDAMENTALISTS VS. BREAD ALLIANCE.
“People should be fed to dogs if they’re so behind the times they still eat rice balls!”
“You like wheat flour that much? You’re Japanese! Eat rice!”
The denunciations exchanged right off the bat surprised me, but the curses they flung at one another were like the purifying salt that sumo wrestlers throw before the competition. After that ritual to whip up their fighting spirits, the real debate began. I asked the person next to me, and apparently, the debate was being held by the Sophistry Debate Club. “It’s a bunch of people who don’t really care one way or another but are split into rice and bread factions for the debate.”
By the way, I like both rice and bread. Sorry to be an opportunist.
Eventually, the facilitator stopped the debate and asked the audience what they thought. The people watching had all sorts of fascinating opinions. At some point, the facilitator noticed my red koi and said, “And how about you, there? What do you think?”
The person with the mic ran over and prompted me to speak. “Which side are you on, rice or bread?”
Hrmmmm. I fell deep into thought.
Having acquired testimony from the crepe-stand girl that a black-haired maiden wearing a red koi on her back and a string of Daruma dolls around her neck had walked toward the clock tower, I headed for Main Campus. As I entered through the main gate among the crowd of festivalgoers, the clock tower stood at attention in the slanted evening sun.
I wandered around Main Campus trailing the girl who left glittering impressions in her wake. I heard she bought a candied apple, and the combination of her and a candied apple was so charming in my mind that I couldn’t help myself and bought one to lick as I meandered. When I passed the engineering department, I saw office members marching off some fool who’d been tightrope-walking between buildings. What an idiot, I thought.
When I entered the law department, I heard another rumor about her. A petite girl and her red koi slipped into the Rice Fundamentalists vs. Bread Alliance debate put on by the Sophistry Debate Club and threw a wrench into the event by declaring, “You should all just eat Bisuko cookies!” But by the time I ran to the lecture hall, the debate was over. Instead, I found a panel of men who’d lived over twenty-five years without a girlfriend debating how to get along with women at an event called “A Quarter Century of Solitude.” I was deeply moved by their passionate discussion.
In that frame of mind, I walked through the gap between the new and old buildings as a cold wind whipped by. But I had run out of leads, so the girl’s whereabouts were a complete mystery. I circled Main Campus once and returned to the main gate. It was three thirty in the afternoon, so the booths were already packing up. Twilight was stealthily encroaching.
Near the clock tower, I found the Mystery Research Society at a long table selling something called The Crackpot of Monte Cristo Guidebook. The girl selling it was shouting, “It’s almost time for the final act! This one book is all you need to get caught up!”
I bought a copy without much thought.
It was a simple packet of printouts stapled together that summarized the first forty-eight acts of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo, introduced the clubs that appeared as villains, and provided a chart of the relationships between characters.
“The Crackpot of Monte Cristo is structured in such a way that behind each mastermind is another mastermind, as the clubs who are the enemies of the protagonist, Princess Daruma, accuse one another of various misdeeds. It should be noted how, by using actual club names, this work moves beyond mere street performance and has spurred a lot of real conversation in both fans and critics. One could say the format of the performances and its knack for creating buzz are at the play’s core. We hope you will watch the conclusion with your own eyes. Will the fateful pair meet once again? Where is the Crackpot of Monte Cristo imprisoned? And if the Crackpot of Monte Cristo is to appear, what sort of character will he be?”
I was absorbed in reading the booklet when a flyer blew into my leg.
As I picked it up, I saw it was a preview for the final act of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo. “The ongoing guerilla theater production, The Crackpot of Monte Cristo, is about to conclude and sure to leave its mark. Witness this historic moment!” it announced in a dramatic font.
In larger characters, it said, “New lead actress!” and when I saw the picture of who was playing Princess Daruma, I stood there dumbstruck. The new Princess Daruma, introduced with an illustration by an art student, was unmistakably the girl. Things have gotten intense while I was out of the loop, I thought. I was still on the other side of the bottomless moat, but now she was farther away than ever. Some whim of fate placed her in a major role, while I had to make do with getting blown on by the cold wind as a pebble by the wayside…
I heard two guys who’d acquired a flyer talking.
“I guess The Crackpot of Monte Cristo got a new lead actress.”
“Oh, what’s she like? Pretty?”
“She’s wearing a big koi on her back and a string of Daruma dolls around her neck.”
“…What’s she supposed to be? A monster?”
I’d run out of clues on Main Campus, but if she was going to play the lead in The Crackpot of Monte Cristo, she would surely show up at the performance. Thinking I’d gather some information on the play, I returned to Yoshida-South and popped into the festival office. But the whole place was in an uproar, so it was no time for asking questions.
