It may have been wrong to kill him, but she still couldn't bring herself to forgive him. She repeated the formula to herself again and again: I still don't forgive you. I killed you, but I don't forgive you. I'll never forgive you. It's your fault for being unfaithful. I didn't change, you did. You killed the happy couple that picked out this ring.
She went back into the living room and dragged open the door leading to the garden. The narrow yard, ending at a discoloured cinderblock wall, was littered with tricycles and a tiny swing set. Standing there, Yayoi tugged the ring off her finger and flung it as hard as she could toward the neighbour's yard, though it bounced off the wall and landed somewhere in the garden. The gesture left her feeling both uncomfortable at being responsible for getting rid of the thing, and glad to have made a final break with it all.
She stared at the stark white area on her finger in the November sunlight. There was something pathetic about this band of pale skin, the mark from a ring that hadn't been removed in eight years. It was the mark of loss. But it was also the mark of liberation, a sign that everything was finally over.
Just as this thought was flitting through her head, the buzzer on the intercom rang. Had someone seen what she'd just done? She stepped down into the garden and craned her neck to see over the fence. A tall man in a suit was standing calmly at the front door. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice her peering at him from the garden. She hurried back into the house and picked up the receiver, ignoring the spots of dark earth clinging to her stockings.
'Who is it?' she said.
'My name is Sato,' said a man's voice. 'I knew your husband in Shinjuku. I was in the area and I was wondering whether I could pay my respects.'
'I see/ she said. Though it was rather a nuisance, she couldn't turn away people who came to offer their condolences. With a housekeeper's eye, she gave the living room and the bedroom, where the family altar was, a quick inspection. Deciding they would do, she headed for the entrance hall. A well-built man with short hair made a deep bow as soon as she opened the door.
'I'm sorry to show up suddenly like this,' he said, his voice smooth and low. 'I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was for your loss.' Yayoi returned the bow automatically, but some part of her was sceptical about such a late visit. And yet, though Kenji had died at the end of July, more than four months ago, she was still getting calls from shocked friends who said they had just heard what had happened.
'It's kind of you to come all the way out here,' she said. Sato was standing in the doorway, taking a close look at her - her face, her eyes, her mouth. There was nothing unpleasant in his manner, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew something about her beforehand and was measuring her against his expectations. She took another look at him as well, and found herself wondering what connection he could have had with Kenji. He seemed completely different from the other people in her husband's life, the other men at his office. They were all so casual and easygoing, so uncomplicated, while this man struck her as hard to get a handle on, his expression unreadable. Nevertheless, the cheap grey suit and the boring tie seemed to suggest he was another office drudge.
'If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to pay my respects,' he said again, his voice even smoother than before, as though he sensed her reservations.
'Come in,' she said. Feeling slightly put upon, she led him down the passage to the living room, already regretting having let a stranger into the house, and vaguely ill at ease with him following right behind her. 'It's in there,' she said, gesturing toward the altar in the bedroom. Sato knelt down and pressed his hands together in front of the picture of Kenji while Yayoi went to make tea in the kitchen. Glancing toward the bedroom from time to time, she wondered why someone would show up like this without bringing the customary condolence gift. It wasn't that she cared about the gift, but it was just common courtesy, when you were coming all this way, to bring a present or a card or something.
'I appreciate it,' she told him when she was sure he'd finished. 'Will you have some tea?' She placed a cup on the table in the living room. Sato sat down in front of it and looked directly at her. It bothered her that there was no trace of sadness or sympathy or even curiosity in his eyes. He thanked her but left the tea untouched. She set out an ashtray, but he sat perfectly still, his hands clasped on his knees - almost as if he wanted to leave no evidence of his visit. She felt uneasy. Masako had told her to be careful, but she was just beginning to understand the urgency in her warning. 'Where did you say you met my husband?' she asked, trying to make the question sound casual.
'In Shinjuku,' he said.
'Where in Shinjuku?'
'In Kabuki-cho,' he said. She looked up, startled by his answer.
