The vegetable soup Hatsumi made for me was exceptional. Not that I could taste it at all. It was just that she’d come there for me, that she had cooked it for me. That made me the happiest man alive that night.
I had to take an entire week off work. I was never the healthiest guy, and it often took me a while to recover from colds; but this was the first time I was grateful for my poor constitution. During that week, Hatsumi came over to my apartment three times. On her last visit, I asked her whether it had been Hidaka’s idea that she come take care of me.
“Actually, I haven’t told him,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Well, you know, he’s—” She stopped. “Please don’t tell my husband. I don’t think he’d understand.”
“Fine by me.” I wanted to know what she was thinking, but decided not to push it.
Once I was back on my feet, I wanted to find a way to thank her. I realized giving her a present might raise eyebrows, so I invited her out to dinner.
She seemed hesitant at first, but eventually agreed. Hidaka was due to be away doing research for some project, and she asked me if that would be a good time. It was better than good; it was perfect.
We had dinner at a traditional Japanese place in Roppongi. That night, she came back with me to my apartment.
I believe I previously described our relationship as a fleeting passion. I’d like to correct that statement now. We loved each other from the bottom of our hearts. For me, there was nothing fleeting or momentary about it. From the first time I laid eyes upon her I felt that she was the woman destiny had meant me to meet. That night was the beginning of our love.
The hours flew by; yet toward the end, Hatsumi told me something shocking about her husband: “He’s trying to hold you down, you know.” A terrible sadness was in her voice.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s trying to keep you from getting published. He wants you to give up writing.”
“Because my novels are boring!”
“No, that’s not it at all. In fact, I think it’s the opposite. He’s jealous because the books you write are better than his.”
“No way.”
“I didn’t want to believe it myself. But there’s just no other way to explain how he’s acting.”
“How is he acting?”
“Well, for instance, when you sent him your first novel, I don’t think he ever intended to read it seriously—not at first. He suggested that reading some amateur’s boring work would throw off his own writing. He said he’d just skim it and tell you whatever you wanted to hear.”
“You can’t be serious.” What she was telling me was so different from what I’d heard from Hidaka himself. “But, he did read it?”
“That’s just it. Once he started reading, he couldn’t stop. He gives up on things easily, you know. If something strikes him as even a little bit boring, he tosses it away. But there was an … intensity in the way he read that book. I think it must’ve been because the world you created grabbed him in a way he couldn’t ignore.”
“But he said it wasn’t professional-level work.”
“I don’t think he was being honest. I know for a fact he lied to you several times when you called him and he told you he hadn’t read it yet. I think he was still deciding what to do. Eventually, he must have decided to disparage your work and discourage you from continuing writing.”
“Maybe…,” I said, still not believing what I was hearing, “maybe he read it so intently because we were friends.”
“No. That’s not him. That man isn’t interested in anything other than himself.”
This didn’t sound like the sort of thing a wife would say about the husband she’d married after a whirlwind romance. Yet, in retrospect, I wonder if she was looking to me for comfort because she’d grown disillusioned with the man she’d wed. It’s not a thought I care to linger over.
Hatsumi told me that Hidaka had been having trouble with his writing lately and was frustrated at his inability to produce more. Bereft of ideas, his confidence had wavered. That made it even harder to watch an amateur such as myself produce better material.
“I think you should stop bringing your work to my husband. Look for someone who will be honest and supportive.”
“But wait. If Hidaka really wanted to prevent me from being published, why didn’t he just cut me off? Why even read my second book?”
“You don’t understand my husband. He isn’t giving it to you straight because he wants to prevent you from talking to anyone else. He’s trying to make you worry and lose confidence in yourself. Not only that, he’s stringing you on. He has no intention of ever introducing you to any of his editors.” Her voice sounded unusually harsh.
