by Kōji Suzuki
But Mai’s mother couldn’t figure out exactly why Ando had called. She was in touch with her daughter at least two or three times a month. True, she hadn’t spoken with Mai in three weeks now; when she’d called last week, Mai had happened to be out. But she couldn’t understand why a doctor from her daughter’s university would be calling her parents’ house just because he hadn’t seen her for a week. Ando could hear suspicion in the woman’s voice as she carefully probed his every remark.
“So, you say your daughter wasn’t at home when you called last week.” Ando knitted his brow. He’d hoped to find out she’d just gone home for the week. He’d prepared himself for that minor embarrassment, but now, his bit of optimism was gone. Mai hadn’t been around when her mother called the week before, either.
“I’m sure it’s nothing, doctor. We had a stretch last year, too, when we kept missing each other’s calls. We went almost two months without talking then!”
Ando felt antsy. He couldn’t explain the situation even if he wanted to. Just the day before, they’d found in Ryuji’s tissue sample the same virus that had shown up in the two Yokohama kids. They hadn’t been able to establish how the contagion was passed on, or by what route it had traveled. Depending on what they turned up, perhaps the truth had to be withheld from the media. He couldn’t let Mai’s mother know what was going on, either.
“Excuse me for asking, but does your daughter spend the night away from her apartment often?”
“No, I don’t think so,” her mother said firmly.
“Do you happen to remember exactly what day it was you called her last week?”
The woman thought for a moment, then said, “Tuesday.”
So she had already not been answering her phone on Tuesday. Today was Wednesday. Over a week …
“Is it possible that she’s traveling?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Ando wondered how she could be so sure. “Why not?”
“Well, she has a part-time job as a tutor just to pay her daily expenses. She doesn’t want to be a burden on her parents, she says. I simply don’t believe she has enough money to travel.”
All of a sudden Ando was sure that Mai was in some terrible trouble. The Friday before, Mai had stood him up. It wasn’t as if he was difficult to get hold of. If she couldn’t make the date, all she had to do was give him a call the day before and tell him. But she hadn’t done that. And now, he felt sure he knew why. She couldn’t contact him. He recalled the Polaroids of Ryuji’s corpse. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t rid himself of the picture of Ryuji’s limbs splayed out in death. It was still branded on his brain.
“Would it be possible for you to come up to Tokyo tomorrow?” As he made the request, Ando bowed even though he was talking to her over the phone.
“I’m not sure I can get away on such short notice,” she sighed. Then she was silent. Ando supposed he couldn’t expect her to feel a proper sense of urgency when he hadn’t given her the facts of the situation. All the same, though, she seemed a little too unconcerned about the whole thing. Ando wanted to tell her just how easy it was to lose someone you loved. How you could hear her voice, turn around, and find her gone.
Mrs Takano broke the awkward silence. “If I did go to Tokyo, what exactly would you have me do? File a missing person report?”
“I’d at least like you to take a look at her apartment. I’ll accompany you. We can think about a missing person report after that.” But Ando didn’t really believe they’d have to do that. This was—unfortunately—not that kind of case.
“I just don’t know … Does it have to be tomorrow?”
She couldn’t make up her mind. What errand could she have that was important enough to keep her from possibly finding her daughter dead? Ando couldn’t coddle her along any longer.
“Alright, then. I’ll go over to her apartment alone tomorrow. I understand she lives in a small studio. Do you happen to know if the building has a superintendent?”
“Yes, it does. I met him when I helped her move in.”
“Well then, I’m sorry to impose, but could I get you to call him and tell him that Mitsuo Ando will be coming by tomorrow afternoon, between two and three, and that I’d like to take a look at Mai’s room, in his presence of course?”
“Well …”
“Please. I doubt he’ll give me the key if I just show up unannounced.”
“Alright. I’ll make the call and set it up.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
Just as he was about to hang up, Mai’s mother started to say something. “Listen …” Ando waited for her to continue. “Say hello to Mai if you see her.”
She doesn’t understand. Ando didn’t know what to feel as he hung up.
3
Mai’s apartment was only a short train ride from the university, no transfer required. Ando passed through the gate, left the station, and started to search for her apartment, map in one hand and the planner where he’d written the address in the other.
He spotted a little girl in an orange kimono walking down the sidewalk ahead of him with her parents. He was reminded today was the traditional 7-5-3 festival, a celebration for boys of three and five and girls of three and seven. As he overtook and passed the trio he glanced at the child’s face. She seemed a little big, her features too well-developed, for her to be just seven years old. But her festive attire was bright and cheery in the afternoon sunlight. Ando thought her incredibly cute as she wobbled down the street in her unfamiliar lacquer sandals, clutching her mother’s hand. Even after he’d passed them, Ando kept stealing glances back at the three, imagining that in fifteen years the girl would grow up to be as beautiful as Mai.
He eventually located a seven-story apartment building facing a shopping arcade, the address of which matched what he’d written down in his planner. The facade was nice, but even from the outside, he could tell that the units had to be pretty small. They’d kept the rent low by cramming as many tenants as possible onto the property.
