“Yes. I need to return to that experience once in a while—it’s my starting point, so to speak. Where the person I am today was formed. It’s easy to get soft when life is comfortable.”
What a peculiar guy, I thought again. How would another person react to treatment that harsh—wouldn’t they try to forget it as soon as possible?
As if remembering, Menshiki reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief.
“I found this at the bottom of the pit,” he said. He unfolded the handkerchief, took out a small plastic object, and handed it to me.
I examined it under my flashlight. It was a black-and-white penguin, barely half an inch long, with a tiny black strap attached to it. The kind of thing that schoolgirls like to attach to their cell phones and schoolbags. It was clean and looked quite new.
“It wasn’t there the first time I went into the pit,” Menshiki said. “I’m sure of that.”
“So it must have been dropped by someone afterward, when they were down there.”
“I wonder. It looks like a cell phone ornament. And the strap isn’t broken. So someone had to unhook it first. Doesn’t that suggest it wasn’t dropped—that whoever left it did so intentionally?”
“You mean they entered the pit just to leave it there?”
“Or dropped it down from above.”
“Why would anyone do that?” I asked.
Menshiki shook his head. As if he couldn’t understand either. “It’s possible that whoever it was left it as a charm or talisman. That’s just a guess, though.”
“You mean Mariye?”
“Probably. After all, it’s doubtful anyone else was near the pit.”
“So she left it as a kind of charm?”
Menshiki shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s hard to read a thirteen-year-old girl—their minds can come up with all sorts of stuff, can’t they?”
I looked again at the tiny penguin in my hand. Now it struck me as a charm or amulet of some kind. An aura of innocence clung to it.
“Then who pulled out the ladder and dragged it over there? What was the reason for that?” I said.
Menshiki shook his head again. He had no idea either.
“Anyway,” I said, “let’s call Shoko when we get back and find out if Mariye has a penguin charm on her cell phone. She should know one way or the other.”
“You hold on to the penguin for now,” Menshiki said. I nodded and put it in my trouser pocket.
We replaced the boards, leaving the ladder resting against the wall of the pit. When we put the stones back I registered their exact positions in my mind. Then we headed home through the woods along the same path we had come on. I glanced at my watch—it was already past midnight. We said nothing, just shone our lights on our feet. We were both lost in thought.
As soon as we got back, Menshiki went to his Jaguar, opened the big trunk, and placed the lantern inside. Then he shut the trunk and, as if finally allowing himself to relax, leaned against it and looked up at the sky. The black sky in which nothing was visible.
“Do you mind if I come in for a few minutes?” he said. “It’d be hard for me to relax at home.”
“By all means. I don’t think I can sleep yet either.”
Menshiki’s eyes were still fixed on the sky. He seemed lost in thought.
“I can’t explain why,” I said, “but I can’t get rid of this feeling that something bad is happening to Mariye. And that she’s nearby.”
“But not in the pit, right?”
“I guess not.”
“What kind of bad thing?” Menshiki asked.
“That I don’t know. But I feel she’s in some kind of physical danger.”
“And that the danger is lurking somewhere close to here, right?”
“Right,” I said. “Near here. And it bothers me that the ladder was removed from the pit. Who took it, and why did they hide it in the grass? What does it all mean?”
Menshiki stood up and gave me another pat on the shoulder. “You’re right. I don’t know either. But worrying about it won’t get us anywhere. Let’s go inside.”
47
“IT IS NOW FRIDAY, IS IT NOT?”
The moment we walked in the house I threw off my leather jacket and called Shoko. She picked up on the third ring.
“Anything new?” I asked.
“Mariye still hasn’t called.” I could hear her struggling to breathe normally.
“Have you contacted the police?”
“No, not yet. It still feels too early somehow. I keep thinking she’ll come wandering in the door…”
I described the plastic penguin we had found at the bottom of the pit. Without detailing how we’d found it, I asked if Mariye carried such an object with her.
“Yes, Mariye had a penguin attached to her cell phone. It was a penguin, I’m sure…yes. A penguin. Without doubt. A tiny plastic figurine. She got it in a donut shop. It came free with her order, but she treasured it. As if it were a kind of protective charm.”
“And she carried her phone wherever she went, correct?”
“Yes. It was turned off most of the time, but she always had it with her, yes. She didn’t receive calls, but occasionally she’d call to let me know when something came up.” Shoko paused for a moment. “Did you find it somewhere?”
I struggled to come up with an answer. If I told the truth, I’d have to tell her about the pit in the woods. If the police got involved, I would have to explain it to them as well—in a way they could swallow. Since the penguin was something she carried, they would comb the pit, even search the whole woods for further evidence. I would get the third degree, and Menshiki’s past would be brought into it. I couldn’t see how any of that would help. As Menshiki had said, it would just complicate things.
“I found it in the studio,” I said. I hated to lie, but I had to. “When I was sweeping the floor. I thought that it might be Mariye’s.”
