by Kotaro Isaka
‘Don’t be absurd.’ Now the man’s eyes narrow into a piercing gaze. At that moment Lemon notices what the man is reading: Hotel Buffets, with photos of food underneath. ‘That’s like in a witch trial when they said that the woman denying she was a witch was proof she was a witch. You think there’s something suspicious about me because I’m not afraid of you?’ He closes his book. ‘I certainly was surprised. You sit down next to me out of nowhere and demand to look inside my bag. I was so surprised I didn’t know how to react.’
Sure don’t look surprised, Lemon thinks, and then says as much. ‘What do you do, anyway?’
‘I’m an instructor at an exam-preparation school. A small one.’
‘A teacher, huh? I never got along with teachers. But also, every teacher I ever had was afraid of me. None of them were as relaxed as you. What, are you used to dealing with juvenile delinquents or something?’
‘Do you want me to be afraid of you?’
‘I mean, no, not really.’
‘I’m just trying to be a normal human being. It’s not like I’m trying specifically not to be afraid.’ The man sounds slightly bewildered. ‘But if I’m not afraid,’ he continues, ‘it might be because of some rough stuff I got wrapped up in some time ago. Ever since then I’ve felt a little reckless. Maybe I’m desensitised.’
Rough stuff? Lemon furrows his brow. ‘One of your bad students beat you up?’
The man narrows his eyes again, his face creasing, followed by a broad smile. It makes him look like a little boy. ‘My wife died, I met some scary people, a lot happened. But hey,’ he says, his voice suddenly back to how it sounded before, ‘crying about it won’t do any good. I’m just trying to live like I’m alive.’
‘Live like you’re alive? What’s that supposed to mean? How could you live any other way?’
‘Actually, most people live pretty aimlessly, wouldn’t you say? Sure, they talk and have fun, but there’s got to be something more, I don’t know –’
‘What, like howling at the moon?’
The man beams at this, nods vigorously. ‘Exactly. Howling at the moon would definitely make you feel alive. And eating lots of good food.’ He opens the book and shows Lemon a photo spread of a hotel buffet.
Lemon doesn’t know what to say, and realises that he doesn’t have time to sit here talking to this man. He stands up and steps into the aisle. ‘You know, Teach, you remind me of Edward.’
‘Who’s Edward?’
‘One of Thomas the Tank Engine’s friends. Engine number two.’ Lemon launches automatically into the character description he’d memorised. ‘A very friendly engine, kind to everyone. He once helped push Gordon up a hill and another time saved Trevor from almost being scrapped. Everyone on the Island of Sodor knows they can count on Edward.’
‘Wow. Did you learn all that by heart?’
‘If Thomas was on the college entrance exams, I’d have got into Tokyo U.’ With that Lemon walks on, exiting car number four.
He checks the luggage rack in the gangway.
Nothing.
In the middle of car six he meets the kid.
He didn’t even see him, the kid just seemed to show up out of nowhere, and suddenly they were standing facing each other in the aisle. Looks like he’s thirteen or fourteen, one of these pretty-looking kids you see nowadays. Clear eyes, well-proportioned nose – like a little doll that you can’t quite tell if it’s supposed to be a boy or a girl.
‘Whaddayou want?’ Lemon isn’t sure of how he should act to make this kid think he’s tough. The kid feels too wholesome, reminds him of Percy the green engine.
‘Are you looking for something? I saw you peeking in the bathroom.’
The kid gives off a vibe like he’s a grade-A student, which makes Lemon feel uncomfortable. He’s never been able to get along with eggheads. ‘A suitcase. Black, about this big. You seen it? Probably not, I guess?’
‘Oh, actually, I did.’
Lemon gets right in the kid’s face. ‘Oh yeah? You saw it?’
The kid leans back a little, but he isn’t scared. ‘I saw someone carrying a bag that size,’ he says, miming the dimensions with his hands. ‘A black bag.’ He pokes his finger towards the front of the train, which picks up speed just at that moment, causing Lemon to stagger slightly.
‘What’d he look like?’
