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These days, philosophy as a field of inquiry had drawn ever closer to science. No longer did it mean amusing oneself with silly questions such as how man should live. Specializing in philosophy meant, basically, doing math without the numbers. In ancient Greece, too, philosophers doubled as mathematicians. Ryuji was like that: the philosophy department signed his paychecks, but his brain was wired like a scientist’s. On the other hand, in addition to his specialized professional knowledge, he also knew an extraordinary amount about paranormal psychology. Asakawa saw this as a contradiction. He considered paranormal psychology, the study of the supernatural and the occult, to be in direct opposition to science. Ryuji’s answer: Au contraire. Paranormal psychology is one of the keys to unlocking the structure of the universe. It had been a hot day in the middle of summer, but just like today he’d been wearing a striped long-sleeved dress shirt with the top button buttoned tightly. I want to be there when humanity is wiped out, Ryuji had said, sweat gleaming on his overheated face. All those idiots who prattle on about world peace and the survival of humanity make me puke.
Asakawa’s survey had included questions like this:
Tell me about your dreams for the future.
Calmly, Ryuji had replied: “While viewing the extinction of the human race from the top of a hill, I would dig a hole in the earth and ejaculate into it over and over.”
Asakawa had pressed him: “Hey, are you sure it’s okay for me to write that down?”
Ryuji had smiled faintly, just like he was doing now, and nodded.
“Like I said, I’m not afraid of anything.” After saying this, Ryuji leaned over and brought his face close to Asakawa’s.
“I did another one last night.”
Again?
This made the third victim Asakawa knew about. He’d learned of the first one in their junior year in high school. Both of them had lived in Tama Ward in Kawasaki, an industrial city wedged between Tokyo and Yokohama, and commuted to a prefectural high school. Asakawa used to get to school an hour before classes started every morning and preview the day’s lessons in the crisp dawn. Aside from the janitors, he was always the first one there. By contrast, Ryuji hardly ever made it to first period. He was what was known as habitually tardy. But one morning right after the end of summer vacation, Asakawa went to school early as usual and found Ryuji there, sitting on top of his desk as if in a daze. Asakawa spoke to him. “Hey, what’s up? Didn’t think I’d see you here this early.” “Yeah, well,” was the curt reply: Ryuji was staring out the window at the schoolyard, as if his mind were somewhere else. His eyes were bloodshot. His cheeks were red, too, and there was alcohol on his breath. They weren’t that close, though, so that was as far as the conversation went. Asakawa opened his school-book and began to study. “Hey, listen, I want to ask you a favor …” said Ryuji, slapping him on the shoulder. Ryuji was highly individualistic, got good grades, and was a track star as well. Everybody at school kept one eye on him. Asakawa, meanwhile, was thoroughly unremarkable. Having someone like Ryuji ask him a favor didn’t feel bad at all.
“Actually, I want you to call my house for me,” said Ryuji, laying his arm on Asakawa’s shoulders in an overly familiar manner.
“Sure. But why?”
“All you have to do is call. Call and ask for me.”
Asakawa frowned. “For you? But you’re right here.”
“Never mind that, just do it, okay?”
So he did as he was told and dialed the number, and when Ryuji’s mother answered he said, “Is Ryuji there?” while looking at Ryuji, who stood right in front of him.
“I’m sorry, Ryuji has already left for school,” his mother said calmly.
“Oh, I see,” Asakawa said, and hung up the phone. “There, is that good enough?” he said to Ryuji. Asakawa still didn’t quite get the meaning of all this.
“Did it sound like there was anything wrong?” asked Ryuji. “Did Mom sound nervous or anything?”
“No, not particularly.” Asakawa had never heard Ryuji’s mother’s voice before, but he didn’t think she sounded especially nervous.
“No excited voices in the background or anything?”
“No. Nothing special. Nothing like that. Just, like, breakfast table sounds.”
“Well, okay, then. Thanks.”
“Hey, what’s going on? Why did you ask me to do that?”
Ryuji looked vaguely relieved. He put his arm around Asakawa’s shoulders and pulled Asakawa’s face close. He put his mouth to Asakawa’s ear and said, “You seem like you can keep a secret, like I can trust you. So I’ll tell you. As a matter of fact, at five o’clock this morning, I raped a woman.”
Asakawa was shocked speechless. The story was that at dawn that morning, around five, Ryuji had sneaked into the apartment of a college girl living alone and attacked her. As he left he threatened her that if she called the cops he wouldn’t take it lying down, and then he came straight to school. As a result he was worried that the police might be at his house right about now, and so he’d asked Asakawa to call for him to check.
