'You're quitting?'
'I can't work here any more,' she said. Masako didn't tell her that this was her last night as well. She'd come to give in her notice and collect the money and passport that Kazuo was keeping for her. If she could survive the night, she might be able to escape from Satake altogether. 'I wanted the chance to talk for a few minutes,' Yoshie said. 'That's why I came this way.'
Couldn't they talk in the lounge after work? Wondering what Yoshie was getting at, Masako waited by the stairs while she went to park her bike. There were no stars in the sky and a thick layer of clouds seemed to hang over them, but even the clouds were invisible. Feeling oppressed, as though a heavy weight were bearing down on her, Masako looked up at the factory. Just then, the door at the top of the stairs opened.
'Katori-san,' a voice called. It was Komada.
'Yes?'
'Do you know if Yoshie Azuma is coming tonight?'
'She just went to park her bike.' Komada came running down the stairs, her roller still in her hand. Yoshie appeared just as she reached the bottom.
'Azuma-san!' she cried. 'You need to go home right away.'
'Why?' Yoshie said.
'They just called to say there's been a fire at your house.'
'There has?' Her face was white. Komada looked at her sympathetically.
'Get going,' she told her.
In a flat voice, Yoshie said, 'It's probably too late to do anything.'
'I'm sure that's not true. Now hurry up!' Yoshie turned slowly back toward the bike racks. Several more women were arriving for work and Komada started up the stairs to meet them.
'Did they say anything about her mother-in-law?' Masako called up to her.
'No, but they said the house burned to the ground.' She looked back over her shoulder, aware that it was awful news to have to pass on, before going inside. Masako waited alone for Yoshie. It was several more minutes before she appeared with the bike, as if she'd been bracing herself for the ordeal. Masako looked at her tired face.
'I'm sorry, but I can't go with you,' she said.
'I know,' Yoshie said. 'I didn't think you would. That's why I came to say goodbye here.'
'Did you have insurance?'
'A little.'
'Take care of yourself/ said Masako.
'You, too. And thanks for everything.' She bowed and then headed back the way they'd come. Masako watched as her light grew dimmer and died as she turned toward the car factory. A faint, pinkish glow rose from the city in the distance, and much nearer, a pillar of sparks from the old wooden house. Yoshie had found a way out after all. Once her daughter was gone, she must have lost all hope, and with it her last reason for hesitating. Masako wondered whether she had been the one to push her over the edge. She'd told her about the danger from Satake, and that must have planted the idea in her head. She stood for a moment longer, unable to look away. When she did turn and climb the stairs, Komada seemed surprised to see her.
'You didn't go with her?'
'No,' said Masako. Komada ran the roller roughly across her back, as if blaming her for deserting a friend.
It was almost time for the shift to start. Masako hurried into the lounge and looked around for Kazuo. He wasn't with the other Brazilians or in the changing area, and when she checked his time card, she discovered that it was his night off. Komada tried to stop her, but she slipped into her shoes and ran out the door.
Everything had changed in a moment. This was the night. She set out on foot toward Kazuo's dormitory. Further down the road, Satake was waiting for her. She turned left, keeping a wary eye on the parking lot, peering at things imagined in the dark. The open fields around her were dotted with farmhouses, and beyond them was the dormitory. The only light in the building was in Kazuo's window on the second floor. She climbed the metal stairs, trying not to make any noise, and knocked at the door. There was an answer in Portuguese and the door opened. Kazuo, in a T-shirt and jeans, stood looking out at her, obviously surprised. The light from the TV was flickering in the background.
'Masako-san,' he said.
'Are you alone?'
'Yes,' he said, stepping aside to let her in. The air was filled with the smell of a foreign spice she couldn't identify. There was a bunk bed next to the window, and the futon cupboard stood open. They were using it as a closet. The tatami room held a small, square low table. Kazuo had apparently been watching a soccer match, but he switched it off and turned to face her.