Staffers were running every which way, their hair disheveled. From a speaker on a table, a voice blared, “The Speedy Kotatsu is currently passing through the courtyard. Requesting immediate support,” but no one was paying any attention to it. The director was pulling a green net out of a locker in the corner of the tent and told me, “I don’t have time to play around with you,” even though we’ve been friends for a long time. Apparently, as the night’s final act approached, their problems had been multiplying.
After hand-to-hand combat with the fearless adventure rogue tightrope-walking between engineering buildings, they’d captured him. From one of those engineering buildings came complaints of a giant lucky cat blocking the stairs. There was a string of odd robberies wherein sandwich boards or any junk placed next to a booth disappeared. The Speedy Kotatsu was still appearing out of nowhere and vanishing without a trace. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo had blown up in popularity, and the Mystery Research Society was even selling copies of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo Guidebook. There were people trying to make hot pot with a road-killed wild boar; for some reason, Daruma dolls were appearing all over campus; and a brawl had broken out at the idol video marathon.
As his ship was reeling in utter chaos, buffeted by storm winds, the captain finally flew into a rage. It was the first time in my life I’d ever heard a flesh-and-blood human say, “Keeeeeegh!” The office director stood up and made a speech, though no one was listening: “You know, we aren’t saying ‘You can’t do this!’ and ‘You can’t do that!’ without reason! Isn’t the whole point of nagging everyone to make sure we can
guarantee them a soft landing in reality after they rampage through their youth? Isn’t the point to bring the school festival safely to a close? So why?! Why doesn’t a single person—not one single person—appreciate us?! What an incredibly short end of the stick! Everyone and their mother is just doing whatever they want! Do they really think they can keep riding a stolen motorbike through the night with no destination in mind?! This isn’t a Yutaka Ozaki song!” He thrust a fist into the air and shouted, “Ahhh, dammit! I’m so jealous! I wanna be them!”
After the passionate debate in the law department lecture hall, it was argued that a Bisuko cookie was a type of bread, so I became the Bisuko Faction of the Bread Alliance and joined the demonstration. It was my first time participating in anything like that, so naturally, I got very excited, and my hand held the sign with a lot of energy. Actually, though, the people who started the march didn’t really care one way or the other between rice and bread. The plan was to go up on the stage, set up on the field, and give speeches, but as we approached the main gate, everyone got bored, so only two other people besides me entered Yoshida-South campus. One of them fell in love at first sight with the girl selling crepes and left, and when I caught the other one snacking on a rice ball, she admitted, “Sorry. I actually like rice better, I guess,” and left with tears in her eyes.
You can’t really call it a demonstration anymore with only one person. I was in low spirits and wandered between the academic center and the field. I looked quite whimsical with a koi fish on my back, a sign in my left hand and a string of Daruma dolls around my neck, but inside, a cold wind was blowing through my heart. The sun had started to slant, so I felt even lower and lonely. I wished I could see Mr. Higuchi, Ms. Hanuki, and Chief-in-Chief Underpants from the Speedy Kotatsu. I wished I could talk with the girl from Elephant Butt. Then I remembered that the Elephant Butt girl had said she needed to go break down the exhibit. I’ll go bid farewell to that great elephant bottom, I thought.
Then, as I was crossing the courtyard near the multipurpose building, I noticed a little Daruma doll on the ground. Today is a day for frequent encounters with cute things.
That moment, I heard the sound of a familiar bell. Theater troupe members with red armbands came running from all directions. The prop girl arrived and flashed me a smile as she rang the bell. She grabbed the Daruma and popped it open. There was a folded-up script inside. After glancing over it, she handed it to me and said, “You’re on.”
“The four o’clock show is about to start! Presenting The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” Her shout echoed off the walls of the multipurpose buildings surrounding the area. “Act forty-nine!”
THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO
ACT 49
SETTING: THE ACADEMIC-CENTER COURTYARD
Beaming because he’s just swindled the Bedroom Investigation Commission out of a pile of smutty books, the DIRECTOR of the School Festival Office exits the building. Princess Daruma blocks his way.
DARUMA
Are you the director of the School Festival Office?
DIRECTOR
The shameless, mischievous Emperor of Evil who rules over the entire school festival is me, yes. With a koi on your back and Daruma dolls around your neck, I see—you’ve done well to make it this far, Princess Daruma!
DARUMA
And you, the villain lurking deep within the festival, taking it easy while your minions slave away, absorbed in swindled smut, cross-dressing night after night, arrogantly lecturing students on the rules while exempting yourself, steeped in obscenities. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo rose up precisely to give you the punishment you deserve.
DIRECTOR
(cackling)
What imprecations are these against someone who calls himself the Emperor of Evil? I hardly feel a spring breeze. You and the Crackpot of Monte Cristo are two peas in a pod when it comes to foolishness, brandishing silly justice and making a racket just like willow tits. School-festival terrorists? That’s rich. Justice is always on my side. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo is in the depths of a darkness he’ll never escape, a place where he’ll regret his choices in life.
