Кобо Абэ - The Ark Sakura

“You stay here as hostage, then,” the insect dealer said easily, with a wink at me, seeking my approval.

Taken by surprise, I was unable to decide quickly whether his suggestion would work to my advantage or not. If she were the hostage, it would be a different matter; but was there any conceivable advantage in being left alone with the shill? She might disappear, stuck fast to the insect dealer’s back, and never return.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The shill sucked in his saliva with an offensive sound. “Just look at the captain’s face. Talk about black looks. ”

“Shall we be off?” Unperturbed, the insect dealer addressed the girl across my shoulder. It might have been the angle, but all of him — not just the dome of his head — looked a size bigger than normal. “Captain, will you see us out to the jeep? I can’t handle those dogs alone.”

“Dogs? What dogs?” The girl gave my hand a light pinch.

“A pack of hungry strays. We took our lives in our hands getting in here. There must be five or six really ferocious ones. But there’s nothing to worry about: the captain here does a great imitation of a dog’s howl, and the moment they hear that they calm right down.”

My hand, covered with sweat, felt as obscene as if it had been coated with lubricant. The insect dealer was standing now where he could see our hands, but he said nothing. Was he intentionally overlooking it? In that case, his request that I see them out to the jeep took on a deeper significance: I would be one of those to leave rather than stay, and my wish to see the shill excluded would be brilliantly fulfilled. It was an ingenious idea. Once the padlock was locked from the outside, the shill would never again set foot aboveground. How long he could stay alive would depend on when, and whether, he found the provisions. If he never did, then he would certainly die in a matter of weeks. Even if he did find provisions, he would probably fall in one of the anti-invader traps and be fatally injured. I could dispose of the body single-handed. Chopped in pieces and flushed down that high-pressure toilet, it would be gone without a trace in a matter of minutes.

Perhaps I should trust the insect dealer, after all. It was like facing a broken traffic signal that blinked red, then green, then red, then green, over and over. I hesitated, unable to decide whether to step on the brake or the accelerator.

“First let me get that cast on,” I said, and reached out for the pages of the Manual for Self-Sufficiency, which lay strewn across the floor. The floor spun and I toppled over. My leg had fallen asleep from spending such a long time in an unaccustomed position. The girl, despite her supposed injury, dodged and sprang to her feet. The shill exploded into laughter with the suddenness of a cork popping off a bottle of champagne. The water cannon on the department store rooftop, which hadn’t attracted a single buyer, would probably fire its projectile with a similar noise, I thought.

“All right, miss, you can quit acting now.” The shill snapped his fingers and jumped nimbly from the parapet to the floor. “That’s enough. Time to take a break.”

“You mean she was faking?” Slowly the insect dealer planted his feet wide apart, exuding menace. I remained surprisingly calm. Things never go the way you plan them, except in fantasies. The watery taste of disappointment was as familiar as a pair of old shoes.

“You knew it all along. Stop bullshitting,” replied the shill, wiping the corner of his mouth with a fingertip.

Feeling began returning to my leg, with such discomfort that I could not have borne the touch of a fly’s wing.

“Now this is going too far.” Looking grim, the insect dealer removed his glasses, slumped forward, and rubbed the area between his brows. “We have an agreement with the captain here. You can’t get away with this.”

Not to be outdone, the shill pressed his elbows tightly against his sides, crouched over, and lowered his head. Except for their tense breathing, it was as if each had withdrawn inside his own shell, ignoring the other. Wild animals feign the same indifference as they sharpen their claws, waiting for a chance to pounce.

“You’re going to have to throw me out, you know.”

“I know.”

“Pretty sure of yourself.”

The insect dealer folded his glasses and dropped them in his pocket. The shill stuck the fingers of his right hand in his pants pocket. Did he have a concealed knife? They stood twelve feet apart, with the corner of the table between them.

The girl stepped on my foot and whispered, “Do you suppose it’s still raining outside?”

In that taut atmosphere, her whisper stood out like a piece of dirt in the eye. The men’s excitement ended abruptly. The insect dealer put a fist to his mouth and coughed, while the shill went on clicking his tongue.

“The walls are thick and there are no windows, so for both weather and time we have to rely on instruments.” I switched on the monitor sitting on the middle shelf of the bookcase between the couch and the locker. Electric signals from the outdoor sensor were translated by computer into symbols that flashed on the screen. “Looks like the rain is over. Wind velocity is thirteen point eight feet per hour, coming out of the southwest.”

“You’re really something, Captain.” The shill’s gaze swept me boldly up and down.

“Humidity index is eighty-two. Air pressure’s still low and falling.”

“That’s why my head feels so heavy,” the girl said, sweeping the hair off her forehead. “Anyone else want a cup of coffee?”

“Not a bad idea. Take the bad taste out of our mouths.” The insect dealer relaxed a bit.

“Everything you do, Komono, is so phony it leaves a bad taste in the mouth,” said the shill. To the girl he said, “To celebrate your recovery, miss, how about fixing us all a cup of coffee?” His motive was transparent: by having her help out, he meant to settle the issue of whether they stayed or went, by means of a fait accompli. “Captain, would you mind showing her where the coffee and everything is?”

“Never mind, I’ll get it myself,” I said.

The girl glanced at the shill to ascertain what he wanted her to do. He urged her on with brisk waves of his hand, as if chasing a fly.

“Let me do it,” she said, her voice suddenly animated as if in amends for malingering. “I make a mean cup of coffee.”

“Yes, but it’s an electric coffeemaker, so it comes out the same no matter who does it,” I said. I too had an ulterior motive: this was it, my chance to be alone with her. “Why don’t you help me wash up some cups instead? All that sort of thing I do downstairs, by the toilet. Cooking and laundry too. I don’t use the toilet water, you understand — there’s a sink built into the wall, with its own faucet. The coffee-maker only makes three cups. We’ll just have to brew it a little stronger, and then add hot water.”

She smoothed her skirt and led the way, motioning for me to follow.

“I don’t like violence.” The insect dealer stood aside, taking a kamaboko stick from a pouch on his belt and offering it to me as I went by. “Want one? In the confusion, I forgot all about them. Coffee on an empty stomach is bad for the system, you know. Upsets the nerves, and it can make you constipated too.”

I took four and dashed after the girl, dragging the leg that was still partially numb. Three steps down, we entered the shadow of a pillar, out of sight of the bridge. The shill’s voice sounded.

“What a crazy machine. What the heck is this for, sharpening rats’ teeth?”

“It’s a small precision machine tool,” replied the insect dealer, his mouth stuffed with kamaboko. “You know, I’ve always wanted to play with one of these.”