'Do you want the money?'
'I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were off tonight. Would you mind going in to get it?'
'No, not at all,' he said, searching her face with a worried look. She took out a cigarette and glanced around for an ashtray, trying to avoid his eyes. Kazuo lit one himself and put a tin Coca Cola ashtray on the table. 'You wait here,' he said. 'I'll be right back.'
'Thanks,' she said. Looking around her, she had a sense that this tiny apartment was the one safe place to be right now. Kazuo's room-mate must have gone to work; the bottom bunk was neatly made.
'Can you tell me what's happened?' Kazuo said. He was lingering, wanting to talk, apparently afraid she would leave too soon.
'I'm running away from a man,' she said, speaking slowly, as if the warmth of the room were gradually thawing her out. 'I can't tell you why he's after me, but I'm going to use the money to get away, to leave the country.' Kazuo stared at the floor and thought for a moment. He blew out a cloud of smoke and looked up at her.
'Where will you go? It's not easy anywhere.'
'Maybe so,' she said, 'but I don't really care, just as long as I get out of here.' He put his hand to his forehead. He seemed to know without being told that her situation was a matter of life and death.
'What about your family?'
'My husband wants to be alone. He's withdrawn from life that's just the way he is. And my son's grown up now.' Why was she telling him this? She hadn't told anyone. Maybe it was easier because he didn't really speak her language; maybe that made her relax. But as soon as she'd put her situation in words, tears welled up as if out of nowhere. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
'You're alone,' Kazuo said.
'I am,' she admitted. 'We were happy once, a long time ago, but somewhere along the line, things fell apart. I guess it's probably my fault.'
'Why's that?'
'Because I want to be alone. Because I want to be free.' There were tears in his eyes now, too. They rolled down his cheeks on to the tatami.
'When you're alone, will you be free?' he asked.
'It seems that way to me, for now at least.' Escape. Escape from what? To what? She had no idea.
'It's very sad,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry for you.'
'No, don't be,' she said, shaking her head and clutching her knees. 'I wanted to get out, so this is just how it is.'
'.. . Really?'
'I've lost hope,' she said. 'And I don't care whether I live or die.' Kazuo looked troubled.
'Lost hope in what?'
'In life,' she said. He began to cry again, and Masako sat watching him for a while, moved that a young foreigner should be crying for her. His sobs showed no sign of subsiding. 'Why are you crying?' she said at last.
'Because you told me what was in your heart. You seemed so far away until now.' Masako smiled. Kazuo brushed the tears away with his arm. She looked at the green and yellow Brazilian flag that hung in the window.
'Where should I go?' she said. 'I've never been abroad.' He looked up, his big eyes red with tears.
'Why don't you go to Brazil?' he said. 'It's summer there now.'
'What's it like?' He thought for a moment, then smiled shyly.
'I'm not sure I can explain, but it's wonderful there. Wonderful.'
Summer. Masako closed her eyes as though trying to imagine it. The summer had changed everything. The smell of gardenias, the grass growing thick around the parking lot, the glint of dark water in the culvert. When she opened her eyes again, Kazuo was gettin
g ready to go out. He pulled on a black jacket over his T-shirt and tugged his cap on to his head.
'I'll be right back,' he said.
'Miyamori-san. Can I stay until three?' He nodded. Three more hours. Satake would be gone by then. She propped her elbows on the table and closed her eyes, grateful for a little rest.
-
She woke up when he came back. He had apparently taken his time, since it was already 2.00 a.m. As he unzipped his jacket and pulled out the envelope, she caught a cold breath of the outdoors.
'Here it is,' he said.
'Thanks.' She could feel the warmth of his body in the envelope as he handed it to her. She opened it and peered in: a new passport and seven bundles of bills, a million each - the means of flight. She took out one of the bundles and set it on the table. 'This is for keeping it for me,' she said. 'Please take it.' Kazuo blushed.
'I don't need it. I'm just glad I could help you.'