He found the superintendent’s office in the lobby and pushed the buzzer. Through the window, he could see him emerge from an inner room. An older gentleman. He opened a small door in the window, and Ando gave his name.
“Oh, yes. Miss Takano’s mother told me you were coming.” Jangling a thick bundle of keys, he came out of the office.
“I appreciate this,” Ando said.
“No, I ought to thank you. I’m afraid things haven’t been going well lately with that girl.”
Ando didn’t know exactly what Mai’s mother had told the man, so he didn’t know how to respond to this, except to say, “I guess not,” and follow him.
On the way to the elevator, they passed a bank of mailboxes. From one of them protruded several newspapers. Guessing it was Mai’s box, Ando had a closer look. As he’d suspected, the nameplate read TAKANO. There were four rows of mailboxes, and hers was in the top row.
“That’s Miss Takano’s. It’s hardly ever like that.”
Ando took the newspapers from where they’d been wedged into the mail slot and checked the dates. The oldest one was the morning edition from Thursday, November 8th. This was the seventh day since. It had been a full week, then, since Mai had last come down to pick up her newspaper. She could be sleeping somewhere else, but he doubted it. She was in her room, alright. It’s just that she couldn’t come down for the paper. All signs pointed in that direction.
The super interrupted Ando’s thoughts. “Okay, then, are you ready?” He sounded as if he thought Ando would back out.
“Yes, let’s go.” Plucking up all the courage he could muster, Ando followed the man into the elevator.
Mai’s apartment was on the third floor, room 303. The super took out his bundle of keys, chose one, and inserted it into the keyhole.
Without realizing it, Ando took a step back. I should have brought surgical gloves. The virus that had brought about Ryuji’s death was probably not airborne.
He imagined it to be like AIDS, fairly difficult to catch. Still, it was an unknown quantity, and he should have taken precautions. Not that he was all that attached to life, but he didn’t want to die just yet. At least not until he’d figured out this puzzle.
A click echoed in the hall as the lock sprang open. Ando took another step backwards, but focused his sense of smell on whatever lay beyond the door. He was well-acquainted with the stench of death. It was mid-November, a fairly dry season, but he could expect a decomposing corpse to give off a powerful odor. He steeled himself until he was confident that even if the door opened to reveal what he expected it to, he could defend against the shock.
The door opened a few centimeters, and a gust of air blew out of the room and into the hallway. The window was probably open. Catching the wind full in the face, Ando breathed in, carefully, through his nostrils. He couldn’t detect the unmistakable scent of a dead body. He inhaled and exhaled several times. No smell of decay. His sense of relief was so strong that it threatened to knock him off his feet, and he put his hand against the wall to steady himself.
“After you,” urged the super, waiting in the doorway. Just standing in the entrance, he could see the whole interior of the apartment. There wasn’t really any “looking around” to be done. Mai’s body was nowhere to be seen. So Ando’s premonition had been an idle one; he relaxed and let out a deep sigh.
He took off his shoes and stepped past the super into the room.
“Where’s she gone?” grumbled the super from behind him.
Ando felt a strange sort of gloom steal over him. He should have felt relieved that he hadn’t found what he’d thought he’d find, but instead his heart continued to race. The room had a strange air about it, and he didn’t know why.
So she hasn’t been back here in a week. It was the only conclusion he could draw. Where is she now? He wondered if the answer to the new question he was left with awaited him somewhere in the room.
Directly next to the entrance there was a small bathroom. He opened the door a crack to make sure it was empty, then returned his gaze to the main room.
He could see how she’d tried to make efficient use of her limited space. A futon was neatly folded and stashed in a corner. There wasn’t enough space for a bed, nor was there a proper closet for the futon. Instead of a real desk there was a low table that had an electric space heater attached to its underside. The table was covered with manuscript pages. A discarded page had been folded up to serve as a coaster for a coffee cup, which was a quarter full of milk. Bookshelves covered one wall, and a combination TV/VCR was nestled in among the books. All the other appliances were arranged around the room almost as if they’d been built in, suggesting the care she’d put into choosing what to buy for her tiny apartment.
In front of the table sat an adjustable backrest that rocked unstably. It was covered with a penguin-print cloth. Pajamas, neatly folded, lay on the seat, with a bra and panties wadded up next to them.
Maybe it’s just because I’m in a young woman’s apartment? Ando was trying to figure out why he felt so uncomfortable. His chest was tight and his pulse was pounding. Seeing her underwear made him wonder if he was just an overexcited voyeur.
“What do you think, Doctor?”
The super was still standing in the doorway. He made no move to enter; he hadn’t even taken off his shoes. Since she clearly wasn’t to be found in her room, he seemed to have concluded that their business was finished and that it was time to go.
Ando didn’t reply, walking over to the kitchenette instead. The floor here was wooden, but for some reason it felt like a thick carpet. He looked up: a ten-watt fluorescent light had been left on. He hadn’t noticed it before because of the afternoon sunlight streaming in. Two glasses were in the sink. He turned the tap on, and after a while the water heated up. He pulled the string dangling from the bulb, turning out the light, and walked away from the kitchenette. When the light went out, he felt gooseflesh rising all over his body.