I found it hard to believe Hidaka could be so malicious. Yet I couldn’t believe that Hatsumi was making it up. I told her I wouldn’t do anything immediately; instead I’d give it some time and see how things developed. She didn’t seem satisfied with that, but she didn’t press me.
I visited the Hidakas less after that. Not because I no longer trusted Hidaka, but because I no longer trusted myself to be able to successfully pretend there was nothing between me and his wife. Hidaka had always had a keen eye, and I knew if he caught a meaningful glance, he’d be onto us.
Yet it was hard to go such a long time without seeing her. It was too dangerous for us to meet in public, so after we discussed it in secret, we decided she would come over and visit me at my apartment. As Detective Kaga knows, my apartment building has plenty of empty units, and people probably wouldn’t even notice anyone visiting my place. Even if they did, no one knew who Hatsumi was or would recognize her if they did, so there wasn’t a big risk that rumors would start to spread.
Hatsumi would wait for Hidaka to be out of town on one of his trips before coming to my place. Though she didn’t ever spend the night, she often made dinner for us, which we would eat together. On these occasions, she would wear her favorite apron. (Yes, the apron that Detective Kaga found in my apartment.) When I saw her wearing an apron and standing in my kitchen, I couldn’t help but pretend that we were newlyweds, just moved into our new home.
As much as our time together was full of happiness, our partings were miserable. Whenever the time came for her to go back home, we would both become taciturn, shooting reproachful looks at the clock on the wall.
I often thought how wonderful it would be if we could spend two or three days alone together. We even talked about it, although I think both of us knew it was impossible. That is, until an opportunity came along that we couldn’t afford to pass up. Hidaka was scheduled to go to America on an assignment for a whole week. He was going with one of his editors, and Hatsumi would be staying at home.
This was what we’d been waiting for. We talked endlessly about how we could spend our time together, giggling like schoolchildren. Eventually, we decided on a trip to Okinawa. I even went to a travel agent and paid for the tickets. It would only be for a short time, but on that trip, we would be husband and wife. I was delirious with joy.
In retrospect, I think our happiness peaked during those days of anticipation. As you know, the trip to Okinawa never happened. The magazine canceled Hidaka’s assignment only a few days before he was supposed to leave for America. I don’t know the details. Hidaka was crestfallen, but his disappointment was nothing compared to our despair.
To be so close to paradise, only to have it ripped from under my feet, made me mad with desire and determined to see her. As much as this had been true before, now I was even more driven. Our meetings felt too brief, and as soon as we parted, I needed to be with her again.
Yet, her visits dropped off sharply. When I asked why, her answer made me blanch. She was afraid her husband was onto us. Then she said the thing I feared most of all. She thought we should probably end our affair.
“If he finds out about us, he’ll take revenge somehow. I can’t let you suffer because of me.”
“I don’t care about
that,” I told her; but in truth, I didn’t want her to suffer, either. Given what I knew of Hidaka’s character, I didn’t think he’d be eager to sign any divorce papers. Still, I couldn’t imagine letting her go.
I struggled with this for several days, letting my teaching duties fall by the wayside as I turned an endless series of plans over in my mind. Finally, I decided. Detective Kaga has already figured out what plan I settled on. I decided to kill Hidaka.
Writing it like that makes it sound like the strangest thing in the world. Yet I was quite sure of myself and hardly wavered at all once I’d made up my mind. In the interest of full disclosure, I should confess that on numerous occasions before then I’d hoped Hidaka would die. I couldn’t bear his being married to my Hatsumi. I suppose that only shows how self-delusional we humans can be, since I was clearly the one intruding on someone else’s territory. Still, as often as I’d hoped Hidaka would die, until that moment I never imagined killing him with my own hands.
As one might expect, Hatsumi was strongly opposed to my idea. She cried, saying she couldn’t let me do something like that. The crime was too great, and the potential punishment too severe. Yet her tears only heightened my madness. I began to feel I truly had no other choice.