'But you've got another year at the factory,' she said. She saw him biting his lips as he slipped off his jacket.
'I'm going home before Christmas,' he told her.
'You are?'
'Yes. There's no point in staying any longer.' He sat down at the table and gazed around the room. Masako felt a touch of envy at the nostalgic look in his eyes when he looked at the flag. 'I was hoping I could help you. Does it have something to do with this?' he asked, pulling the key out from under his shirt.
'Yes, it does.'
'Do you need it back?'
'No,' she said. He smiled with relief. The key to Kenji's house. She stared at it as it lay in his hand, realising that everything had started with the key. But that wasn't true: it had started with something in her. Her hopelessness and a longing for freedom those had brought her to this point. She put the envelope in her shoulder bag and stood up. Kazuo picked up the money on the table and tried to give it back. 'Please keep it,' she said. 'It's my way of thanking you.'
'But it's too much,' he said, trying to force it into her bag.
'Keep it,' she repeated. 'You could call it "blood money".' His hand stopped and he frowned. Did it go against his conscience? 'You deserve it,' she said, 'after slaving away at that factory. Anyway, there's no such thing as clean money.' He gave a deep sigh and put the bills back on the table, perhaps afraid of offending her. 'I'm going now,' she said. 'Thanks again.'
He held her gently. It was the first time she'd been in a man's arms since he had attacked her that night by the old factory, but the feeling was one she hadn't known in years. The warmth seemed to melt her, open her bit by bit. She lay against him for a moment, and the tears came back into her eyes.
'I've got to go,' she told him. Releasing her, he reached into his pocket and brought out a slip of paper. 'What's this?' she said.
'My address in Sao Paolo.'
'Thank you.' She folded it neatly and put it in the pocket of her jeans.
'Come to see me,' he said. 'Come for Christmas. I'll be waiting. Promise you'll come.'
'I promise,' Masako said, slipping into her beat-up sneakers. A cold wind blew in as she opened the door. Kazuo stood biting his lips and staring at the floor. 'Goodbye.'
'Goodbye,' he said, as if it were the saddest word in the world.
She went down the stairs as quietly as she'd come up. The shutters on the nearby houses were closed and the neighbourhood was asleep. The only light came from the widely spaced streetlamps. Zipping up her jacket, she set off for the parking lot. Except for the sound of her shoes on the pavement, the night was silent and lonely. When she reached the spot where Kazuo had pulled the cover off the culvert, she stopped. She hesitated for a moment, but then took the paper with his address out of her pocket, ripped it to pieces, and dropped them down the hole.
She was still hoping to escape, but she had resigned herself to the fact that she might not live that long. Kazuo's kindness had been a brief comfort, but there was a crueller world waiting for her on the other side of the door she had opened.
-
She was nearing the parking lot. The lights were out in the guardhouse, which between 3.00 and 6.00 a.m. was empty. Even if Satake had wanted to wait until she got off work, he knew there would be more people here in the morning. He wouldn't take that risk. She looked around before stepping out into the lot, but it appeared to be deserted. Reassured, she started across the open space, kicking up the gravel that was scattered over the hard earth. As she approached her car, she realised something was hanging from the side mirror. She reached out to touch it and screamed. It was Kuniko's panties. She had left them on his doorknob, and now he was returning the favour. Feeling outraged, she threw them on the ground; but as she did so, a long arm wrapped around her from behind. She had no time to cry out. She struggled, but the arm held her fast. Warm fingers closed over her jaw, and the arm, in a guard's uniform, pressed up under her neck. She couldn't breathe, yet she wasn't really afraid. She didn't feel what she'd felt in the dream, but she did have a strange sense of recognition, as if she'd come to a place she'd been to before.
