'Is that your key?' she said. Kazuo nodded slowly, then shook his head. He couldn't lie to her. 'You didn't fish it out of there, did you?' she said, looking angry at his vague response. He spread his arms and shrugged. There was nothing to do but tell the truth.
'I did.'
'Why?' she asked, coming toward him. She was tall, just slightly shorter than Kazuo, and he shrank away from her, clutching the key in both hands to keep her from taking it. 'How did you know? Were you there again that night?' She stabbed her finger toward the grass where he'd been hiding. Just at that moment a large beetle flew out of the undergrowth, as if her finger had pointed a laser there. Kazuo nodded. 'But why?'
'I was waiting for you.'
'Why?'
'You promised to come .. . didn't you?'
'I did not.' She stretched out her hand. 'Now give it back.'
'I won't,' he said, still clutching the key.
'Why would you want something like that?' she said, resting her hands on her hips and studying him.
Don't you understand? Do you want to force me to say it?
'Give it back,' she repeated. 'I need it. It's important.' He understood well enough what she was saying, but he couldn't comply. If it was so important, then she shouldn't have thrown it away. She only wanted it back because he had it now, kept close to his body.
'I won't,' he said. Masako stood there, her lips compressed as she appeared to be considering what to do next. Her anguish made him take her hand. It was so thin it seemed to disappear in his. 'I like you,' he said.
'What?' she said, staring open-eyed at him. 'Because of what happened that night?' He wanted to tell her that he felt she would understand, but no words came. Frustrated, he repeated the one phrase he knew, as if it were a Japanese lesson.
'I like you.'
'I'm afraid that doesn't work for me,' she said, pulling her hand away. Kazuo felt a wave of disappointment. She left him standing by the ditch and walked down the road. He started to follow her but saw rejection in the set of her back; he stopped, letting the sadness wash over him as he watched her go.
7
The factory parking lot appeared to be level but was actually built on a gentle slope. In the dark it was barely noticeable, but at dawn, after a night of exhausting work, the ground sometimes seemed to warp under one's feet. Feeling slightly dizzy now, Masako rested her hands on the roof of the Corolla to steady herself. The metal was covered with drops of condensation from the cool night air, and her palms were instantly wet, as if she'd dipped them in a pool of water. She wiped them on her jeans.
How could he say that? Still, she knew he was serious. Remembering how he had followed her like a lost dog, she turned to look back as she had before, but this time he was gone. She knew he was hurt, and it worried her that he'd recovered the key. But what disturbed her most was the depth of his feelings. She had no need for such emotions any more. She'd left them behind. She understood that she'd chosen her path out of the same sense of isolation that had driven her to help Yayoi.
She had crossed a line that day. She had cut up a man's body and scattered it across the city. And even if she could erase the memory of what she'd done, she could never go back to the way she'd been.
With barely any warning, a wave of nausea rose up in her and she vomited beside the car; but the nausea stayed with her. She dropped to her knees, tears streaming from her eyes, as the yellow bile poured out of her mouth.
-
Wiping her face with a tissue, Masako started the car. Instead of heading home, she turned on to the Shin-Oume Expressway and headed west, in the direction of Lake Sayama. There was no other traffic at this early hour, but she down-shifted and slowed as the road became curvy climbing into the mountains. Except for one old man on a motorbike, she passed nobody at all.
Eventually she came out on a bridge above the dam spanning the valley. Lake Sayama, backed up behind the dam, spread out before her. The land around the lake had been levelled, and the whole area looked artificial, like an alpine Disneyland. She remembered that, as a child, her son had been reduced to tears by the sight of this lake; he'd been convinced that a dinosaur was going to rise up out of the water, and he had pressed his face against her and refused to look. Masako laughed to herself at the memory.
The surface of the lake glinted in the morning sunlight, hurting her tired eyes. Squinting, she turned off toward the UNESCO Village. A few more minutes along the mountain road and the spot came into view. She pulled on to the grassy roadside and stopped the car. Kenji's head was buried in a place she'd found five minutes into the woods from here.
