Another, Vol. 2 (24 page)

“Yeah…But…”

“But what?…You found that tape and I found out that there was still a way to stop the ‘disasters,’ so…that’s why.”

That’s why…Yes, she had truly wrestled with it.

If we returned “the casualty” to Death, the “disasters” would stop. Who was that “extra person”?
She could already see who it was.
So then what should she do? What did she need to do?

In order to solidify her own resolve, she’d wanted to hear what was on Katsumi Matsunaga’s tape for herself and confirm what he’d said. And before she did that, she’d looked at the group photo of third-year Class 3 from twenty-six years ago with her own eyes and confirmed that Misaki Yomiyama had the “color of death” in that picture. This was how she had worked through things on her own and made the decision alone, and tried to put an end to everything by herself…

“Before, when I called you from the hospital,” I said, changing the subject slightly, “I tried calling your cell phone first, but I couldn’t get through.”

“Yeah. After the trip, I threw it into the river.”

Mei said it so casually.

“I told Kirika…told my mom that I lost it in the fire.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because although I do think it’s convenient, it’s still an awful machine. There’s no reason people need to be that connected to each other all the time.”

Smiling faintly as she answered, Mei Misaki fit exactly the impression I’d formed of her that day at the end of April when I’d first run into her by the elevators in the inpatient ward.

“Still, she’ll probably force me to get a new one soon.”

“When she does, can I call you sometimes?”

“Only if it’s sometimes,” Mei replied, smiling faintly again.

Want to go visit some art museums in Tokyo together one of these days?
I tried to say the words, but I swallowed them again.

One of these days…How far in the future would that be from this moment? I no longer felt a vague apprehension about that, like I had before.

One of these days…I knew I would see Mei someday. That’s what I thought. Even after I left this town the following spring, I knew it. Even if we didn’t make a promise right then and there. Even if the
connection
I felt right then got broken somehow. One of these days, I knew we would meet again.

After that, we looked together at the photos Mochizuki had given me.

There were two of them. The first was the one Mochizuki had taken. The other was the one Teshigawara had taken. In the bottom right corner of the shot were numbers, showing the date the pictures were taken.

In both, there were five people in the picture.

The gatepost of the Sakitani Memorial Hall was in the center, and one photo showed, in order from right to left, me, Mei, Kazami, Teshigawara, and Ms. Mikami—Reiko. The other one showed Mochizuki in place of Teshigawara and, per Teshigawara’s instructions, he was right up against his “beloved Ms. Mikami”…

“Reiko shows up.”

Still staring at the photos, I said it aloud to confirm the fact with Mei.

“I guess Mochizuki couldn’t see her.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Any
color
?” I asked. “How does Reiko look?”

In response, Mei removed the eye patch from her left eye and took another look at the photo. Then, quietly, she answered, “It’s the ‘color of death.’”

“…Oh.”

I slid out of bed and got to my feet to open the window of my room a little. Outside it was bright and sunny, but for some reason the breeze that blew in felt surprisingly chilly.

“I wonder if we’re going to start forgetting soon, too,” I said, turning to look at Mei. “Of course we’ll forget what happened that night on the trip. But we’ll start to forget everything else that involves Reiko Mikami that happened between April and that night, too. Like Mochizuki and the rest of them.”

…Even the fact that I had, with my own hands, returned her to Death.

“And even if we do like Matsunaga did fifteen years ago and leave behind a recording of the facts we remember or write them down somewhere, the most important parts will probably disappear, like they did on that tape.”

“Maybe, yeah.”

Returning her eye patch to its place, Mei gave a small, mute nod. Then she asked me a question.

“Do you want to remember it that badly? You never want to forget?”

“…I don’t know.”

Forgetting would be better. I felt that way, too. Even now, a pain, distinct from the issues with my lung, lingered deep in my chest. If it meant that pain would disappear completely…Maybe. But still…

I turned slowly back to the window. I still had the two photos in my hands. Dropping my gaze to the photos just once…I went into a reverie.

I didn’t know if it would happen in a few days, a few months, or even after a few years. But if all the information about the “extra person” from this year disappeared from my memories someday…

That day…

What would I see in the blank spot that would arise in these photos? What would I feel about it?

