'It's our punishment,' she was saying. 'We should never have done this.'
'Shut up!' Masako yelled, lurching through the door and grabbing Yoshie by the collar. 'Don't you understand? They're after us!' Yoshie looked at her blankly, as though she were speaking a foreign language.
'What do you mean?'
'Isn't it obvious? They sent us Kuniko!'
'I'm sure it's just a coincidence,' she whispered.
'How can you say that?!' Masako could hear her voice rising to a shrill wail, but she couldn't stop herself. She shoved her finger in her mouth and bit it.
'I had a bad feeling about this,' Jumonji interrupted. 'They told me to pick up the body at the back of Koganei Park.'
'Koganei Park?' said Masako, feeling a chill run through her. So they knew everything. They knew how to get to Kuniko and how to send her as a warning. But why? She turned to look at the body sprawled out behind her. 'You fool!' she screamed at it. 'Tell us what's going on!'
Jumonji took her arm. 'Katori-san, are you all right?'
'Masako?' Yoshie said.
'Maybe now you'll believe me,' she said, spinning around to face them.
'Believe what?'
'That somebody's after us. They got to Yayoi and found out what we did; and they've been watching me, too. Now they've killed Kuniko and figured out how to get her body here.'
'But what do they want?' asked Yoshie, still sobbing. 'Even if they did kill Kuniko, why would they send her here? It's got to be a coincidence.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Masako said. 'They wanted us to know that they've figured out the whole thing.'
'But why?'
'They want revenge,' said Masako, and as soon as the word had left her mouth the puzzle seemed to solve itself. Of course, that was it. He wanted revenge, an elaborate, expensive revenge. She'd been wrong in thinking it was about the insurance money. If it was money he wanted, would he have spent millions of yen to get Kuniko's body here to scare them? But that made the whole thing even more terrifying. She fought the urge to break down in tears.
'But who is it?' Jumonji said, frowning.
'I'm not sure, but I'd guess it's the casino owner. He's the only one that fits.' Yoshie and Jumonji looked at each other.
'Wh o is he?' he said. Masako was sorting through old newspaper articles in her mind.
'Mitsuyoshi Satake,' she said at last, remembering. 'He's fortythree years old. They released him for lack of evidence, and after that he disappeared.'
'Does the age match the man you saw?' Yoshie asked.
'I don't know. It was dark and he was wearing a cap. But the voice would be about right. So I guess I'm the only one who's seen him - and I hope I never have to again.' He grimaced at the memory.
'What are we going to do?' Yoshie said, beginning to cry again. 'What should I do?' Masako was still gnawing at her finger.
'Take the money and run,' she said.
'But I can't leave,' Yoshie sobbed.
'Then you'll just have to be as careful as you can,' she told her, turning back to the body. First they had to figure out what to do with Kuniko. Should they cut her up? But there was no need to go to all that trouble now. Their client wasn't interested in having her disappear; she was meant as a threat. Still, it was too risky to just dump her.
'What are we going to do with her?' she said.
'Let's go to the police,' said Yoshie, squatting by the washing machine. 'I don't want to sit around waiting to end up like her.'
'Then we'll all go to jail. Is that what you want?'
'No,' she stammered. 'Then what do we do?'
'We get rid of her,' Jumonji said, staring at Kuniko's heavy breasts.
'But where?'
'Anywhere, it doesn't matter. And then we lie low for a while.'
'I agree,' Masako said. 'But I think we need to make sure this murder gets pinned on Satake.'
'And how are we going to do that?' Jumonji asked, looking sceptical.
'I don't know. But I want him to know we aren't just running scared.'
'Are you crazy?' Yoshie groaned. 'Why do we care what he thinks?'
'We've got to hit back. If we don't, he'll come after the rest of us, one at a time.'
'But what have you got in mind?' Jumonji said, rubbing the stubble on his chin.
'You don't suppose we could send her back to him?'
'We don't know where he is,' Yoshie said.
'No, I guess we don't.'