“Don’t even think about helping,” I told her. “I’m doing this by myself. If I fail, if the police take me in, I’ll make sure nothing ever implicates you.” You might argue that, by this point, I’d lost the capacity for rational thought.
Perhaps because she had realized I was determined, or perhaps because she knew there was no other way for us to be together, Hatsumi eventually agreed. She even insisted on taking part. I didn’t want her to endanger herself, but she made her opinion clear: we’d do it together, or not at all.
Together we planned the death of Kunihiko Hidaka. It was not, I feel, a competent plan.
We decided to make it look like the work of a thief. December 13 was to be the day.
I waited until late at night, then snuck into Hidaka’s garden. Detective Kaga already knows what I was wearing at the time: black pants and a black jacket. If I had worn a mask, I might not be here now, writing this confession. Yet at the time, it never crossed my mind.
The lights in Hidaka’s office were out. Fearfully, I put my hand to the window and pushed the sash to one side. It slid open easily. Holding my breath, I crept inside the room.
I could see Hidaka lying on the sofa in the corner. He was lying on his back, eyes closed, breath regular, sound asleep. We’d picked that night to carry out our plan because he had work due the next day, and Hatsumi knew he was likely to spend the entire night in his office.
I should explain why he was sleeping even though he was on deadline. Hatsumi had mixed sleeping pills in with his dinner. Hidaka used these sleeping pills from time to time, so even if an autopsy found them in his bloodstream, no eyebrows would be raised. When I saw Hidaka lying there, I knew everything was going according to plan. Hidaka had been working when fatigue suddenly crept over him, and he lay down on the sofa, surrendering himself to sleep. Hatsumi came in to check on him, saw him sleeping, and turned off the lights in the office, first making sure that the window was unlocked.
The rest was up to me. With a trembling hand, I pulled the knife from my jacket pocket—the same knife the detectives found among Hidaka’s belongings.
To be honest, I preferred strangulation. Just picturing myself stabbing him terrified me. Yet I thought that using a knife would be far more believable. What burglar worth his salt would break into someone’s house without a proper weapon?
I wasn’t entirely sure where the best place to stab him was. Standing there over him, I decided on the chest. I took off the gloves I’d been wearing, to get a better grip on the knife handle. After all, I reasoned, I could wipe my fingerprints off later. Then, grasping the knife in both hands, I brought it up over my head, ready to plunge it into Hidaka’s heart.
That very instant, something unbelievable happened. Hidaka’s eyes opened.
I froze. I couldn’t swing the knife. I couldn’t even speak.
Hidaka, however, moved quickly. By the time I knew what was happening, he was pushing me facedown into the carpet. The knife was already out of my hands. I remember the thought that he’d always been more of an athlete than I was flashing through my mind.
“What’s this all about? Why are you trying to kill me?” Hidaka yelled.
But I had no reply.
Eventually he shouted for Hatsumi. I turned my head to see her as she came in, face pale. She must’ve realized what had happened the instant she heard him call.
“Call the police, there’s been an attempted murder!” Hidaka barked.
Hatsumi didn’t move.
“What’s wrong? Don’t stand there fidgeting. Get the phone!”
“But, that’s Mr. Nonoguchi.”
“I know who it is! But that doesn’t change the fact that he tried to kill me!”
“No, Kunihiko. It wasn’t him—” Hatsumi began, about to admit her complicity.
Hidaka cut her off. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
I don’t know how, but Hidaka had caught on to our whole plan. He’d only been pretending to sleep, waiting for me to do something irrevocable, to make my move, before he leapt into action.
“Hey, Nonoguchi,” he said, pressing my face down into the carpet, “you ever read the laws about home invasion? There’s a bit in there about the right to self-defense. That means that if you come onto my property with the intent to harm me, and I mistakenly kill you, I don’t get in trouble. That seems a lot like the situation we have here now. I could kill you and no one would say a word.”