She got out, locked the car, and made her way through the trees. It was obviously dangerous to have come back, but her legs moved automatically, drawing her into the forest. Finding the enormous zelkova tree she'd used as a landmark, she stood beneath it and stared at a patch of ground a few metres away. A small mound of fresh earth was visible in the undergrowth, the only sign of what she'd done. Summer was reaching its peak and the woods smelt of life, richer and fuller even than when she'd been here ten days ago. She pictured Kenji's head turning to pulp in the ground, becoming part of the earth. Becoming food for worms and insects. It was a gruesome thought, but also somehow comforting - she had given the head to the creatures underground.
The light filtering obliquely through the branches hurt her eyes. Shielding them with her hands, she stared for a long time at the mound as that day came back to her.
-
She remembered bringing the head into the woods in search of a place to bury it. She had double-bagged it, but it was so heavy she'd been afraid the bottom would rip out. Juggling a shovel in the other hand had been no mean feat. She'd stopped any number of times to wipe her face with her cotton work gloves, shifting the bag each time to give her arms a rest. And each time she did this, she could feel Kenji's jaw poking into her, making her skin crawl. She shivered now recalling the sensation.
There was a movie she'd seen once, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia, in which a man was racing across Mexico with a severed head, trying to keep it from rotting in the heat. She could still picture the actor's face, the fury and distress it showed, and it occurred to her that she must have looked much the same as she buried the head here ten days ago. Anger - that was what she'd felt. She had no idea who or what she was angry at, but at least she'd put a name to her emotion. Perhaps, though, she was angry at herself for being so utterly alone that she couldn't get help from anyone else. Perhaps she was furious with herself for rushing headlong into this whole mess. But now she realised that the anger had been liberating, and something had changed in her that morning.
When she emerged from the woods this second time, she sat in her car for a while smoking a cigarette. She would not be coming back here. Stubbing out the butt, she gave a little wave and put the car in gear.
-
Yoshiki and Nobuki had already left for work when she got home. The dirty dishes from the meals they'd eaten, no doubt separately, were left forlornly on the dining-room table. Feeling it was too much trouble to wash them, she stacked the dishes in the sink and then stood in the living room wondering whether to go straight to bed.
There was nothing she needed to do, nothing she needed to figure out; all she wanted was to rest her weary body. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder what Kazuo was doing now. Perhaps he was lying sleepless, tossing and turning in his darkened room. Or maybe he was still walking in endless circles around the grey walls of the car factory. As she pictured him on this solitary circuit, for the first time she felt a certain sympathy for him, a sense of the isolation they shared. She decided she would let him keep the key.
The phone rang. What a bother - it was barely 8.00 a.m. She lit a cigarette and tried to ignore the sound, but it kept on ringing.
'Masako?' a voice said when she answered. It was Yayoi.
'Hi. What's up?'
'I tried phoning earlier but you weren't back yet.'
'I had something to do on
the way home.' She decided not to tell her where she'd been.
'Have you seen the morning paper?' Yayoi asked, her voice sounding eager.
'Not yet,' she said, glancing at the newspaper that had been left on the table. Yoshiki always folded it neatly after he read it.
'Take a look,' Yayoi told her. 'You're in for a surprise.'
'What?'
'Just look. I'll wait.' Her tone was urgent but she sounded almost cheerful. Masako put down the receiver and picked up the paper. She found the headline on the third page: 'Suspect Emerges in Koganei Park Dismemberment.' Skimming the article, she gathered that the owner of the casino Kenji had visited that night had been arrested on another charge and was being detained in connection with the case. Masako shivered, a bit nervous that things should be going so well.
'I read it,' she said, still holding the paper as she picked up the phone.
'We're pretty lucky, don't you think?'
'It's a bit early to start celebrating,' said Masako, conveying a note of caution.
