скачать книгу бесплатно
Izu Oshima, Sashikiji. Sadako Yamamura. Age 10. The envelope was postmarked August 29, 1958. Subject sent this with a note predicting it would be imprinted with her own name. She’s the real thing, without a doubt. Attached was a photograph showing the character yama, “mountain”, in white against a black background. Asakawa had seen that character somewhere before.
“That’s … that’s it.” His voice trembled. On the video, the scene of the eruption of Mt Mihara had been followed immediately by a shot of the character for “mountain”, identical to this one. Not only that, the screen of the old television in the tenth scene had displayed the character sada. This woman’s name was Sadako Yamamura.
“What do you think?” asked Ryuji.
“No question about it. This is it.”
At long last Asakawa found hope. The thought crossed his mind that maybe, just maybe, they’d beat the deadline.
6 (#ulink_46d3df5a-1022-5b14-97d9-43ae9b498a12)
October 16—Tuesday
10:15 a.m. Ryuji and Asakawa were on a high-speed passenger boat that had just left port at Atami. There was no regular ferry linking Oshima and the mainland, so they’d had to leave the car in the parking lot next to the Atami Korakuen Hotel. Asakawa was still clutching the key in his left hand.
They were scheduled to arrive on Oshima in an hour. A strong wind blew and it looked like rain. Most of the passengers hadn’t ventured out onto the deck, but stayed huddled in their reserved seats. Asakawa and Ryuji had been in too much of a hurry to check before buying their tickets, but it looked like a typhoon was approaching. The waves were large, and the rocking of the boat was worse than usual.
Sipping a can of hot coffee, Asakawa went over the whole chain of events again in his mind. He wasn’t sure if they should congratulate themselves for having come this far, or reproach themselves for not having found out about “Sadako Yamamura” and set out for Oshima Island earlier. Everything had hung on noticing that the black curtain flashing momentarily over the images on the video was eyelids, blinking. The images had been recorded not by machine but by the human sensory apparatus. Essentially, the person had focused her energies on the video deck at cabin B-4 while it was recording, and created not a psychic photo but a psychic video. This surely indicated paranormal powers of immeasurable proportions. Ryuji had assumed that such a person would stand out from the crowd, and gone looking for her, and had ultimately found out her name. Not that they knew for sure that “Sadako Yamamura” was, in fact, the culprit. She was still just a suspect. They were heading to Oshima in order to follow up on their suspicions.
The sea was rough, causing the boat to pitch and roll violently. Asakawa felt an ugly premonition come over him. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea for both of them to go to Oshima. What if they got tied down by the typhoon and couldn’t leave the island? Who’d save his wife and daughter? The deadline was almost at hand. 10:04 p.m., the day after tomorrow.
Asakawa warmed his hands with the coffee can and shrank down into his seat. “I still can’t believe it, you know. That a human being could really do something like that.”
“It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not, now, does it?” Ryuji answered without taking his eyes from his map of Oshima. “Anyway, it’s a reality staring you in the face. You know, all we’re seeing is one small part of a continuously changing phenomenon.”
Ryuji set the map down on his knee. “You know about the Big Bang, right? They believe that the universe was born in a tremendous explosion twenty billion years ago. I can mathematically express the form of the universe, from its birth to the present. It’s all about differential equations. Most phenomena in the universe can be expressed with differential equations, you know. Using them, you can figure out what the universe looked like a hundred million years ago, ten billion years ago, even a second or a tenth of a second after that initial explosion. But. But. No matter how far we go back, no matter how we try to express it, we just can’t know what it looked like at zero, at the very moment of the explosion. And there’s another thing. How is our universe going to end? Is the universe expanding or contracting? See, we don’t know the beginning and we don’t know the end; all we can know about is the in-between stuff. And that, my friend, is what life is like.”
Ryuji poked Asakawa in the arm.
“I guess you’re right. I can look at photo albums and get a reasonable idea of what I was like when I was three years old, or when I was a newborn.”
“See what I mean? But what’s before birth, what’s after death—these are things we just don’t know.”
“After death? When you die, that’s the end, you just disappear. That’s all, right?”
“Hey, have you ever died?”
“No, I haven’t.” Asakawa shook his head with utter earnestness.
“Well then you don’t know, do you? You don’t know where you go after you die.”
“Are you saying there’s such a thing as spirits?”
