1Q84 (26 page)

Aomame was impressed with Ayumi’s precise powers of observation. She must have taken all this in quite unnoticed while chatting away with Aomame. Maybe it was worth being a member of the police family.

“The one with the thinning hair is more to your taste, isn’t he?” Ayumi asked. “I’ll take the stocky one, okay?”

Aomame glanced backward again. The head shape of the thin-haired one was more or less acceptable—light-years away from Sean Connery, but worth a passing grade. She couldn’t ask too much on a night like this, with nothing but Queen and
ABBA
to listen to all evening.

“That’s fine with me,” Aomame said, “but how are you going to get them to invite us to join them?”

“Not by waiting for the sun to come up, that’s for sure! We crash their party, all smiles.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am! Just leave it to me—I’ll go over and start up a conversation. You wait here.” Ayumi took a healthy swig of her Tom Collins and rubbed her palms together. Then she slung her Gucci bag over her shoulder and put on a brilliant smile.

“Okay, time for a little nightstick practice.”

The Professor turned to Fuka-Eri and said, “Sorry to bother you, Eri, but could you make us some tea?”

The girl stood up and left the reception room. The door closed quietly behind her. The Professor waited, saying nothing, while Tengo, seated on the sofa, brought his breathing under control and regained a normal state of consciousness. The Professor removed his black-framed glasses and, after wiping them with a not-very-clean-looking handkerchief, put them back on. Beyond the window, some kind of small, black thing shot across the sky. A bird, possibly. Or it might have been someone’s soul being blown to the far side of the world.

“I’m sorry,” Tengo said. “I’m all right now. Just fine. Please go on with what you were saying.”

The Professor nodded and began to speak. “There was nothing left of Akebono after that violent gun battle. That happened in 1981, three years ago—four years after Eri came here to live. But the Akebono problem has nothing to do with what I’m telling you now.

“Eri was ten years old when she started living with us. She just showed up on our doorstep one day without warning, utterly changed from the Eri I had known until then. True, she had never been very talkative, and she would not open up to strangers, but she had always been fond of me and talked freely with me even as a toddler. When she first showed up here, though, she was in no condition to talk to anybody. She seemed to have lost the power to speak at all. The most she could do was nod or shake her head when we asked her questions.”

The Professor was speaking more clearly and rapidly now. Tengo sensed that he was trying to move his story ahead while Fuka-Eri was out of the room.

“We could see that Eri had had a terrible time finding her way to us up here in the mountains. She was carrying some cash and a sheet of paper with our address written on it, but she had grown up in those isolated surroundings and she couldn’t really speak. Even so, she had managed, with the memo in hand, to make all the necessary transfers and find her way to our doorstep.

“We could see immediately that something awful had happened to her. Azami and the woman who helps me out here took care of her. After Eri had been with us a few days and calmed down somewhat, I called the Sakigake commune and asked to speak with Fukada, but I was told that he was ‘unable to come to the phone.’ I asked what the reason for that might be, but couldn’t get them to tell me. So then I asked to speak to Mrs. Fukada and was told that she couldn’t come to the phone either. I couldn’t speak with either of them.”

“Did you tell the person on the phone that you had Eri with you?”

The Professor shook his head. “No, I had a feeling I’d better keep quiet about that as long as I couldn’t tell Fukada directly. Of course after that I tried to get in touch with him any number of times, using every means at my disposal, but nothing worked.”

Tengo knit his brow. “You mean to say you haven’t been able to contact her parents even once in seven years?”

The Professor nodded. “Not once. Seven years without a word.”

“And her parents never once tried to find their daughter’s whereabouts in seven years?”

“I know, it’s absolutely baffling. The Fukadas loved and treasured Eri more than anything. And if Eri was going to go to someone for help, this was the only possible place. Both Fukada and his wife had cut their ties with their families, and Eri grew up without knowing either set of grandparents. We’re the only people she could come to. Her parents had even told her this is where she should come if anything ever happened to them. In spite of that, I haven’t heard a word. It’s unthinkable.”

Tengo asked, “Didn’t you say before that Sakigake was an open commune?”

“I did indeed. Sakigake had functioned consistently as an open commune since its founding, but shortly before Eri escaped it had begun moving gradually toward a policy of confinement from the outside. I first became aware of this when I started hearing less frequently from Fukada. He had always been a faithful correspondent, sending me long letters about goings-on in the commune or his current thoughts and feelings. At some point they just stopped coming, and my letters were never answered. I tried calling, but they would never put him on the phone. And the few times they did, we had only the briefest, most limited conversations. Fukada’s remarks were brusque, as if he was aware that someone was listening to us.”

The Professor clasped his hands on his knees.

“I went out to Sakigake a few times myself. I needed to talk to Fukada about Eri, and since neither letters nor phone calls worked, the only thing left for me to do was to go directly to the place. But they wouldn’t let me into the compound. Far from it—they chased me away from the gate. Nothing I said had any effect on them. By then they had built a high fence around the entire compound, and all outsiders were sent packing.

“There was no way to tell from the outside what was happening in the commune. If it were Akebono, I could see the need for secrecy. They were aiming for armed revolution, and they had a lot to hide. But Sakigake was peacefully running an organic farm, and they had always adopted a consistently friendly posture toward the outside world, which was why the locals liked them. But the place had since become an absolute fortress. The attitude and even the facial expressions of the people inside had totally changed. The local people were just as stymied as I was by the change in Sakigake. I was worried sick that something terrible had happened to Fukada and his wife, but all I could do was take Eri under my wing. Since then, seven years have gone by, with the situation as murky as ever.”

“You mean, you don’t even know if Fukada is alive?” Tengo asked.

