Hatsumi had no words to ease my suffering. She would occasionally call when Hidaka was out, but the phone calls were just long stretches of painful silence, interrupted by meaningless, empty words.
“I never imagined he’d do something so horrible. To steal your work, it’s—”
“It’s okay. There’s nothing either of us can do about it.”
“But I feel so bad about it.…”
“It’s not your fault. I was a fool, that’s all. I’ve reaped what I sowed.”
These chats with the woman I should have loved did nothing to lift my spirits or give me hope. I just felt my heart sinking lower and lower.
As fate would have it, An Unburning Flame was well received. Every time I saw it featured in a magazine or a newspaper, I felt as if something were chewing away at my heart. For a fleeting moment, I was happy to see the work praised. But then I’d snap back to reality and realize that as far as anyone else knew, it wasn’t my work being praised.
On the strength of this book, Hidaka went from being talked about everywhere to receiving a prestigious literary award. I wonder if anyone can understand my pain when I saw his face beaming proudly from the pages of the newspapers. I wasn’t able to sleep for several nights.
My nightmare continued unabated until one day my doorbell rang. When I looked through the peephole, I thought I might choke. Standing on the other side of my door was Kunihiko Hidaka. It was the first time I’d seen him in person since the night I broke into his house. Even though I hated him for stealing my work, the guilt I felt for what I’d done was stronger. For a second, I wondered if I should pretend not to be at home.
Finally I realized there was nothing to gain by running away, so I opened the door.
Hidaka smiled thinly. “Were you sleeping?”
“No.” It was Sunday. I was still in my pajamas.
“Great, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep.” He took a look inside. “Mind if I come in? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Sure … I haven’t cleaned up in a while.”
“I don’t mind. It’s not like we’re taking publicity photos.”
Not like the publicity photos all the newspapers were taking of him.
“Also”—he looked at me—“I thought you might have something on your mind. Something you wanted to talk to me about.”
I said nothing.
We sat facing each other on the living-room sofa. Hidaka took a long look around my apartment. I grew nervous, afraid that he might spot something of Hatsumi’s. I was glad I’d washed her apron and put it away.
“The place looks pretty tidy for a bachelor pad,” he said finally.
“I guess.”
“Do you have someone come in and clean up for you?”
I looked at him, startled. He still had that same cold smile on his face. It was clear what he was suggesting.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Don’t be in such a rush.” He lit a cigarette. He began making small talk, something about the latest political scandal. I’m sure he was doing it just to see me sweat.
I was on the verge of raising my voice when he said, in the same casual tone, “So, about An Unburning Flame…”
I straightened up on the sofa, waiting for his next words.
“I thought I should apologize for the similarities to that piece you wrote, coincidental though they are. What was your book called again? A Circle of Fire, was it?”
I glared at him. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Had he no shame? Coincidental similarities? If that wasn’t plagiarism, they should remove the word plagiarism from the dictionary.
He continued, “And let’s be honest. I’m sure there are some parts you can’t write off as coincidence. I can’t deny that I happened to read your book in the middle of writing my own, and it could well have influenced me. No doubt some things were planted in my subconscious and ended up coming out in the finished work. The same thing happens to composers all the time, you know. Even though they don’t mean to, they end up writing a song that sounds a lot like another one.”
I listened to him in shocked silence. Did he expect me to believe a word he was saying?
“So that’s why I’m glad you didn’t raise a fuss when you found out about the book. And you know what, it’s good you didn’t. We’re not strangers and we have a relationship that was built over years. The fact that you didn’t do anything impulsive, that you remained mature about the whole thing, was really for the best. For both of us.”
Translation: You were smart not to raise a fuss. Keep quiet, and in exchange, I won’t tell anyone you tried to kill me.
“That’s all good, but I really came to talk to you about something else.”
I looked up at him, wondering what new insanity he was preparing to unveil.
“A lot of things came together to make An Unburning Flame the success that it is. Now a lot of people have read it and more will read it in the future. Not to mention the prize it was awarded. I just thought it would be unfortunate if the momentum was to die out after just one novel.”
I could feel the blood drain from my face. He was going to do it again. He was going to use my second book as the basis for his own next novel. He already had a copy at his house.
“So you’re going to plagiarize that one, too?”
Hidaka frowned. “Now that’s a word I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Why pretend? No one else is here to hear us. You can call it what you want, pretend what you will, but plagiarism is plagiarism.”
His face completely calm, Hidaka said, “It appears you don’t understand what plagiarism means. Look it up in your dictionary. I’m sure you’ll find that it says something like ‘the use of all or a portion of another person’s work, presenting it as your own, without their permission.’ You see what I’m getting at? If you use it without permission, it’s plagiarism. If you have permission, it’s not.”
I never gave you permission, I thought. “You’re saying that if you use another of my works, you don’t want me complaining?”
He shrugged. “You’re still misunderstanding me. I’m offering you a deal. A pretty good deal, I might add.”
