“All right, then. Let me give you our best deal and lay it all out with total honesty,” Ushikawa said, leaning across the table and lowering his voice a notch. “The money is just a pretext. For one thing, the grant is not all that big. The most important thing that my client can offer you is your personal safety. In other words, no harm will come to you. We guarantee it.”
“In return for which …?” Tengo said.
“In return for which all they want from you is your silence and forgetting. You participated in this affair, but you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. You were just a foot soldier acting under orders. They won’t hold you personally responsible. So all you have to do is forget everything. We can make it as though nothing ever happened. Word will never get out that you ghostwrote Air Chrysalis. You are not—and never will be—connected with it in any way. That is what they want from you. And it would be to your advantage as well, I’m sure you see.”
“No harm will come to me. In other words, harm will come to the other participants? Is that what you are saying?”
“That would be handled, uh, ‘case by case,’ as they say in English,” Ushikawa said with apparent difficulty. “I am not the one who decides, so I can’t say specifically, but some steps will have to be taken, I should think.”
“And your arms are both long and strong.”
“Exactly. Very long, and very strong, as I mentioned before. So, then, Mr. Kawana, what kind of answer can we hope for from you?”
“Let me first say that for me to accept money from you people is out of the question.”
Without speaking, Ushikawa reached for his glasses, took them off, carefully wiped the lenses with a handkerchief he produced from his pocket, and put them back on, as if to say that there might be some sort of connection between his vision and what he had just heard.
“Do I understand this to mean that you have rejected our offer?”
“That is correct.”
Ushikawa stared at Tengo through his glasses as if he were looking at an oddly shaped cloud. “And why would that be? In my humble opinion, it is by no means a bad deal for you.”
“In the end, all of us connected with the story are in the same boat. It’s out of the question for me to be the only one who runs away”
“I’m mystified!” Ushikawa said, as if truly mystified. “I can’t understand it. I maybe shouldn’t say this, but none of the others are the least bit concerned about you. It’s true. They throw a little spare change your way and use you any way they like. And for that you get dragged into the mess. If you ask me, you’d be totally justified to tell them all to go to hell. If it were me, I’d be fuming. But you’re ready to protect them. ‘It’s out of the question for me to be the only one who runs away,’ he says! Boat schmoat! I don’t get it. Why won’t you take it?”
“One reason has to do with a woman named Kyoko Yasuda.”
Ushikawa picked up his cold café au lait and winced as he sipped it. “Kyoko Yasuda?”
“You people know something about Kyoko Yasuda,” Tengo said.
Ushikawa let his mouth hang open, as if he had no idea what Tengo was talking about. “No, honestly, I don’t know a thing about a woman by that name. I swear, really. Who is she?”
Tengo looked at Ushikawa for a while, saying nothing, but he could not read anything on his face. “A woman I know.”
“Would she, by any chance, be someone with whom you have a … relationship?”
Tengo did not reply to that. “What I want to know is whether you people did something to her.”
“Did something? No way! We haven’t done a thing,” Ushikawa said. “I’m not lying. I just told you, I don’t know a thing about her. You can’t do anything to somebody you’ve never even heard of.”
“But you said you hired a capable ‘researcher’ and investigated every last thing about me. He even hit upon the fact that I had rewritten Eriko Fukada’s work. He knows a lot about my private life, too. It only makes sense that he should know about Kyoko Yasuda and me.”
“Yes, it’s true, we have hired a capable researcher. And he has been finding out about you in great detail. So it could be that he has discovered your relationship with Kyoko Yasuda, as you say. But even assuming he has discovered it, the information has not reached me.”
“I was seeing Kyoko Yasuda for quite some time,” Tengo said. “I used to see her once a week. In secret. Because she had a family. But suddenly one day, without saying a word to me, she disappeared.”
Ushikawa used the handkerchief with which he had wiped his glasses to dab at the sweat on the tip of his nose. “And so, Mr. Kawana, you think that, in one way or another, we have something to do with the fact that this married woman disappeared, is that it?”
“Maybe you informed her husband that she was seeing me.”
Ushikawa pursed his lips as if taken aback. “What possible reason could we have for doing such a thing?”
Tengo clenched his fists in his lap. “I keep thinking about something you said on the phone the last time we talked.”
“And what could that have been?”
“Once you pass a certain age, life is just a continuous process of losing one thing after another. One after another, things you value slip out of your hands the way a comb loses teeth. People you love fade away one after another. That sort of thing. Surely, you must remember.”
“Yes, I remember. I did say something like that the other day. But really, Mr. Kawana, I was just speaking in generalities. I was offering my own humble view of the pain and difficulty of aging. I certainly was not pointing specifically to What’s-her-name Yasuda.”
“But to my ears it sounded like a warning.”
Ushikawa gave his head several vigorous shakes. “Nothing of the sort! It wasn’t even remotely meant as a warning. It was simply my personal view. Really, I swear, I don’t know anything at all about Mrs. Yasuda. She disappeared?”
Tengo went on, “And you also said this: if I go on refusing to listen to you people, it might have an undesirable effect on everyone around me.”