'Okay,' said Jumonji, holding up his hands between them. 'Let's try to think this through slowly and carefully. We can't afford any more mistakes.'
Masako suddenly noticed the wad of black cloth protruding from Kuniko's mouth. Slipping on a pair of gloves, she pulled it out. Fancy panties, with lace trim. She remembered the cheap underwear Kuniko had always worn to the factory. Knowing Kuniko, she'd put these on hoping someone would be taking them off.
'He must have used them as a gag when he strangled her,' Jumonji said, examining the thick rope marks on the neck.
Still holding the panties, Masako asked him, 'Did he strike you as good-looking?'
'I told you, I didn't get a good look at his face, but he was well built.' He must have come on to her, Masako thought, trying to remember whether Kuniko had mentioned anyone who might fit the description. But they hadn't talked much lately, and it was unlikely she would have told her.
'I guess we have to cut her up,' she said eventually, abandoning the effort to solve the puzzle. 'We don't have much choice.'
'No, I don't want to,' Yoshie murmured. 'Not Kuniko.'
'Then you don't need the money?' Masako said. 'You can forget about the million I promised you, and I'll keep your share for this, too.'
'Wait a minute,' said Yoshie, hopping up. 'I still have to move.'
'That's what I thought. You can't stay in that fire trap.' Masako then turned to Jumonji, who was standing there, watching them argue. 'Why don't you go get the boxes? We'll stick with the original plan: you can take care of them in Kyushu.'
'So we're going through with it?' he said.
'What else can we do?' Masako tried to swallow, but the saliva stuck in her throat as if her body were loath to accept it. In the same way her mind refused to accept what was facing them.
Jumonji seemed only too glad of the chance to get out of there. Noticing how eager he was to go, Masako gave him a hard stare.
'You can start running as soon as we're finished,' she said. 'Not before. Okay?'
'I know,' he said.
'We've still got a job to do,' she added. He nodded glumly, like a child who'd been scolded. 'And what about you?' Masako said, turning to Yoshie who sat gazing at Kuniko's body.
'.. . I'm in/ she said. 'I can start thinking about moving as soon as we're through.'
'You do what you have to do,' Masako said.
'Where will you go?'
'Nowhere, for the time being.'
'Why?' Yoshie cried. But Masako didn't seem to hear her; she was busy thinking about something Jumonji had said - that he was the only one who had seen him. She wondered if this was true, if she hadn't seen Satake somewhere herself. The thought stuck in her head.
'I'll be right back,' Jumonji said, before disappearing down the corridor. Masako started tying on her apron.
'Skipper, set the line to eighteen,' she said.
8
The metal stairs creaked under him as Kazuo made his way up to his room in the two-storey, prefab building that served as a dormitory for the Brazilian employees. Couples had a room to themselves, but single men like Kazuo were forced to share with a room-mate. The living quarters were tiny - one small room with a miniature kitchen and a bathroom - but they had one good point: they were two minutes from the factory.
Kazuo stopped at the top of the stairs and looked around. The laundry left out by the farmhouse across the way fluttered in the cold wind. A row of dry, brown chrysanthemums was visible under the pale streetlights along the narrow road. Even for early winter, it all seeme
d so desolate. In Sao Paolo, it would soon be summer. The smell of shoro and fejioda cooking, the scent of flowers; pretty girls in light summer dresses, children playing in the alleys; the cheers from the Santos fans in the stadium. What was he doing here, so far from all that?
Could this really be his father's homeland? He looked out over the landscape again, but the quickly gathering darkness had hidden everything except the lights in a few neighbourhood windows and, further off, the blue fluorescent glow of the factory. Could he ever call this 'home'? Resting his elbows on the metal rail, he buried his face in his hands. Alberto was probably watching TV in their room, so the only place Kazuo could be alone was out here in the passageway.
He had set himself two tasks - or three, to be more exact. The first was to work in the factory for two years and save enough money to buy a car; the second was to get Masako's complete forgiveness; and the third was to learn enough Japanese to be able to do so. By this time, it looked as though the only one he would accomplish was the third. He had made a good deal of progress with the language, but the person he was learning it for had refused to talk to him since that morning. It seemed he wasn't even going to get a chance to try to convince her.