“Yes, it’s hers. I’m sure,” said the girl’s aunt. “But then what should I do? Should I call the police?”
“Have you heard from your brother—I mean, Mariye’s father?”
“No, I haven’t been able to reach him,” she said hesitantly. “I have no idea where he is. He’s not someone who follows a regular schedule—I’m never sure if he’s coming home or not.”
The situation sounded complicated, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. I simply told her to inform the police of Mariye’s disappearance. It was after midnight, and the date had changed. It was possible that Mariye had been in some kind of accident. She said she’d call them right away.
“So Mariye still isn’t answering her cell phone?”
“No, she isn’t answering, though I’ve called her many times. It seems to be turned off. Or the batteries are dead. One or the other.”
“She left this morning for school, and she’s been missing ever since. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Which means she should be in her school uniform, correct?”
“Yes, she should be. A navy-blue blazer and vest, a white blouse, a knee-length plaid skirt, white socks, and black loafers. Oh, and a plastic shoulder bag with the school’s name and emblem on it. She wasn’t wearing a coat.”
“Didn’t she have another bag for her art supplies?”
“She keeps that in her locker at school. She uses it when they have art class, and then takes it to your class on Fridays. She doesn’t bring it from home.”
That was the outfit she always wore to my class—blue jacket, white blouse, tartan plaid skirt, plastic shoulder bag, and a white canvas bag with her paints and brushes. I could picture her perfectly.
“Was she carrying anything else?”
“No, not today. So I doubt she was going very far.”
She said she would.
I hung up the phone.
* * *
—
Menshiki was standing beside me throughout this conversation. Only after I put down the phone did he shed his windbreaker. Underneath was a black V-neck sweater.
“So the penguin was Mariye’s after all,” Menshiki said.
“Seems so.”
“In which case, it’s likely that she went into the pit at some point—we don’t know when—and left her treasured penguin there. That’s what we have so far.”
“So you think she left it there on purpose, as a protective talisman.”
“Probably.”
“But if that’s so, who or what was it protecting?”
Menshiki shook his head. “I’m not sure. But it was clearly her lucky charm. So she must have left it behind for a reason. People don’t part with things they value so easily.”
“Unless it’s to protect something they value more than themselves.”
“For example?” Menshiki said.
Neither of us could answer that one.
We sat there in silence. Slowly but surely, the hands of the clock inched ahead. Each tick pushed the world that much further forward. Outside the window stretched a vast darkness. Nothing moved there. It seemed nothing could.
I suddenly recalled what the Commendatore had said about the missing bell. “The bell was never mine alone. It belonged to the place, to be shared by everyone. So if it disappeared there must have been a reason for it.”
Belonged to the place?
“Just maybe Mariye didn’t leave this penguin in the pit. Couldn’t the pit be connected to some other location? Perhaps it isn’t a sealed-off space but a conduit of some kind. If that’s the case, it might be able to summon all sorts of things.”
That is what I had been thinking, but said aloud it sounded ludicrous. The Commendatore might have understood. But not anyone from this world.
A deep silence settled over the room.
“So what could the bottom of the pit be connected to?” Menshiki said at last, as if addressing himself. “Remember, not so long ago I spent an hour alone down there. In the dark, without a light or a ladder. I tried to use the silence to focus my mind. To extinguish my physical existence and become pure consciousness. I figured if I could do that, I could transcend those stone walls and go wherever I liked. I used to try the same sort of thing when I was in solitary. But I couldn’t find a way out of the pit. In the end, those walls allowed me no escape.”
Perhaps the pit chose whom it wanted, I thought. The Commendatore had come to me when he left the pit. Chosen me as his lodgings, so to speak. Mariye too might have been chosen. But the pit hadn’t chosen Menshiki—for whatever reason.
“In any case,” I said, “we’re agreed—we won’t tell the police about the pit. At this stage, anyway. Still, we’re clearly concealing evidence if we keep our mouths shut about finding the penguin there. If they find that out, we could be in a sticky position.”
Menshiki thought for a moment. “So we’ll keep our lips sealed—that’s all there is to it!” he said at last. “You found it on your studio floor. We’ll go with that.”
“Maybe one of us should be with Shoko,” I said. “She’s home by herself with no idea what to do. Lost and confused. She’s heard nothing from Mariye’s father. Doesn’t she need someone there?”
Menshiki furrowed his brow. “I’m in no position to do that,” he said at last, shaking his head. “Her brother and I are total strangers, so if he came back…”
Menshiki lapsed into silence.
I had nothing to say either.
Menshiki sat there, lightly drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa. Whatever he was thinking brought a slight flush to his cheeks.
“Would you mind if I stayed a little longer?” he asked a while later. “Shoko may try to get in touch with us.”
“By all means, please do,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be going to bed any time soon. Stay as long as you like. You can sleep here too. I’ll lay out some bedding for you.”
Menshiki said he might take me up on my offer.