Another breeze blew in through the window, ruffling my hair. It really was unexpectedly chilly.

The final gust of the midsummer breeze.
With that phrase flowing through my mind, the summer when I was fifteen was coming to an end.

The End

I think it was the beginning of 2006 when I first began refining the concept behind
Another
in earnest.

I received a gracious request from the editorial department at Kadokawa Shoten for a full-length horror novel to follow up
The Last Memory
, which was published in 2002. As a result, the decision was made to begin a serial publication in Kadokawa’s
Yasei Jidai
digest that year, when the time was right. I’d casually decided to try my hand at a school-based horror story that turned on a
certain motif
I’d been cooking up for a while at that point—but that was all I’d done. I didn’t know where I would go from there. This was the situation when, on a certain day in the latter part of March, my editors—I had two at the time—both came all the way to Kyoto to crack the whip. On this same day,
a certain core idea
had struck me out of the blue while I was in the shower before setting out to meet them. It felt meaty enough that I thought,
I can work with this.
The place where I discussed my idea with the two editors—I remember, it was an atmospheric restaurant called “Shishigatani Sanso”—has since closed. Memories.

At the time, my interest in what are called ball-jointed dolls had risen again. When I went to Tokyo, I had visited a doll gallery in Shibuya called “Maria Cuore” and come face-to-face, alone, with the dolls of Katan Amano and Koitsukihime. It was roughly the same time that I happened to discover the anime and comic series
Rozen Maiden
and started listening to ALI PROJECT.

And onto the evolving “site” of my brain, getting all these things into some sort of order, came the movies
Joshua
,
The Others
, and
Final Destination
; the novel
The Sixth Sayoko
by Riku Onda; and many other works gathering together all kinds of images that I just loved. The story that would bring to life the motif and the idea I’d started out with came together all on its own—so it seemed to me.

It wound up being serialized in
Yasei Jidai
from the July 2006 issue through the May 2009 issue, with several skipped installments in between. It was around three years from the time I began writing until it was complete. Despite many hardships, looking back, I more or less treasure the time I spent with my young friends in the imaginary town of Yomiyama.

To be honest, the magnitude of the reaction following publication of the book in October 2009 surprised me a little.

There were strangely enthusiastic cheers from readers of the classical mysteries I had mainly done before, but also jubilation from new young readers, as well…And alongside my surprise, I also felt quite encouraged by that.

The developments that followed were thoroughly unexpected, as well. A manga, an anime TV series, a live-action movie…Such a variety of plans being put into motion in such a short time was the result of all of you, engaged in all kinds of media, being excitedly drawn into the story of
Another
.

Given that context, this story that I wrote twenty-two years after my debut holds a very special place in my heart. I still indulge in the conceit that it’s my “new magnum opus.” And now, on the occasion of this slightly-earlier-than-normal publication in a paperback edition, I think it would be so much fun if it allows even more people to get drawn into the story, too.

Over the course of bringing
Another
from the planning stages through to today, I owe thanks first of all to Ms. Akiko Kaneko, at my great publisher, Kadokawa Shoten. Thanks also to Ms. Shiho Enda, who provided the cover design, as well as on the first book, and to the bookbinder Ms. Kumi Suzuki. Thanks to Mr. Sei Hatsuno for providing his analysis at the end of this volume, despite his busy schedule. And—yes—a huge thanks also to “Maria Cuore,” which closed its doors much to my regret this fall, and to the many people I met within its walls.

To be honest, I have several concepts scurrying around in my brain for another story set in Yomiyama, or a side-story sort of thing featuring Koichi and Mei, or for a sequel following the next phase of the “Yomiyama phenomenon.” I’m not sure at all yet whether those ideas will ever be realized; but, well, I suppose that, too, is up to what you, the audience, wants to see.

In any case…

I hope you enjoy
Another
, to start off with.

