by Zoe Drake
“Huh?” And she made a face, the kind of face that he’d seen before many times on his high school students, but never on Saori. “What are you thinking of? David, do you know what my parents were doing today? They were down at that hospital. Trying to get an audience with Dr. Kageyama. But he refused to see them. He refused even to discuss my sister with them.”
“Well. I, ah, I didn’t know that. But…”
“But what? My family’s trying to get a new lawyer, and that’s difficult enough. What do you think people will say if they find out that their other daughter’s English teacher has joined the program? What would you think?”
“Saori, I…” David stopped. He sat there, tongue-tied, staring at the girl as she stared back at him. There was an extraordinary look in her eyes.
And then they heard the voice of Mrs. Yoshida calling them from the living room. The moment was lost.
It was the most uncomfortable dinner that David could remember. Sukiyaki, served alongside raw tuna and a tomato and broccoli salad; the conversation bounced from the food to the day’s events to the shows on the wide-screen TV dominating the front room, but David felt like a puppet, like a doll that only made a noise when the button was squeezed. Saori did a good job of ignoring him, holding an elaborately polite conversation with her mother.
“I think I’d better leave,” David finally said.
“It is a little early, desu sho?” Mrs. Yoshida commented. “You usually leave until ten o’clock, David-sensei.”
He mumbled something about a faculty meeting early the next morning, and stood up to thank everyone, including Saori. He picked up his bag and put on his shoes in the lobby, his face burning. He opened the front door and stepped out into the night.
“David,” came Saori’s voice, “wait a minute.”
He turned and she stood on the step, unsmiling, her face back to its unreadable self.
“Gomen nasai,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“What? It’s nothing…I mean, it’s my fault, it was a bad idea, I can resign…”
She held out something to him; a notebook, a name written in thick black kanji characters across the front.
“What’s this?”
“It belonged to Ayano. It’s her dream dairy.”
David gaped at her. “The dream diary? The hospital asked me to keep one too. They ask everybody to keep one – why are you showing this to me?”
“If you’re serious, David, if you really want to help us, maybe you should read it.”
Saori took in a deep breath. That look was back in her eyes, but it was softer, mellower. “David, I lost my sister. She joined a hospital program and she thought they were going to take care of her, we were all proud she was involved with such a famous hospital. But something went wrong and she died. Now you enter the same hospital, the same program…”
She reached out and squeezed his hand, looking him right in the eyes. “Take care, David. Be careful. Think about what you’re doing.”
The front door closed, leaving David outside. He didn’t move for a few moments, just stood staring at the door, his thoughts in disarray. Then he finally turned, walked away, the heavy, living darkness closing around him.
Chapter Seventeen
Night Terrors
If Tetsuo Nozaki was going out to work on summer evenings, his wife Aiko had said, than he needed energy. Eel. Grilled eel, in thick barbecue sauce over a bed of rice, before he left the house. Nozaki folded his legs under the living room table and chewed thoughtfully, taking loud sips from the bowl of miso soup.
Switching on the TV, he found a variety program with a duo of young, trendy comedians performing their prime time debut. Wearing body suits made entirely of Velcro, they were hurling themselves against a specially designed wall to see how long they could stick there. They’ll make any old rubbish down in Tokyo, Nozaki thought, but he was too comfortable to get up and look for the remote control.
“Darling,” came Aiko’s voice from the kitchen. “Have you seen this?”
“Seen what?”
Aiko shuffled into the living room, carrying a large plate of pickles. She had changed out of the navy-blue uniform she used for her part-time work, and wore her white fluffy cardigan and short black skirt, the ensemble that she knew Nozaki liked. She knelt down, setting the tray on the table, picking up a newspaper from the tatami. “This was on the TV news as well, a short while ago. A farmer down in Iwate has been charged with murdering his wife.”
“Darling, I’m in the middle of dinner, I hardly think it’s suitable…”
“But he’s defending himself by saying he was asleep when he did it.”
