Харуки Мураками - Killing Commendatore

“But you got through it.”

“Of course. I’d be damned if I’d let those bastards beat me. Or let their system grind me down. If I had signed the papers they laid in front of me, I could have walked out of my cell and returned to the world. But signing them would have meant my utter defeat. I would have admitted to crimes I hadn’t committed. So I decided to treat the experience as an ordeal sent from above, an opportunity to test my strength.”

“Did you think about your time in prison when you spent that hour alone down in the pit?”

“Yes. I need to return to that experience once in a while—it’s my starting point, so to speak. Where the person I am today was formed. It’s easy to get soft when life is comfortable.”

What a peculiar guy, I thought again. How would another person react to treatment that harsh—wouldn’t they try to forget it as soon as possible?

As if remembering, Menshiki reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief.

“I found this at the bottom of the pit,” he said. He unfolded the handkerchief, took out a small plastic object, and handed it to me.

I examined it under my flashlight. It was a black-and-white penguin, barely half an inch long, with a tiny black strap attached to it. The kind of thing that schoolgirls like to attach to their cell phones and schoolbags. It was clean and looked quite new.

“It wasn’t there the first time I went into the pit,” Menshiki said. “I’m sure of that.”

“So it must have been dropped by someone afterward, when they were down there.”

“I wonder. It looks like a cell phone ornament. And the strap isn’t broken. So someone had to unhook it first. Doesn’t that suggest it wasn’t dropped—that whoever left it did so intentionally?”

“You mean they entered the pit just to leave it there?”

“Or dropped it down from above.”

“Why would anyone do that?” I asked.

Menshiki shook his head. As if he couldn’t understand either. “It’s possible that whoever it was left it as a charm or talisman. That’s just a guess, though.”

“You mean Mariye?”

“Probably. After all, it’s doubtful anyone else was near the pit.”

“So she left it as a kind of charm?”

Menshiki shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s hard to read a thirteen-year-old girl—their minds can come up with all sorts of stuff, can’t they?”

I looked again at the tiny penguin in my hand. Now it struck me as a charm or amulet of some kind. An aura of innocence clung to it.

“Then who pulled out the ladder and dragged it over there? What was the reason for that?” I said.

Menshiki shook his head again. He had no idea either.

“Anyway,” I said, “let’s call Shoko when we get back and find out if Mariye has a penguin charm on her cell phone. She should know one way or the other.”

“You hold on to the penguin for now,” Menshiki said. I nodded and put it in my trouser pocket.

We replaced the boards, leaving the ladder resting against the wall of the pit. When we put the stones back I registered their exact positions in my mind. Then we headed home through the woods along the same path we had come on. I glanced at my watch—it was already past midnight. We said nothing, just shone our lights on our feet. We were both lost in thought.

As soon as we got back, Menshiki went to his Jaguar, opened the big trunk, and placed the lantern inside. Then he shut the trunk and, as if finally allowing himself to relax, leaned against it and looked up at the sky. The black sky in which nothing was visible.

“Do you mind if I come in for a few minutes?” he said. “It’d be hard for me to relax at home.”

“By all means. I don’t think I can sleep yet either.”

Menshiki’s eyes were still fixed on the sky. He seemed lost in thought.

“I can’t explain why,” I said, “but I can’t get rid of this feeling that something bad is happening to Mariye. And that she’s nearby.”

“But not in the pit, right?”

“I guess not.”

“What kind of bad thing?” Menshiki asked.

“That I don’t know. But I feel she’s in some kind of physical danger.”

“And that the danger is lurking somewhere close to here , right?”

“Right,” I said. “Near here. And it bothers me that the ladder was removed from the pit. Who took it, and why did they hide it in the grass? What does it all mean?”

Menshiki stood up and gave me another pat on the shoulder. “You’re right. I don’t know either. But worrying about it won’t get us anywhere. Let’s go inside.”

The moment we walked in the house I threw off my leather jacket and called Shoko. She picked up on the third ring.

“Anything new?” I asked.

“Mariye still hasn’t called.” I could hear her struggling to breathe normally.

“Have you contacted the police?”

“No, not yet. It still feels too early somehow. I keep thinking she’ll come wandering in the door…”

I described the plastic penguin we had found at the bottom of the pit. Without detailing how we’d found it, I asked if Mariye carried such an object with her.

“Yes, Mariye had a penguin attached to her cell phone. It was a penguin, I’m sure… yes. A penguin. Without doubt. A tiny plastic figurine. She got it in a donut shop. It came free with her order, but she treasured it. As if it were a kind of protective charm.”

“And she carried her phone wherever she went, correct?”

“Yes. It was turned off most of the time, but she always had it with her, yes. She didn’t receive calls, but occasionally she’d call to let me know when something came up.” Shoko paused for a moment. “Did you find it somewhere?”

I struggled to come up with an answer. If I told the truth, I’d have to tell her about the pit in the woods. If the police got involved, I would have to explain it to them as well—in a way they could swallow. Since the penguin was something she carried, they would comb the pit, even search the whole woods for further evidence. I would get the third degree, and Menshiki’s past would be brought into it. I couldn’t see how any of that would help. As Menshiki had said, it would just complicate things.

“I found it in the studio,” I said. I hated to lie, but I had to. “When I was sweeping the floor. I thought that it might be Mariye’s.”

“Yes, it’s hers. I’m sure,” said the girl’s aunt. “But then what should I do? Should I call the police?”

“Have you heard from your brother—I mean, Mariye’s father?”

“No, I haven’t been able to reach him,” she said hesitantly. “I have no idea where he is. He’s not someone who follows a regular schedule—I’m never sure if he’s coming home or not.”

The situation sounded complicated, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. I simply told her to inform the police of Mariye’s disappearance. It was after midnight, and the date had changed. It was possible that Mariye had been in some kind of accident. She said she’d call them right away.

“So Mariye still isn’t answering her cell phone?”

“No, she isn’t answering, though I’ve called her many times. It seems to be turned off. Or the batteries are dead. One or the other.”

“She left this morning for school, and she’s been missing ever since. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“Which means she should be in her school uniform, correct?”

“Yes, she should be. A navy-blue blazer and vest, a white blouse, a knee-length plaid skirt, white socks, and black loafers. Oh, and a plastic shoulder bag with the school’s name and emblem on it. She wasn’t wearing a coat.”