Yoshida Shuichi - Villain

On Monday morning, December 10, 2001, Sari woke up five minutes ahead of her alarm, a rare occurrence. Sari was not a morning person, and when she was living with her parents in Kagoshima City, almost every morning her mother got upset when she wouldn’t get up on time. Even after Sari moved out and started living in Fukuoka, her mother would occasionally call her to remind her to get up.

Part of the reason she had trouble getting up was that she couldn’t fall asleep easily. Back when she was still in school she’d go to bed early, but as soon as she closed her eyes, her mind started replaying conversations she had had with her friends. If only I’d said this to her, she’d think. If only I’d come back to the classroom earlier. She couldn’t help worrying about all the little things that happened. A lot of people do this, of course, but in Sari’s case her regret over trivial events of the day would, before she realized it, balloon into the same imaginary scenario.

It was hard to explain what this scene was, exactly. She had just entered junior high and was in bed one night when it popped into her mind, and ever since, no matter how much she’d try not to think of it, it came to her as she struggled to sleep.

The time period wasn’t clear, perhaps the late 1920s or early ’30s. In this mental scene Sari was locked up in a cramped room, a photograph of an actress clutched in her hands. Sometimes in the photograph the actress wore Western clothes like a pinup film star; at other times it was a newspaper clipping, an ad for what appeared to be the actress’s new movie. Sari had no idea who the actress was, but she did know that in her fantasy she was ragingly, overwhelmingly jealous of this woman. Through the latticed window, she sometimes saw gallant young soldiers marching down a cherry-tree-lined street; sometimes she heard the shouts of children throwing snowballs at each other.

In this fantasy, Sari always felt irritated. If only I could get out of this room, she thought, then she would be able to take the actress’s place in the movie. Her fantasy had no plot, no other characters. Just this one protagonist, Sari’s alter ego, whose feelings became her own when Sari couldn’t sleep.

Just before her alarm buzzed, Sari reached out and turned it off. It hadn’t rung, but she felt as if she could hear it. She flipped open her cell phone to see if there were any messages from Yoshino, but there were none.

She got out of bed and opened the curtains. From her third-floor window she had a nice view of Higashi Park bathed in the early morning sunshine.

Last night, just before twelve, she’d phoned Yoshino, certain she’d be back by then, but there was no answer.

Yoshino’s phone had rung but eventually gone to voice mail, so Sari had hung up and gone out on the veranda to peer down at Yoshino’s apartment, which was directly beneath hers. The lights weren’t on. If she really had met up with Keigo and come home afterward, twelve was too early for her to have gone to sleep.

Flustered, Sari had then decided to phone Mako, who sounded as if she was brushing her teeth when she answered the phone.

“So Yoshino isn’t back yet?” Sari asked her.

“Huh?”

“Didn’t she say something about coming back right away? But I just called her cell and she didn’t pick up.”

“Maybe she’s taking a shower?”

“But her light’s off.”

“So maybe she’s still with Keigo.”

Mako sounded like she couldn’t be bothered, so Sari just let it be.

“She’ll be back soon. Did you want something?” Mako asked her.

“No, not really…” Sari replied and hung up.

No, she didn’t have anything else she wanted to ask Mako. Instead, the sound of Yoshino’s footsteps, fading as she walked toward the darkened park, came back to her.

Normally Sari wouldn’t have given it another thought, but after she took a shower and went back to bed, she was still concerned. She knew she was being a pest, but she called Yoshino’s cell phone one more time. This time, though, the call went immediately to voice messaging, as if the phone had been turned off. Right as it did, Sari pictured Keigo’s condo in front of Hakata station. Feeling foolish, she tossed the cell phone aside.

That morning Sari arrived at her company’s Hakata branch, also in front of Hakata station, just in time for the eight-thirty morning meeting. Normally she rode her bicycle for the one-kilometer commute to the office, but today, just as she was straddling the bike, Mako-who usually commuted by subway to the company’s Seinan branch-called out to her. “I’ve got to stop by the Hakata office,” Mako told her, so Sari decided to take the subway, too.

As they were walking to the station Sari asked, “So, have you heard from Yoshino?”

“Yoshino? She hasn’t come back?” Mako asked, mellow as usual.

“She never answered her cell.”

“Then I suppose she must have stayed overnight at Keigo’s. She’ll go to work from there.”

Mako’s laid-back attitude convinced Sari that she must be right. They stopped discussing it and rushed into the subway.

When their morning meeting at work was over, the branch manager switched on the TV set on top of a shelf in the small reception area. He’d never turned it on before, so all the employees collectively turned toward the screen.

“Something has happened at Mitsuse Pass,” the branch manager said, turning toward the others. Several employees had already heard something and, from the corner of the room, they began to talk loudly. Several others moved closer to the TV.

The morning light shone through a large window, over which hung a decoration left over from the Tanabata midsummer festival. It was the only spot in the office where the summer heat still seemed to linger.

Sari turned to Mako, who was busy counting promotional gifts packed into a cardboard box. “Mako,” she asked, “don’t tell me you’re planning to buy those? Aren’t they kind of expensive?”

“New ones are coming out, they said. Plus we can buy these at seventy percent off.”

The box was crammed with not very appealing stuffed bunnies.

“Who’s going to sign a contract with us just because we hand out this kind of junk?” Sari asked.

“Yeah, but there are some people who ask specifically for the stuffed toy animals,” Mako said seriously.

Then several staff members in front of the TV exclaimed loudly: “No way.” “How awful.” Their voices weren’t so much tense as indifferent, so Sari merely glanced around at the TV.

Normally this local morning show reported on bargain sales in town, but today on the TV a young reporter, frowning very seriously, was standing in front of the road that ran through the mountains.

“They found a dead body up at Mitsuse Pass,” one of the staff members said, turning around.

Everyone began to move toward the TV.

“The young woman’s body was discovered this morning at the base of the cliff that’s visible over there. The police have roped off the area, but even from here it’s clear that the cliff is quite steep.”

The reporter, out of breath, was almost shouting, as if he’d just arrived at the site.

Sari was struck by an awful premonition and glanced over at Mako, who was obliviously pawing through the stuffed animals.

“Mako,” Sari said, and Mako-thinking Sari wanted some of the stuffed animals-held out the one in her hand, the smallest of the bunnies in the box.

“Not that. Look,” Sari said, irritated, motioning with her chin. Mako slowly turned to the screen.

“… The victim has not yet been indentified. According to authorities the body was abandoned there today, before dawn. Most likely the victim has been dead for eight to ten hours…”