Кобо Абэ - The Ark Sakura

“That took long enough,” said the shill cheerfully, with undisguised relief. Was he relying on Komono, after all?

“Yes, I got held up—”

“Excuse me, sir!” The youth stopped crying, held his broom up at his side like a musket, and clicked his heels together.

“Who’re you?” asked the insect dealer.

“That’s Scout A, sir,” said a deep, husky voice, and at the same time a shadowy figure, that of an old man, appeared behind the insect dealer. He seemed less a man than a man-shaped hole in space. He was still in his sixties, broad in the shoulder, with an erect posture. His dark blue uniform looked too short for him. The end of his bamboo broom, which he held tucked under his arm upside down, shone darkly, as if it had a steel core. It looked like a lethal weapon. Slung across his other shoulder was a large canvas bag.

“Ah, yes, that’s right. I remember.” The insect dealer nodded slightly, held out a hand indicating the shadowlike old man (whose dark complexion nearly matched the color of his uniform), and introduced him to us.

“My adjutant. He’s had a long and distinguished career under my predecessor.”

“How do you do,” said the shadow, with a deep bow.

Leaving his scout and his adjutant there, the insect dealer slowly advanced. He seemed to be stalling for time in order to decide what questions to ask first. Mysteriously, neither he nor the shadow was the least bit wet. If they had come by way of the tangerine grove entrance, they must have crossed that underground river somehow. Come to think of it, the young hoodlums were all dry too. Why? Was I the only one who didn’t know my way around?

The insect dealer looked from me to the toilet and back again. Then he compared me with the plastic-wrapped body. Finally he looked around at the other three.

“The situation’s gotten a bit out of hand,” he said, indicating the body with a jerk of his head. “What do you think, Captain? From your point of view this is a calamity, isn’t it? After all, you’ve lost a close family member. Or is it more in the nature of a minor inconvenience?”

“It’s no calamity,” I snorted. “As you know damn well. I’ll admit it’s sobering — any dead body is.”

“The problem with the toilet is a calamity, though, isn’t it?” he pursued. “Don’t tell me you’re just out to protest disposing of the body.”

“Look at him!” said the girl. “Can’t you see he’s in trouble?”

“Well, yes.”

“What are we going to do?” said Sengoku, fear in his voice. “He’s in there as tight as a cork in a bottle.”

“I’m getting sick of this,” said the shill, rubbing his arms vigorously. “Too many damned complications.”

“You can say that again,” said the insect dealer, looking from me to the body and back again. He scratched the wing of his nose. “I thought the job was important for a lot of reasons, and I’ve worked it out with the members of the Broom Brigade. but I guess the captain’s leg comes first.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking, and it seems to me there are two possibilities.” The girl spoke quietly, looking around cautiously to check everybody’s reactions. She was right — it needed to be said quietly. I could read her thoughts as clearly as if they were my own. She was also right about there being two alternatives. But how to choose between them?

“I think so too.” Surprisingly, the shill quickly agreed.

“In principle, so do I.” Even Sengoku was getting in the act. Had all four of us reached the same conclusion? Was it so clear and inescapable as that, like a straight road with no turnings?

The insect dealer rolled up his sleeping bag by the stairs and sat down on it. “Let’s hear it, then. If this is unanimous, it must be brilliant.”

Nobody wants to be the one to bell the cat. Finally the girl spoke up, smiling innocently. “Well, simply put, one way is to smash the toilet, and the other is to find the engine room below and adjust the valves to eliminate the pressure. Isn’t that so?”

“Makes sense. ”

“But each plan has its flaw. If we break the toilet, we can’t dispose of the body until it’s repaired. And to find the engine room, we’ve got to track down the hiding place of those missing junior high school girls.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, the captain figures that since neither place has come to light in any survey to date, there must be some connection.”

“I see.”

The adjutant, standing by in the tunnel, called out his opinion. “I know how you can kill two birds with one stone — or serve two ends at the same time. Excuse me, Captain, I ought to offer you my formal condolences, but allow me to defer that for the moment. First I should like to say that speaking in my official capacity, I recommend the latter course — tracking the missing persons. For years, under the leadership of Commander Inototsu, we in the Broom Brigade dreamed of the establishment of an independent self-governing old people’s paradise. Only we never call it that. To us the word ‘old’ is discriminatory, so it’s officially banned. Here, as in all things, Commander Inototsu was uncompromising. We use the word ‘castoffs’ instead. Strictly speaking, the concept of castoffs has no age limits; but since the aging process generally brings on a degree of physical decrepitude, with no hope of reversal, and since aging is the universal fate of mankind, in our dictionary people of advanced age are known as ‘quintessential castoffs’ and the facilities we are planning to build we call the Kingdom of Quintessential Castoffs. Fortunately, the day when our dream becomes reality is not far off. Hellfire of uranium and plutonium will rain from the sky, and that will be the start of the apocalypse — or what Sengoku over there calls the New Beginning.”

“Listen to him!” marveled the girl, speaking softly.

“This guy’s a real pro,” muttered the shill.

“. Listen, can’t you hear?” the shadow adjutant went on. “The whole world is weeping with loud lamentation. The world weeps at the picture books of happy homes, and at TV commercials for wedding palaces, as it takes part in drunken medleys in bars and dives. We quintessential castoffs can hear every wail. Never let it be said that Commander Inototsu died in vain. Commander Komono, Captain — please lead us.”

The shadow adjutant unzipped the canvas bag at his side and took out something resembling a half-rotten cabbage. Holding it up with reverence, he marched forward ceremoniously. Stepping directly in front of me, he held it out as if presenting me with a special award. It was the old green hunting cap that had been Inototsu’s trademark. The shadow bowed his head and said unctuously:

“Please accept this remembrance of your esteemed father. We sincerely hope you will overcome your present sorrow, in order to carry on his great work and see it through to completion.”

I could hardly bear to touch the thing. It symbolized the essence of all that I hated about Inototsu; it was the materialization of his stench. But I couldn’t very well refuse it, either; that’s a ceremony for you. This oily-smooth old man might possibly forgive me if I handled the cap with disrespect, but never if I ignored the ceremony. The insect dealer beside him was silent, without a trace of a smile on his lips. This was not only because they had just met, I felt sure, but because he too had sensed the core of madness lurking inside his adjutant. As he stepped back, the shadow peered inside the toilet.

“What an unfortunate disaster,” he concurred. Then he turned to the insect dealer, leaning on his broom as on a cane, and addressed him with compelling politeness. “What do you say, sir, to calling back all the cleaning squads and having them join in a search for the lost little females? I daresay it would be good for morale. Not only could we be of service to the captain, but you see this is a question that bears directly on the fate of the Kingdom of Quintessential Castoffs as well. When the world is destroyed in hellfire, even if we survive, unless we leave descendants our survival is in vain. We would be letting society down. Besides, like bamboo, which flowers and bears fruit just before it withers and dies, most quintessential castoffs still have sexual prowess. And as has been scientifically proven, they are still fully capable of fathering children. In fact, they’d rather do that than eat.”