“I know the deal. If I close my eyes to your theft, you won’t turn me over to the police and tell them about that night.”
“Don’t get so hot under the collar. I chose to let you off the hook ‘that night.’ The deal I’m talking about is more forward thinking.”
I didn’t see how “forward thinking” or thinking in any direction could possibly save me, but I waited for him to continue, silently watching his lips.
“Look, Nonoguchi, you do have talent. But having talent and actually becoming a published author are two different things. Don’t even talk to me about becoming a bestselling author, because that certainly has nothing to do with talent. To get there, you need a special kind of luck. What that luck is, and how to get it, is a hard thing to pin down. Everyone wants it, everybody has a plan to get them there, but it still never goes how you think it will.”
I saw the sincerity in his face as he talked, and it occurred to me that he was thinking about his own time as a struggling author.
“I bet you think An Unburning Flame made such a big hit because it was a good book, right? I won’t deny that it is. But that’s not everything. Let me give you an extreme example. What if that book had come out not in my name, but under yours? What if it said Osamu Nonoguchi on the cover instead of Kunihiko Hidaka? Do you think it would have sold?”
“We won’t know until we try.”
“No, we do know. It wouldn’t have gone anywhere. It would’ve been ignored and soon forgotten. You would’ve felt like you’d just thrown a pebble into the ocean.”
It was a harsh assessment, but I couldn’t refute it. I knew too much about the publishing world to do that.
“So you’re saying that’s why you published it under your own name?” I demanded. “Are you tryi
ng to justify doing what you did?”
“What I’m saying is as far as that book is concerned, it was better that it was published under my name. If it hadn’t been, not nearly as many people would’ve read it.”
“You act as though you’ve done me a favor.”
“I’m not trying to act like anything. I’m merely telling it like it is. Believe me, there are a disheartening number of conditions that have to be met before a novel can really become a bestseller.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“No, you clearly don’t. Because if you did, then you’d understand what I’m trying to tell you. See, I want you to become the author Kunihiko Hidaka.”
“I’m sorry, I think I misheard you. Did you just say you want me to be you?”
“Don’t look so shocked. It’s no big deal. Of course, I’ll still be me, too. Think of it this way: Kunihiko Hidaka isn’t a person’s name, it’s a trademark we’ll use to sell books.”
Finally, I understood. “You want me to be your ghostwriter.”
“Not my favorite word. It has a ring of cowardice to it. However, you could put it that way, yes.”
I glared at him. “You have some nerve, you know that?”
“It’s really not that outlandish a request. Like I said, it’s not a bad deal for you.”
“I can’t think of a worse deal.”
“Oh? Let’s pretend you’ve written a novel for me to publish. How about, when that novel goes into paperback, I give you twenty-five percent of all royalties. Is it sounding good yet?”
“Twenty-five percent? I’m writing the damn thing and I don’t even get half? What kind of terms are those?”
“Well, let me ask you this then. Say you published a book under your own name. How well do you think it would sell? Do you think it would sell more than a quarter of the copies it would sell if it was published under my name? Under the name of Kunihiko Hidaka?”
He had a point. I wasn’t confident a book published under my own name would sell even a quarter of the copies. It might not even sell a fifth or sixth.
“At any rate,” I said, after thinking about this for a while, “I’ve no intention of selling my soul for cash.”
“So you refuse?”
“You’re damn right I refuse.”
“Well!” Hidaka looked surprised. “I really wasn’t expecting that response.”
Something about the languid way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. A dark light crept into his eyes.
“I was hoping to keep our relationship civil, but seeing as how you’ve no such intentions, I can’t go on bending over backward to make things work.” Hidaka reached into the bag at his side and pulled out a small, square package. He placed it on the table. “I’ll leave this here. I encourage you to watch it once I leave. I’ll call soon, and I hope by then you’ll have changed your mind.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.” Hidaka stood. He left my apartment without saying another word or sparing even a single glance back at me.
After he had left, I sat unmoving on the couch, staring at the package sitting on the table. Finally I picked it up and opened it. It contained a VHS tape. An uneasy feeling crept into my chest as I put the tape in my VCR.
Detective Kaga is already aware of the contents of that tape, but I was seeing it for the first time. I found myself watching a video of the Hidakas’ garden. I noticed the date stamp at the bottom right of the screen, and my heart froze. It was the day I’d tried to kill Hidaka.
Eventually, a man appeared on-screen. He was wearing black clothes, so as to better blend into the darkness, but his face was clearly visible. What a farce! Why hadn’t I thought to wear a mask?
Anyone could see clearly that the intruder caught on tape was none other than Osamu Nonoguchi. Completely oblivious to the camera, the Nonoguchi on the tape went over to the office window facing the garden and climbed in.
That was the only thing on the tape, but it was enough. Even if I denied the attempted murder, I had no explanation for why I’d tried to sneak into his house.