“Yes, I did say something like that.”
“Isn’t that a warning too?”
Ushikawa stuffed his handkerchief into his jacket pocket and let out a sigh. “True, it might have sounded like a warning, but there, too, I was speaking strictly generally. I’m telling you, Mr. Kawana, I don’t know anything about this Mrs. Yasuda. I’ve never even heard the name. I swear to all the gods and goddesses of heaven and earth.”
Tengo studied Ushikawa’s face again. This man really might not know anything about Kyoko Yasuda. The expression of bewilderment on his face certainly looked like the real thing. But even if he knew nothing, it didn’t necessarily mean that they hadn’t done anything to her. It could just be that they hadn’t told him about it.
“It’s none of my business, Mr. Kawana, but having an affair with a married woman is a dangerous business. You’re a young, healthy single male. You should be able to have any number of single young girls without doing such dangerous things.” Having said this, Ushikawa deftly licked the crumbs from the corner of his mouth.
Tengo watched Ushikawa in silence.
Ushikawa said, “Of course, male-female relationships don’t work by logic and reason. Even monogamous marriage has its own set of contradictions. I’m telling you for your own good, though, if she has left you, it might be best to let the situation stay as it is. What I’m trying to say is this: there are things in this world that are better left as unknowns. The business about your mother, for example. Learning the truth would just hurt you. And once you do learn the truth, you end up having to take on a certain responsibility for it.”
Tengo scowled, holding his breath for a few seconds. “You know something about my mother?”
Ushikawa flicked his tongue over his lips. “Yes, to some extent, I do. Our researcher investigated that area very thoroughly. So if you ever want to learn about that, I can hand you all the materials on your mother as
is. As I understand it, you grew up knowing absolutely nothing about her. However, there might be some not-very-pleasant information included in the file.”
“Please leave now, Mr. Ushikawa,” Tengo said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “I have no desire to talk to you any more. And please don’t ever show your face to me again. Whatever ‘harm’ might be coming to me, it would be better than having to deal with you. I don’t want that ‘grant’ of yours or your guarantees of ‘safety.’ There’s only one thing I want, and that is never to see you again.”
Ushikawa showed no discernible reaction to this. Perhaps he had had worse things said to him any number of times. There was even a hint of a smile gleaming deep in his eyes.
“That’s fine,” Ushikawa said. “I’m glad I got your answer at least. A definite no. You have declined our offer. Clear and easy to understand. I will convey it to my superiors in that form. I am just a lowly errand boy. Now, simply because your answer is no, that doesn’t mean that harm will come to you right away. It just might, is all I am saying. It might never happen. That’s what I am hoping for. No, really, with all my heart. Because I like you, Mr. Kawana. I’m sure that’s the last thing you want—for me to like you—but that’s just the way it is. This nonsensical guy who shows up with nonsensical deals, terrible to look at. I’ve never had the problem of being liked too much. But the simple fact is that I have good feelings toward you, Mr. Kawana, as unwelcome as you may find them. And I hope that you go on to achieve great success in life.”
Having said this, Ushikawa proceeded to stare at his own fingers. They were short, stubby fingers. He turned them over a few times. Then he stood up.
“Well, then, I’ll be excusing myself. Now that you mention it, this will probably be the last time you see me. Yes, I will do my best to honor your wishes. May things go well for you in the future. Good-bye.”
Ushikawa picked up the worn-out leather case he had set on the chair and disappeared into the cafeteria’s crowd. As he walked, the mass of young male and female students parted naturally to make way for him, like medieval village children trying to avoid a fearsome slave trader.
Tengo dialed his own apartment from the public phone in the school lobby. He was planning to hang up after three rings, but Fuka-Eri picked up at the second ring.
“I was going to let it ring three times and then call again. We had an arrangement,” Tengo said wearily.
“I forgot,” Fuka-Eri said with apparent unconcern.
“I’m sure I asked you not to forget.”
“Want to do it again,” Fuka-Eri asked.
“No, never mind, we’re talking. Has anything unusual happened since I left?”
“No calls. Nobody came.”
“Good. I’m through working. I’ll be coming back now.”
“A big crow came and cawed outside the window,” Fuka-Eri said.
“He comes every evening. Nothing to worry about. It’s like a social call. Anyhow, I should be back by seven.”
“Better hurry.”
“Why’s that?” Tengo asked.
“The Little People are stirring.”
“The Little People are stirring,” Tengo repeated her words. “In my apartment?”
“No. Somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else.”
“Way far away.”
“But you can hear them.”
“I can hear them.”
“Does it mean something?” Tengo asked.
“That something extra ordinary is starting.”
It took Tengo a moment to realize she meant “extraordinary.” “And what kind of extraordinary something would that be?”
“I can’t tell that much.”
“The Little People are going to make this extraordinary thing happen?”
Fuka-Eri shook her head. He could feel it through the phone. It meant she didn’t know.
“Better come back before the thunder starts,” she said.
“Thunder?”
“If the train stops running, we’ll be apart.”