“Not even that much,” the Professor said with a nod. “I have no way of knowing. I’d rather not think the worst, but I haven’t heard a word from Fukada in seven years. Under ordinary circumstances, that would be unthinkable. I can only imagine that something has happened to them.” He lowered his voice. “Maybe they’re being held in there against their will. Or possibly it’s even worse than that.”

” ‘Even worse’?”

“I’m saying that not even the worst possibility can be excluded. Sakigake is no longer a peaceful farming community.”

“Do you think the Sakigake group has started to move in a dangerous direction?”

“I do. The locals tell me that the number of people going in and out of there is much larger than it used to be. Cars are constantly coming and going, most of them with Tokyo license plates, and a lot of them are big luxury sedans you don’t often see in the country. The number of people in the commune has also suddenly increased, it seems. So has the number of buildings and facilities, too, all fully equipped. They’re increasingly aggressive about buying up the surrounding land at low prices, and bringing in tractors and excavation equipment and concrete mixers and such. They still do farming, which is probably their most important source of income. The Sakigake brand of vegetables is better known than ever, and the commune is shipping them directly to restaurants that capitalize on their use of natural ingredients. They also have contractual agreements with high-quality supermarkets. Their profits must have been rising all the while, but in parallel with that, they have apparently also been making steady progress in
something
other than farming. It’s inconceivable that sales of produce are the only thing financing the large-scale expansion they have been undergoing. Whatever this other thing they’re developing may be, their absolute secrecy has given the local people the impression that it must be something they can’t reveal to the general public.”

“Does this mean they’ve started some kind of political activity again?” Tengo asked.

“I doubt it,” the Professor answered without hesitation. “Sakigake always moved on a separate axis from the political realm. It was for that very reason that at one point they had to let the Akebono group go.”

“Yes, but after that, something happened inside Sakigake that made it necessary for Eri to escape.”

“Something did happen,” the Professor said. “Something of great significance. Something that made her leave her parents behind and run away by herself. But she has never said a word about it.”

“Maybe she can’t put it into words because it was too great a shock, or it somehow scarred her for life.”

“No, she’s never had that air about her, that she had experienced a great shock or that she was afraid of something or that she was uneasy being alone and separated from her parents. She’s just impassive. Still, she adapted to living here without a problem—almost too easily.”

The Professor glanced toward the door and then returned his gaze to Tengo.

“Whatever happened to Eri, I didn’t want to pry it out of her. I felt that what she needed was time. So I didn’t question her. I pretended I wasn’t concerned about her silence. She was always with Azami. After Azami came home from school, they would rush through dinner and shut themselves up in their room. What they would do in there, I have no idea. Maybe they found a way to converse when they were alone together. I just let them do as they pleased, without intruding. Aside from Eri’s not speaking, her living with us presented no problem. She was a bright child, and she did what she was told. She and Azami were inseparable. Back then, though, Eri couldn’t go to school. She couldn’t speak a word. I couldn’t very well send her to school that way.”

“Was it just you and Azami before that?”

“My wife died about ten years ago,” the Professor said, pausing for a moment. “She was killed in a car crash. Instantly. A rear-ender. The two of us were left alone. We have a distant relative, a woman, who lives nearby and helps us run the house. She also looks after both girls. Losing my wife like that was terrible, for Azami and for me. It happened so quickly, we had no way to prepare ourselves. So whatever brought Eri to us, we were glad to have her. Even if we couldn’t hold a conversation with her, just having her in the house was strangely calming to both of us. Over these seven years, Eri has, though very slowly, regained the use of words. To other people, she may sound odd or abnormal, but we can see she has made remarkable progress.”

“Does she go to school now?” Tengo asked.

“No, not really. She’s officially registered, but that’s all. Realistically speaking, it was impossible for her to keep up with school. I gave her individual instruction in my spare time, and so did students of mine who came to the house. What she got was very fragmentary, of course, nothing you could call a systematic education. She couldn’t read books on her own, so we would read out loud to her whenever we could, and I would give her books on tape. That is about the sum total of the education she has received. But she’s a startlingly bright girl. Once she has made up her mind to learn something, she can absorb it very quickly, deeply, and effectively. Her abilities on that score are amazing. But if something doesn’t interest her, she won’t look at it twice. The difference is huge.”

The reception room door was still not opening. It was taking quite a bit of time for Eri to boil water and make tea.

Tengo said, “I gather Eri dictated the story
Air Chrysalis
to Azami. Is that correct?”

“As I said before, Eri and Azami would always shut themselves in their room at night, and I didn’t know what they were doing. They had their secrets. It does seem, however, that at some point, Eri’s storytelling became a major part of their communication. Azami would take notes or record Eri’s story and then type it into the computer in my study. Eri has gradually been recovering her ability to experience emotion since then, I think. Her apathy was like a membrane that covered everything, but that has been fading. Some degree of expression has returned to her face, and she is more like the happy little girl we used to know.”

“So she is on the road to recovery?”

“Well, not entirely. It’s still very uneven. But in general, you’re right. Her recovery may well have begun with her telling of her story.”

Tengo thought about this for a time. Then he changed the subject.

“Did you talk to the police about the loss of contact with Mr. and Mrs. Fukada?”

“Yes, I went to the local police. I didn’t tell them about Eri, but I did say that I had been unable to get in touch with my friends inside for a long time and I feared they were possibly being held against their will. At the time, they said there was nothing they could do. The Sakigake compound was private property, and without clear evidence that criminal activity had taken place there, they were unable to set foot inside. I kept after them, but they wouldn’t listen to me. And then, after 1979, it became truly impossible to mount a criminal investigation inside Sakigake.”

“Something happened in 1979?” Tengo asked.

“That was the year that Sakigake was granted official recognition as a religion.”