‘Um,’ the kid says, touching his fingers to his chin and cocking his head, looking upward and making a show of trying to remember. The performance looks like something a teenage girl might do. ‘Um, let’s see, he wore dark-coloured trousers and had a denim jacket on.’
‘A jean jacket, huh? How old?’
‘Late twenties or early thirties, I’d say. Oh, and he had black glasses on. Kind of handsome.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’
The kid waves off the thanks, no, it was nothing, and flashes a smile so dazzling it lights up the whole car.
Lemon smiles too, wryly. ‘You grinning like that because you’ve got a heart of pure gold or because you’re making fun of a grown-up?’
‘Neither one,’ the kid answers without hesitation. ‘It’s just the way I smile.’
‘You trying to get the other kids on the Shinkansen to smile like you, innocent and sparkly-eyed?’
‘Do you like the Shinkansen, sir?’
‘Who doesn’t like the Shinkansen? I mean I liked the 500 series best. But I think the Hayate’s great too. But if you wanna know what train I like best, it’s the Duke of Boxford’s personal train.’
The kid makes a puzzled face.
‘What, you don’t know Spencer? Don’t you watch Thomas and Friends?’
‘I think I used to when I was little.’
Lemon snorts. ‘You’re still little, dammit. Got a face like Percy.’ Then he starts to make his way towards the next car to look for the person the kid described but stops when he sees the digital ticker on the wall above the cabin door. The letters on the display flow to the left, spelling out ‘Top Stories’. Distracted, Lemon pauses to watch. The first item tells him that a snake was stolen from a Tokyo pet shop. Apparently a rare breed of snake. There was no known motive, but Lemon mutters to himself that someone was probably looking to sell the snake. Then comes the next story:
‘Thirteen dead in the Fujisawa Kongocho killing. Security cameras at the scene had been sabotaged.’
Was it thirteen? The thought doesn’t trigger any particular feelings one way or the other. It had been dark in the underground room, and he had shot down one armed man after another, so he wasn’t clear on the numbers. All that spraying blood and torn flesh, but seeing it written out like that makes it seem so dull.
‘Rough stuff,’ says the kid. He’s standing behind Lemon, apparently also reading the news. ‘Thirteen people.’
‘I did at least six, probably more. Tangerine did the rest. It’s more than a couple, but it’s not that much.’
‘What?’
Lemon immediately regrets thinking out loud. He tries to change the subject. ‘Hey, know what that thing’s called? Officially? A traveller information broadcast device. Did you know that?’
‘Sorry?’
‘That thing with the news on it.’
‘Oh.’ The kid nods. ‘Yeah, I wonder where they get the news from.’
Lemon feels himself smile. ‘I shall tell you,’ he says with a flare of the nostrils. ‘There are two kinds of information. One is whatever they write in the conductor’s cabin, and the other comes from the central depot in Tokyo. The kind from inside the train is like, you know, “We will soon be passing by so-and-so station,” that kind of thing. Everything else, advertisements, news, all that, that gets beamed in from the central depot. Like when there’s an accident somewhere and it messes with the timetables? That kind of real-time info gets typed up back in Tokyo and shows up on our train. And the news too. News from the six major newspapers comes in rotation, which is pretty cool. And that’s not all –’
‘Um, I think we’re in
the way,’ says the kid firmly, bringing Lemon back to himself. The snack trolley is right behind them. The attendant recoils when she sees Lemon, as if alarmed that this man keeps showing up everywhere she goes.
‘But I had lots of other cool stuff to tell you.’
‘Cool stuff.’ It’s clear that the kid has doubts.
‘You didn’t think it was cool? About the traveller information broadcast device? It didn’t move you?’ Lemon is utterly sincere. ‘Well, anyway, thanks for the help. If I find my suitcase it’ll be because of you. Next time I see you I’ll buy you some sweets.’
Nanao
A PASSENGER IS WALKING IN Nanao’s direction, a smallish kid in a blazer. Nanao closes his flip phone and puts it away in the rear pocket of his cargo pants, working all the while on calming himself down. He’s propping the Wolf’s body up against the window: if he doesn’t support it properly the head will flop around unsettlingly.
