1Q84 (151 page)

He drank a glass of water and took a hot shower. He shampooed his hair thoroughly, cleaned his ears, clipped his nails. He took a new pair of underwear and a shirt from his drawer and put them on. He had to get rid of all the smells that clung to him, the smells of the cat town.
We all like you a lot here, but this isn’t a place you should stay for long
, Kumi Adachi had told him.

He had no appetite. He didn’t feel like working or opening a book. Listening to music held no appeal. His body was exhausted, but his nerves were on edge, so he knew that even if he lay down he wouldn’t get any sleep. Something about the silence seemed contrived.

It would be nice if Fuka-Eri were here
, Tengo thought.
I don’t care what silly, meaningless things she might talk about. Her fateful lack of intonation, the way her voice rose at the end of questions—it’s all fine by me. I haven’t heard her voice in a while and I miss it
. But Tengo knew that she wouldn’t be coming back to his apartment again. Why he knew this, he couldn’t say exactly. But he knew she would never be there again. Probably.

He wanted to talk with someone.
Anyone
. His older girlfriend would be nice, but he couldn’t reach her. She was
irretrievably lost
.

He dialed Komatsu’s office number, his direct extension, but nobody answered. After fifteen rings he gave up.

He tried to think of other people he could call, but there wasn’t anyone. He thought of calling Kumi, but realized he didn’t have her number.

His mind turned to a dark hole somewhere in the world, not yet filled in. Not such a big hole, but very deep.
If I look in that hole and speak loudly enough, would I be able to talk with my father? Will the dead tell me what the truth is?

“If you do that, you’ll never go anywhere,” Kumi Adachi had told him. “Better to think about the future.”

I don’t agree. That’s not all there is to it. Knowing the secret may not take me anywhere, but still, I have to know the reason why it won’t. If I truly understand the reason, maybe I will be able to go somewhere
.

Whether you are my real father or not doesn’t matter anymore
, Tengo said to the dark hole.
Either one is fine with me. Either way, you took a part of me with you to the grave, and I remain here with a part of you. That fact won’t change, whether we are related by blood or not. Enough time has passed for that to be the case, and the world has moved on
.

He thought he heard an owl hooting outside, but it was only his ears playing tricks on him.

“You won’t die that easily,” the man’s voice said from behind him. Like he had been reading Ushikawa’s mind. “You just lost consciousness for a moment. Though you were right on the edge of it.”

It was a voice he had never heard before. Neutral, utterly devoid of expression. Not too high or low, neither too hard nor too soft. The kind of voice that announces airplane departures or stock market reports.

What day of the week is it?
Ushikawa thought randomly.
Must be Monday night. No, technically it might already be Tuesday
.

“Ushikawa,” the man said. “You don’t mind if I call you Ushikawa, do you?”

Ushikawa didn’t reply. There was silence for a good twenty seconds. Then, without warning, the man gave him a short, clipped punch to his left kidney. Silent, but a punch with force behind it. Excruciating pain shot through his whole body. All his internal organs clenched, and until the pain had subsided a little he couldn’t breathe. Finally he was able to get out a dry wheeze.

“I asked you politely, and I expect a reply. If you still can’t talk, then just nod or shake your head. That’s enough. That’s what it means to be polite,” the man said. “It’s okay to call you Ushikawa?”

Ushikawa nodded several times.

“Ushikawa. An easy name to remember. I went through the wallet in your trousers. Your driver’s license and business cards were in there. Full-time Director, New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts. A pretty fancy title, wouldn’t you say? What would a Full-time Director of the New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts be doing shooting photos with a hidden camera in a place like this?”

Ushikawa was silent. He still couldn’t get the words out easily.

“You had best reply,” the man said. “Consider this a warning. If your kidney bursts, it’ll hurt like hell the rest of your life.”

“I’m doing surveillance on the residents,” Ushikawa finally managed to say. His voice was unsteady, cracking in spots. To him, blindfolded, it didn’t sound like his own.

“You mean Tengo Kawana.”