But then again, there was probably no such thing as complete forgiveness - at least not the kind he was looking for, the kind that would allow Masako to fall in love with him. And once this had sunk in, his resolve for the first task began to waver as well. In the end, his trials with Masako had been the hardest ones . . . but they weren't really trials or tasks or tests at all: they were just facts that he could do nothing about. And that in itself was probably the real test: his ability to accept something that was completely beyond his control. It made him want to cry.
It was time to leave, he suddenly decided. He'd had enough; by Christmas, he would be back in Sao Paolo. He didn't care if he couldn't get the car. There was nothing for him here but slopping together boxed lunches he couldn't stomach. If he wanted to learn about computers, he could do it in Brazil, but it was too painful to stay here any longer.
The moment he made the decision, he felt lighter, like clouds clearing after a storm. His various tests suddenly seemed irrelevant; he was simply a man who had lost his battle with himself. He stared off toward the factory again, a sullen look in his eyes. But then he heard a woman's voice calling quietly from the street.
'Miyamori-san?' He looked down, thinking he must be hearing things, but there was Masako standing in the street. She was wearing jeans and an old down jacket with patches of tape covering the holes. He stared at her, disoriented by the sudden appearance of the very person he'd been thinking about. 'Miyamori-san,' she called again, this time more clearly.
'Yes,' he called back, bounding down the wobbly stairs. Masako retreated into the shadows, away from the streetlight, as if looking for a spot where she would be hidden from the first-floor windows. Kazuo hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should follow, but then took a few steps toward her. Why had she come? To hurt him again? But her sudden arrival had already rekindled his interest in completing his task, as though someone had thrown a bundle of sticks on a smouldering fire. He stopped, confused by the rush of emotion.
'I've got a favour to ask,' she said, looking him in the eye. That was so like her, always so direct. Up close like this, her face looked taut, like a tightly knotted ball of thread that refuses to unravel. But still beautiful. It had been a long time since he'd stood there in front of her, and he found himself hanging on every word. 'Would you mind keeping this in your locker for me?' She took a paper bag out of her old black purse. It looked heavy. Kazuo stared at it for a moment without moving.
'Why do you want me to keep it?' he asked.
'You're the only one I know who has a locker.' His heart sank.
It wasn't the answer he was hoping for.
'How long do you want me to keep it?'
'Until I need it,' she said. 'Do you understand?'
'I think so,' he said, but now his curiosity had been aroused.
Why couldn't she keep it herself? Wouldn't it be safer at her house? Or if she wanted a locker, there were plenty at the train station.
'You're wondering why I'm asking you to do this,' she said, her look softening a bit. 'It's something I can't leave at my place, and I don't want to risk leaving it in my car or somewhere at work.' Kazuo took the bag from her. It was heavy, just as he'd imagined.
'What's in it?' he asked. 'I need to know, if I'm responsible for it.'
'Money and my passport,' she said, taking a cigarette from the pocket of her jacket and lighting it. Money? Then it must be a lot. Why would she be trusting him with it?
'How much is it?' he asked.
'Seven million yen,' she said, saying the figure crisply and clearly, the way she announced the number of lunches in the work order as she passed it down the line.
'Why not put it in the bank?' he said, with a quaver in his voice.
'I can't.'
'Why not, if you don't mind my asking?'
'I just can't,' she said flatly, blowing out a cloud of smoke. Kazuo stood thinking for a moment.
'What happens if I'm not here when you need it?' he said at last.
'I'll wait until I can get in touch with you.'
'How will you contact me?'
'I'll come here,' she said.
'All right,' he said. 'I'm in number 201. I'll leave it in my locker and we can always go get it there.'
'Thanks,' she said. He wondered whether he should tell her that he'd decided to go home by Christmas, but he decided against it. He was more worried about the trouble she seemed to be in. 'You haven't been at work,' he said.
