Fuminori Nakamura - Evil and the Mask

“Is it really JL?” the commentator demanded. “It could be a copycat.”

“They’ve confirmed that it’s genuine. When JL claim responsibility, they normally use a code word in the letter, one that hasn’t been released to the public. It matches. The communiqué was faxed a short while ago to ‘News Run.’ I’ll read it out.”

He took a breath.

“This is JL. Okay, we said the Prime Minister had to do an impression, right? No good standing on his dignity, he’s got to do it. By the way, we might start going after people now. If the PM doesn’t do an impression at a press conference, we’ll start targeting ordinary citizens next. No, we’re just kidding. Most likely the next people will be other politicians — in order of baldness. But if he still doesn’t do it, civilians really might get caught up in it. We hate happy people, so we might start with the ones who look happiest. Happiness is a fortress. Get it? You don’t? Oh, well.”

I stared at the screen with a sense of dread as the announcer started to read the proclamation again. Happiness is a fortress. My father’s face appeared before me. What did it mean? I felt a headache coming on. The detective was speaking.

“I always wonder if it’s a good idea to read the statement out like that. Isn’t that what they want? Well, I suppose that news of groups like JL will make the ratings skyrocket, and during the recession the media … Mr. Shintani?”

He was looking closely at my face. Just as I was deciding how to respond, my cell phone rang. Somehow it sounded louder than usual. When I looked at the display it was the man who had called me Fumihiro. I glanced at the detective, suddenly nervous.

“It’s the same guy. The one who called me before.”

He took a black ballpoint from his bag.

“We can record him with this.”

I held it close to the phone and pressed the Talk button.

From the other end I could hear the bustle of a crowd of people.

“Fumihiro Kuki?”

It was the same voice.

“I thought maybe you’d call me back, but I also knew you were very patient.”

“Um, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The room seemed to be gradually getting colder.

“A long line of cancers.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not exactly living up to the tradition, are you? Just a stalker!”

“Who is this?”

He laughed.

“Okay, so that’s how you want to play it. Let’s meet up.”

He raised his voice slightly.

“Tomorrow at six o’clock. Nishiguchi Park in Ikebukuro.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then something bad will happen to Kaori. See you.”

The phone went dead.

By now the room was freezing. I wondered what the hell this was all about. How did he know me? I cringed at that word “cancer.” I was sure I’d never heard the voice on the phone before, and I had no idea who he was or what he wanted.

The detective was studying me. I realized that I still hadn’t told him I was Fumihiro. My heart was thudding erratically.

“Can I borrow this pen for a while?”

“You click the top to record, and if you take off the cap there’s a plug so you can connect it to a computer to play it back.”

“I’ll work on this guy for a bit. I’d like you to stick with my — Shintani’s — past.”

I stood up. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t say anything as I left the room.

I HAD A dream.

I was sitting on a high-backed chair in a room so big I couldn’t see the walls. Directly in front of me six empty chairs, solidly built and slightly larger than mine, were arranged in a line. They made me feel the difference in our relative power and status.

I’d been waiting for a long time for someone to come. For someone to come and sit in those chairs. For some reason I knew that this place was where my whole life would be judged. It was freezing but I didn’t feel the cold.

I kept on waiting for the beings who would summarize my life in this vast and icy place, empty except for the chairs. No matter how long I waited, however, no one appeared. I was completely abandoned. Solemnly, calmly, the air around me grew colder.

When I woke I was sweating. My body was soaked with individual beads of perspiration, each clamoring urgently for attention. I remembered Kaori in a white dress searching my room for porn. I remembered thinking about all sorts of things — my future with her, building a house by the sea and living there, not passing on my melancholy to our children, what I should do when we quarreled. On the screen Kaori was chatting with Azusa Konishi in a bar. The recording was set on continuous play. I stood up, still watching the video, feeling like I’d come a long way.

NISHIGUCHI PARK IN Ikebukuro was busy. I walked past a group of homeless men drinking and looked around. Hidden at the bottom of my bag was the bottle containing the poison I’d given to Yajima. Maybe that was why I had so little energy. A mixture of powders, with potassium cyanide as the main ingredient. My body grew heavier, but my vision cleared. Among the crowd in the park, however, I couldn’t tell who the caller was. I took out my cell phone and dialed his number.

Far away, a man sitting on a chain that formed part of the fence started hunting in his pocket. A black daypack was slung over his shoulder. He was wearing acid-washed designer jeans, a loose gray knit cap, a sleeveless white down jacket and a long-sleeved T-shirt of the same color, covered in English writing. I ended the call and walked towards him. He was still young, with narrow eyes and a thin nose, an oddly clean-cut face. He was staring at his phone, which had stopped ringing abruptly. I stood beside him, conscious of the drugs in my bag.

He turned slowly to face me. His neatly trimmed eyebrows suddenly drew together as though I’d taken him by surprise.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

The rain had just stopped, and the ground was still unpleasantly damp.

“What do you mean? You told me to come here.”

He glared at me for a second.

“What?”

“You called me here, didn’t you?” I repeated. “What the hell is this?”

“You? But the voice is the same. How come?”

I looked at him blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Aren’t you Kuki, Fumihiro Kuki?”

I thought for a moment, trying to make sense of the situation.

Looking up at me, he went on. “Who the hell are you? Why are you checking up on Kaori Kuki?”

I realized that he was genuinely puzzled. He knew about Fumihiro, the person I used to be, but maybe he didn’t know about my plastic surgery or that I’d bought Shintani’s persona. I hesitated, thinking furiously. I couldn’t understand how he knew about Fumihiro, how he knew about Kaori, how he knew my number. I’d have to worm it out of him.

“You summoned me here. What’s your game? And how did you get my number? That’s what I’d like to know.”

He continued to stare at me.

“I don’t get you,” I went on. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but we’re getting out of here.”

“I’ll decide where we go,” he said, standing up at last.

WE WALKED PAST a police box, turned left at a convenience store and went into a different park. It was dirty, full of homeless people’s light blue tarpaulin shelters. I thought we were heading to a coffee shop or something, but he sat on a bench, took a bottle of mineral water from his backpack and started to drink. It was a brand I hadn’t seen before. I perched on the same bench, leaving a space between us. When I lit a cigarette he frowned rudely, then turned his gaze to my bag.