Кобо Абэ - The Ark Sakura

“In that case, this body could be very fresh indeed,” said the insect dealer, and slowly took back the transmitter, with an air of grim determination. “The murder could have taken place after that conversation. Even now, by rights, it ought to be the sweet-potato man we were talking to. Inototsu must know the captain hates his guts.”

The buzzer kept squawking impatiently.

“That’s right,” I said. “Now that you say so, it is odd — because the other transmitter is in Sengoku’s store. It’s strange for Inototsu to be talking on it.”

“That’s peculiar,” said the shill. He licked his lips and swallowed. “Then was the sweet-potato man given the job of disposing of his own corpse?”

The insect dealer flicked the transmitter on.

— Wait a minute, please. We’re having a consultation.

He turned the switch back off and said, “Supposing the sweet-potato man was killed at his store. Circumstantial evidence could very well point to the captain as prime suspect. But what motive could there be?”

“None — seeing as how I didn’t do it!” I retorted.

“I mean Inototsu’s motive.”

“There’s no point in thinking about it,” said the girl. “You don’t even know for sure that the sweet-potato man was the victim.” Her hand rested lightly on my shoulder.

Instantly her opinion struck me as unassailable truth. “Check it out,” I commanded the insect dealer. “Ask to speak to Sengoku.”

Nodding, he flicked the transmitter back on.

— Come in. Sorry to keep you waiting. Would you mind putting the sweet-potato man on the line? Thanks. Over.

— He’s gone out, but I can leave him a message. Over.

— What do you mean? You’re in his store, aren’t you? Over.

— No, I’m in the office over by the tangerine grove. There’s a radio transmitter here too. “Sweet-potato man,” eh? That’s a good one. Suits him, all right. [Sounds of whispering.] Ah — it seems he’s gone out on his motorcycle to get some cigarettes. He should be right back. Over.

“Ask him where they found the body,” prompted the shill.

— Where’d you find the body? Over.

— As if you didn’t know. Over here, by the tangerine grove entrance, of course. If you won’t get rid of it for me, I’ll have no choice but to go to the police. In which case, like it or not, the entire quarry will be the focus of a police investigation. I’d like to avoid that as much as you. Put my son back on the line, would you? I assume he’s still there, listening. It’s high time we had a reconciliation, son. You’ve got the wrong idea about me. If it’s the way I punished you when you were a kid that bothers you, I want you to know that I did it solely out of fatherly love. If that incident had ended up in family court, the shame would have followed you for the rest of your life. Then and now, I have only your best interests at heart. You’re there, aren’t you, son? Try to understand. And as for that business about trampling my wife to death, it’s a damned lie. What do you say, shall we make a deal? We are father and son, after all. Let’s team up and do something really big. Besides, I’ve changed. Mellowed. And I’m not getting any younger. Over.

Shoving my way between the insect dealer and the shill, I stuck my face up to the transmitter and yelled:

— Quit the father-son baloney. It gives me the willies!

— I can’t help it, it’s true. Half of your chromosomes came from my sperm. Over.

— Over and out.

— Wait. All I want is a little bit of happiness in my old age. The Broom Brigade has made a good reputation for itself, and I’d like to do more for society. I want to live a useful life. You see, I have changed. Over.

“Oh, why did that damn body have to butt in like this?” I muttered. I felt defeated. It had been a bad day. Every conceivable contingency had burst on me with the force of a tidal wave. It was enough to make a person believe in Friday the thirteenth, or unlucky days on the Buddhist calendar, or any such baleful influences.

The insect dealer drew the microphone close to his mouth and said quietly, in a voice suggesting strong willingness to compromise:

— I’m sorry, but could you give us a little more time? Over.

— I hate to repeat myself, but I want to patch things up with my son. It’s only human nature. I’m human too, after all. Over.

“What do you think?” The insect dealer switched the set off and sighed.

“There really isn’t any choice, is there?” The shill turned toward me, speaking rapidly. “Isn’t that right? If you don’t want to get on the wrong side of the Broom Brigade, you’ve got no choice but to go ahead and dispose of that body. If the real culprit would only turn up, there’d be nothing to fear. That’s it, we’ve got to come on strong there. Because if the captain didn’t do it, then the murderer must be one of them.”

“Not necessarily,” said the insect dealer. “I believe the captain too. But that doesn’t guarantee they haven’t tampered with the evidence. Even supposing it’s all fake, if they did a good job we can’t let down our guard.”

“Are there really only two entrances to this cave?” asked the girl. She rested her knee on the chaise longue, thereby shifting her weight so that our bodies were no longer pressed together. “Couldn’t some other outfit be camped out somewhere else in here?”

“It’s awfully hard to imagine,” I said. I had no proof to justify ruling it out. With the rapidity of a high-speed printer, I flipped mentally through the surveying maps stored in my memory. Certainly there were large areas of the cave that I had not yet attempted to map or explore — I had in mind especially those old excavations midway down the eastern cliff, like settings for rock-carved Buddhas. But no tunnel connected them to the interior. The ground there was dry, and the quality of the rock poor; presumably they were trial borings that had been summarily abandoned. To the best of my knowledge, there had been no indications of human comings and goings anywhere, except at the tangerine grove entrance. I added, “And there’s been absolutely no sign of anything. ”

“Once you start letting your suspicions grow, there’s no drawing a line,” said the shill. “Based purely on circumstantial evidence, I’m a prime suspect myself.” Covering his mouth, he giggled in a way I found unbecoming and unsavory. “You have only my word that I let some suspicious character get away; there’s no proof. Maybe I killed him, and I’ve just been putting on an act all this time. Seeing is believing, isn’t it? I think we should go on over and see for ourselves.”

“We’ve got to draw the line somewhere. We’re just groping around in circles.” The insect dealer put the radio back on the shelf, clasped his hands, and cracked his knuckles. “In a case like this, all the conjecture and speculation in the world won’t get you anywhere. We’ve got to analyze the situation according to the facts at hand, and map out our strategy. Right? At the moment there are two issues facing us. One is the handling of the body, if it is a body. The other is the proposal from the Broom Brigade, or from their leader, Inototsu, concerning management participation.”

“Hold on,” I interrupted. “Quit taking the discussion in your own hands, will you?” By the barest fraction of an inch, taking care not to be observed, I nudged closer to the girl. The difference was so slight that I could not tell for sure whether or not our bodies were again touching.

“Don’t worry,” he said. Perspiration made his glasses slide down his nose. “As captain, your word is final; that goes without saying. I was only trying to clarify our situation. In other words, those two issues — the body’s disposal and Inototsu’s proposal — have to be dealt with separately. Otherwise you play into his hands. He’s trying to use the body as bait for his deal, and you mustn’t fall for it. Isn’t that so?”