6
He wanted to merge into the night. He sat in the car with the windows rolled down, letting the air wash over him. This was the only way he could relax, and it was the one thing he had missed in prison, the feel of the air on him. His arms and legs were numb from the cold, and his whole body had begun to shiver. In the summer, his blood would have been thick with the heat, but now his mind was clear. Wrapped in the darkness, his hand could feel a density in the air that wasn't there in daylight. He stretched his long arm through the window and felt the cold breeze.
Still dressed in his uniform, he was waiting here for Masako. He had parked across from her space, in the dark at the back of the lot, and had settled in to wait until six. He wondered how she would react when she came back exhausted from the shift and found Kuniko's underwear on her car. He wanted to be there to see her face, her straggly hair, the dark circles under her eyes.
Just as he was about to light a cigarette, he heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel. A woman's light step. He stuffed the cigarette in his pocket and held his breath. Masako had come back. She looked around for a moment; then, apparently satisfied that he wasn't there, she headed for the Corolla, no longer bothering to be cautious. Without making a sound, Satake opened the door and slipped out of his car. She gave a muffled scream as she discovered his little present. Realising he would never get a better chance, he crept up and grabbed her from behind. As his arm went around her neck, her fear ran through him like a current, and he realised how much she attracted him.
'Don't move,' he said, but she began to struggle frantically. Pressing one arm into her thin neck, he wrapped the other around her body. Her fingernails dug into his forearm through the fabric of his uniform, and she kneed him between the legs. It took all his strength to subdue her, but eventually she lost consciousness.
At last he had her. Shouldering her limp body, he went back to his car for rope and bags. Where could he take her now that he'd been driven out of his apartment? With no place to go and no time to look for somewhere else, he set off toward the abandoned factory. When he reached the drainage ditch, he realised that the cover had been pulled up in one or two places, so he switched on his flashlight to see where he was going. The black water glittered beneath his feet, and the concrete cover shifted ominously under their combined weight, but he finally managed to cross the ditch. He threw her body down on a patch of dry grass and checked the rusty shutters. He could move them by pushing with all his might, but the grating noise made Masako stir and frown uncomfortably. Working quickly, he raised the shutters high enough to duck under and pushed her inside.
The building was cold and dark. It felt damp and smelt of mould. He let the flashlight play over the space, thinking how much it resembled an enormous, concrete coffin. But high in the ceiling he could see a row of windows that would let in light when the sun came up. The factory had apparently made boxed lunches before it closed down. The metal rack of an old con
veyor belt and a counter for deliveries had been left behind. He smiled, realising the rack would be perfect for tying Masako on to - nice and cold.
She was still unconscious. He picked her up and laid her on the long ramp. Defenceless, with her mouth hanging slightly open, she looked like a patient anaesthetised for an operation. He slipped the jacket from her shoulders and tore off her sweatshirt. Then he took off her shoes and socks and dropped them on the floor. As he was pulling off her jeans, she began to regain consciousness from the shock of the cold metal on her skin. But she seemed disoriented, unsure where she was or what was happening to her. She lay on her back, staring around with a muddled look.
Shining the flashlight in her face, he called her name. She turned her eyes away from the light and seemed to search for him in the darkness.
'You bastard!'
'No, you should say, "Fucking bastard! What a lousy trick!"' She was still moving sluggishly. He pinned her arms to the rack and she stopped struggling.
'Why?' she said, looking puzzled.
'Just say it.' He had dropped his guard for a moment and her foot shot up, catching him in the groin. As he groaned with pain, she twisted away and jumped down. She was still nimble for a middle-aged woman, and she managed to slip through his arms and disappear into the darkness. 'Don't think you can get away!' he called. He searched for her with the flashlight, but it was too weak for the cavernous space; instead, he stationed himself in front of the shutters and waited. If he guarded the exit, he would get her eventually. Besides, there was something about the situation that amused him - the more she resisted, the more it excited him. She was so stubborn, and it made him feel loathing and elation in equal measures. 'You might as well give up,' he called, his voice echoing through the building. Her answer came a moment later, apparently from a distant corner.