“I’ll talk to them,” said Konakawa. “First, I think Doctor Chiba needs something to eat.”
Both he and Noda had been almost painfully aware of Atsuko’s hunger in the dream.
13
The restaurant was as massive as a bathhouse, with a high glass ceiling over its eastern half. Himuro’s parents sat at a table by the window. Having already met Tokita many times, they stood and bowed deeply across the cavernous dining area as soon as they saw him enter with Atsuko and Konakawa. It was difficult to see how many other diners were in the restaurant; the tables were screened off into separate booths, untouched by direct sunlight due to the height of the ceiling. Whether there were many diners or few, the ceaselessly reverberating murmur of conversation made it impossible to hear what was being said, even at the next table. This made it the perfect place for Atsuko and the others to meet Himuro’s parents. Superintendent Morita had suggested it, as he himself had used it on occasion.
Himuro’s parents, a good-natured couple in their sixties, had traveled to Tokyo from Kisarazu in the neighboring prefecture. Their expressions of uncontained bewilderment spoke volumes about their relationship with their unfathomable son; he had always walked all over them, and was continuing to do so, apparently. When Konakawa introduced himself as a Chief Superintendent in the Metropolitan Police Department, they seemed about to burst into tears at any moment.
“Has Kei been involved in some kind of incident?” asked Himuro’s father, who had the face of a fisherman but in fact owned a clothing store.
“We don’t know yet,” Konakawa replied, shaking his head. “Doctor Tokita informed us he was missing, and I thought it possible he could be mixed up in something. I wondered if you could shed some light on things. That’s why I’ve joined you here.”
“I see. But we can’t shed light on anything,” said Himuro’s mother, sending glances of desperation around the table. “You see, our son, well, all he’s done is made fools of us, and you know, he’s never even phoned us once?”
“Your son was involved in some very serious research,” Atsuko intervened on Himuro’s behalf. “I was a member of the research team. The nature of that research caused some internal friction at the Institute. You can see for yourselves how depressed Doctor Tokita is about it.”
They were sitting around a family table, with Tokita’s massive frame hunched between Atsuko and Konakawa. He merely groaned as Atsuko spoke, shifting in his seat as if he’d remembered something unpleasant. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m responsible for what happened to your son. I didn’t protect him enough.”
“By which … surely you don’t mean … he’s been murdered?!” Himuro’s father said darkly, placing his fists on the table top.
Himuro’s mother moaned in distress and shook her head.
Tokita and Atsuko lowered their faces in the dismal realization that they couldn’t reveal the truth. Konakawa was thinking how he could prevent Himuro’s parents from filing a missing person’s report. He alone was left to swallow his guilt and answer the couple’s misgivings.
“We’re doing everything in our power to investigate your son’s disappearance. Please rest assured about that. I’m sure we’ll find him. Just a little more patience, please.”
In that case, their patience would have to be endless. Even if Himuro were found alive, he wouldn’t be the son they’d once known. Atsuko felt saddened to think of that.
In her dream, she’d seen a waste-processing site at the dead of night. Could Himuro’s body really have been dumped there? She had no idea where it was, but she’d played the scene from the reflector’s memory device and given a printout to Konakawa. Even now, one of his subordinates was secretly investigating the location of the site. Judging from Osanai’s panic when Hashimoto had inadvertently revealed the site in his dream, Atsuko felt fairly sure that Himuro had indeed been murdered.
“Well, of course, we can’t hope to understand anything about your research … But what is this internal friction you speak of?” asked Himuro’s father.
Atsuko flashed a look at Konakawa, judging from his expression that he felt it safe to reveal something of the truth. They’d already discussed exactly how much of that truth they were prepared to reveal.
“To put it briefly, it’s a struggle for control of the Institute. Others are envious of our research. They’ve even tried to steal it from us. Your son was in a position to know certain details of that research—”
The din of voices inside the restaurant, like the nebulous echoing of a large bathhouse, was suddenly shattered by a sharp scream. It seemed to come from a young woman who sat at a nearby table. Next came the sound of a metal tray clattering to the floor, followed almost immediately by the sound of smashing crockery, no doubt the result of a waiter’s carelessness. The sounds resonated through the restaurant at a level of decibels probably not factored in by its designer.
Diners started to stand and cry out in shock as they pointed up at the glass ceiling. Far beyond the ceiling, against the clear blue sky, a gigantic Japanese doll was looking down through the glass into the restaurant. The bob-haired doll had liquid black eyes and an eerie smile playing on its pale face. Its red lips should have been pursed but were wide open. It uttered an inaudible laugh.
“What?! …”
“What is it?”
“It’s an apparition!”
Atsuko was unable to stand. This was surely Himuro’s dream. Himuro’s dream had merged with reality. Or was it her own dream again? Could it be that she was still asleep, under the side effects of the DC Mini, and Inui and Osanai were showing her Himuro’s dreams again?
“It’s Himuro,” groaned Tokita.
“What’s going on?” Himuro’s father yelled in astonishment.