“What’s that?” Nozaki reached out for the newspaper, but Aiko had seated herself on her side of the table, and was carefully reading it aloud. “The court lawyer has released a statement saying that the man was suffering from ‘non-insane automatism’, it says.”
“That’s what most people call sleepwalking.”
“Well, that suits you, doesn’t it? I always thought that sleepwalking was walking through your house with your arms outstretched and your eyes closed. I never knew it would include beating your family to death.”
“Hmm.” Nozaki slurped down the last of his soup, and picked up the rice bowl. “A sleepwalking adult is quite different. They can perform quite a lot of complex activities.”
“Like what?”
“Like walking across rooftops. Like driving in heavy traffic.”
“Oh, you’re joking!”
“Not at all.” With his chopsticks, Nozaki picked out clumps of rice from the bowl and methodically chewed them down while he was talking. “There are two different forms of this disorder, you see. In one, they’re acting out their dreams, and in the other, they’re performing activities they were thinking about before going to bed.”
“You mean, what they’re going to do at work the next day?”
“Yes, that sort of thing.”
Aiko looked worried. “So this farmer had already been thinking about killing his wife?”
“No, I think it’s the other possibility; he was acting out something from his dream. Let’s say he had no violent thoughts at all about his family – but if his wife had found him sleepwalking and woken him up, it could have triggered off a night terror.”
“A what?”
He gestured for Aiko to turn down the TV volume. “A night terror is what happens when the sleeper wakes up suddenly from a nightmare or a sleepwalk. Sometimes they go into a panic, kicking and screaming. They might well attack their partner, mistaking them for someone else.”
“Is that why people say it’s dangerous to wake up a sleepwalker?”
“Yes, it’s got something to do with it.” Nozaki looked at his watch, nodded with thanks as she picked up his rice bowl and padded to the kitchen. “You see, if you wake them up, it’s not only dangerous for them. It’s dangerous for you, as well.”
It was almost dusk when Nozaki left the apartment to drive for work. He stopped at a gas station on one of the quiet, lonely countryside roads, and bought an evening newspaper while the attendants were seeing to the car. Perhaps it would have more on the sleepwalking case, he thought.
Nozaki took the newspaper back to the car and quickly riffled through the main pages before he turned on the engine. He spent most of his time reading academic journals, because he was of the opinion that the media only reported bad news for the sake of sensationalism; and he was right. The newspaper seemed to rejoice in the heinous crimes it was reporting. Yes, there was the case of the sleepwalking murder, along with a number of stories of violence and tragedy. Another teenage boy had stabbed his parents to death and burned down the family’s house; the police believed that stress caused by high school examinations and an excessive schedule of club activities were to blame. Down in Tokyo, a woman was on trial for murdering her relentlessly womanizing salaryman husband, by poisoning him, dismembering his body in the bathtub, and then leaving his plastic-wrapped body parts
at various sightseeing locations around the city.
Nozaki irritably threw the newspaper onto the back seat. At times like this, he doubted the wisdom of bringing children into the world. Still, it was his duty. He knew that people were mainly biological machines, and their duty was to replace themselves – a bit blunt for most people to accept, perhaps, but true. Aiko had frequently said that she wanted two children, and her body, her internal clock, was setting itself, as was only natural. The population of Japan had been declining for some years; what the country desperately needed, he thought, were the open, innocent smiles of children.
It was also strange that the sleepwalking murder case had occurred at such a time. It demonstrated the importance of Dr. Kageyama’s research; there was no way of telling how many people suffered from sleepwalking, because so much of it went unreported. He remembered the case of the bullet train driver who had fallen asleep on the route to Kyoto, a few years ago. Thanks to that, the term ‘sleep apnea’ had entered the nation’s consciousness, helped by the constantly chattering mass media.