Seeing her uneasiness, he smiled reassuringly. But she realised that the smile was confined to his thick lips; his eyes remained completely expressionless.
'Kabuki-cho?' she said.
'Let's stop pretending, shall we?' A look of horror came over her face as she remembered Kinugasa's call telling her that the casino owner had disappeared. But part of her still refused to believe it could be him.
'What do you mean?' she said.
'I had a little run-in with your husband . . . that night/ Sato said, pausing as if to gauge her reaction. She held her breath. 'You know better than I do what happened after that, but you may not know how much trouble you've caused me. I've lost my clubs, my whole business. I've lost more than a woman like you could ever imagine, living out here in the middle of nowhere, fussing over your kids.'
'What are you talking about?' Yayoi said, starting to get up. 'I think you'd better leave!'
'Sit down!' Sato said, his voice low and menacing. Yayoi froze.
'I'll call the police,' she said.
'Go ahead. I think they'll be more interested in you than me.'
'Why?' she said, dropping back on to her chair. 'What are you trying to say?' She was already numb with panic and her mind had shut down. All she wanted was to get this horrible man out of her house as soon as possible.
'I know all about it,' Sato said. 'I know you killed your husband.'
'That's a lie!' she cried, beginning to lose control. 'How dare you say that!'
'They'll hear you outside,' he warned her. 'The houses here are close together. And you do sound guilty, screaming like that.'
'But .. . I really don't know what you're talking about.' She pressed her hands to her temples, but the trembling in her arms made her whole head shake. Then, letting her arms drop back to her lap, she sat quietly, aware of the truth in what he said. She had spent the last four months worrying about the neighbours' reactions to Kenji's death. She knew it was paranoia, but she still had the feeling that everyone around was whispering about her.
'You're probably wondering how much I know,' he laughed. This time there was real mirth in his voice. 'It's simple: I know everything.'
'Know about what?' she said. 'I still don't understand what you're getting at.' Yayoi was now petrified. She looked across the table at him. She knew very little about the world, but she could tell this man was dangerous, that he'd probably had experiences good and bad she couldn't even imagine, and that he was free now to do whatever he wanted. She had probably never passed anyone like him on the street. Their worlds were so completely different that it seemed strange they should even speak the same language. Part of her was even slightly impressed that Kenji could have had the guts to take on a man like this.
'Does all this come as a shock?' Sato laughed, seeing her dazed expression.
'I still don't know what you're talking about,' she repeated. Sato ran his hand over his jaw, as if considering how to proceed. Yayoi noticed his long, sensitive fingers.
'That night, your husband and I had a fight. He came home and you strangled him out there in the hallway. When your kids asked if he'd come back, you badgered them into keeping quiet. The older one .. . what's his name? Takashi, yes, that's it.'
'How do you know about him?!' she burst out
.
'You really are as cute as they said,' he murmured, studying her again. 'A bit old maybe, but if we cleaned you up a bit, we could still find you a spot at a club.'
'Stop it!' she wailed, unable to keep her voice from sounding shrill. It felt as though a pair of filthy hands were stroking her. But then she suddenly remembered: it was in this man's club that Kenji had fallen for another woman, and the thought brought an angry flush to her face.
Sato noticed the change in her expression. 'What's up? Remembered something?'
'Yes. My husband got beat up at your place.'
'Yeah, well . . . ,' he murmured. 'You have no idea what your husband did when he was out by himself. Did you ever stop to think what other people saw in him? Did you ever once feel you had a responsibility to find out what he was up to? It must be nice being a know-nothing little housewife.'
'Stop it!' Yayoi cried, covering her ears against the stream of poisonous accusations. They were ugly beyond anything she'd ever experienced.
'I've said it before, but the neighbours will hear you. Seems they've been quite curious about your little drama, anyway. And you do have the kids to think about.'
'How did you know about Takashi?' she asked, lowering her voice at the mention of her children. His slow-acting poison had begun to take effect.