It is difficult for novelists to critique novels objectively—and a towering novelist who continues to lead the pack in the mystery genre even more so. Or, should I say, it’s beyond me. So when I took on the job of writing the analysis for this book, I honestly felt intimidated. But I resolved to pick up my pen with the idea that perhaps I might be able to convey something in my role as a part-time novelist who wears the mask of a businessman by day. Half of me works a desk job and is a reader of these books, and so I write of Mr. Ayatsuji not as a colleague, but as a mentor.

In searching for a visual metaphor of Mr. Ayatsuji’s novels, I think first of all of optical illusions.

Famous examples of what I mean include the “Young Girl/Old Woman” and the “Rabbit/Duck.” But there are some pictures, the mysterious ones, in which people above a certain age see one thing, and the young see another. Take the picture “Message d’Amour des Dauphins” by the Swiss artist Sandro Del Prete. When I visited the R&D center for a certain home electronics manufacturer as part of my work, someone engaged in research into illumination and the brain told me about it.

The subject of the painting is a corked bottle. If you show the picture to a young child not yet in adolescence, all the child will see in the bottle is nine dolphins. But people past adolescence won’t see the dolphins no matter how hard they look. What they see instead is an image of a naked man and woman in a sensual embrace, which doesn’t occur to the young child. For those interested, I offer the URL of the artist’s home page:
http://www.sandrodelprete.com/index.php/home/

I believe that Mr. Ayatsuji’s novel has a similar form. In the metaphor of the optical illusion, readers turn the picture on its head and try looking at it from different angles hoping to discover a different way of interpreting the image. But because they lack the information necessary to see it as a different image, or because they haven’t picked up on it, they are unable to recognize the hidden picture. Artful foreshadowing allows readers to get as far as an uneasy feeling, but they crane their necks again and again doubtfully. Then in the closing scenes where the conclusive information is provided, everything ties together and a different picture emerges that they never could have imagined from the picture they saw at first.

I need to go back over ten years to say when I first experienced such a “he got me” moment.  It was when I read Mr. Ayatsuji’s debut story,
Murder in the Decagon Hall
, whose influence still lingers in Japanese mystery fiction. It’s no exaggeration to say that I still vividly remember the shock it gave me, greater even than Ellery Queen’s book
Drury Lane’s Last Case
. I fell into a panic at
that part
. It’s true. I was shown a completely different picture and, for one second, I couldn’t comprehend what had happened. Those who have read it will sympathize, I’m sure. In my experience of reading many books, I believe that the sensation of losing your cool and sighing in ecstasy after finishing a story, and the hunger that comes after, are privileges that only a well-made classical mystery can give.

Another
is a school-based horror and classical mystery novel with a right to be called Mr. Ayatsuji’s new masterpiece. I’ll discuss the story itself soon, but an editor at Kadokawa Shoten told me that a wide-scale media expansion is planned for 2012, including an anime TV series and a live-action film. This is welcome news for longtime Ayatsuji fans. At last, his time has come. Go ahead and do a little dance. The ranks of people intrigued by this author, and the number of people in the younger generation who will consider reading this story, will increase. What’s so great about that, you ask? I read this in a magazine article long ago: There was once a person who had the following words for someone who had never listened to the Beatles. “I’m jealous of you. You get to have the amazing experience of hearing the Beatles and being moved for the first time.” Those are words I could say to a person who might become interested in Mr. Ayatsuji’s works through the anime or movie. “I’m jealous of you. You get to have the experience of reading Yukito Ayatsuji’s novels for the first time and having your jaw drop.” In being taken up by the next generation of readers, from one fan to another, the role this book has to play is a great one.

I really am jealous of the people who will read Mr. Ayatsuji’s many novels for the first time because of this book. What unifies his work is a commitment to the unpredictable conclusion. There’s the newest entry in the nine-volume “Hall” series,
Murder in the Hall of Unearthly Faces
, slated for release in January 2012; the great
Mystery at Kirigoshi Estate
, which uses the will of the hall itself as a metaphor;
The Murder Equation
series, that unthinkable thing, a mystery with mathematics; the
Slaughtering Spirit
series, done up in the splatter horror genre;
A Whisper of Scarlet
, which runs in the same vein as
Another
; and many, many more. Aside from these, two stories included in the short story collection
Dondon Bridge Came Falling Down
—the title story and
Fall of the House of Isono
—are shocking in every meaning of the word. The collection is a must-read. The grit and conviction of Mr. Ayatsuji to give his life for the mystery story, ready to do anything to catch the reader off guard—yes, even that comes across clearly. I recommend it to anyone who dreams of writing a novel themselves. Also worthy of consultation because Mr. Ayatsuji is so gifted at differentiating his characters. They are easy to place as “pieces” constructing not reality, but a mystery. It makes clear what is most important in fiction.