“Look, all I can say is, I just don’t know. But when you’re talking about the birth of life, I think things go a lot smoother when you posit the existence of a soul. None of the claptrap of modern molecular biologists actually sounds real. What are they really saying? ‘Take hundreds each of twenty-odd different amino acids, put them in a bowl, mix them all together, add a little electrical energy, and voilà, protein, the building block of life.’ And they really expect us to believe that? Might as well tell us we’re all children of God—at least that’d be easier to swallow. What I think is that there’s a completely different kind of energy involved at the moment of birth; almost like there’s a certain will at work.”
Ryuji seemed to lean in a little closer to Asakawa, but then he suddenly changed the subject. “By the way, I couldn’t help but notice you were engrossed in the Professor’s oeuvre back at the Memorial Hall. Come across anything interesting?”
Now that he mentioned it, Asakawa remembered that he had started to read something. Thoughts have energy, and that energy …
“I think it said something about thoughts being energy.”
“What else?”
“I didn’t have time to finish reading it.”
“Heh, heh, that’s too bad. You were just getting to the good part. The Professor could really make me laugh, the way he’d set out in all seriousness things that would shock normal people. What the old man was saying, basically, is that ideas are life forms, with energy of their own.”
“Huh? You mean, the thoughts in our heads can turn into living beings?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Well, that’s a rather extreme suggestion.”
“It is indeed, but similar ideas have been propounded since before the time of Christ. I suppose you could just look at it as a different theory of life.”
Having said this much, Ryuji suddenly seemed to lose interest in the conversation, returning his gaze to the map.
Asakawa understood what Ryuji was saying, most of it anyway, but it didn’t sit very well with him. We may not be able to scientifically explain what we’re facing. But it’s real, and because it’s real we have to face it as a real phenomenon and deal with it as such, even if we don’t understand its cause or effect. What we need to concentrate on right now is figuring out the riddle of the charm and saving our own asses, not unlocking all the secrets of the supernatural. Ryuji might have some good points. But what Asakawa really needed from him were clearer answers.
The farther out to sea they went the worse the motion of the boat, and Asakawa began to worry he’d get seasick. The more he thought about it the more he thought he felt an unsettled feeling in his chest. Ryuji, who had been nodding off, suddenly raised his head and looked outside. The sea was throwing up dark gray waves, and in the distance they could see the dim shadow of an island.
“You know, Asakawa, something’s worrying me.”
“What?”
“The four kids who stayed at the log cabin. Why didn’t they try to carry out the charm?”
That again.
“Isn’t it obvious? They didn’t believe the video.”
“Well, that’s what I thought. It explains why they pulled a prank like erasing the charm. But I was just remembering a trip I took with the track team back in high school. In the middle of the night, Saito comes bursting into the room. You remember Saito, right? Kind of not quite all there. There were twelve of us on the team, and we were all sleeping together in one room. And that idiot comes running in, teeth chattering, and screams, ‘I’ve seen a ghost!’ He opened the bathroom door and saw a little girl crouched behind the trash can by the sink—she was crying. Now, aside from me, how do you think the other ten guys reacted to this?”
“They probably half believed and half laughed it off.”
Ryuji shook his head. “That’s how it’d work in a horror movie, or on TV. At first no one takes it seriously, and then one by one, they’re picked off by the monster, right? But it’s different in real life. Every single one of them, without exception, believed him. All ten of them. And not because all ten of them were especially chicken, either. You could try it on any group of people and get the same results. A fundamental sense of terror is built into us humans, on the instinctual level.”
“So what you’re saying is, it’s strange that those four didn’t believe the video.”
As he listened to Ryuji’s story, Asakawa was recalling the face of his daughter, crying from seeing the demon mask. He remembered how puzzled he’d been—how had she known the demon mask was supposed to be scary?
“Hmm. Well, the scenes on that video don’t tell a story, and they’re not all that frightening to just look at. So I suppose it’s possible to disbelieve it. But weren’t they at least bothered, those four? What would you do? If you were told that carrying out a charm would save your life, even if you didn’t believe in it, wouldn’t you feel you ought to give it a try anyway? I would have expected at least one of them to break rank. I mean, even if he or she insisted on putting on a brave face in front of the others, he or she could always perform the charm in secret after getting back to Tokyo.”
Asakawa’s bad feeling grew stronger. He had actually wondered the same thing himself. What if the charm turns out to be something impossible?
“So maybe it was something they couldn’t carry out, and so they convinced themselves they didn’t believe it anyway …” An example occurred to Asakawa. What if a woman who had been murdered left a message in the world of the living in an effort to get someone else to avenge her, so that she could be at peace?