After that, Asakawa and Ryuji began to talk fairly often. Naturally, Asakawa never told anyone about Ryuji’s crime. The following year Ryuji had come in third in the shot-put in the area high-school track and field meet, and the year after that he’d entered the medical program at Fukuzawa University. Asakawa spent that year studying to retake the entrance exam for the school of his choice, having failed the first time. The second time he succeeded, and was accepted into the literature department of a well-known university.
Asakawa knew what he really wanted. In truth, he wanted Ryuji to watch the video. Ryuji’s knowledge and experience wouldn’t be of much use to Asakawa if they were based only on what Asakawa was able to verbalize about the video. On the other hand, he saw that it was ethically wrong to get someone else wrapped up in this just to save his own skin. He was conflicted, but he knew if he had to weigh the two options which way the scale would tip. He wanted to maximize his own chances of survival, no question. But, still … He suddenly found himself wondering, like he always did, just why he was friends with this guy. His ten years of reporting for the newspaper had allowed him to meet countless people. But he and Ryuji could just call each other up anytime to go have a drink—Ryuji was the only one Asakawa had that kind of relationship with. Was it because they happened to have been classmates? No, he had plenty of other classmates. There was something in the depths of his heart that resonated with Ryuji’s eccentricity. At that thought, Asakawa began to feel like he didn’t really understand himself.
“Hey, hey. Let’s get a move on. You’ve only got six days left, right?” Ryuji grabbed Asakawa’s upper arm and squeezed it. His grip was strong. “Hurry up and show me that video. Think how lonely I’ll be if you bite the dust because we dawdled.”
Rhythmically squeezing Asakawa’s arm with one hand, Ryuji jabbed his fork into his untouched cheesecake, shoveled it into his mouth and began to chew noisily. Ryuji had the habit of chewing with his mouth open. Asakawa felt himself beginning to feel sick at the sight of the food mixing with saliva and dissolving before his eyes. His angular features, his squat build, his bad habits. Now, while still munching away on his cheesecake, he fished more ice out of the glass with his hand and started crunching it, making even more noise.
That’s when Asakawa realized that he had no one else he could rely on but this guy.
It’s an evil spirit I’m dealing with, an unknown quantity. Nobody normal could deal with it. There’s probably nobody but Ryuji who could watch that video and not bat an eye. Set a thief to catch a thief. There’s no way around it. What do I care if Ryuji ends up dead? Someone who says he wants to watchthe extinction of mankind doesn’t deserve to live a long life.
That was how Asakawa rationalized getting someone else wrapped up in this.
2 (#ulink_fa6f771b-e1c7-555e-a46e-cad496725146)
The two men headed for Asakawa’s place in a taxi. If the streets weren’t crowded it took less than twenty minutes to get from Roppongi to Kita Shinagawa. All they could see in the mirror was the driver’s forehead. He maintained a resolute silence, one hand on the wheel, and didn’t try to start up a conversation with his passengers. Come to think of it, this whole thing had started with a talkative cabby. If he hadn’t caught a taxi that time he wouldn’t have been caught up in this whole horrific mess, Asakawa thought as he recalled the events of a fortnight ago. He regretted not having bought a subway ticket and making all those transfers anyway, no matter how much of a pain in the neck they were.
“Can we make a copy of the video at your place?” asked Ryuji. Asakawa had two video decks because of his work. One was a machine he’d bought when they had first started to catch on, and it wasn’t functioning as well as it could, but it did at least make copies with no problem.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Okay, in that case I want you to make me a copy as soon as possible. I want to take my time and study it at my place.”
He’s got the guts, thought Asakawa. And in his present state of mind, Asakawa found his words encouraging.
They decided to get out of the cab at Gotenzan Hills and walk from there. It was 8:50. There was still the possibility that his wife and kid would be awake at this hour. Shizu always gave Yoko a bath at a little before nine, and then put her to bed. She’d lie down beside the baby to help her get to sleep, and in the process would fall asleep herself. And once she went to sleep, nothing was going to get Shizu out of bed. In an effort to maximize time talking alone with her husband, Shizu used to leave messages on the table saying, “wake me up.” So when he got home from work, Asakawa would follow her instructions, thinking she really meant to get up, and try to shake his wife awake. But she wouldn’t wake up. He would try harder, but she would just wave her hands around her head like she was shooing a fly, frowning and making annoyed sounds. She was half awake, but the will to go back to sleep was much stronger than Asakawa was, and he eventually had to cut his losses and retreat. Eventually, note or no, Asakawa stopped trying to wake her up, and then she stopped leaving notes. By now, nine o’clock had become Shizu ’n’ Yoko’s inviolate sleepytime. On a night like this, though, it was actually more convenient that way.
