Fuminori Nakamura - Evil and the Mask

That night I had to act. After the servants were asleep I had to go to the cellar, shift the broken air conditioner and remove the furniture from on top of the hatch. It wasn’t much, but it took all my courage to make my body do what I wanted.

It was Sunday. Kaori came to my room as soon as she got home from volleyball practice. Mischievously she switched off the light at the door, then came over and kissed me. I touched her shoulders and arms. We had both turned fourteen.

“What’s happened to your father?”

I couldn’t see her face.

“Sounds like there’s some problem at his company, but they can’t get hold of him. Same as always.” I did my best to speak nonchalantly.

“Hmm.”

“But maybe it’s my fault,” I continued.

Her body trembled slightly.

“After I talked to him about you it must have been awkward for him to come home and look me in the face. He’ll be with a woman somewhere. I hope he dies there.”

Kaori seemed deep in thought, but in the darkness I couldn’t read her expression.

• • •

THAT NIGHT SHE came to my room once more, but I told her that it would be better if we slept apart. I made up a story that Ms. Yoshigaki wanted to talk to me about my father’s failure to return, but she hadn’t come yet and might turn up at any minute. Kaori’s face still looked full of questions, but it was the best I could do.

After she left I lay in bed, wide awake. Now I had to visit my father. I had to remove my device, right next to the room where his body lay. Sweat was streaming off me, but I couldn’t get up. I was completely unprepared. Hours passed. However, I had no choice.

Compared to shutting him up in the first place, this wasn’t such a big deal. That’s what I told myself, but it was after 3 A.M. before I was able to leave the room. I went through the hallways, treading softly. I kept moving, though I couldn’t believe that I was going down to the cellar again. When I reached Kaori’s door I crept past on tiptoes, trying to control my breathing, one foot after the other. I went down the steps to the basement and cautiously opened the door. Thanks to the oil I’d put on the hinges, it moved quietly.

I made my way slowly between the old furniture and lumber. There was a musty smell, and the dust penetrated my lungs as though it had a will of its own. I felt like the junk was watching me solemnly in the stillness. The silence, as though the lifeless objects themselves were holding their breath, seemed to insist that I was an unwelcome intruder. I walked carefully, forcing my way through the narrow space, trying not to make a sound. Just as I put my hands on the silent, scornful furniture, wanting to get it over with quickly, I sensed a movement behind me. My body tensed and I stopped breathing. There was definitely a noise, a kind of creak. My heart raced uncontrollably, and what little strength I had deserted me completely. The dust was sticking to my perspiration. I didn’t know what to do, but at the same time I couldn’t just stand there. Still unable to make up my mind, I turned around slowly.

In front of me I could see an old bookcase, a wooden wheel whose use was unclear, and a tall pile of tightly wrapped rolls of material. I took one pace forward, then another. Just as I was thinking the place was deserted, I sensed someone on my right. There’s no one there, I told myself. I was being too jumpy. I concentrated on making my feet move, not wanting to stay there for long. I reminded myself over and over that no one ever came there, that all I had to do was remove the obstruction. The only thing I could see was the entrance to the underground room with the furniture stacked above it. I grasped the silent object with both hands, even though I was still not ready for what I might find.

When I felt the cold, rough surface my pulse grew even faster. I endured it and gradually shoved the heavy obstacle aside. Moving without thinking, like a puppet, I opened the hatch and peered down the narrow flight of stairs. Light was seeping under the door to the hidden room. At first I imagined that someone was in there, but then I realized that Father must have died with the light still on. There was no sound from inside. I crept down the stairs, conscious of the beating of my heart. I could see something under the frame of the air conditioner that was holding the lever in place. Nauseous, I tried to look away but couldn’t. It was blood.

My eyesight went dim and I put my hand on the wall to steady myself. The blood was leaking out from under the door. It had to be Father’s. Perhaps he had taken the poison right beside the door on purpose, so that when he vomited it would flow outside. The moment of his actual death had occurred out of my sight. His blood, however, seemed to be showing it to me, forcing me to visualize it, as if he knew I’d come to unlock the door sometime and he wanted to twist his suffering and death into my heart through my eyes. His body was lying just on the other side of the door. This was the revolting creature who made up half of my being, whose perverse evil I had been unable to understand even at the very end. For the first time the words echoed in my head, You killed a person . The blood in front of me, more than enough to be fatal, forced me to confront the fact that I had killed a man, my own father. I made someone cough up that much blood, I thought, through my own intent and actions. A sulphurous smell came from behind the door, wormed its way inside me. I tried not to inhale. If I breathed out, though, I had to breathe in the same amount. I flopped down, feeling dizzy. But I kept moving. If I threw up here I’d be leaving evidence behind. His death would end up defeating me as well. With all my strength I dragged the frame away. At that instant, however, I heard a cry from inside and the door burst open.

Blinded by the light, I collapsed on the spot. But it was just a hallucination. The door remained closed. No, perhaps Father had already slipped past me, as agile as an ill-favored monkey, and was scampering up the stairs, hunched over on spindly legs. I shook off the image and took hold of the air conditioner. It hit the door with a harsh metallic noise. I tried to run, but my lifeless legs stumbled and I ended up half crawling up the stairs with the appliance. I stuck my head out the top, managed to climb up and closed the hatch, barely aware of what I was doing.

Suddenly it went quiet. I felt like Yoshigaki, the lawyer I’d never met, my father and Kaori were in a circle, staring down at me. I stood up and shifted the broken air conditioner between the stored furniture. Then I sat down again, gazing blankly at the boards of the hatch. With the trapdoor exposed like this, probably no one would ever guess that it had been blocked. I imagined my father coming up the stairs. Climbing the steps, gnawing on a bunch of death caps, slowly lifting the hatch from below. I couldn’t get the image out of my head. I moved on feeble legs, resting my hands against the ancient furniture. It’s over, I said out loud, but I didn’t believe it.

My vision still blurred, I opened the cellar door and went upstairs. I was too wound up to care about the fact that I was covered in dust. I went to my room and collapsed onto the bed. The voice inside my head repeating, I killed my father . The crimson of his blood flickered before my eyes. I was starving, my throat was burning, I kept pounding on the door, I pulled at it, but it wouldn’t budge no matter what I did. I hit it, I stroked it as though asking for forgiveness. I pressed myself against it and shouted. When I came to my senses I was lying on my bed with my eyes open, staring at the unlit bulb on the ceiling. This was my room. I tried to get up, thinking that I’d slipped into a dream, but I had no strength in my body. The house was silent — everyone seemed to be fast asleep. When I noticed that the room was cold and I was thirsty again, suddenly my father was glaring down at me on the bed. I was falling. I knew that I was in bed, yet I was still falling. I woke up. My shoulders ached and I was soaked in sweat.