Fuminori Nakamura - The Thief

After about four hours a man in a cream coat with a shoulder bag walked out and headed off in the opposite direction. I couldn’t see his face but I hurried after him, thinking it might be Kirita. He was hunched over like a shrimp, his unusually long fingers splayed. Just as I reached the entrance, the automatic door opened again and another man came out. A black coat, carrying a black satchel. That’s him , I thought, taken by surprise. I lowered my head and pretended to be hunting in my pockets for cigarettes. Taking his phone without him realizing it, so that he thought he’d lost it, seemed an impossible demand. I tailed him, keeping my distance.

He went to a drug-store and then to the station, where he met up with a fat man in a café. His wallet was in the left inside pocket of his suit, but he kept his cell phone in his satchel. It looked like it would be hard to steal it while he was inside, so I waited for him to leave. I thought about lifting it on the train, but when he came out and said good-bye to the fat man he got into a taxi. I took the next cab and told the driver to follow the car in front of us. The driver was still young, so I kept having to give him exact instructions, like to stay in a different lane and keep another car between us.

Kirita got out in Akasaka and went into a basement bar. The interior was large, with a stage for performers, and incredibly crowded and noisy. I found a seat at the counter, thinking that this might be my chance. I ordered a weak cocktail and rested my arms on the wooden surface, which had darkened with age.

An hour or more passed. As Kirita grew more intoxicated, his voice became louder and his gestures more exaggerated. He was laughing, his reptilian mouth open wide. The other guy was young, maybe a student. Papers were spread out on the table but Kirita barely glanced at them.

He took his cell phone out of his bag, made a call, and then replaced the phone in the satchel on the floor. I was hoping he would put it in his jacket, but no such luck. Seeing how drunk he was, if I took his phone today he would easily believe that he’d lost it, and I didn’t know when I’d get another opportunity like this. Plus his was the earliest of the deadlines Kizaki had given me. When the waitress approached his table I stood up.

The toilets were on his other side, away from me. I headed towards them, adjusting my pace to that of the waitress. She put fresh glasses on his table, and just as she bowed and turned to leave I tripped her, as if by accident. She tumbled over and the glasses on her tray shattered spectacularly. I pretended to lose my balance and fell down too, but while everyone turned at the loud noise they were all looking at the waitress lying on the floor in her short skirt. When I checked on Kirita, he was facing her in surprise and touching his shoulder, which was slightly damp. Still crouching, I used my coat like a cape to cover his bag. I slipped my left hand through the hole in my pocket, and was able to open the zipper. The young man stood up and started to say something to Kirita. As the waitress struggled to her feet she tugged at her skirt, which had ridden up, and opened her mouth to apologize. With the bag completely concealed under my jacket, no one could see anything. I put my left hand inside, hunted quickly for the phone, hooked my finger through the strap and slid it into my sleeve. Kirita started to rise to help the waitress. Pulling my hand out of the satchel, I braced my legs to stand. Just as I felt the warmth escaping from my throat, the phone in my sleeve shrilled loudly.

I froze for a second, unable to move. As the ringing continued, Kirita began to turn away from the woman toward the noise. I dropped the phone back in the bag and concentrated on doing up the zip. The sound grew muffled but he didn’t seem to notice. The waitress said sorry to both Kirita and me. Heart pounding, I stood up and apologized as well. Kirita wasn’t looking at me, though. He opened the satchel and answered the phone. I thought about making my exit, but it seemed important to hear his conversation, so I helped the waitress pick up the glass. Kirita didn’t speak, but I managed to catch a glimpse of the notes he made: Thursday, 7, Shibuya, Daijingu. I nodded again and paid my bill. Now that he’d seen my face up close, shadowing him would be tricky.

I TOOK A cab back to my apartment, asking the driver if I could smoke. He said he didn’t mind because he was finishing up for the day and opened the window a fraction. I lit up and watched the neon lights flowing past in the busy streets. I just couldn’t relax. Kizaki’s face appeared in front of me, then Ishikawa’s, then Saeko’s. I wondered what she would say if she saw me now. I was going down in the world, being manipulated, dancing to Kizaki’s tune, but still I thought she probably wouldn’t despise me. Knowing her, she’d be more likely to laugh as she undressed, saying maybe we’ll die soon, and come down here with me.

When I got home the boy was asleep on the floor outside my front door. This time he was wearing long trousers, but his gray sweatshirt was thin. Looking at his arms and legs, I felt once more that his life had been determined at birth. In his downtrodden situation he just did the best he could and kept on going. I prodded him lightly with my foot, thinking he’d die of cold, and he opened his eyes. He scowled at me for a second, maybe because I’d kicked him. But before I could say anything he quietly asked me to let him stay for the night.

“Nothing doing. Go home.”

“Why not?”

The boy’s breath came out in faint white puffs.

“Because your mom will come looking for you and the cops will get involved.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“No?”

“She wants to get rid of me.”

He stood up, brushing sand and grime from the palms of his hands. His skin was dirty and the soles of his shoes were almost worn through. I was about to let him in, but then realized that I didn’t have a kettle or plates or anything to eat. We’d have to go to a convenience store. When I walked off, the boy came with me.

“He’s there all the time now and I’m in the way.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“He’s always telling me, because he wants to do it with Mom all the time.”

In the distance I heard the sound of a car accelerating.

“He’s jealous about Mom. Because they’re always at it, I have to be out all day. And when they’re finished he gets drunk and hits me.”

I put my hand on his shoulder.

“This guy. Does he know what your mother …?”

“He knows. He makes her do it but he still gets jealous.”

My throat felt tight.

“You want to get out?”

“Yeah.”

There was a strange gleam in his eyes.

“I’d run away, but I’m just a kid and I’d get caught. And then I’d get bawled out, and if he was there he’d beat me up.”

“Well, you can’t stay here….”

“Why not?”

I took my hand off his shoulder. Probably I picked the wrong time to do it.

“My job’s risky. I don’t know when I might get killed. You don’t need to get mixed up with any more adults who’ve messed up their lives.”

“But….”

“What about a children’s home?”

I looked at his face. He seemed to be thinking seriously.

“Could I get into one?”

“If you go through the formalities. But when it comes down to it you don’t really want to be away from your mom, do you?”

“I’m not a baby.”

He looked up at me. His wide defiant eyes, like two laser beams, reminded me of myself a long time ago.

“I’ll talk to her. And from now on I’ll leave my room unlocked, so if it’s cold you can go in whenever you like.”

With that, we went into the convenience store and bought hot tea, milk and a lunch box full of fried food.