'Who would have imagined it could all work out so neatly? The paper said they'd been fighting, but I already knew that.' Yayoi was apparently alone now, so she could speak freely.
'How did you know?'
'He had a cut on his lip when he came home, and his shirt was dirty. I wondered at the time whether he'd been in a fight.'
'I didn't notice anything,' Masako said, but she was aware that Yayoi was talking about a living person while she was referring to a corpse. At any rate, Yayoi didn't seem to be listening.
'I wonder if he'll get the death penalty.' Her voice was almost dreamy.
'I wouldn't count on it,' Masako told her. 'More than likely he'll be out soon for lack of evidence.'
'A shame, isn't it,' Yayoi murmured.
'Don't say that!'
'But he had another club, the one where Kenji fell for that slut.'
'And that makes him guilty of murder?!'
'I'm not saying that,' Yayoi protested. 'But he's hardly innocent.'
'Maybe you should ask yourself why your husband would fall in love with another woman,' Masako said, finishing her cigarette. The comment just slipped out, perhaps because of what had happened with Kazuo, and she wasn't really expecting an answer.
'Because he was bored with me,' Yayoi said flatly. 'I was no longer attractive to him.'
'You really think so?' Masako felt she would actually like to have asked Kenji this question were he still able to give an answer. If there was a reason why people were attracted to one another, she wished someone would tell her.
'But sometimes I think he could have been looking for a way to get back at me.'
'For what? I always thought you were the model wife.' There was a pause as Yayoi seemed to consider this.
'That's exactly what he hated,' she said at last.
'Why?'
'I suppose a woman becomes boring when she's good.'
'But why?' Masako repeated, as if lost in thought.
Yayoi sounded suddenly angry. 'I'm not sure myself - you'd have to ask Kenji.'
'I guess you're right,' Masako muttered, startled out of her daze by her tone of voice.
'What's got into you today?' Yayoi asked. 'You're not yourself.'
'I'm just tired.'
'Of course you are,' she said apologetically. 'Since I've started sleeping nights again, I've forgotten what it's like. How's the Skipper?'
'She wasn't there last night. Kuniko either. I think we're all exhausted.'
'From what?' Masako said nothing. 'Sorry. It's my fault, isn't it? .. . Oh! I've been meaning to tell you that I'll be getting all Kenji's insurance, so I'll be able to give them plenty.'
'How much?' Masako blurted out, caught off guard. 'A million each. Is that enough?'
'It's too much. Five hundred thousand each for the Skipper and Kuniko is ample. If I had my way, Kuniko wouldn't get a penny.'
'But won't they be mad? Especially since I'm getting fifty million.'
There's no need to mention the insurance at all. Just hand them the money and leave it at that. But I wonder if you could give me two million instead?'
'Of course. . ., ' Yayoi said, sounding startled, since Masako had said all along she didn't want to be paid. 'But what made you change your mind?'
'I've decided I need to have some money of my own, just in case. I'd really appreciate it.'
'Of course,' she repeated. 'I owe you such a lot. How could I refuse?'
'Thanks,' said Masako. As she hung up the phone, she had a sense that she was emerging from her funk and might be able to fight her way through this after all. The police had a suspect, but there was no way of telling whether he was thought to be the right man; it was certainly too soon to assume they were in the clear. Still, a slight sense of relief helped her fall quickly asleep.
8
It was late in August when Satake was released, after the typhoons had passed and the autumn winds had begun to blow. As he slowly made his way up the stairs, he found the landing littered with fliers for massage parlours and escort services, and he bent over to pick them up, crumpled them in a ball, and stuffed them in the pocket of his black jacket. It was a sign of neglect that would have been unthinkable when Mika and Playground were doing business. With two of its most prosperous tenants closed, the whole building seemed to be going downhill.
