The Gate of Sorrows (20 page)

Masao looked at him with surprise. “I see you know a lot about this. You’re absolutely right. But traumatized children don’t draw accurately proportioned human figures in this sort of pose. They draw distorted figures, or people without faces, like a Japanese monster.”

“Is this well done, for a five-year-old?”

“Extremely. That’s why I think there’s something to be said for Kenji’s opinion. The girl saw it and it made a strong impression on her. That’s why she was able to draw it so well.”

Was that what Kenji meant when he’d said the sketch was fascinating? But where was the connection with Kozaburo Ino and the others who were missing? Such creatures didn’t actually exist. She had obviously seen it somewhere, in a painting or as a sculpture. Was the place where such artwork could be found the key to solving the mystery?

“Her name is Mana.” Masao traced the Chinese characters on the tabletop. “Ma” from the character for true. “Na” from the character for blossom.

“Mother and child lived in desperate poverty, but they seem to have been very close. Even now, Mana sometimes seems to be searching for her mother. She doesn’t understand that her mother is dead.”

“That’s so sad,” Kotaro murmured.

The phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. It was Seigo. Not a mail; a voice call.

“Hello, it’s Kotaro.” He waved “sorry” to Masao and went outside to take the call. It was lucky that he did. Seigo got right to the point.

“They found his phone. It wasn’t off—it was smashed. That’s why we couldn’t get through to him.”

“Where did they find it?”

“At the bottom of a gap between an apartment house and another building in Ida. The gap was only about a foot wide. There’s a gas meter back there. The meter reader found it and turned it in at a police box.

“It was completely crushed. Not working at all. But the police were able to read the data. They called his parents and the office.”

“I’m surprised they were able to do that.”

“Some of the younger cops are pretty handy at that kind of thing. Apparently it didn’t look like it was just dropped. And it was found in a strange place. That’s probably why they investigated. Anyway, we’ll be filing a missing-persons report today. I contacted his parents and they asked us to proceed. His father’s coming to Tokyo.”

“Okay. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

“Listen Ko-Prime, I don’t know where you are right now, but—”

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything rash. I’m leaving it to the police.” He pressed
END
and went back inside.

“Is Ida nearby?” he asked Masao.

He looked puzzled. “No, it’s a subway stop away from here. I think Ida is near the west exit of Shinjuku Station.”

“They found Kenji’s smartphone there.” As Kotaro gave him the details, Masao went pale.

“Mana and her mother lived in Ida. It’s an old section of town. Years and years ago it was nothing but low-rent apartments and little shops, but it’s mostly built up now. There are still a few old apartment houses that for one reason or another were never torn down. There are pockets of the past all around the west side of Shinjuku Station.”

“Mr. Ohba.” Kotaro sat up straight. “My request still stands. Please let me talk to Mana. I promise not to say anything to frighten her. I give you my word.”

Masao looked at Kotaro for a long time and said nothing. He stood up.

The landlord of Asahi House lived in a rambling old mansion that was rare in modern Tokyo, especially so close to Shinjuku’s Imperial Gardens.

“Kotaro, this is Mr. Nagasaki and his sister, Hatsuko.”

The landlord was a small, silver-haired old man. He and his sister shared a strong family likeness. Hatsuko’s hair was frosted light purple.

“Somehow we just can’t seem to turn down a request from you, Mr. Ohba,” Hatsuko Nagasaki said in a slightly sharp tone. She scrutinized Kotaro from behind lenses tinted the color of her hair. “If this means Mana-chan might actually speak, then I suppose there’s nothing we can do but try.”

“Thank you. I’m grateful,” Masao sounded just as eager as Kotaro to find out if something could be done, if not more.

“Our little angel artist is drawing right now,” Hatsuko said.

They left the entryway and walked down a long, winding corridor past a bank of windows that looked out over a sere winter garden. The landlord led the way, slippers flapping on the wood floor.

If these people are this rich, why didn’t they do something for an impoverished young mother and her child before it was too late? She was your tenant. She was in trouble. Aren’t landlords obliged to do more than just collect rent?

Kotaro struggled to swallow his anger before it burst into the open. The corridor snaked on interminably, making him feel even worse.

He knew it wasn’t simple. There was a limit to how much one person can help another. Once you start, you can’t stop. Whom do you help and whom do you abandon? The whole purpose of a social welfare system was to relieve individuals of the need to make those decisions.

At the end of the corridor was a small room, bright with sunshine. As Nagasaki entered, he clapped his hands lightly and said, “Mana-chan, you have visitors.”

It was the ideal room for a child, like something out of a childcare magazine. Mana sat on the floor at a little round table, gripping a crayon. The table was scattered with sheets of drawing paper. A woman dressed casually in sweater and jeans sat next to her, also holding a crayon. They were both drawing flowers. The pictures were colorful and full of life.

“This is Ms. Sato. She’s a childcare specialist.”

Kotaro bowed slightly to the woman, who acknowledged him with a nod. She looked about thirty. She was plump and gentle-looking, but her eyes followed Kotaro with watchful alertness.

Kotaro knew that the only reason someone as green as he was had gotten this far was the landlord’s trust in Masao. That trust was based on a special relationship between an officer of a religious organization and a believer. The smallest misstep would put an end to the visit. He had to proceed carefully.

“Hello,” he said to Mana. The little girl showed no sign of having heard him. She kept drawing. Her fine, bowl-cut hair was pretty. She had an angel’s whorl on the top of her head.