In front of him a box wagon slowed suddenly, and Nozaki braked. Through the car’s windows, he could see the family inside. Two children were jumping up and down on the back seat. The father turned round in the driver’s seat to scold them, a cigarette dangling from his lips, temporarily ignoring the road ahead.
The phrase went though Nozaki’s mind again: night terrors.
In the first year of his PhD, Nozaki used to meet with his supervisor once a week, to discuss progress and problems. Since that professor was on sabbatical for this academic year, Nozaki was reporting to Dr. Kageyama himself. It was quite intimidating to have his mentoring performed by such a senior psychologist, but it certainly helped to keep Nozaki focused.
Today there had been a private meeting between Dr. Kageyama and the project’s sponsors. Nozaki’s presence hadn’t been required this time, and he’d expected everything to be finished when he arrived – but as he entered the reception area on the third floor, he noticed straight away his superior still entertaining his guests. Dr. Kageyama was standing in the middle of a group of dark-suited, middle-aged men. The project director had a lean, distinguished face with high cheekbones. Beneath his elegantly groomed mane of grey-white hair, his skin was smooth and unblemished, with none of the liver spots or moles that afflicted men of his age.
As Nozaki watched, the doctor finished what he was saying and gave a deep, formal bow from the waist. The group of men returned the bow, carrier bags bearing the hospital’s crest clutched in their hands. They walked backwards to the exit, bowing as they went. Dr. Kageyama turned, and noticed Nozaki. He waved him over.
“Tetsuo, good evening. Is everything all right? You look a little pale.”
Nozaki blinked. “Pale? I feel fine.”
“Well, at least you’ve been sleeping well, eh?”
Both men laughed, and began to walk to the elevators. “The meeting was a success, Tetsuo. I don’t see any problems with the project from now on.”
Nozaki expressed his gratitude in humble Japanese.
“This is a strange world, Tetsuo,” the head doctor continued. “We cannot depend on some absolute concept to protect us. The lives of these patients, and the fortunes of the hospital, depend on circumstances that change every day. It’s our duty to respond to these circumstances as best we can.”
Nozaki nodded and gave an embarrassed smile, as he wondered why the psychologist was speaking in such a stilted, formal way. Must have been the presentation, he thought; he’s still geared up for making speeches.
They arrived at the elevator lobby where a small group of people was waiting. Nozaki hurried to press the ‘up’ button for his superior.
“I think the sponsors understand we’ve done the right thing, Tetsuo. Since the Yoshida case, we’ve had ample time for self-reflection. The hospital has cleansed and rehabilitated itself, and the sponsors are aware of this.” Dr. Kageyama turned to Nozaki with his over-familiar smile. “I think you’re going to be a lot busier from now on, young man!”
“Thank you, Dr. Kageyama.”
“Are you sure this schedule’s not too hard for you?”
Nozaki waved his hand in the Japanese gesture for ‘not at all’. “I’ve always thought the more challenging a project is, the more fun it is, Doctor. If I think about that, then I enjoy filling in every form, every report. It’s not a chore.”
A musical ping behind them told them the elevator had arrived. Nozaki walked in first, and pressed the ‘hold’ button to allow his superior to enter at a leisurely pace.
Dr. Kageyama stopped at the threshold.
He stopped, staring at Nozaki with a look of utter shock. His mouth opened, his jaws stretched painfully wide, and his eyes…
The psychologist reeled backwards, away from the elevator. His whole body jerked as if from an electric shock. His legs gave way, and he fell to the ground, his arm lashing out and sweeping a pile of DVDs off a nearby desk.
“Dr. Kageyama!”
The entire reception area was shocked into silence. “Get help,” Nozaki snapped. “He’s having a fit!”
Nozaki knelt down by the psychologist’s side, his medical training taking over, pushing out conscious thought. Dr. Kageyama lay on the floor, face up, his eyes rolled up under fluttering eyelids, his mouth making silent chewing motions. His breathing was rapid and out of synch. Nozaki put tentative hands on the man’s shoulders, feeling the muscles rigid and locked into place, while his legs gave spasmodic twitches as the muscles contracted.
