The Gate of Sorrows (4 page)

“My family lived in Sendai for a while after my father transferred there. It’s a great place. I tried to sell Yamashina on moving up there, but one of our competitors—we don’t have very many—is already based there. It seemed like a good idea to keep our distance.”

Kotaro knew that Sendai and Sapporo were both home to some of the best science schools in Japan.

“If you’re interested in what we do, this is your chance, Ko-Prime. Try it for a year. I mean, even if you end up feeling like you got pulled into a weird job just because we’re friends and you ran into me, you’ll still have a year’s worth of work experience. All you have to do is stick it out.”

“Come on Seigo, it’s not like I’m saying no.”

“Look, I can’t force you to answer right away. Think about it, okay?”

Seigo showed him to the lobby. Kotaro watched him head back to work with a spring in his step.

Kotaro hadn’t come to Jinbocho for any particular book. His father, Takayuki, loved to stroll from one used bookstore to another. He often brought Kotaro with him, and the used-book bug had bitten him too. When he had time on his hands and nothing special to do, Kotaro still went there out of habit.

He checked his smartphone. There was a mail from Kazumi with a long list of celebrity photo collections and manga with maximum prices, asking him to pick them up if he “just happened” to run across them. Kazumi’s suggested prices were unbelievably optimistic. “The bookstores aren’t that stupid,” Kotaro muttered.

Then again, he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t at least try to find something. Along the way he turned Seigo’s offer over in his mind.

Kumar Corporation interested him, but one thing made him hesitate, though Seigo kept telling him not to worry. How could he measure up to the people there? Compared to them he was nothing.

As he went from shop to shop looking for the titles on Kazumi’s list, he found one that specialized in children’s books. The sign in the window said
Thousands of Titles, New and Old
.

Kumar. Wasn’t that a name from a children’s book? A book about a monster that the founder of the company loved as a kid.

Kotaro knew he couldn’t expect to find it just like that. Still, it would be fun if he could. From the look of the shop, “thousands of titles” was probably an understatement.

He went inside. The shop was pleasantly cool. He walked around on the creaking floorboards, surveying the shelves. All he had to go on was the name Kumar. He didn’t even know the title of the book. He was probably wasting his time.

I must be nuts
, he was about to conclude, when a section of shelves caught his eye. A sign read
Perennial Favorites
. And there it was:
Kumar of Jore
, its big cover at eye level amid a collection of colorful children’s books.

It was a translation of a foreign book. The author’s name was long and unpronounceable. The artwork and colors were charming, but somehow different from Japanese books for children.

Kotaro glanced furtively up and down the aisle, took the book from the shelf, and opened it.

Kumar was a monster.

That was the opening sentence. It was the only text on a double-page spread. The artwork showed a fjord framed by mountains under a blue sky. There was a little waterfront town in the distance with tall, peaked roofs and a church with a steeple. Kotaro turned the page.

Kumar had always lived in these mountains. He loved the mountains that rose above the fjord.

Right, got it. So what kind of monster is this? What’s he look like? Kotaro riffled the pages, but there wasn’t a single picture of Kumar. Then his eye fell on a line that told him why.

The people in the town could not see Kumar, because he was invisible.

Kumar was a monster who had lived for uncounted years in the mountains overlooking the fjord. In fact, he had lived there for so long that he couldn’t remember living anywhere else.

If this had been a Japanese tale, Kumar would have been the guardian spirit of the mountains. He’d have protected the mountains and the fjord and the little town of Jore from bad monsters, and lived happily ever after.

Kumar loved the town and the people who lived there. He loved the songs they sang at festivals and the music they made. He loved the smell of pancakes that wafted up from the town. He loved the sound of people’s laughter, too, and the church bells.

Kumar was born invisible. That’s the sort of monster he was. But he didn’t suffer; on the contrary, it made him a more formidable opponent for the bad monsters. He could sneak right up on them before they knew it.

But one day, while Kumar was fighting a cunning lizard monster trying to sneak into the town, he miscalculated and let his opponent strike a blow. The wound was deep and painful, and Kumar’s blood poured out. Worse, the precious horn on the top of his head was broken. Long ago his father and mother had warned him that his horn was almost as important as his life.

That was when Kumar saw it. What was this? His body was invisible no more. He could see his arms and legs. He was astonished to see, for the first time, the sharp, curved claws that grew from his fingers and toes.

Without his horn, Kumar was visible. Until it grew back again, everyone could see him.

Oh no!

Then something worse happened. The old belfry keeper and his little granddaughter, up in the tower, caught sight of Kumar.

In an instant, the whole town was in an uproar. A monster! A monster is here! In great pain, Kumar staggered into the mountains. The townspeople kept the lights on all night, and some went into the mountains with torches to search for Kumar. Find the monster! Find him, kill him!

I’m not a bad monster. I’m a monster, but I’m still Kumar.