DARUMA
So you’re the one who’s abducted him!
DIRECTOR
Yes, you are quite correct.
DARUMA
Tell me! Where is my precious one, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo?
DIRECTOR
In the deepest depths of a darkness, inescapable once you set foot inside. Covered by white smoke from the Cauldron of Hell is a terrifying fortress that smells most foul. Even Chief-in-Chief Underpants shrinks in fear of its filthiness, and even the Sophistry Debate Club members fall silent before its majesty. It is but a prison of four and a half tatami mats; its name, the Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds.
DARUMA
For the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, I would journey even to hell! I won’t be frightened off!
DIRECTOR
You’ve forgotten yourself in your foolish love!
DARUMA
That’s not nice!
DIRECTOR
It’s a futile dream with no prospect of coming true. Ending things once and for all right now is what I call mercy!
OFFICE STAFFER 1
(runs over)
That’s enough, Princess Daruma!
OFFICE STAFFER 2
(spreads a green net)
Besides wreaking havoc at the school festival, you’ve been bad-mouthing the office… We can’t take this lying down. I have no intention of being rough with you, but we’ll need you to come with us back to HQ.
OFFICE STAFFER 3
Give up and come quietly!
After some swashbuckling, the net is thrown over the theater troupe. Their resistance futile, they are taken away.
DARUMA
I will never bow to evil. I must see the Crackpot of Monte Cristo again!
PROP GIRL
Whither the fate of Princess Daruma, who has fallen into the mastermind’s trap?!
SCENERY GUY 1
Will she reunite with the Crackpot of Monte Cristo?
SCENERY GUY 2
Don’t miss the final act!
The office staff marched us over to the corner of the field where their headquarters had been set up.
The booths in the area were beginning to break down their tents, folding them up. Rays of golden light shone down, and the kind of autumn wind that makes you miss your hometown was blowing. It was heartbreaking to think such a fascinating festival was going to end and the university would go back to normal. My heart was steeped in the same sort of sorrow I felt as an elementary schooler when field day was over. And on top of that, I’d been caught by the office and wouldn’t be able to appear in The Crackpot of Monte Cristo anymore. Basically, the festival was already over for me. It was sad.
The director glared at us.
We went into the HQ tent and sat on folding chairs.
“Please sit right here. I can’t have you wreaking any more havoc!”
His tone was firm, but he was kind enough to serve us tea and sweet dumplings he’d bought at one of the festival booths. Sipping roasted green tea and biting into my snack, I relaxed. The director slumped into a chair and stared into space for a while. He seemed tired. He looked at the koi fish on my back and murmured, “That’s great…”
I gazed up at the big map hanging behind him.
“What’s that map?”
“Oh, this? This shows where the Speedy Kotatsu and the Crackpot of Monte Cristo incidents have been happening, and—” He suddenly gasped. Standing before the map with his arms crossed, he looked like Sherlock Holmes, frowning with his pipe as he solved a case. “Why didn’t I realize until now? These all overlap… It’s like the performance comes right after the Speedy Kotatsu.”
I saw the prop girl smile. When the director turned around, the smile disappeared like water soaking into sand. He narrowed his eyes at her. Then he clenched a fist. “So that’s what was going on!” he shouted. “The Crackp
ot of Monte Cristo is writing the script under the Speedy Kotatsu?!”
That’s when it happened.
A big elephant bottom came loudly crashing into the tent. The walls of the tent flipped up, the office desk tipped over, and the staff members fled in a panic. I ran into a corner with my sweet dumpling and teacup. The elephant bottom’s trampling had kicked up a huge cloud of dust, and the headquarters was in a terrible state, like the aftermath of an earthquake. The director was pinned between the elephant bottom and one of the tent walls and couldn’t move. “C’mon, gimme a break,” he groaned. As the staffers were trying to rescue him, the theater troupe skittered out of the tent and made their escape. They were probably headed for their final performance.
From the shadow of the malevolent bottom in the middle of the tent, the Elephant Butt girl peeked out and immediately held out her hand. “Now let’s get out of here!” she commanded. “You’re going to perform to the end. You have to reunite with the Crackpot of Monte Cristo!”
At the sound of her voice, my actress spirit perked back up. The spirit wasn’t only half a day old. I may not seem like the type, but I was obsessed with Glass Mask as a little girl, of course.
I answered, “Right!” stood up, took her hand, and ran across the field. Oh, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo! I’ll finally be at your side!
“I saw you get caught. It would be a shame not to perform in the final act, right? So I came to save you.”
“Thank you, Elephant Butt girl!”
The Night Is Short, Walk on Girl Page 14