Konakawa slowly rose to his feet with a steady glare fixed on the doll. Then he looked around him. Tokita had buried his face in his hands. “It’s Himuro,” he repeated. “It’s Himuro.”
Himuro’s mother leant across the table. “Why?” she asked loudly through the din. “Why do you say that’s our son? What is that doll?”
Atsuko was more concerned with Tokita’s state of mind than her own. Whether this was a dream or reality, the last thing she wanted was for his mental state to regress. “It’s all right,” she said to encourage him. “Pull yourself together. Please pull yourself together. You must remain in control. Please!”
Konakawa punched himself two or three times, then turned to Atsuko. “This may be a side effect of the DC Mini, but one thing I can say for certain is that this is no dream. I’m not saying, in a dream, that this is not a dream. This is reality. This is reality!”
He repeated it as if to convince himself. Side effects of the DC Mini … Perhaps one of them was that it made dreams appear indistinguishable from reality. Perhaps they were in the middle of one of those dreams right now. To Atsuko, Konakawa’s statement could only mean that he suspected the same thing.
“It’s a show. A PR stunt!”
The initial tumult having died down, a dull reverberating hubbub of confused voices had started to take its place. Now a number of diners stood and shouted to the others around them, pointing at the doll with outstretched arms, as if to reassure others as well as themselves.
“It’s some kind of campaign.”
“Who do they think they are?!”
“Something for TV.”
“That’s it!”
“Got to be.”
Some were booing.
“This is stupid!”
“Stop!”
The doll spread its fingers wide and turned its palms downward, the dark crease lines on its whitewashed hands looking like palm prints. Dressed in a trailing-sleeve kimono, it then raised its outstretched arms to shoulder height before bringing its palms down onto the glass of the ceiling.
The glass shattered and fell to the middle of the floor. Now the diners knew this was no joke. They all stood up at once, revealing for the first time that the restaurant was almost ful
l. Some seemed to have been injured. Cries and shrieks of panic were amplified by the reverberation. Most saw the doll as something not of this world. In their sheer terror, they had forfeited all common sense and rational thought. Some fainted, others made a mad dash for the doors.
The glass from the ceiling hadn’t reached the table where Atsuko and the others sat by the window. Nevertheless, Konakawa seemed to agree that making a swift exit was imperative.
“Right. Let’s go that way first.”
Led by Konakawa, the five skirted the wall toward the exit. If the police were to arrive, Konakawa would have to explain his presence with Atsuko and Tokita. The most prudent course was obviously to leave. Atsuko wondered if they really would be able to escape. If this wasn’t a dream, if the doll was merely a symbol from Himuro’s dream, it would surely keep chasing them forever.
“It’s true that Kei had a doll like that, it was very precious to him,” said Himuro’s mother, shaking in bewilderment. Still concerned over the safety and whereabouts of her son, she called out to Tokita, who was walking ahead of her. “But why did you say it was Kei? I want to know why you thought that. Will you please tell me?”
“Never mind that,” said her husband, taking her by the shoulders. His voice was shaking. “We’ve got to get out. We can ask about it later.”
The doll’s hand again broke through the ceiling. Atsuko looked up. Just as she’d feared, the doll’s round eyes were clearly trained on them. Even if they left the restaurant, the apparition was bound to keep chasing them. That would be quite awkward for Konakawa, considering his role as supreme guardian of public order. For in chasing them through the streets, the doll would surely cause many more casualties.
If it wasn’t a dream, there was no way of fighting the apparition. Or was there? Atsuko may also have retained the after-effects of using the DC Mini. But how should she go about fighting it? Should she act as if she were in a dream? Would that even be possible?
The five stepped out onto the street and looked back at the restaurant. The doll should have been towering over them at a height of ten meters or more, but it was nowhere to be seen. Traffic was traveling calmly along the road; the only commotion came from the diners, who still poured out of the restaurant. The glass roof on the east side had collapsed, along with its steel frame. It was clear that some considerable force had brought it down.
“What’s got into them?!”
Passersby joked at the sight of diners rushing out of the restaurant. But it was no joking matter; several men and women were huddled at the roadside with blood flowing from head wounds. However ridiculous it seemed, the high casualty count made it certain that police cars and ambulances would soon be arriving.
“We’d better not be here. Let’s go,” Konakawa said to hurry the group along.
Himuro’s parents eyed him with suspicion. If he was a police officer, wasn’t it his duty to stay behind and investigate the incident?
“For you, what happened just now must have seemed like a nightmare,” Konakawa explained as they reached the nearest station. “And for us too, this really is a nightmare, though with slightly different implications. We must now investigate, calmly and scientifically, whether what happened just now had anything at all to do with your son. That’s why, as Chief Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police Department, it was important for me not to get caught up in the confusion at the scene, but to evacuate to where we are now. It may be impossible for you to understand, but I need a little more time before I can ascertain the truth of this incident.”
“But that doll!” Himuro’s mother argued madly. “Was it our son? Was that doll really him? Why did he look like that?”