Ushikawa nodded.

“The Tengo Kawana who ghostwrote
Air Chrysalis
.”

Ushikawa nodded again and then had a fit of coughing. The man knew all this already.

“Who hired you to do this?” the man asked.

“Sakigake.”

“That much I could figure out, Ushikawa,” the man said. “The question is why, at this late date, Sakigake would want to keep watch over Tengo Kawana’s movements. Tengo Kawana can’t be that important to them.”

Ushikawa’s mind raced, trying to figure out who this man was and how much he knew. He didn’t know who the man was, but it was clear Sakigake hadn’t sent him. Whether that was good news or bad, Ushikawa didn’t know.

“There is a question pending,” the man said. He pressed a finger against Ushikawa’s left kidney. Very hard.

“There’s a woman he’s connected with,” Ushikawa groaned.

“Does this woman have a name?”

“Aomame.”

“Why are they pursuing Aomame?” the man asked.

“She brought harm to Leader, the head of Sakigake.”

“Brought harm,” the man said, as if verifying the phrase. “You mean she killed him, right? To put it more simply.”

“That’s right,” Ushikawa said. He knew he couldn’t hide anything from this man. Sooner or later he would have to talk.

“It’s a secret within the religion.”

“How many people in Sakigake know this secret?”

“A handful.”

“Including you.”

Ushikawa nodded.

“So you must occupy a very high position.”

“No,” Ushikawa said, and shook his head, his bruised kidney aching. “I’m simply a messenger. I just happened to find out about it.”

“In the wrong place at the wrong time. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I think so.”

“By the way, Ushikawa, are you working alone?”

Ushikawa nodded.

“I find that strange. Normally a team would conduct surveillance. To do a decent job of it, you would also need someone to run supplies, so three people at the minimum. And you’re already deeply connected with an organization. Doing it all alone strikes me as unnatural. In other words, I’m not exactly pleased with your reply.”

“I am not a follower of the religion,” Ushikawa said. His breathing had calmed down and he was finally able to speak close to normally. “I was hired by them. They call on me when they think it’s more convenient to hire an outsider.”

“As a Full-time Director of the New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts?”

“That’s just a front. There’s no such organization. It was mainly set up by Sakigake for tax purposes. I’m an individual contractor, with no ties to the religion. I just work for them.”

“A mercenary of sorts.”

“No, not a mercenary. I’m collecting information at their request. If anything rough needs to get done, it’s handled by other people.”

“So, Ushikawa, you were instructed by Sakigake to do surveillance here on Tengo, and probe into his connection with Aomame.”

“Correct.”

“No,” the man said. “That’s the wrong answer. If Sakigake knew for a fact that there’s a connection between Aomame and Tengo Kawana, they wouldn’t have sent you by yourself on the stakeout. They would have put together a team of their own people. That would reduce the chance for mistakes, and they could resort to force if need be.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I’m just doing what the people above me told me to do. Why they’re having me do it alone, I have no idea.” The pitch of Ushikawa’s voice was still unsteady, and it cracked in places.

If he finds out that Sakigake doesn’t yet know the connection between Aomame and Tengo
, Ushikawa thought,
I might be whacked right here and now. If I’m no longer in the picture, then nobody will be any the wiser about their connection
.

“I’m not very fond of incorrect answers,” the man said in a chilly tone. “I think you of all people are well aware of that. I wouldn’t mind giving your kidney another punch, but if I hit you hard my hand will hurt, and permanently damaging your kidney isn’t what I came here to do. I have no personal animosity toward you. I have just one goal, to get the right answer. So I’m going to try a different approach. I’m sending you to the bottom of the sea.”

The bottom of the sea?
Ushikawa thought.
What is this guy talking about?