'You still don't understand?' he said, with a pitying look.
'Morisaki-san?' She stared at him, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. 'How could she have done this to me?'
'It's quite simple, really,' he explained. 'That was her job.' Job? Then the whole thing was an act? She remembered how Masako had warned her about Yoko from the start. How could she have been so gullible? Tears of self-pity began to roll down her cheeks. 'But it's a bit late for tears,' he told her, and his voice now had a vicious edge to it. 'I also know that you asked your friends to cut up the body.' She glanced down at her hand. What an idiot she'd been to think that it had all ended when she threw away the ring. This was the real ending, and it would destroy them all. 'A shame the way things worked out,' he sneered. 'I'm sure you were rooting for me to get the death penalty.'
Recklessly, she said: 'I'm going to call the police and tell them everything.'
'You're sweet, you really are,' he said again. 'Just a bit selfcentred, maybe.' His hands moved quickly to his throat to loosen the knot of his tie. The dull grey silk, shot through with a fine brown stripe, looked like a lizard's skin. Would she dribble from the mouth the way Kenji did, she wondered, when he strangled her? She closed her eyes, shaking all over.
'Yamamoto-san,' he said, getting up and coming around the table to stand behind her. Yayoi shrank away from him, unable to answer. 'Yamamoto-san,' he said again.
'What?' she asked, looking around at him, her eyes filled with terror.
He was checking his watch. 'If we don't hurry, the banks will close.'
'What do you mean?' She turned to face him as his plan began to dawn on her. 'You mean .. . the money I got?'
'That's right.'
'No! We need that money. It's all we have to live on.'
'It's all you have to pay me with,' he said.
'I can't!'
'What do you mean, you can't?' he murmured, slipping his fingers around her neck. 'You want me to do this?' His fingers pressed into her throat, clutching her like a kitten caught by the scruff of its neck.
'Stop! Please!' she rasped out.
'Which will it be? The money or your neck?'
Her whole body was rigid, but her head bobbed up and down submissively. She felt herself lose control of her bladder.
'Phone the bank and tell them your father died suddenly and you have to take all the money in your account back there with you. Tell them you'll be coming with your brother to get it.'
'All right,' she whispered.
Sato kept his fingers around her neck the whole time she was phoning.
'Good,' he said, releasing her as she hung up. 'Now get changed.'
'Changed?'
He gave her scruffy sweater and shapeless skirt a dirty look. 'You think the bank's going to believe that story if you show up dressed like that? They'll think you've come for a loan.' Grabbing her by the arm, he dragged her up from the chair.
'What do you want me to do?' she murmured, still trembling uncontrollably. She knew there must be a patch on her skirt where she'd wet herself, but she didn't care any more. Her selfrespect had disappeared, and she no longer even felt afraid. She moved almost mechanically, obeying his instructions. He took her into the bedroom.
'Open the closet,' he said. She pulled open the doors of the flimsy cupboard. 'Now find something to wear.'
'But what?'
'A suit or a dress. Something formal.'
'I'm sorry,' she said, starting to cry again. 'I don't have anything like that, nothing nice.' Not only had this cruel bastard invaded her house, but she was forced to apologise to him for not having any clothes.
'Sad,' Sato said, running his eye over what seemed mainly to be Kenji's suits and coats. 'What did you wear to his funeral?'
'You want me in mourning?' She pulled out a dry cleaner's bag that held the thin black summer suit she'd worn for Kenji's wake. Her mother had bought it for her when she realised she had nothing suitable. She'd worn a rented kimono to the funeral itself.
'That's perfect,' he said. 'If you're in black they'll have to be sympathetic and shouldn't make any trouble.'
'But it's a summer suit,' she said.
'Who cares?'
-
Half an hour later, Yayoi and Sato were shown into a private room at a bank across from Tachikawa Station.
'Did you really intend to withdraw the entire fifty million yen?' The branch manager himself had come to see them, obviously hoping to find a way to change her mind. Yayoi said nothing, just stared at the carpet and nodded her head as Sato had told her to do.