Shizu hated Ryuji. Asakawa thought this was an eminently reasonable attitude, so he never even asked her why. I’m begging you, don’t bring him into our home anymore. Asakawa still remembered the repugnance on his wife’s face when she said that. But most of all, he couldn’t play this video in front of Shizu and Yoko.
The house was dark and still, and the fragrance of hot bath water and soap wafted even out to the entry hall. Evidently mommy and baby had just now gone to bed, towels under their wet hair. Asakawa put his ear to the bedroom door to make sure they were asleep, and then showed Ryuji into the dining room.
“So the baby’s gone night-night?” Ryuji asked with an air of disappointment.
“Shhh,” said Asakawa, putting a finger to his lips. Shizu wasn’t going to wake up from something like that, but then again he couldn’t swear she wouldn’t sense that something was different from usual and come out after all.
Asakawa connected the output jacks of one of the video decks to the input jacks of the other, and then inserted the video. Before pressing play, he looked at Ryuji as if to say, do you really want to do this?
“What’s wrong? Hurry up and play it,” urged Ryuji, without taking his eyes off the screen. Asakawa pressed the remote into Ryuji’s hand and then stood up and went to the window. He didn’t feel like seeing it again. Really he should watch it over and over, analyzing it cool-headedly, but he couldn’t seem to find the will to chase this thing any further. He just wanted to run away. Nothing more. Asakawa went out onto the balcony and smoked a cigarette. He’d promised his wife when Yoko was born that he wouldn’t smoke inside the apartment, and he’d never broken that promise. Although they’d been married for a full three years, he and his wife had a relatively good relationship. He couldn’t go against his wife’s wishes, not after she’d given him darling Yoko.
Standing on the balcony, he peered into the room: through the frosted glass, the image on the screen was flickering. The fear quotient was different watching it here, surrounded by three people on the sixth floor of a downtown apartment building, compared to watching it alone at Villa Log Cabin. But even if Ryuji watched it under the same conditions, he probably wouldn’t lose his head and start crying or anything. Asakawa was counting on him to laugh and fling abuse as he watched, even turning a menacing gaze toward what he saw on the screen.
Asakawa finished his cigarette and went to go back inside. Just at that moment, the door separating the dining room from the hall opened, and Shizu appeared in her pajamas. Flustered, Asakawa grabbed the remote and paused the video.
“I thought you were asleep.” There was a note of reproach in Asakawa’s voice.
“I heard noises.” As she said this Shizu looked back and forth between the TV screen, with its distorted images and staticky sound, and Ryuji and Asakawa. Her face clouded over with suspicion.
“Go back to bed!” said Asakawa in a tone of voice that allowed for no questions.
“I think we ought to let the missus join us, if she’d like to. It’s quite interesting.” Ryuji, still seated cross-legged on the floor, looked up. Asakawa wanted to yell at him. But instead of speaking, he balled all his thoughts up into his fist and slammed it down onto the table. Startled by the sound, Shizu quickly put her hand on the doorknob, then narrowed her eyes and bowed ever-so-slightly and said to Ryuji, “Please make yourself at home.” With that she turned on her heel and disappeared back behind the door. Two guys alone at night, turning videos on and off … Asakawa knew just what his wife was imagining. He didn’t miss the look of disdain in her narrowed eyes—disdain not so much for Ryuji as for male instincts in general. Asakawa felt bad that he couldn’t explain.
Just as Asakawa had expected, Ryuji was still utterly calm after he’d finished watching. He hummed as he rewound the tape, then set about checking it point by point, alternately fast-forwarding and pausing it.
“Well, it looks like yours truly is mixed up in it now. You’ve got six days left, I’ve got seven,” said Ryuji happily, as if he’d been allowed to join in a game.
“So what do you think?” asked Asakawa.
“It’s child’s play.”
“Huh?”
“Didn’t you use to do this sort of thing when you were a kid? Scare your friends by showing them a spooky picture or something and saying that whoever looked at it would come to harm? Chain letters, that sort of thing.”
Of course Asakawa had experienced that kind of thing, too. The same sort of thing had come up in the ghost stories they’d told each other on summer nights.
“So what are you getting at?”
“Nothing, I guess. Just, that’s how it felt to me.”
“Was there anything else you noticed? Tell me.”
“Hmm. Well, the images themselves aren’t especially frightening. It seems like a combination of realistic images and abstract ones. If it wasn’t for the fact that four people had died exactly as dictated in the video, we could just snort and pass it off as an oddity. Right?”