“Heh, heh. I know what you’re thinking. What would you do if that turned out to be the case?”
Asakawa asked himself: if the charm included a command to kill someone, would he be able to do it? Would he be able to kill a perfect stranger to save his own life? But what worried him more was, if it came to that, who would be the one to carry out the charm? He shook his head furiously. Stop thinking such stupid things. All he could do at the moment was pray that this Sadako Yamamura person’s desire was something that anybody could fulfill.
The outlines of the island were becoming clearer; the wharf at Motomachi Harbor was slowly coming into view.
“Listen, Ryuji. I have a favor to ask.” Asakawa spoke fervently.
“What’s that?”
“If I don’t make it in time … that is …” Asakawa couldn’t bring himself to say the word “die.” “If you figure out the charm the very next day, could you … Well, there’s my wife and daughter …”
Ryuji cut in. “Of course. Leave it to me. I’ll be responsible for saving wifey and babykins.”
Asakawa took out one of his business cards and wrote a phone number on the back. “I’m going to send them to her parents’ house in Ashikaga until we solve this thing. This is the number there. I’m going to give it to you now, before I forget.”
Ryuji put the card in his pocket without even glancing at it.
Just then came the announcement that the ship had docked at Motomachi on Oshima Island. Asakawa intended to call home from the waterfront and convince his wife to go home to her parents’ for a while. He didn’t know when he’d get back to Tokyo. Who knew? Time might run out for him here on Oshima. He couldn’t stand the thought of his family alone and terrified in their little condo.
As they walked down the gangway, Ryuji asked: “Hey, Asakawa. Do a wife and kid really mean that much?”
It was a very un-Ryuji-like question. Asakawa couldn’t help but laugh as he replied, “You’ll find out, one of these days.”
But Asakawa didn’t really think Ryuji was capable of starting a normal family.
7 (#ulink_0d1d1fd5-0cbf-5cd1-aefa-224e8789fd9a)
The wind was stronger here on the pier at Oshima than it had been on the wharf at Atami. Overhead the clouds were scurrying from west to east, while underfoot the concrete jetty shook with the force of waves breaking against it. The rain wasn’t falling that hard, but the raindrops, borne by the wind, were hitting Asakawa’s face head-on. Neither of them had umbrellas. They jammed their hands into their pockets and hunched forward as they walked quickly along the pier over the ocean.
Islanders holding placards for car-rental companies or banners for inns were there to greet the tourists. Asakawa lifted his head and looked for the person who was supposed to meet them. Before getting on the boat at the harbor in Atami, Asakawa had contacted his office and asked for the phone number of the Oshima office, ultimately enlisting the help of a correspondent named Hayatsu. None of the national news organizations had full-fledged bureaus on Oshima; instead they hired locals as stringers. These correspondents kept an eye on island doings, watching for any noteworthy incidents or interesting episodes and reporting them to the main office; they were also responsible for assisting any reporters dispatched to the island on stories. Hayatsu had worked for the Daily News before retiring here to Oshima. His territory included not just Oshima itself but all seven islands in the Izu chain, and when anything happened he didn’t have to wait for a reporter to arrive from headquarters, but could file his own articles. Hayatsu had a network of contacts on the island, so his cooperation promised to speed up Asakawa’s investigation.
On the phone, Hayatsu himself had responded positively to Asakawa’s request, promising to meet him at the jetty. Since they’d never met, Asakawa had described himself and said he was traveling with a friend.
Now he heard a voice from behind. “Excuse me, are you Mr Asakawa?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Hayatsu, the Oshima correspondent.” He held out umbrellas and smiled good-naturedly.
“Sorry to impose on you so suddenly like this. We really appreciate your help.”
As they hurried to Hayatsu’s car, Asakawa introduced Ryuji. The wind was so loud they could hardly speak over it until they’d climbed inside the vehicle. It was a compact, but surprisingly spacious inside. Asakawa rode in front, Ryuji in the back.
“Shall we go straight to Takashi Yamamura’s house?” asked Hayatsu, both hands on the steering wheel. He was over sixty, and had a full head of hair, though much of it was gray.
“So, you’ve already found Sadako Yamamura’s family?” Asakawa had already told Hayatsu on the phone that they were coming to investigate someone by that name.