‘Is everything all right?’ The kid stops next to Nanao to ask. His teachers at school must have taught him to check in with people who look like they might be having trouble. Which is the last thing Nanao needs.
‘Oh, yeah, everything’s fine, he just had a bit too much to drink and his head was spinning.’ Nanao makes sure not to speak too quickly. He nudges the body slightly. ‘Hey, wake up. You’re scaring the children.’
‘Do you want some help getting him back to his seat?’
‘No, no, it’s fine. Having a great time.’ Who’s having a great time? Me? Hugging a corpse and taking in the scenery?
‘Um, looks like someone dropped something.’ The kid looks down.
It’s a Shinkansen ticket. Probably the Wolf’s, which fell on the floor. ‘Sorry, could you get that for me?’ Nanao asks because it would be tough for him to lean down while holding up the body and also because he has the sense it would be good to satisfy this kid’s apparent urge to be kind to people.
The kid scoops the ticket right up.
‘Thanks a lot,’ Nanao says with a head bob.
‘Alcohol sure is scary. The man I’m travelling with today can’t stop drinking either. He causes all kinds of trouble,’ the kid says cheerily. ‘See you later,’ and he turns towards the entrance to car six. But then he notices the lone suitcase standing by the opposite door. ‘Is this yours too, sir?’
What school does this kid go to anyway? Nanao wants him gone as soon as possible, but the kid seems determined to stick around and help as much as he can. Where do they teach kids to be so helpful? Even as Nanao’s frustration grows he thinks that if the day ever comes where he has children of his own he’d try to send them to this kid’s school. But at the moment it’s just more bad luck. In this particular situation, a chance encounter with a kid brimming with charity and benevolence is an unfortunate turn of events.
‘Yes, it’s mine, but you can just leave it there. I’ll get it later.’ He feels his tone getting a shade harder and tries to regulate it.
‘But if you leave it there someone might take it.’ The kid’s persistent. ‘If you leave yourself open people will walk all over you.’
‘Well, that’s unexpected.’ Nanao speaks his thought out loud. ‘And here I was thinking your school taught you to have faith in people. The doctrine of inherent human goodness.’
‘Why would you think that?’ The smiling kid seems familiar with the doctrine of inherent human goodness, which makes Nanao feel slightly embarrassed. I only just learned about the idea, from Maria.
‘It’s hard to say why, exactly.’ Because it seemed like your school might be full of well-behaved students, I guess.
‘I don’t believe that people are born inherently good or bad.’
‘They just become one or the other, is that it?’
‘No, I think good and bad depend on your point of view.’
This is some kid. Nanao is taken aback. Do teenagers really talk this way?
The kid offers again to help with the suitcase.
‘It’s all right, really.’ If the kid keeps pressing, Nanao might lose his temper. ‘I’ll take care of it.’
‘Um, what’s inside it?’
‘I’m not actually sure.’ An honest answer in a careless moment, but the kid laughs, apparently thinking it’s a joke. His teeth gleam in a perfect white row.
The kid seems to want to say something else, but after a moment gives a bouncy goodbye and heads into car number six.
With a rush of relief, Nanao hugs the Wolf’s body to himself and steps over to the suitcase. He has to figure out what to do with the body first and then the bag, and fast. The bag’s owner in car three may not yet have realised that it’s missing, but if they do they’re sure to search the train. Nanao knows that if he’s carrying the bag around in the open chances are he’ll be found out.
With one arm around the corpse and the other hand gripping the suitcase handle, he looks left and right, at a loss. First the body, which should probably go in a seat. His eyes fall on the trash receptacle in the wall. There’s a hole for bottles and cans, a narrow slot for magazines and paper waste, and a large flap for the rest.
Then he notices a small protrusion on the wall, right next to the magazine slot. It looks like a keyhole, but there’s no opening, just a little circular bump. Before he knows what he’s doing he reaches out and pushes it. A small metal fitting pops out with a click. What do we have here?
He twists it.
