Koji Suzuki - The Complete Ring Trilogy - Ring, Spiral, Loop

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Ryuji’s voice brought Asakawa back down to earth. “There was a scene in the video with a baby boy, remember?”

“Yes.” He chased Mai’s image from his mind momentarily and recalled the vision of the newborn, covered in slippery amniotic fluid. But the transition didn’t go well; he ended up imagining Mai wet and naked.

“When I saw that scene I got a strange sensation in my own hands. Almost as if I were holding that boy myself.”

Sensation. Holding someone. In the arms of his imagination he was holding first Mai and then the baby boy, in blinding succession. Then, finally, he had it—the feeling he’d had watching the video, of holding the infant and then throwing both hands up in the air. Ryuji had felt the exact same sensation. This had to be significant.

“I felt it too. I definitely felt something wet and slippery.”

“You too, huh? So what does it mean?”

Ryuji got down on all fours, bringing his face up close to the television screen as he replayed that scene. It lasted about two minutes, the baby boy giving his birth-cry all the while. They could see a pair of graceful hands beneath the child’s head and bottom.

“Wait a minute, what’s this?” Ryuji paused the video and began to advance it a frame at a time. Just for a second the screen went dark. Watching it at normal speed it was so brief as to be hardly noticeable. But watching it over and over, frame by frame, it was possible to pick out moments of total blackness.

“There it is again,” cried Ryuji. For a time he arched his back like a cat and stared at the screen intently, and then he moved his head back and his eyes darted around the room. He was thinking furiously—Asakawa could tell by the movements of his eyes. But he had no idea what Ryuji was thinking. In all, the screen went dark thirty-three times during the course of the two-minute scene.

“So what? Are you telling me you’ve been able to figure something out just from this? It’s just a glitch in the filming. The video camera was defective.”

Ryuji ignored Asakawa’s comment and began to search through other scenes. They heard footsteps on the outside stairs. Ryuji hurriedly pushed the stop button.

Finally the front door opened and Mai appeared, saying, “I’m back.” The room was once again wrapped in her fragrance.

It was Sunday afternoon, and families with children were playing on the lawn in front of the city library. Some fathers were playing catch with their boys; others were lying on the grass, letting their kids play. It was a beautiful clear Sunday afternoon in mid-October, and the world seemed blanketed in peace.

Faced with the scene, Asakawa suddenly wanted nothing more than to rush home. He’d spent some time on the fourth floor in the natural sciences section, boning up on airwaves, and now he was just staring out the window, looking at nothing in particular. All day he’d found himself drifting off like this. All sorts of thoughts would come to him, without rhyme or reason; he couldn’t concentrate. Probably it was because he was impatient. He stood up. He wanted to see the faces of his wife and child, now. He was overcome with the thought. Now . He didn’t have much time left. Time to play with his daughter on the lawn like that …

Asakawa got home just before five. Shizu was making dinner. He could read her bad mood as he stood behind her and watched her slice vegetables. He knew the reason, too—all too well. He finally had a day off, but he’d left her early that morning, saying only, “I’m going to Ryuji’s place.” If he didn’t look after Yoko once in a while, at least when he had a day off, Shizu tended to feel swamped by the stresses of raising a child. And to top it off, he’d been with Ryuji. That was the problem. He could have just lied to her, but then she wouldn’t have been able to contact him in an emergency.

“There was a call from a realtor,” said Shizu, not missing a beat with the knife.

“What about?”

“He asked if we were thinking about selling.”

Asakawa had sat Yoko on his knee and was reading her a picture book. She most likely didn’t understand, but they were hoping that if they exposed her to a lot of words now, maybe they’d accumulate in her head and then come flowing out like a burst dam when she got to be two or so.

“Did he make a good offer?”

Ever since land prices had begun to skyrocket, realtors had been trying to get them to sell.

“Seventy million yen.”

That was less than before. Still, it was enough to leave quite a bit for Shizu and Yoko, even after they paid off the mortgage.

“So what did you tell him?”

Wiping her hands on a towel, Shizu finally turned around. “I told him my husband wasn’t home.”

That’s how it always went. My husband’s not at home , she’d say, or I’d have to talk it over with my husband first . Shizu never decided anything on her own. He was afraid she’d have to start soon.

“What do you think? Maybe it’s about time we considered it. We’d have enough to buy a house in the suburbs, with a yard. The realtor said so, too.”

It was the family’s modest dream: to sell the condo they were living in now and build a big house in the suburbs. Without capital, a dream was all it would ever be. But they did have this one powerful asset: a condo in the heart of the city. They had the means to make that dream come true, and every time they spoke of it now it was with excitement. It was right there—all they had to do was reach out their hands …

“And then, you know, we could have another baby, too.” It was perfectly clear to Asakawa just what Shizu was seeing in her mind’s eye. A spacious suburban residence, with a separate study room for each of their two or three kids, and a living room large enough that she needn’t be embarrassed no matter how many guests dropped in. Yoko, on his knee, started to act up. She’d noticed that her daddy’s eyes had strayed from the picture book, that his attention was focussed on something besides herself, and she was registering her objections. Asakawa looked at the picture book once more.

“Long, long ago Marshyland was called Marshy-beach, because the reed-thick marshes stretched all the way down to the seashore.”

As he read aloud, Asakawa felt tears well up in his eyes. He wanted to make his wife’s dream come true. He really did. But he only had four days left. Would his wife be able to cope when he died of unknown causes? She didn’t yet know how fragile her dream was, how soon it would come crashing down.

By 9 p.m. Shizu and Yoko were asleep as usual. Asakawa was preoccupied by the last thing Ryuji had brought up. Why did he keep replaying the scene with the baby? And what about that old woman’s words—“Next year you’re going to have a child.” Was there a connection between the baby boy and the child the old woman mentioned? And what about the moments of total blackness? Thirty-odd times they occurred, at varying intervals.

Asakawa thought he’d watch the video again, to try and confirm this. Ryuji had been looking for something specific, no matter how capricious it had seemed at the time. Ryuji had great powers of logic, of course, but he also had a finely-tuned sense of intuition. Asakawa, on the other hand, specialized in the work of dragging out the truth through painstaking investigation.

Asakawa opened the cabinet and picked up the videotape. He went to insert it into the video deck, but just at that moment, he noticed something that stayed his hand. Wait a minute, something’s not right. He wasn’t sure what it was, but his sixth sense was telling him something was out of the ordinary. More and more he was sure that it wasn’t just his imagination. He really had felt something was funny when he touched the tape. Something had changed, ever so slightly.