“Shall I make coffee?” I asked.
“Sounds good,” Menshiki said.
I went to the kitchen, ground the beans, and started the coffee maker. When the coffee was ready, I took it out to the living room. Then Menshiki and I drank it together.
“I think I’ll build a fire,” I said. The room had grown markedly colder once midnight passed. It was already December. An appropriate time for the first fire of the season.
I filled the cast-iron grate in the fireplace with the small stack of firewood I had set aside in the corner of the living room. Then I inserted paper under the grate and lit a match. The wood appeared to be dry, for it caught right away. I was worried that the fireplace might back up—Masahiko had said it was set to go, but you never knew until you used it. A bird could have nested in the chimney. Fortunately, however, it worked beautifully. We moved our chairs in front of the fireplace and sat there in the warmth.
“Nothing beats a wood fire,” Menshiki said.
I thought of offering him some whiskey but changed my mind. Tonight we should stay sober. Who knows, we might have to drive somewhere. So we listened to records and watched the flames dance. Menshiki selected a Beethoven violin sonata and put it on the turntable. Georg Kulenkampff on violin, with Wilhelm Kempff on piano. Perfect music for an early-winter night before a fire. It was hard to enjoy it, though, with Mariye out there shivering in the cold.
Shoko called half an hour later. Her brother had just come home and had already contacted the police. They would be there any moment to investigate. (The Akikawas were an old and wealthy family in the area, so the possibility that it was a kidnapping was making them move quickly.) There was no word from Mariye, and calling her cell phone still didn’t work. They had contacted every likely person they could think of (there weren’t that many) with no luck. No one knew where Mariye had gone.
“Let’s hope she’s all right,” I said. I asked her to let me know if there was any progress, and hung up the phone.
We sat before the fire and listened to another record. Richard Strauss’s Oboe Concerto. Menshiki plucked that off the shelf as well. It was the first time I had heard it. We sat there side by side as it played, watching the fire and thinking our solitary thoughts.
At one thirty, I suddenly grew terribly sleepy. I could barely keep my eyes open. I’ve always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy, so late nights are hard on me.
“Go ahead and turn in,” Menshiki said, looking directly at me. “Shoko may call again, so I’ll stay up a while longer. I don’t need much sleep. I can skip a night without any problem. Always been that way. So please don’t worry about me. I’ll keep the fire burning. I can watch it while I listen to music. Do you mind?”
Of course not, I said. I brought in another load of firewood from the shed outside the kitchen and stacked it next to the fireplace. More than enough, I thought, to last until morning.
“Well then, I’m off to bed,” I said to Menshiki.
“Sleep tight,” he answered. “Let’s rotate. I’ll probably sleep for a bit around daybreak. Could you lend me a blanket or something?”
I went and got the blanket Masahiko had used, a down duvet, and a pillow, and arranged them on the sofa. Menshiki thanked me.
“I have whiskey if you’d like some,” I added.
Menshiki gave a brusque shake of his head. “No, no alcohol for me tonight. We don’t know what could happen.”
“If you get hungry, please help yourself to the food in the fridge. There’s not much, but there’s crackers and cheese at least.”
“Thanks,” Menshiki said.
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* * *
—
Leaving him there, I retired to my room. I slipped under the covers, flicked off the bedside light, and tried to go to sleep. Yet sleep didn’t come. I was exhausted, but a tiny bug was whirring in my brain. This happens sometimes. I gave up, switched the light back on, and got out of bed.
“What might be the problem, my friends?” the Commendatore said. “You cannot sleep?”
I looked around the room. There he was, sitting on the windowsill, clad in the same white garment. Strange pointy-toed shoes, a miniature sword by his side. His hair neatly tied back. As always, a perfect replica of the Commendatore who was stabbed to death in Tomohiko Amada’s painting.
“You’re right, I can’t sleep,” I said.
“There is indeed a great deal happening these days,” said the Commendatore. “No wonder people struggle so to drift off, to no avail.”
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it,” I said.
“I cannot attest to that. I think I told my friends before, but ‘long time’ is lost on us Ideas. We cannot fathom ‘It’s been a long time,’ or ‘Sorry not to have written in so long.’ ”
“Still, your timing is perfect. There’s something I need to ask you.”
“And what, then, is the question?”
“Mariye Akikawa went missing this morning, and everyone is out looking for her. Where on earth could she have gone?”
The Commendatore cocked his head to one side and thought for a moment.
“As my friends know,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “the human realm is ruled by three elements: time, space, and probability. Ideas, by contrast, must remain independent of all three. I cannot, therefore, concern myself with matters of the sort that my friends have just described.”
“I can’t entirely follow you—is the problem that you can’t foresee the outcome?”
The Commendatore didn’t answer.
“Or is it that you know, but can’t tell me?”
The Commendatore narrowed his eyes in thought. “I am not evading responsibility—Ideas have our own constraints.”
Killing Commendatore Page 55