What he thought was a wall is actually a panel that now swings open. There’s a large space inside, like a locker. A shelf divides the space into two levels. The bottom part has a heavy-duty plastic bag hanging there, where the trash collects when people deposit it. Opening the panel like this must be how the cleaning staff collects the trash.
But of greatest interest to Nanao is the fact that the top shelf is empty. Without stopping to think he tightens his hold on the body and hoists the bag up one-handed, using muscle and momentum to swing it crashing onto the shelf. In the next instant he closes the panel.
Nanao feels his worried mind ease ever so slightly at unexpectedly finding a hiding place. Then, turning his thoughts back to the body in his arms, he checks the ticket that the kid picked up for him. Car six, row one. That is, the closest row in the closest car to him. Perfect for putting the body down without raising suspicion.
It’s happening. Things are going my way. And then he thinks: But are they really?
Two lucky breaks for a guy usually mired in bad luck – one, finding the trash box panel to hide the bag, and two, the Wolf’s seat being so close. One part of him is ringing alarm bells, shrieking that the other shoe’s going to drop any minute, and another part of him is lamenting that these two windfalls are as far as his luck will go.
The scenery flies by out the window. Cranes on the roofs of buildings under construction, rows of linked apartment buildings, jet contrails in the sky, all disappearing at a uniform speed.
He adjusts the body against his own. Carrying a grown man over his shoulders is sure to attract attention, so he stands the Wolf up next to him, shoulder to shoulder like they’re practising for a three-legged race. He takes a few awkward steps. This doesn’t look very natural either, but there’s no other way he can think of.
The door to car six slides open. Nanao enters and spills himself and the body into the two-seater directly to his left, wanting to get down and out of sight. He sets the Wolf up by the window and settles into the aisle seat. Luckily, there’s no one in the seats across the aisle either.
He allows himself a sigh of relief. Then the Wolf sways and comes lurching towards him. He hastily pushes the body back up against the window, arranging the arms and legs as best he can for balance. He has never quite got used to the sight of lifeless bodies. He tries to stabilise it so it will stop flopping around. First he attempts to prop the elbow on the windowsill, but the Wolf is a bit too short because it doesn’t look at all natural. After several minutes of trial and error, he finds a position that seems like it might work, but only a few moment
s later the body starts to sag and collapse like an avalanche in slow motion.
Nanao fights down his rising temper and once more tries fastidiously to arrange the body. He leans him up against the window and tries to make it look like the Wolf is sleeping. Then he pulls the flat cap down low for good measure.
A call comes in from Maria. Nanao gets up and returns to the gangway. He stands next to the window and puts his phone to his ear.
‘Make absolutely sure you get off at Omiya.’ Nanao smiles acidly. There was no need to tell him that. ‘Well? Are you enjoying your ride on the Shinkansen?’
‘I haven’t had any time to enjoy it. I’m scrambling here. I finally got the Wolf into his seat. Looks like he’s sleeping. I hid the bag, too.’
‘Well look at you.’
‘You don’t know anything about the bag’s owner?’
‘Only that he’s in car number three.’
‘Nothing else more specific? If I knew what kind of person to watch out for it would be a big help.’
‘If I knew anything I would tell you. But that’s all I’ve got, really.’
‘Mother Maria, help me.’ Standing by the door, he can feel the vibrations of the train on the tracks. The phone is pressed to his ear, his forehead is pressed to the window. It’s cold. He watches the buildings flow by.
The door from the rear of the train opens and someone enters the gangway. Nanao can hear the toilet door open; then whoever went in comes out again right away. There’s an exasperated click of the tongue.
Someone looking for something in the toilet?
He risks a glance. A man, long and lanky. Wearing a jacket, a grey shirt underneath. His hair sticks up randomly, like he just got out of bed. An aggressive look in the eyes, like he’s ready to pick a fight with anyone he meets. Nanao recognises him. ‘Hey, that reminds me,’ he says into his phone, trying to keep his voice natural, like he’s just a regular passenger having a conversation and looking out the window. He keeps his back turned to the man.