I sat there numbly, the words Hidaka had said on the night I’d tried to kill him playing through my head. So this tape was his “other piece of evidence.”
As I sat there, unsure what to do, the phone rang. It was Hidaka. His timing was perfect, as though he had been watching my every move.
“Did you watch the tape?” I could tell he was enjoying this.
I told him I had.
“So, what did you think?”
“You knew, didn’t you?” I said, blurting out the first thing that was on my mind.
“Knew what?”
“You knew I was going to sneak into your office that night. That’s why you set up the video camera.”
I thought I heard him guffaw. “How the hell would I know that?”
“Well, I—”
“Wait!” he said, cutting me off. “Did you tell someone about your plan? Did someone else know you were coming to kill me that night? If you had, I suppose word could have reached me. They say the walls have ears, you know.”
It occurred to me that Hidaka was trying to get me to admit to Hatsumi’s complicity. Or rather, since he knew I would never give her up, he was toying with me. I didn’t respond.
After a while, he said, “The reason I had that camera running is that I was having trouble with animals getting into my garden and wreaking havoc. I wanted to catch whatever animal was responsible, but I never expected that animal to be you, Nonoguchi.”
That story was unbelievable, but I wasn’t about to start an argument over it. “So? What did you hope showing me the video would prove? What do you want me to do?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Surely you’re not that dense. Oh, I should mention that the tape you have is only a copy. I have the original here safe with me.”
“Are you honestly trying to blackmail me into being your ghostwriter? Writing is hard enough when I’m inspired. I can’t imagine having to force it.” As soon as I said that, I wished I hadn’t, because it sounded as if I’d taken the first step toward acquiescing to his demand. Yet what choice did I have?
“Actually, I have faith you’ll come around.” I could tell from his voice that he thought he’d already won. My defenses were shattered. “I’ll call again soon,” he said, and hung up.
For the next several weeks I drifted around like a ghost. A ghost writer. I had no idea what I was going to do. I went through the motions of going to work, yet teaching was the furthest thing from my mind. Some of the students must’ve complained because the headmaster called me into his office and chewed me out.
Then, one day in a bookshop, I found it: a blurb in a literary magazine about the new novel from Kunihiko Hidaka, his first since An Unburning Flame.
Unable to stop my hands from shaking, I found the book on display and quickly skimmed it. I felt dizzy; I almost collapsed right there in the bookshop. It was as I’d feared. The novel was heavily based on the second book I’d given Hidaka to read.
My whole world was spiraling out of control. I spent weeks chastising myself for my stupidity on the night of the attempted murder. Again, I thought about running away somewhere and disappearing. Yet I lacked the spine. If I wanted to escape Hidaka altogether, I’d have to go far away and not register my new address. That would mean I wouldn’t be able to work as a teacher. How would I live? I wasn’t in good enough health for physical labor. Never had I felt my own lack of value to society more acutely than I did then. In any case, I couldn’t bring myself to leave Hatsumi behind. I imagined her suffering in that house, by his side, and it agonized me.
Hidaka’s new novel quickly hit the shelves in paperback and seemed to be selling well. Every time I saw it on the bestseller lists, I felt divided, because somewhere in that ocean of regret inside of me bobbed a tiny acorn of pride. Indeed, when I looked at the situation as objectively as possible, a cold, analytical part of me had to admit that, had I published the book under my ow
n name, it probably wouldn’t have sold.
Several more weeks passed until, one Sunday, Hidaka returned. He walked into my apartment as though nothing were the matter and sat down on my sofa.
“As promised,” he announced, placing an envelope on the table. I picked it up and looked at it, finding it was stuffed with bills. “That’s two million yen. That’s almost a year’s salary for some people.”
“What’s this for?”
“I told you, if the book sold, I’d give you your cut. That’s a quarter of the royalties, as promised.”
I looked inside the envelope again and shook my head. “I told you I wasn’t going to sell my soul.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Just think of what we’re doing as a collaboration. It’s not uncommon to collaborate on a novel these days, and you have a right to be paid for your work.”
“This isn’t collaboration.” I stared at Hidaka. “This is rape. You’re having your way with me, and then you’re trying to pay me off like I was a prostitute.”
“How vulgar. And untrue.”
“Is it?”
“No one being raped sits still. But you did.”
To my shame, I couldn’t think of a retort. “Regardless,” I said with great effort, “I can’t accept this money.” I pushed the envelope back toward him.
He looked down at it, but made no move to pick it up. It remained sitting on the table.
“Actually, what I really wanted to talk about was what comes next.”
“Tell me then, what does come next?” I said with as much sarcastic faux enthusiasm as I could muster.
“Our next novel. I’m supposed to be writing a serialized story for a monthly magazine. I was hoping we could toss around some ideas.”
He said it as though I’d agreed to his terms and to be his ghostwriter.
I shook my head. “You’re a writer. You should understand. How am I supposed to think up any kind of story in my current mental state—let alone a good one! You can’t force it. It’s physically and mentally impossible.”