'Our father died quite suddenly, and we're in something of a hurry,' he explained. He'd introduced himself as Yayoi's brother and seemed to be enjoying the role. The bank could hardly refuse the request of bereaved siblings. Still, the manager was looking for a way of stalling the withdrawal.
'It's dangerous to carry such a large sum around,' he said. 'Why don't you let us transfer it to another bank for you?'
'That's why I've come with her,' Sato told him.
'I see.' With a sympathetic glance at Yayoi, slumped in the heavy chair, the manager decided not to press the matter. A short time later, a man arrived with the money and deposited it on the table in front of them. Sato shoved the stacks of bills into a bag the bank had provided and then put that in a black nylon bag he'd brought with him.
'We appreciate this,' he said, taking Yayoi's arm and standing up. She rose with him, but her body was limp and she began to fall forward. Catching her from behind, he held her up. 'Yayoi,' he said. 'You've got to get a grip on yourself. We've got the wake ahead of us.'
It was a convincing performance. Yayoi allowed herself to be led out of the room and through the bank. When they were finally alone on the street, he pushed her away and she staggered a few steps before clutching a guardrail. Ignoring her, he hailed a taxi. As he was climbing in, he looked back at her for a moment.
'You understand?' he said.
She nodded. She watched blankly as the door shut and the car drove away - taking her fifty million with it, her unexpected present from Kenji. It had just been a fleeting dream, and it was gone in an instant.
The shock of losing the money had been amplified by the horror of coming in contact with a man like Sato. But there was another part of her that was relieved just to have survived the encounter. She'd been sure she was going to die the whole time he had his hands around her neck. In the end, she'd underestimated them - men in general. Were they all like this? So cruel?
She stood staring vacantly at the clock in front of the station, feeling drained, exhausted. It was 2.30 p.m. She'd come out without a coat and she was cold. As she stood hugging herself throug
h the thin summer dress, she decided not to tell Masako what had happened; she couldn't bear the accusing look in her eyes, not after their last argument. Still, she did feel rather abandoned. The money was gone, she'd quit her job, and she'd quarrelled with her friends at work. She had no idea what to do or where to go. For the moment, she could only wander aimlessly around the plaza in front of the station.
As she shuffled along, it occurred to her that, for better or worse, it was Kenji who had provided her life with a direction: Kenji's moods, Kenji's health, Kenji's job, Kenji's salary. She found herself wanting to laugh. After all, she was the one who had tossed the rudder overboard.
That evening, Takashi came in from the yard where he'd been playing. Finding his mother looking miserable, he held out his hand to her.
'Mama, look. You must have dropped this.'
'Oh dear . . .' Yayoi said when she saw her wedding ring there in his hand. It was a bit scuffed but otherwise unharmed.
'It's important, isn't it? It's a good thing I found it.'
'Thank you,' Yayoi said, slipping the ring back on her finger. Masako's comment came back to her: I don't see how it will ever be over for you. She was right, it wasn't over yet, and probably never would be. Her eyes filled with tears. At the sight of his mother crying, a look of delight came over Takashi's face.
'I'm glad I found it,' he said. 'Aren't you happy, Mama?'
2
Masako was shocked to the core, unable to think clearly, though physically she functioned normally as she guided the Corolla into the parking lot, pulled up at an angle behind her usual space, and backed the car in. In fact, she performed this little manoeuvre rather better than usual, but as the car came to a halt and she pulled on the parking brake, she sat there looking down, trying to control her breathing, refusing to let herself look at the slot next to hers. Kuniko's green Golf was parked in it.
Yoshie and she were the only ones in the factory who knew Kuniko was dead. Yet here was her car, parked and waiting in the usual spot, just as if she'd come to work. The space had been empty for the past few days, which could only mean that Satake or someone else involved with her murder had brought it back. And there could only be one reason: since the Skipper came by bike and never used the parking lot, it must have been left here to frighten her.
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