Her body was tiny. Kotaro wasn’t used to being around children this young, but even he could see she was smaller than the average five-year-old. She wore a pastel pink sweater and soft jeans with the cuffs rolled up. Her socks were white with red polka dots.

“This is how she always is,” Nagasaki said. “We can’t even get her attention.”

“But Mana can hear you just fine.” Ms. Sato smiled.

Mana had her own room and a dedicated caregiver. Maybe this drastic change in her situation had actually been stressful for her.

“Will she be going to kindergarten?”

Kotaro’s question was for Ms. Sato, but Nagasaki answered.

“She doesn’t seem to be taking to it, and the school said they can’t admit her until she starts talking.”

“There’s no need to rush her,” Masao said. Perhaps because he didn’t want to crowd the girl, he motioned Nagasaki to join him on the sofa against the wall. It was a small sofa, low to the floor, built for a child.

Kotaro learned forward and spoke quietly. “Hello, Mana-chan.”

Mana was drawing leaves with a red crayon and carefully filling them in. She kept her eyes on the paper.

“Sorry to bother her while she’s drawing,” he said to Ms. Sato in a friendly tone. “Those pictures are very colorful.” Ms. Sato nodded but said nothing.

“The picture I saw used fewer colors. They were colder colors. If she’s drawing this kind of picture, does that mean she’s starting to recover?”

“Excuse me. You’re a college student, aren’t you?” The woman addressed him directly for the first time.

“Yes.”

“Are you majoring in child psychology?”

“No. Education.”

Masao chimed in supportively. “Mr. Mishima isn’t here to do research. He simply wants to know where Mana got the inspiration for those drawings of hers.”

Ms. Sato raised an eyebrow primly. “And what drawings might those be?”

Masao had the picture with him. He rose from the sofa and quietly handed it to Ms. Sato. She knitted her brows with a studied expression. “Oh, this …”

“I understand she draws a lot of pictures like that,” Kotaro said.

Ms. Sato studied the drawing and gave a small nod. “She’s done nothing like this recently.”

“Could you show it to her?”

Ms. Sato turned to Nagasaki and Masao. “Is this really necessary?”

Nagasaki looked at Masao, who lobbed the question back at her. “Do you think showing it to the child will hurt her?”

“I don’t know. But I’d like to avoid it.” She turned back to Kotaro. “It took so long for her to start drawing cheerful pictures.”

But something unexpected happened. Mana reached out and touched the picture.

“Mana-chan?” Ms. Sato said to the child.

Mana’s fingers brushed the edge of the birdman’s wings. She stared wide-eyed at the image she had drawn. Kotaro looked at her steadily. “Please give it to her.” The woman hesitated. “Please.”

Mana grasped the edge of the sketch. Her fist was tiny, but her grip was resolute. To Kotaro, it looked like she was asking for it.

“That’s right, you drew this picture, didn’t you?” Ms. Sato humored the child as she tried to tug the drawing out of her hand. But the girl just grasped it more tightly.

“Ms. Sato wasn’t happy when we included this picture in the exhibit,” Nagasaki said, “but it seemed to me this was the one Mana liked the best. Hatsuko said so too. We all went to see it when it was at the post office.”

“How did she react?” asked Kotaro.

“She didn’t say a thing, so we weren’t sure, but she reached out to touch it, just like she’s doing now.”

Kotaro sensed that something had entered Mana’s eyes and buried itself in her heart. By drawing what she’d seen, over and over, she had freed her heart. Now that something was outside her again. It had left her. Confirming this by looking at the picture made her feel safe. Wasn’t that it?

Kenji, I think you were right.
Mana had seen it with her own eyes.

“Mana-chan?” Kotaro whispered softly. He pointed to the birdman and spoke slowly. “What is that?”

Her eyes gazed at the picture, two pure orbs of deep brown crystal. Kotaro had never seen a child with such unblinking eyes.

Her lips trembled. “Is a monster.”

Everyone in the room started in astonishment. Kotaro’s palms were damp with excitement.

“Yes, that’s a monster. You must’ve been scared.” Mana didn’t answer. She stared at the picture.

“Where is the monster?”

No answer.

“Can you tell me where it came from?”

Mana blinked. Her eyes shone. Now they were fixed on Kotaro. Her gaze struck him like an arrow. He nearly gasped.

She opened her right hand, dropped the crayon and raised her index finger. The tiny nail was a healthy pink. She thrust the finger toward the ceiling.

“Sky.”

The six-mat apartment where Mana lived with her mother was vacant, but when Hatsuko loaned Kotaro the key, she grumbled about having to show the apartment to a “stranger.” The gap between her luxurious living conditions and the rathole that was Asahi House probably had her feeling a bit guilty.

“Managing rental units can be very trying,” Masao mumbled apologetically, trying to cover for sentiments he certainly didn’t share.

Kotaro stood at the window. The winter sun streamed into the room. It was already low. The putty around the windowpanes was old and broken in spots. Frigid wind whistled through the gaps. Mana had stood here while her mother lay behind her on the floor, hurrying toward death.

She had been here when she saw it. Kotaro saw it too.

“What is that?”

He pointed to a four-story building with a shape like a truncated tower. Asahi House stood on a small rise, and the round building was squarely in the center of the window.

“Is that in Ida too?”

“Yes. Let’s see, what is that …” Masao shaded his eyes and peered at the building. “There’s a statue on the roof,” he said. “A gargoyle, maybe. I hear it’s well-known in the neighborhood. The owner must’ve had strange tastes.”