He gripped the older man’s necktie and unraveled it, pulling open the shirt collar beneath. Try not to look at the man’s face, he thought, try not to look…
One of the nurses appeared by his side, a towel in her hands. “He’s stopped breathing!” she cried.
“No, he hasn’t.” Nozaki studied the suddenly motionless chest. “His breathing’s irregular, that’s all.”
As the commotion in the reception area subsided into a solemn hush, Nozaki watched a change take place. The face lost its grimacing, mask-like rigor. The mouth relaxed, the eyes stopped blinking and light returned to them.
“Nozaki?” said Dr. Kageyama hoarsely.
“I’m here, sir! Take it easy, sir, you’ve had…you’ve had a fall.”
“I can’t stay here.” With sudden alacrity, Kageyama sat up, preparing to get to his feet.
Nozaki noticed a team of paramedics at the reception desk, a wheelchair before them. “Sir, I think you should rest for a moment…”
“Nonsense.” Dr. Kageyama was now on his feet, his movements precise and coordinated. “I have reports to make. It’s quite all right,” he said, raising his voice to the paramedics. “There’s nothing wrong. I felt dizzy, that’s all.”
“Sir, I really think you should…”
“That’s enough!” Kageyama spun on his heel and faced the researcher. Nozaki took an unintentional step backwards. There was something in the eyes, a directness of contact that the junior wasn’t used to, a warning of anger beneath the surface that shocked him into silence.
“It’s overwork, that’s all. Now, if you don’t mind, I have reports to make.”
That night’s session wasn’t as calming for him as it should have been.
Seated in front of the monitors, Nozaki told himself it was time to relax. He needed to clear his mind and be alert to the displays. There was no point in worrying about Dr. Kageyama’s fit. Stress and overwork were terrible things. As each day went by, this project seemed to become more and more necessary.
But still, who takes care of the doctors, Nozaki asked himself. Who heals the doctors if they become sick?
Enough. It was time to relax, time to concentrate upon the task in hand. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping from the monitor screens to the real-time projections on the computer screens.
Relaxing further, Nozaki felt tranquility flowing through him. The volunteers he regularly interviewed every week, those people
familiar through discussions and questionnaires, become strangers again, their faces peaceful, their posture unforced, their breathing deep and rhythmic.
But despite his contentment, he could still see Dr. Kageyama’s face, contorted with shock and pain. The way his mouth had silently worked, as if the lips and tongue were trying to form words, trying to communicate with Nozaki, but the rest of Dr. Kageyama’s body was resisting them.
Abruptly, the phrase came back to him once more: night terrors.
Chapter Eighteen
Nebuta
There were giants in the streets of Aomori. Five meters tall, they loomed over the heads of the people in the street, vivid against the night sky, eyes and mouths open in furious grimaces. Their beards, eyes and eyebrows were painted in the stylized Japanese style of woodcuts and Kabuki plays. They raged silently, holding high swords poised to slice down upon those below.
Wooden floats carried the giants down the main street, pulled by the townspeople of Aomori, all wearing the garish Haneto costumes and flowered hats. “Rasse-ra!” the revelers chanted, over and over again. “Rasse-ra! Rasse-ra!”
David and his colleagues watched the giants pass by from their precarious spot on one of the street corners, clustered around the pole of a traffic light. Their backs were constantly poked and nudged by the legions of people trying to walk by. Drinking cans of beer taken from Colin’s cooler-bag, they watched the parade unfolding before them, along with thousands of other tourists milling through the city.
“Shame we can’t join those guys,” Colin said, pointing down the street to a crowd seated on a temporary arena of folding chairs.
Guilherme shook his head and downed more lager. “I don’t think so. They’re all reserved for the bus tours from out of town. Do you have any idea how much you have to pay for one of those seats?”