The man pulled something out of his pocket. There was a rustling sound like plastic rubbing together, and then something covered Ushikawa’s head. A plastic bag, the thick freezer bag kind. Then a thick, large rubber band was wrapped around his neck.
This guy is trying to suffocate me
, Ushikawa realized. He tried breathing in but got a mouthful of plastic instead. His nostrils were blocked as well. His lungs were screaming for air, but there wasn’t any. The plastic molded tight to his whole face like a death mask. Soon all his muscles started to convulse violently. He tried to reach out to rip away the bag, but his hands wouldn’t move. They were tied tight behind his back. His brain blew up like a balloon and felt ready to explode. He tried to scream. He
had
to get air. But no sound came out. His tongue filled his mouth as his consciousness drained away.

Finally the rubber band was taken from his neck, the plastic bag peeled away from his head. Ushikawa desperately gulped down the air in front of him. For a few minutes he bent forward, breathing mightily, like an animal lunging at something just out of reach.

“How was the bottom of the sea?” the man asked after Ushikawa’s breathing had settled down. His voice was, as before, expressionless. “You went quite deep down. I imagine you saw all sorts of things you’ve never seen before. A valuable experience.”

Ushikawa couldn’t respond. His voice wouldn’t come.

“Ushikawa, as I have said a number of times, I am looking for the correct answer. So I’ll ask you once again: Were you instructed by Sakigake to track Tengo Kawana’s movements and search for his connection with Aomame? This is a critical point. A person’s life is on the line. Think carefully before you answer. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Sakigake doesn’t know about this,” Ushikawa managed to stammer.

“Good, that’s the correct answer. Sakigake doesn’t know yet about the connection between Aomame and Tengo Kawana. You haven’t told them yet. Is that correct?”

Ushikawa nodded.

“If you had answered correctly from the start, you wouldn’t have had to visit the bottom of the sea. Pretty awful, wasn’t it?”

Ushikawa nodded.

“I know. I went through the same thing once,” the man said, as easily as if he were chatting about some trivial gossip. “Only people who have experienced it know how horrible it really is. You can’t easily generalize about pain. Each kind of pain has its own characteristics. To rephrase Tolstoy’s famous line, all happiness is alike, but each pain is painful in its own way. I wouldn’t go so far, though, as to say you
savor
it. Don’t you agree?”

Ushikawa nodded. He was still panting a little.

The man went on. “So let’s be frank with each other, and totally honest. Does that sound like a good idea, Ushikawa?”

Ushikawa nodded.

“Any more incorrect answers and I’ll have you take another walk on the bottom of the sea. A longer, more leisurely stroll this time. We’ll push the envelope a bit more. If we botch it, you might not come back. I don’t think you want to go there. What do you say, Ushikawa?”

Ushikawa shook his head.

“It seems like we have one thing in common,” the man said. “We’re both lone wolves. Or maybe dogs who got separated from the pack? Rogue operators who don’t fit in with society. People who have an instinctive dislike of organizations, or aren’t accepted by any organization. We take care of business alone—decide things on our own, take action on our own, take responsibility on our own. We take orders from above, but have no colleagues or subordinates. All we depend on is our brain and our abilities. Do I have it right?”

Ushikawa nodded.

The man continued. “That’s our strength, but also at times our weak point. For example, in this case I think you were a little too eager to be successful. You wanted to sort it out by yourself, without informing Sakigake. You wanted to wrap things up neatly and take all the credit. That’s why you let your guard down, isn’t it?”

Ushikawa nodded once more.

“Why did you have to take things that far?”

“Because it was my fault Leader died.”

“How so?”

“I’m the one who ran the background check on Aomame. I did a thorough check on her before letting her see Leader. And I couldn’t find anything suspicious at all.”

“But she got close to Leader hoping to kill him, and actually did deliver a fatal blow. You messed up your assignment, and you knew that someday you would have to answer for it. You’re just a disposable outsider, after all. And you know too much for your own good. To survive this, you knew you had to deliver Aomame’s head to them. Am I correct?”

Ushikawa nodded.

“Sorry about that,” the man said.

Sorry about that?
Ushikawa’s misshapen head pondered this. Then it came to him.

“Are you the one who planned Leader’s murder?” he asked.

The man didn’t respond. But Ushikawa took his silence as not necessarily a denial.