'I had a cold.'
'I thought you quit.'
'I'm not going to quit,' she said, turning to look down the dark street. If you followed this road, you came out past the abandoned factory. There was an anxious look in her eyes he hadn't seen before, and Kazuo was sure that something bad had happened. Something that had to do with the key she'd thrown down that hole. He had always been sensitive this way; sometimes it caused problems, but it could also work to his advantage. He was determined to make it work for him now.
'Are you in trouble?' he asked. She turned to look at him.
'You can tell, can't you?'
'Yes,' he said, his eyes reflecting her anxiety.
'I've got a problem, but I don't need any help .. . just keep that bag for me.'
'What kind of problem?' he asked, but she pressed her lips together and said nothing more. He was suddenly afraid that he'd been too forward. 'I'm sorry,' he murmured, blushing in the darkness.
'No,' she said. 'I'm the one who should be sorry.'
'No,' he echoed, slipping the bag into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulling up the zipper. Masako fished a key ring from her pocket and turned to go. She must have parked somewhere nearby.
'Thanks,' she said.
'Masako-san?' he said.
'Yes?'
'Can you forgive me?'
'Of course,' she said.
'For everything?'
'Yes,' she said, looking down at the ground. The task he'd thought would be so difficult was accomplished as simply as that; in fact, all too simply. He stood staring at her, realising it had been so easy because it wasn't the sort of forgiveness he wanted: he hadn't won her heart. Without that, it meant nothing really. He pressed his hand to his chest. As he felt for the key next to his skin, his hand brushed against the thick package.
'But you have to tell me. . . ,' he whispered. She waited, not looking up. 'Why would you leave something so important with me?' He needed to know. She dropped what was left of her cigarette and crushed it under her sneaker.
'I'm not sure myself,' she said, looking up at him. 'I guess I don't have anyone else I can ask.' He stared at the fine lines around her mouth, realising for the first time how alone she must be. Why else would she entrust all this to a foreigner she hardly knew, instead of to her family or friends? She looked away, as
if to escape his eyes, and kicked at the gravel, sending a shower of little pebbles into the darkness. He swallowed.
'No one?' he said.
'No,' she said, shaking her head. 'No one to ask and no safe place to keep it.'
'Because there's no one you can trust?'
'That's right,' she said, looking him in the eye again.
'But you trust me?' he said. He looked at her, holding his breath.
'Yes,' she said. She met his stare for a moment longer and then turned and walked off toward the factory.
'. . . Thank you,' he murmured, his hand pressed not to the money but to his heart.
EXIT
1
Yayoi stared at the wedding ring on her finger as if she'd never seen it before. It was a plain platinum ring. She and Kenji had gone to a department store to pick it out one warm Sunday in early spring. He'd taken one look at the showcase and then asked for the most expensive one they had; after all, it was a once-in-alifetime purchase. She could still remember how flustered and happy she'd felt that day. Where had those feelings gone? What had happened to that happy couple? She had killed Kenji. The cry of pain that she'd refused to utter burst from her now as the enormity of her act sank in at last.
She jumped up from the living-room chair and ran into the bedroom. Standing in front of the mirror, she pulled up her sweater and examined her bare torso, looking for the dark bruise on her stomach that had been the visible sign of her loathing for Kenji and the stimulus for killing him; but it had slowly faded, until now there was no trace left. That faded mark was why he'd died - a man who wanted her to have the best because it was meant to last for ever - and she wasn't even accepting the blame for what she'd done. Was she really so callous? She sank down on to the floor.
When she looked up a little later, she saw the photo of Kenji on the family altar staring out at her. By now the picture itself was steeped in the incense the boys were always burning at the altar. But as she gazed at the smiling face in the photo - a souvenir of a summer camping trip in happier times - she found herself getting angry all over again. Why had he changed toward her, become so mean? Why did he take such pleasure in hurting her? Why had he been so unwilling to help with the boys? The old feelings swelled up in her like a tidal wave, sweeping away any stirrings of regret.
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