Sensing that someone was watching, he looked up. The bartender at the other club on the second floor was keeping a nervous eye on him from up there. Satake knew the man had testified that he'd had a fight with Yamamoto. He stared back, his hand still shoved in his pocket, and the man quickly shut the purple glass door. He was probably shocked Satake had got out so soon. Aware that the guy must still be watching him through the door, he climbed the last few steps and stood looking at the sign for Mika. For once, its cord was neatly wound and it had been pushed back in the corner. On the door was a notice: 'Closed for Remodelling.'
Satake had been arrested on charges of operating an unlicensed gambling establishment and soliciting for prostitution. In the end, only the gambling charge had been made to stick, and when no hard evidence turned up to support the theory that he was involved in the Yamamoto murder, they had been forced to release him. Knowing how bull headed the police could be, Satake felt lucky to have got away, but there was no denying that the price had been high. The little kingdom he had built up from nothing over the last ten years lay in ruins; and worst of all, his past had been revealed and he had lost the trust of everyone around him. With his past exposed, it would be almost impossible now to go back to his old life.
Trying not to let it get him down, Satake climbed the stairs to the third floor. He had arranged to meet Kunimatsu at what had once been Playground; the club, which had been his prize possession, was already gone. The heavy, expensive door he'd had installed was still there, but the space was now occupied by a mahjong parlour called 'East Wind.' He opened the door carefully, conscious that what had once been his had passed into other hands. Inside, Kunimatsu sat alone, waiting for him.
'Satake-san,' he said, looking up from the one lighted mahjong table in the room. He was smiling, but he seemed to have lost weight and there were dark smudges under his eyes, perhaps because of the spotlight overhead.
'Long time no see,' Satake said, as his manager rose to his feet. 'And it hasn't been much fun for you, I'm afraid.'
'You back at the tiles?' Satake asked, remembering that when he'd first met Kunimatsu, he'd been working at a mahjong place in the Ginza. At the time, Kunimatsu, still in his twenties, spent his days hustling games and running errands for the management. Satake had been amused to see how this ordinary-looking youth was transformed into a seasoned gambler every time he sat down at a mahjong table. He'd been impressed by the depth of his experience in the business, despite his age, and when Satake had opened the casino, he had immediately recruited him as his manager.
'This game's had it,' said Kunimatsu, dusting talc on to the tiles with a practised h
and. 'Kids these days learn it online.' There were six tables in the room, apparently rented from a local dealer, but with the exception of the one where Kunimatsu was sitting, they were all covered by white shrouds that reminded Satake of a wake. He nodded. Looking around the room, he remembered where the large baccarat table had been, where the customers had stood waiting for a slot to open - all just a month ago but long gone now. 'Anyway, it looks like I'll be out of a job again,' Kunimatsu laughed, putting the lid on the can of talc. Satake noticed that there were wrinkles now around his eyes.
'What do you mean?' he asked.
'This place is closing up already. They're opening a karaoke bar instead.'
'I guess that's the only way to make a buck these days.' There had been a karaoke machine at Mika, but Satake had never liked using it himself.
'Things are bad all over,' said Kunimatsu.
'We did well enough with baccarat.'
Kunimatsu nodded, a sad smile playing around his mouth. 'You've lost some weight,' he said, looking at Satake more carefully under the light. As he did this, Satake could see a hint of apprehension in his eyes. Like everyone else, he knew that Satake had killed a woman in the past and that he was somehow connected with the Yamamoto business. The world had turned suddenly cold. His creditors were recalling his loans, and he would have trouble from now on finding space to rent for any business venture. Why should Kunimatsu be any different from the rest of them? It infuriated him to think that no one would ever trust him again, but when he spoke, his voice was calm and measured.
'You think so?' he said. 'I didn't get much sleep in there.' In fact, he had barely slept the entire month.
'I can imagine. It must have been rough.' The police had let Kunimatsu go after questioning him on the gambling charge, but he'd been called back several more times about the murder, and he seemed to have some idea how things had gone for Satake.
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