Tengo turned and looked out the window. It was a calm late-summer evening without a cloud in the sky. “It doesn’t look like thunder.”
“You can’t tell from looks.”
“I’ll hurry,” Tengo said.
“Better hurry,” Fuka-Eri said, and hung up.
Tengo stepped outside, looked up once again at the clear evening sky, and walked briskly toward Yoyogi Station, Ushikawa’s words resounding in his head like a tape on auto-repeat.
What I’m trying to say is this: there are things in this world that are better left as unknowns. The business about your mother, for example. Learning the truth would just hurt you. And once you do learn the truth, you end up having to take on a certain responsibility for it.
And somewhere the Little People are stirring. They apparently have something to do with an extraordinary event that is coming our way. For now, the sky is beautiful and clear, but you can’t tell by how things look. Maybe the thunder will roar, the rain will fall, and the trains will stop. Got to hurry back to the apartment. Fuka-Eri’s voice was strangely compelling.
“We have to join forces,” she had said.
Those long arms were reaching out from somewhere. We have to join forces. Because we’ll be the world’s strongest male/female duo.
The Beat Goes On.
CHAPTER 11
Aomame
BALANCE ITSELF IS THE GOOD
Aomame spread her blue foam yoga mat on the carpeted bedroom floor. Then she told the man to take off his top. He got down from the bed and pulled off his shirt. He looked even bigger without a shirt on. He was deep-chested, with bulging muscles, and had no drooping excess flesh. To all appearances, this was a very healthy body.
Following Aomame’s directions, he lay facedown on the mat. Aomame touched his wrist and took his pulse. It was strong and steady.
“Are you doing some kind of regular exercise?” Aomame asked.
“Not really,” he said. “Just breathing.”
“Just breathing?”
“It’s a little different from ordinary breathing,” the man said.
“Like you were doing before in the dark, I suppose. Deep, repetitive breathing with all the muscles of your body.”
Facedown, he gave a little nod.
Aomame could not quite grasp it. While his intense style of breathing certainly must take a good deal of physical strength, was it possible for mere breathing to maintain such a tight, powerful body?
“What I’m about to do now involves a good deal of pain,” Aomame said in a voice without inflection. “It has to hurt for it to do any good. On the other hand, I can adjust the amount of pain. So if it hurts, don’t just bear it—speak up.”
The man paused for a moment before saying, “If there is a pain I’ve never tasted, I’d like to try it.” This sounded mildly sarcastic to her.
“Pain is not fun for anybody.”
“But a painful technique is more effective, is that it? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”
Aomame allowed herself a momentary facial expression in the pale darkness. Then she said, “I understand. Let’s both see how it goes.”
As always, Aomame started with the stretching of the shoulder blades. The first thing she noticed when she touched his flesh was its suppleness. This was fine, healthy flesh, fundamentally different in composition from the tired, stiff flesh of the urbanites with whom she dealt at the gym. At the same time, however, she had a strong sense that its natural “flow” was being blocked by something, the way a river’s flow can be blocked temporarily by floating timber or other debris.
Leaning her weight into her elbow, Aomame squeezed the man’s shoulder upward—slowly at first, but then with a serious application of strength. She knew he was feeling pain—intense pain that would make any ordinary human being cry out. But he bore it in silence. His breathing remained calm, nor was there any hint of a frown on his face. He tolerates pain well, she thought
. She decided to see how much he could stand. She held nothing back from her next push, until the shoulder blade joint gave out with a dull snap and she could tell that the track had been switched. The man’s breathing paused momentarily but immediately resumed its quiet, steady pace.
“Your shoulder blade was tremendously obstructed,” Aomame explained, “but that took care of it. Now the flow is back to normal.”
She jammed her fingers in under the shoulder blade up to the second joint. The muscles here were meant to be flexible, and once the obstruction was removed they would quickly return to normal.
“That feels much better,” the man murmured.
“It must have hurt quite a bit.”
“Not more than I could stand.”
“I myself have a rather high tolerance for pain, but if someone had done the same thing to me, I’m pretty sure I would have cried out.”
“In most cases, one pain is alleviated or canceled out by another pain. The senses are, ultimately, relative.”
Aomame placed her hand on his left shoulder blade, felt for the muscles with her fingertips, and determined that they were in about the same condition that the right ones had been. Let’s see just how relative this can be. “I’ll do the left side now. It should hurt about as much as the right side did.”
“Do what you need to. Don’t worry about me.”
“Meaning, I shouldn’t hold back at all?”
“No need for that.”
Following the same procedure, Aomame corrected the joints and the muscles around the left shoulder blade. As instructed, she did not hold back. Once she had decided she would not hold anything back, Aomame took the shortest possible route without hesitation. The man reacted even more calmly than he had with the right side. He accepted the pain with complete equanimity, making only one brief swallowing sound in his throat. All right, let’s see how much he can stand, Aomame thought.
She started working on his muscles one after another in order, loosening them up, following her mental checklist. All she had to do was mechanically follow the usual route, like a capable and fearless night watchman making the rounds of his building with a flashlight.