Ryuji unpaused the tape again. The old woman came on and started saying God knew what. Several of the words sounded like some sort of regional dialect.
“What dialect is that? There’s a specialist in dialects at my university. I’ll ask him about it. That’ll give us some idea of where this old woman is from.”
Ryuji fast-forwarded to the scene near the end with the man with the distinctive features. Sweat poured down his face, he was panting while rocking his body rhythmically. Ryuji paused just before the part where his shoulder was gouged. It was the closest view of the man’s face. It was quite a clear shot of his features, from the set of his eyes to the shape of his nose and ears. His hairline was receding, but he looked to be around thirty.
“Do you recognize this man?” Ryuji asked.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Looks faintly sinister.”
“If you think so, then he must be pretty evil indeed. I’ll defer to your opinion.”
“As well you should. There aren’t many faces that make this kind of an impact. I wonder if we can locate him? You’re a reporter, you must be a pro at this sort of thing.”
“Don’t be funny. You might be able to identify criminals or celebrities by their faces alone, but ordinary people can’t be located that way. There are over a hundred million people in Japan.”
“So start with criminals. Or maybe porn actors.”
Instead of answering, Asakawa took out a memo pad. When he had a lot of things to do he tended to make lists.
Ryuji stopped the video. He helped himself to another beer from the refrigerator and poured some into each of their glasses.
“Let’s drink a toast.”
Asakawa couldn’t think of a single good reason to pick up his glass.
“I have a premonition,” said Ryuji, his dirt-colored cheeks flushing slightly. “There’s a certain universal evil clinging to this incident. I can smell it—the impulse I felt then … I told you about it, right? The first woman I raped.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“It’s already been fifteen years since then. Then, too, I felt a strange premonition tickling my heart. I was seventeen. It was September of my junior year in high school. I studied math until three in the morning, then did an hour of German to give my brain some rest. I always did that. I found language study was perfect for loosening up tired brain cells. At four, as always, I had a couple of beers and then went out for my daily walk. When I set out there was already something unusual budding in my brain. Have you ever walked around a residential neighborhood late at night? It feels really good. The dogs are all asleep. Just like your baby is now. I found myself in front of a certain apartment building. It was an elegant wood-framed two-story affair, and I knew that inside it lived a certain well-groomed college girl that I sometimes saw on the street. I didn’t know which apartment was hers. I let my gaze roam over the windows of all eight apartments in turn. At this point, as I looked, I didn’t have anything definite in mind. Just … you know. When my eyes came to rest on the southern end of the second floor, I heard something crack open in the depths of my heart, and I felt like the darkness that had sent forth its shoots in my mind was growing gradually larger. Once more I looked at all the windows in turn. Once again, in the same place, the darkness began to whirlpool. And I knew. I knew that the door wouldn’t be locked. I don’t know if she just forgot, or what. Guided by the darkness that was living in my heart I climbed the apartment stairs and stood in front of that door. The nameplate was in Roman letters, in Western order, given name first: YUKARI MAKITA. I grasped the doorknob firmly with my right hand. I held onto it for a while, and then forcefully turned it to the left. It wouldn’t turn. What the hell? I thought, and then suddenly, there was a click and the door opened. Are you with me? She hadn’t forgotten to lock it at all: it unlocked itself at that very moment. Some energy was being exerted on it. The girl had spread her bedding beside her desk and gone to sleep. I had expected to find her in a bed, but she wasn’t. One of her legs poked out from under the covers …”
Here Ryuji interrupted his story. He seemed to be replaying the ensuing events agilely in the back of his mind, staring down distant memories with a mixture of tenderness and cruelty. Asakawa had never seen Ryuji look so conflicted.
“… then, two days later, on my way home from school, I passed in front of that apartment building. A two-ton truck was parked in front of it, and guys were hauling furniture and stuff out of the building. And the person moving was Yukari. She was standing around aimlessly, leaning on a wall, accompanied by a guy who looked like he must be her dad, just staring at her furniture as it was being carried away. I’m sure her dad didn’t know the real reason his daughter was moving so suddenly. And so Yukari disappeared from my life. I don’t know if she moved back in with her parents or got another apartment somewhere and kept going to the same college … But she just couldn’t live in that apartment a second longer. Heh, heh, poor thing. She must’ve been awfully scared.”
Asakawa found it hard to breathe as he listened. He felt disgusted even to be sitting here drinking beer with this man.
“Don’t you feel the least bit guilty?”
“I’m used to it. Try slamming your fist into a brick wall every day. Eventually you won’t even feel the pain anymore.”
Is that why you go on doing it? Asakawa made a silent vow never to bring this man into his home again. At any rate, to keep him away from his wife and daughter.
“Don’t worry—I’d never do anything like that to your babykins.”
Asakawa had been seen through. Flustered, he changed the subject.
“You said you have a premonition. What is it?”
“You know, just a bad feeling. Only some fantastically evil energy could come up with such an involved bit of mischief.”
Ryuji got to his feet. Even standing, he wasn’t much taller than Asakawa was when sitting down. He wasn’t even five-three, but he had broad, sculpted shoulders—it wasn’t hard to believe he’d medalled in shot-put in high school.
“Well, I’m off. Do your homework. In the morning, you’ll be down to five days left.” Ryuji extended the fingers of one hand.
“I know.”
“Somewhere, there’s this vortex of evil energy. I know. It makes me feel … nostalgic.” As if for emphasis, Ryuji clutched his copy of the tape to his breast as he headed for the entry hall.
“Let’s have the next strategy session at your place.” Asakawa spoke quietly but distinctly.
“Alright, alright.” Ryuji’s eyes were smiling.
The moment Ryuji left, Asakawa looked at the wall clock in the dining room. A wedding gift from a friend, its butterfly-shaped red pendulum was swinging. 11:21. How many times had he checked the time today? He was becoming obsessed with the passage of time. Just like Ryuji said, in the morning he’d only have five days left. He wasn’t at all sure if he’d be able to unlock the riddle of the erased part of the tape in time. He felt like a cancer patient facing an operation with a success rate of almost nil. There was debate over whether cancer patients should be told they had cancer or not; until now Asakawa had always thought they deserved to be allowed to know. But if this was how it would feel, then he preferred not knowing. There were some people who, when facing death, would burn brightly with what life they had left. Asakawa couldn’t manage that feat. He was still alright for the moment. But as the clock chipped away at his remaining days, hours, minutes, he wasn’t confident he’d be able to keep his wits about him. He felt like he understood, now, why he was attracted to Ryuji even while being disgusted by him. Ryuji had a psychological strength he just couldn’t match. Asakawa lived his life tentatively, always