Nothing he saw gave him any clue as to Mai’s whereabouts.
“Shall we go?” Ando said, not looking at the super. He put his shoes back on and left the apartment. He heard the key turn behind him. He finished tying his shoelaces, straightened up, and walked to the elevator ahead of the super.
As they stood there waiting for the elevator, an autopsy Ando had performed the previous summer came back to him all of a sudden. It was on a young female who’d been strangled at home in her apartment. They’d told him she’d been dead for eleven hours, but when he cut her open he found to his surprise that her organs were still at something close to normal body temperature. When a person dies, the body temperature drops at an average of one degree Celsius per hour. Of course, that’s just an average, subject to all sorts of factors, such as the weather and location. All the same, it was extremely unusual to find a body still perfectly warm after eleven hours.
The elevator came up to the third floor and the doors started to open before Ando’s eyes.
“Hold on a minute,” he said. He didn’t want to leave while any doubts lingered. The oppressive feeling he’d gotten as he’d stepped into Mai’s room, the weird sensation of the wooden floor as he walked on it, almost as if it were melting away.
There was only one way he could describe the odd atmosphere of that room. It was like cutting into a body that had been dead for eleven hours and finding its insides still warm.
The elevator doors were fully open, but Ando did not step in. He was blocking the way, so the super couldn’t get in either.
“Aren’t you going to get in?”
Ando answered with a question of his own. “Are you sure you haven’t seen her at all this last week?”
The elevator shut its doors and began its descent to the ground floor.
“If I have, then we wouldn’t be here, would we?”
The super hadn’t seen her. She hadn’t shown up for class for a week, despite a near-perfect attendance record until now. She didn’t answer the phone no matter how many times he called. A week’s worth of newspapers were stuffed in her mailbox. It was clear that she’d been away since last Thursday. And yet, there was something about that place … It didn’t feel like an apartment whose occupant had been away for a week. There was warmth there, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. It was just that something in the air said someone had been there until just a moment ago.
“I want to have another look,” Ando said, turning to the super, who looked first surprised, then troubled, and then, briefly, afraid. This last emotion did not escape Ando’s notice.
The old man’s afraid of something.
The super handed Ando the key ring, saying, “Just drop them off in the office when you’re done.” He gave Ando a look as if to say, If you want to go back, be my guest, but count me out.
Ando wanted to ask the super what his impressions of the place had been. But he’d probably be at a loss for words, even if Ando asked. That kind of thing wasn’t easy to express. Ando wasn’t sure if he himself could explain what he’d felt there.
“Thanks, I will,” Ando said, accepting the keys and turning on his heel. He was afraid that he’d lose his nerve if he hesitated. In any case, he made up his mind to get out of there as soon as he figured out why the place felt so weird.
Once again, he opened the door. He wished he could leave it open while he was in the apartment, but it swung shut automatically when he let go. The moment it shut, air stopped flowing through the room.
Ando took off his shoes again and walked to the window. He closed it and opened the lace curtains as wide as they’d go. It was past three in the afternoon, and the window faced south; rays of sun slanted into the room. Bathed in light, Ando turned to have another look. The décor didn’t strike him as particularly feminine, though it certainly wasn’t masculine. If it hadn’t been for the penguin design on the backrest, he wouldn’t have been able to guess the inhabitant’s gender.
Ando seated himself nex
t to the backrest and picked up Mai’s underwear. He brought them close to his face and sniffed them, then held them away, then sniffed them again. They smelled like milk. Takanori’s undershirts had smelled like that when he was a toddler.
Ando put the underwear back where he’d found it and twisted his body until his eyes came to rest on the television. The power light glowed red: the VCR had been left on. He pushed EJECT and a tape popped out. There was a white label on its spine, with a title on it.
Liza Minnelli, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr/1989.
This was written in large letters, none too neatly, with a felt-tip pen. It didn’t look like a woman’s writing. He took the tape out and examined it. It was fully rewound. After he’d scrutinized it for a while, he slid it back into the VCR. Ando hadn’t forgotten how this whole series of incidents had something to do with a video. There was the story Mai had told him about Asakawa, then the fact that Asakawa had been carrying a video deck on the passenger seat at the time of the accident.
Ando pressed PLAY.
For two or three seconds the image on the screen looked like ink being mixed with some viscous fluid. Then a point of light appeared amidst the roiling blackness. Flashing, it moved around to the left and right, and then finally started to grow. Ando felt a momentary, but distinct, unpleasantness. Then, just when the point of light looked like it was about to turn into something else, a TV commercial came on. He recognized it as one he’d seen several times already. The contrast, as the darkness gave way to sunny ordinariness, was stunning. Ando felt his shoulder muscles unclench.
The ad was followed by another, and yet another. He fast-forwarded through more of them. Then came a weather report. A smiling woman was pointing to a weather map. He fast-forwarded some more, and got to what looked like a morning talk show. The scene changed again: a reporter was looking into the camera and speaking into a microphone, something about some celebrity getting divorced. Ando kept on fast-forwarding but couldn’t find anything that corresponded to the title on the label. The tape must have been recorded over.