“It’s a small town. Once you said it was a Yamamura from Sashikiji, I knew right away who it was. There’s only one family by that name here. Yamamura’s a fisherman who runs his house as a bed-and-breakfast in the summertime. What do you think? We could have him put you up there tonight. Of course you’re welcome at my place, too, but it’s a little small and rundown. I’m sure having you stay there would be an imposition on you.” Hayatsu laughed. He and his wife lived alone, but he wasn’t exaggerating: they really didn’t have room to sleep two guests.
Asakawa looked back at Ryuji.
“I’m fine with that.”
Hayatsu’s little car sped toward the Sashikiji district, on the southern tip of the island. Sped as much as it could, that is: the Oshima Ring Road circling the island was too narrow and winding to go very fast on. The vast majority of the cars they passed were also compacts. At times their field of vision opened up to their right, to reveal the ocean, and when it did the sound of the wind would change. The sea was dark, reflecting the deep leaden color of the sky, and it heaved violently, throwing up whitecaps. If it hadn’t been for those brief flashes of white, it would have been difficult to tell where the sky stopped and the sea began, or where the sea stopped and the land began. The longer they gazed at it the more depressing it seemed. The radio blared a typhoon alert, and their surroundings became even darker. They veered right at a fork in the road and immediately entered a tunnel of camellias. They could see bare roots beneath the camellias, tangled and wizened; long years of exposure to wind and rain had eroded some of the plants’ soil. Now they were wet and slick with rain—it looked to Asakawa like they were speeding through the intestines of a huge monster.
“Sashikiji is dead ahead,” said Hayatsu. “But I don’t think this Sadako Yamamura woman is here anymore. You can get the details from Takashi Yamamura. From what I hear he’s a cousin of her mother’s.”
“How old would this Sadako be now?” asked Asakawa. For some time now Ryuji had been scrunched down in the back seat, uttering not a word.
“Hmm. I’ve never actually met her, you know. But if she’s still alive, she must be forty-two, forty-three, maybe?”
If she’s still alive? Asakawa wondered why Hayatsu had used that expression. Maybe she was missing? Suddenly he was filled with misgivings. What if they’d come all this way to Oshima only to find no one knew if she was dead or alive? What if this was a dead end?
Finally the car pulled up in front of a two-story house bearing the sign Yamamura Manor. It stood on a gentle slope with a commanding view of the ocean. No doubt in good weather the scenery was splendid. In the offing they could make out the triangular shape of an island. That was Toshima.
“When the weather is nice, you can see Nijima, Shikinejima and even Kozushima from here,” said Hayatsu proudly, pointing south over the sea.
8 (#ulink_13b7726e-aa62-5ee2-84a0-fc48870d3347)
“Investigate? What is it exactly I should investigate about this woman?”
She joined the troupe in ’65? You’ve got to be kidding—that’s twenty-five years ago. Yoshino was ranting to himself. It’s hard enough to trace a criminal’s steps a year after the fact. But twenty-five?
“We need anything and everything you can find out. We want to know what kind of life this woman’s led, what she’s doing right now, what she wants.”
Yoshino could only sigh. He wedged the receiver between his ear and his shoulder and pulled a notepad over from the edge of the desk.
“… And how old was she at the time?”
“Eighteen. She graduated from high school on Oshima and went straight to Tokyo, where she joined a theater group called Theater Group Soaring.”
“Oshima?” Yoshino stopped writing and frowned. “Hey, where are you calling from, anyway?”
“From a place called Sashikiji, on Izu Oshima Island.”
“And when do you plan on coming back?”
“As soon as I can.”
“You realize there’s a typhoon heading your way?”
Of course there was no way Asakawa could be ignorant of it, being right there in the middle of it, but to Yoshino the whole thing had taken on an unreal quality that he had begun to find amusing. The “deadline” was the night after next, and yet Asakawa himself was holed up on Oshima, possibly unable to escape.
“Have you heard any travel advisories?” Asakawa still didn’t know many details.
“Well, I’m not sure, but the way it looks now, I imagine they’ll be grounding all flights and suspending ocean transport.”
Asakawa had been too busy chasing down Sadako Yamamura to pick up any reliable information about the typhoon. He’d had a bad feeling ever since stepping onto the Oshima pier, but now that the possibility of being stranded here had been voiced, he suddenly felt a sense of urgency. Receiver still in hand, he fell silent.
“Hey, hey, don’t worry. They haven’t cancelled anything yet.” Yoshino tried to sound positive. Then he changed the subject. “So, this woman … Sadako Yamamura. You’ve checked her history out up to the age of eighteen?”