Let’s move on to an introduction of the books.

The story turns on the “curse” (though it’s nowhere as simplistic as that. We could swap the word out for “irrational phenomenon” or “superstition.” But in this analysis, the word “curse” will become necessary at the end, and so I use it here) plaguing third-year Class 3 at Yomiyama North Middle, the protagonist, “Koichi Sakakibara,” who transfers into the class, and the mysterious girl in the eye patch, “Mei Misaki.” One after another, people with a connection to the class are pulled into misfortune and the characters struggle to resist it.

What leaves the greatest impression in the early stages of the story is, perhaps, Mei Misaki’s line when the protagonist first encounters her: “Half my body is waiting there, the poor thing.” I read this part in the mind-set of a novelist and thought to myself, “Ah, so this character is the type that won’t act selfishly.” Thinking about it more, the same could be said for all of Mr. Ayatsuji’s novels. I don’t think he ever creates a novel where the characters act selfishly. I believe this is a critical element in creating the optical illusions I discussed earlier. It saves the worlds so meticulously created from destruction. It causes the reader to not empathize overmuch. He draws a clear line. Telling the reader, Please enjoy the show from your seat in the audience. A fitting conclusion is being prepared.

When a murderer has appeared in Mr. Ayatsuji’s past work, answers to the questions of why (the “whydunit”) and how a murder was committed (the “howdunit”) and who the murderer was (the “whodunit”) come out in a logical progression (even to the point of using mathematical equations) to reveal the truth, but the trick to this book is different. No murder with a clear motive ever occurs. There are accidents and suicides, but these occur not because of the will of a third party but due to a curse.

Another
shares this aspect, in which “people living in a specific range may become targets of an indiscriminate death,” with
Slaughtering Spirit
. In that sense, it is possible to identify the book as a work of horror; however, the story also includes an element that resembles the search for the suspect. The origins of the curse become clear in the middle section of the story, but the foreshadowing up until the truth is revealed is intricate, allowing the reader to experience an unabashed sensation of “he got me!” Thus I believe these books must be characterized as “a melding of horror and mystery.” Plus, one can even glimpse an aspect of the tale of adolescence in the perverse and inexplicable nature of the curse. Thus does it become a masterpiece in Mr. Ayatsuji’s catalog, serving a wide range of readers. Those who have yet to read it absolutely must, and join us in our Ayatsuji addiction. I apologize, but of course there is no cure.

I’ve come this far in my analysis before glancing at the clock, and I see it’s almost time for me to go to work. I recall now that I have an appointment with an initiative client all morning…These are the troubled thoughts of a part-time novelist. I’ll try to ride my momentum to close this out.

At the ceremony for the Seishi Yokomizo Grand Prize for Mystery, sponsored by Kadokawa Shoten, there are times when Mr. Ayatsuji, who has long served on the selection committee, will put a genuine curse on the winner. Speaking very frankly and kindly, the man will throw out both hands and present a message implying, “I hope someday you write at least one story that lets you say, ‘This is my definitive mystery.’” Since this occurs in public, in the middle of the reception surrounded by journalists, recipients who are unprepared have hastily thrown their chests out and replied, “I do, too.” For the record, I was one of the recipients he laid this curse on.

Even in a novel, I believe that the creation of a classical mystery in particular is an endeavor without end. I write and I write, but it’s not quite there. Next time, for sure. The difficulty of giving life to a work that could serve as my introduction is something I became starkly aware of after becoming a professional. His curse is one to keep us from losing our taste for the challenge, even after ten or twenty years. It’s a curse I pray is never broken.