His icy tone sent shivers through my body. Even though I didn’t believe he would actually do it, I started to dread what he would do instead.
“However, lucky for you, I’m in a generous mood. And frankly, killing you does nothing for me. Guess I’ll just turn you over to the police—” He looked over at Hatsumi and smiled before turning his sharp eyes back to me. “But how would having you in prison do me any good either?”
I had no idea what he was getting at, which made it even more unpleasant.
I felt his grip soften and a moment later he stood up, releasing me. He went over and picked up the fallen knife with a blanket from the sofa wrapped around his hand.
“Rejoice, Nonoguchi. I’m letting you go. You can leave through that window.” He was grinning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Now you’d better leave before I change my mind.”
“What are you thinking?” My voice was trembling.
“That’s not your concern right now. Leave. Oh”—he brandished the knife—“I’m keeping this as evidence.”
I wondered if that knife would hold up as evidence, even with my fingerprints on it. It seemed he’d anticipated my thought, because he added, “You should know this knife isn’t my only evidence. I have another trick up my sleeve—something you’ll never be able to explain your way out of. I’ll even show it to you, when the time is right.”
I wondered what he could possibly be talking about, but I didn’t dwell on it then. Instead I looked at Hatsumi. Her face was white, with only the edges of her eyes gleaming red. I don’t think I’d ever seen a person look so sad before. Nor have I since.
I climbed back out the window and made my way home in a haze. Several times, I thought about running, just disappearing entirely. But I didn’t because I was worried about what would happen to Hatsumi.
I spent my days in fear. There wasn’t a chance in the world that Hidaka would forgo his revenge. Yet not knowing what form that revenge would take made me all the more terrified. I no longer went to the Hidakas, nor did I see Hatsumi. Our only communication was a furtive phone call she made when he’d stepped out for work.
“He doesn’t talk about that night at all,” she confided to me. “It’s like he’s forgotten all about it.”
Of course, we both knew he hadn’t. I grew even more uneasy.
Several months later I finally learned the nature of his revenge. I discovered it in a bookshop. As I’m sure Detective Kaga will have realized by now, it was none other than Hidaka’s breakthrough novel, An Unburning Flame. He had taken the novella I had first shown him and expanded it into his masterpiece.
I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t want to believe it. It was a nightmare. For me, who had dreamed of becoming an author for so long, it was like having my heart torn to shreds. Only Hidaka could have devised a punishment so cruel and shocking.
To an author, his writing is a part of himself. In many ways, it’s his child. As parents love their children, so do authors love the work they create.
But Hidaka had stolen my work from me. Once he published it under his own name, An Unburning Flame would forever be known as a novel by Kunihiko Hidaka. Unless I said something, but Hidaka knew I would never do that.
That’s right. Even though I’d been badly bruised, I held my tongue. I knew that if I made the slightest sound, he’d say, “Be quiet or you’ll go to jail.”
If I was going to expose his plagiarism, I’d have to be prepared to admit I’d snuck into his house and tried to kill him.
I thought about turning myself in to the police and, at the same time, announcing that An Unburning Flame was mine. I thought about it constantly. Once I even picked up the phone and started to dial the local police station. But in the end, I didn’t. A small part of it was that I was afraid of being arrested for attempted murder. But it was mostly because I was terrified that Hatsumi would be charged as my accomplice. I knew that no matter how much I insisted I’d done it all myself, the cops would realize I’d needed help to get as far as I did, and she was the only one who could have done that. Besides, I couldn’t picture Hidaka letting her get away with it. Either way, there was no way to keep her safe if I confessed. So I let him publish my work. Even though the pain made a wreck of me, I couldn’t risk any more misfortune coming to Hatsumi on my account. I’m sure Detective Kaga is laughing to himself as he reads this. Here I am, a confessed murderer, trying to make myself look noble. I’m sure that I was more than a little self-delusional at the time. Yet I needed that delusion to keep me from going even more insane.