Go about halfway down the Atami-Kannami road and turn left. Drive up the mountain from there. Asakawa had done just that. It was inconceivable that there was another way out of here.
Nodding as he was told that it was past time for last orders, he went into the restaurant. Below its wide windows, a carefully groomed lawn sloped gently through the night toward the cities. The inside lights were kept intentionally low, probably to better allow customers to enjoy the view of the distant lights. Asakawa stopped a passing waiter and asked where he could find Villa Log Cabin. The waiter pointed back toward the entry hall Asakawa had just come through.
“Follow that road to the right about two hundred meters. You’ll see the office.”
“Is there a parking lot?”
“You can park in front of the office.”
That was all there was to it. If he had just kept going instead of stopping in here, he would have found it on his own. Asakawa could more or less analyze why he’d been drawn to this modern building, to the point of barging into the restaurant. He found it somehow comforting. All the way here he had been imagining dark, utterly primitive log cabins—the perfect backdrop for a Friday the 13th scenario—and there was nothing of that in this building. Faced with this proof that the power of modern science functioned here, too, he felt somewhat reassured, strengthened. The only things that bothered him were the bad road that led here from the world below, and the fact that in spite of it there were so many people playing tennis and enjoying their dinner here in the world above. He wasn’t sure exactly why this bothered him. It was just that, somehow, nobody here seemed quite … lifelike.
Since the tennis courts and restaurant were crowded, he should have been able to hear the cheerful voices of people from the log cabins. That’s what he expected. But standing at the edge of the parking lot, looking down over the valley, he could discern only about six of the ten cabins built among the trees scattered over the gentle slope. Everything below was immersed in the darkness of the forest, beyond the pale of the street lamps, unrelieved by any light coming from inside the cabins. B-4, where Asakawa would be spending the night, seemed to stand on the border between the darkness and the lighted area—all he could see was the top of the door.
Asakawa walked up to the office, opened the door, and stepped inside. He could hear a television, but there was no sign of anyone. The manager was in a Japanese-style room in the back, off to the left, and hadn’t noticed Asakawa. Asakawa’s view was blocked by the counter and he couldn’t see into the room. The manager seemed to be watching an American movie on video, not a TV program. He could hear English dialogue as he watched the flickering light from the screen reflected in the glass of a cabinet out front. The built-in cabinet was full of videotapes, neatly lined up in their cases. Asakawa placed his hands on the counter and spoke up. Immediately, a small man in his sixties stuck his head out and bowed, saying, “Oh, welcome.” He must be the same man who had so cheerfully showed the guest register to the guy from the Atami bureau and the lawyer, thought Asakawa, smiling back at him pleasantly.
“I have a reservation, name of Asakawa.”
The man opened his notebook and confirmed the reservation. “You’re in B-4. Can I get you to write your name and address here?”
Asakawa wrote his real name. He’d just sent Nonoyama’s membership card back to him, so he couldn’t use it.
“Just you, then?” The manager looked up at Asakawa, suspiciously. He’d never had anybody stay here alone. At nonmember rates, it was more economical for one person to stay at the hotel. The manager handed over a set of sheets and turned to the cabinet.
“If you’d like you’re free to borrow one. We have most of the popular titles.”
“Oh, you rent videos?” Asakawa ran his gaze casually over the titles of the videos covering the wall. Raiders of the Lost Ark, Star Wars, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th. All popular American films, mostly science fiction. A lot of new releases, too. Probably the cabins were mostly used by groups of young people. There was nothing that grabbed him. Besides, Asakawa had ostensibly come here to work.
“I’m afraid I’ve brought work with me.” Asakawa picked up his portable word processor from where he’d placed it on the floor and showed the manager. Seeing it, the manager seemed to understand why he was staying here alone.
“So, there are dishes and everything?” Asakawa said, just to make sure.
“Yes. Use anything you like.”
The only thing Asakawa needed to use, though, was a kettle to boil water for his cup o’ noodles. He took the sheets and his room key from the manager, who told him how to find B-4 and then said, with odd formality, “Please, make yourself at home.”
Before touching the knob Asakawa put on his rubber gloves. He’d brought them to give him peace of mind, as a charm to ward off the unknown virus.
He opened the door and flipped on the light switch in the entry hall. A hundred-watt bulb lit a spacious living room. Papered walls, carpet, four-person sofa, television, dinette set: everything was new, everything was functionally arranged. Asakawa took off his shoes and went in. There was a balcony on one edge of the living room and small Japanese-style rooms on the ground and first floors. It was a little luxurious for a single guest, after all. He drew the lace curtains and opened the sliding glass door to allow the night air in. The room was perfectly clean, as if to betray his expectations. It suddenly occurred to him that he might go home clueless.
He went into the Japanese-style room off the living room and checked the closet. Nothing. He took off his shirt and slacks and changed into a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hanging his street clothes in the closet. Next he went upstairs and turned on the light in the Japanese-style room. I’m acting like a child, he thought wryly. Before he’d realized it he’d turned on every single light in the place.
With everything sufficiently illuminated, he now opened the bathroom door, gently. He checked inside first, and left the door slightly ajar while he was inside. It reminded him of his fearrituals as a child, when he was too scared to go to the bathroom alone on summer nights. He used to leave the door open a crack and have his dad stand watch outside. A neat shower room stood behind a pane of frosted glass. There wasn’t even a hint of steam, and the area outside the tub and the tub itself were both dry as a bone. It must have been some time since anybody had stayed here. He went to take off his rubber gloves; they stuck to his sweaty hands. The cool highlands breeze blew into the room, disturbing the curtains.
Asakawa filled a glass with ice from the freezer and poured it half full of the whiskey he had bought. He was about to top it off with tap water, but then hesitated. Turning off the tap he persuaded himself that he’d really rather have it straight, on the rocks. He didn’t have the courage to put anything from this room into his mouth. He’d been careless enough to use ice cubes from the freezer, but he was under the impression that micro-organisms didn’t like extreme heat or cold.
He sank back deep into the sofa and turned on the TV. Singing filled the room: some new pop idol. A Tokyo station was showing the same program right about now. He changed channels. He didn’t really intend to watch anything, though, so he adjusted the volume to a suitable level and then opened his bag. He took out a video camera and placed it on the table. If anything strange happened, he wanted to catch it all on tape. He sipped a mouthful of whiskey. It was only a little, but it strengthened up his courage. Asakawa went over in his head again everything he knew. If he couldn’t find a clue here tonight then the article he was trying to write would be dead in the water. But on the other hand, maybe it was better that way. If not finding a clue meant not picking up the virus, well … after all, he had a wife and child to think about. He didn’t want to die, not in some weird way. He propped his feet up on the table.
So, what are you waiting for? he asked himself. Aren’t you afraid? Hey—shouldn’t you be afraid? The angel of death might be coming to get you.
His gaze darted around the room nervously. Asakawa couldn’t fix his eyes on any one point on the wall. He had the feeling that