Asakawa nodded. Knowing that the words on the video were no lie was what made the whole thing so troublesome.
“The first question is, why did those poor fools die? What’s the reason? I can think of two possibilities. The last scene on the video is the statement, ‘he who watches this is fated to die,’ and then immediately thereafter, there was … well, for lack of a better word, let’s call it a charm. A way to escape that fate. So the four erased the part that explained the charm, and because of that they were killed. Or, perhaps they simply failed to make use of the charm, and that’s why they were killed. I suppose even before that, though, we have to determine if it was really those four who erased the charm. It’s possible that the charm had already been erased when they watched the video.”
“How are we going to determine that? We can’t just ask them, you know.”
Asakawa got a beer from the refrigerator, poured a glassful, and set it in front of Ryuji.
“Just you watch.” Ryuji replayed the end of the video, watching closely for the exact moment when the charm-erasing mosquito coil commercial ended. He paused the tape and began to advance it slowly, frame by frame. He’d go past it, rewind it, pause it, advance it again frame by frame … Then, finally, just for a split second, the screen showed a scene of three people sitting around a table. For just the briefest moment, the program which had been interrupted by the commercial was resuming. It was a late-night talk show broadcast nightly at eleven on one of the national networks. The gray-haired gent was a best-selling author, and he was joined by a lovely young woman and a young man whom they recognized as a traditional storyteller from the Osaka region. Asakawa brought his face close to the screen.
“I’m sure you recognize this show,” said Ryuji.
“It’s The Night Show on NBS.”
“Right. The writer is the host, the girl is his foil, and the storyteller is today’s guest. Therefore, if we know what day the storyteller was a guest on the show, we know whether or not our four kids erased the charm.”
“I get it.”
The Night Show was on every weeknight at eleven. If this particular episode turned out to have been broadcast on August 29th, then it had to be those four who erased it, that night at Villa Log Cabin.
“NBS is affiliated with your publisher, isn’t it? This ought to be an easy one.”
“Gotcha. I’ll look into it.”
“Yes, please do. Our lives may depend on it. Let’s make sure of everything, no matter what. Right, my brother-in-arms?”
Ryuji slapped Asakawa on the shoulder. They were both facing their deaths now. Brothers in arms.
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Scared? Au contraire, my friend. It’s kind of exciting to have a deadline, isn’t it? The penalty is death. Fantastic. It’s no fun playing if you’re not willing to bet your life on the outcome.”
For a while now Ryuji had been acting pleased about the whole thing, but Asakawa had worried it was just bravado, a cover for his fear. Now that he peered into his friend’s eyes, though, he couldn’t find the smallest fragment of fear there.
“Next: we figure out who made this video, when, and to what end. You say Villa Log Cabin is only six months old, so we contact everybody who’s stayed in B-4 and ferret out whoever brought in a videotape. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to limit the search to late August. Chances are it was somebody who stayed there right before our four victims.”
“That’s mine, too?”
Ryuji downed his beer in one swig and thought for a moment. “Of course. We’ve got a deadline. Don’t you have a buddy you can rely on? If so, get him to help.”
“Well, there is one reporter who’s got an interest in this case. But this is a matter of life and death. I can’t just …” Asakawa was thinking about Yoshino.
“Not to worry, not to worry. Get him involved. Show him the video—that’ll light a fire under his ass. He’ll be happy to help out, trust me.”
“Not everybody’s like you, you know.”
“So tell him it’s black-market porn. Force him to watch it. Whatever.”
It was no use reasoning with Ryuji. He couldn’t show it to anybody without figuring out the charm first. Asakawa felt he was in a logical culde-sac. To crack the secrets of this video would require a well-organized search, but because of the nature of the video it would be next to impossible to enlist anybody. People like Ryuji, willing to play dice with death at the drop of a hat, were few and far between. How would Yoshino react? He had a wife and kids himself—Asakawa doubted he’d be willing to risk his life just to satisfy his curiosity. But he might be able to help even without watching the video. Maybe Asakawa should tell him everything that had happened, just in case.
“Yeah. I’ll give it a try.”
Ryuji sat at the dining room table holding the remote.
“Right, then. Now, this falls into two broad categories: abstract scenes and real scenes.” Saying this, he rewound to the volcanic eruption and paused the tape on it. “There, take that volcano. No matter how you look at it, that’s real. We have to figure out what mountain that is. And then there’s the eruption. Once we know the name of the mountain, we should be able to find out when it erupted, meaning we’ll be able to ascertain when and where this scene was shot.”
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.”