Holding back her surprise at the mother’s intuition, Atsuko attempted to pacify her. “It was just that the doll reminded Doctor Tokita of your son. He’s been worried about Kei’s whereabouts, and only said that because he was confused. After all, how on earth could that thing be your son?!”
“I had a rush of blood to the head,” Tokita said, now somewhat calmer. “I didn’t know what I was saying. I’m sorry if I upset you.”
After somehow managing to convince Himuro’s parents and seeing them off at the station, the three decided to go back to Atsuko’s apartment. There they would discuss their plan of action.
They picked up a taxi that took them back past the restaurant. As well as police cars and ambulances, several vehicles belonging to newspaper and television companies were already at the scene.
14
The inn at Hata Spa was an old building. It jutted out over the river from one side of the gorge, offering little scope for expansion even if guest numbers were to increase dramatically. In fact, the inn was so cramped that it had no banqueting room, and larger parties had to be held in three adjoining rooms with the sliding partitions removed. As one of the rooms protruded over the river from the end of the building, the party venue was inevitably L-shaped.
It was five o’clock in the afternoon. All the sliding screens along the veranda had been left open to let the cool river air flow in. Guests with cheeks reddened after a dip in the spa bath, and all dressed in matching cotton kimonos, filed in to take their places at the party; food already awaited them on low tables in front of their floor cushions. The seat of honor was near the tokonoma alcove in the corner of the L-shaped room.
Hata Spa in the Gorai mountains, part of the Echigo mountain chain, was about four hours by bus from the center of Niigata. Tatsuo Noda had left Tokyo that morning with a group of five men. One of them was Namba, Manager of the Third Sales Division. He was responsible for sales of the Vegetable, the new eco-friendly vehicle that was about to be put on the market. Besides Namba, Noda was also accompanied by sales staff and two section managers in charge of technology and parts.
The launch party was hosted by the owners of exclusive dealerships in Niigata. The following day, everyone except Noda and Namba would stay behind in the city to tour the dealerships and explain maintenance matters to their sales personnel, mechanics, and office staff.
The two section managers were last to appear at the party venue. They’d forgotten to empty their bowels before leaving home that morning, and had suffered stoically through the jolting four-hour ride in the bus. On their arrival at the inn, they had immediately rushed to the toilets, there to remain for an inordinately long time. That had made them late in taking their bath. To make matters worse, they’d had to wash their hair, as the windows on the bus had been left open and their heads had been coated in sand. All of which further delayed their appearance at the party.
“Sorry! Sorry!” they called as they finally entered the party room, their freshly washed hair gleaming with caked-on pomade supplied by the inn. And so the party could begin.
After a quick soak in the spa bath, Noda had taken a nap in his room until it was time for the party. He was suffering from fatigue. Out of concern for Paprika, he hadn’t really wanted to come. But the President had asked him to make a special effort for Niigata, and there had been no way out of it.
With the party in full swing, the sliding doors between the room and the veranda were all closed. The night breeze was bad for the health, came the explanation. As fluorescent strips shone brightly in the ceiling, the informal party entertainment started in the wide area by the tokonoma, near Noda’s seat. Several of the Head Office sales staff had eccentric and bizarre talents, but the Niigata dealers were men of diverse accomplishments too. In the end it was impossible to tell which was the host and which the guest. Some of those present would grow quite morose if they weren’t allowed to perform; letting them perform was almost part of the service.
One middle-aged dealer transformed himself into a Chinaman, with an upturned bowl on his head, a long pipe in his hand, and his jacket worn back to front. The party guests were all clutching their stomachs and helplessly rolling around with laughter at his antics when a serving girl came stumbling in from the corridor. With hair wildly disheveled and the hem of her kimono hitched
up to her thighs, she ran though the party room as if something were chasing her.
“R-Run! Run for your lives!!” she screamed as she clung to the Chinaman’s legs.
The party guests whooped and laughed raucously. They assumed it was part of the entertainment.
“Attagirl!”
“Very convincing!”
At first, Noda too thought the girl’s entrance was part of the show. But when he saw her close up, her appearance was far too convincing for it to be an act. Her face and lips had turned mauve and her whole body was shaking. She seemed dumbstruck with terror.
“What’s the matter?” Noda shouted as if scolding her.
She turned her strained face toward him. “It’s a t-t-tiger!” she shrieked. “A tiger’s on the loose!!”
A tiger in a Japanese inn. Everyone fell about laughing again.
But Noda wasn’t laughing. He knew this was no joke. For a tiger had appeared in his dream a little while earlier. Coming to an old-style inn had reminded him of Toratake, and as he took his after-bath snooze, he had dreamt of a tiger. And now that tiger had become real, due to the residual side effects of the DC Mini.
Surely not?! he thought. Yes, he’d advised the others to “forget about distinguishing dream and reality,” but he’d only meant that in reference to Paprika’s world.
Noda shook his head. He’d read a newspaper article about a man who kept a pet tiger. Maybe the tiger had escaped.
The laughter subsided somewhat. The guests had started to realize that the girl’s terrified appearance was not an act. Noda exchanged looks with Namba. “Where is this tiger?” asked Namba.