Kumar shed bitter tears as he fled deeper into the mountains. But no matter how far he went, his pursuers would not give up. Day after day, they harried him and gave him no rest.

Kumar was tired and hungry. He wanted to eat a fish from the fjord.

Just before dawn, Kumar came out of the mountains and went to the shore of the fjord. He could see Jore in the distance. He watched the sun rise above the town.

Lit by the sun, Kumar saw his face and body for the first time in the water.

He looked just like the bad monsters he had been fighting all his life.

My face is no different from the bad monsters. I’m the same color. I have the same tail. That’s why people are so afraid of me. That’s why they harry me and give me no rest.

Kumar walked into the water. He dove in and began to swim. He had to go somewhere far away.

Goodbye, good people of Jore. May we meet again.

Kumar could hear the church bells in the town ringing as he swam away. He never returned. The waters of the fjord were deep and cold, and Kumar was wounded and weary. The waters swallowed him up.

But the story of Kumar was told ever after in Jore, the legend of a terrible monster who came out of the fjord and attacked the town.

There was a brief profile of the author with the unpronounceable name at the end of the book. He was from Norway.

Kotaro closed the book and put it carefully back on the shelf.

He thought he’d like to meet this person named Yamashina, who had loved this book, founded a company, grown it into something real, and named it after Kumar.

Kumar Corporation. I think I’ll give it a try.

Kotaro didn’t wait for the elevator. He sprinted up the stairs to the fourth floor. On the way he pulled his key card out of his backpack and slipped the strap over his head.

Today’s shift was eleven to two. It was now 11:12. He stashed his pack and jacket in the hall locker, touched the pad by the door with his card, and pushed it open. Toward the back of the room, in the far left row, Kaname Ashiya was already eyeballing him with a fierce look of disapproval.

Kotaro put both palms together, dipped his head quickly, and called good morning to the rest of the room. The office was two-thirds full, and around half of those present gave scattered responses ranging from grunts to a clipped “morning.” Greetings weren’t required; many of the employees never gave or responded to them because it didn’t contribute to efficiency, and no one took it amiss. Most of the people who did respond never took their eyes off their monitors.

Kotaro paused by the time clock to punch in his ID code, then hurried over the soundproof (and odor-eating) carpet toward his work station.

“Sorry, my bad. Someone cornered me on the way out the door. I missed my express.”

Kaname put on her scariest face. “You owe me big time.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll buy you a Big Mac.”

“Get out of here. Italian.”

Kaname was twenty. Her women’s university was in the Tokyo suburbs, within biking distance of Kotaro’s house. She was from Nagoya.

First impressions would have been of a reserved young woman. Her clothes were quiet and refined. Before sitting down for her shift, she would sweep her long, lustrous black hair into an attractive ponytail. Seigo’s nickname for Kaname, “The Lady,” was inspired by the upscale town of Ashiya near Osaka whose name she shared.

Kaname and Kotaro were shift buddies, covering each other’s schedules to ensure there were no gaps in patrolling. Kaname lived in her university dorm and couldn’t take night shifts, but other than that, she and Kotaro would review their schedules against the shifts they needed to cover and trade off flexibly, which was convenient. If one of them missed a shift, it would fall on the other to cover it. This system was effective in making sure that both took their schedules more seriously than the average student part-timer—another of Seigo’s innovations for the “Kumar Corporation Part-Timer Employment Experiment.”

The risk with the buddy system was that if you and your buddy didn’t get along, life could be hell. But Kotaro had been lucky. Kaname was a levelheaded, serious student. Her major was Japanese literature. From time to time she’d throw out a reference to some early modern author that went clear over Kotaro’s head. She also ate like a horse, belying her figure. Kotaro had joined Kumar about a month ahead of her, and in the beginning he’d had to teach her everything, but by now she’d learned to manage without help. She had a fine sense for the nuances of language, which made sense given her choice of major. It wasn’t long before she was patrolling like a veteran.

“I pass the patrol to you.” Kaname yielded her chair to Kotaro.

“The island’s deserted,” Kotaro said as he took the chair. The rest of the seats on their island were empty.

“Island” was Kumar-speak. Each team was an “island” named after their patrol “beat” on the web. Kaname and Kotaro were members of Drug Island, the fourth-floor team patrolling for transactions involving illegal drugs and dangerous substances that weren’t yet illegal. The next row over was Suicide Island, which monitored sites where people looking to form suicide pacts with others could make contact. The team on the other side of the row was Adult Island, and patrolled for child pornography. Most islands had five or six members, but because of the amount of drug-related activity on the web, Drug Island had eight members, plus Kotaro and Kaname.

“It’s some kind of meeting.” Kaname unbundled her long hair and shook it out over her shoulders. “Yamashina’s here.” Kumar’s president came up from Nagoya to visit the Tokyo office once or twice a month.

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t think so. Everyone from Adult Island got called in half an hour ago. They’re probably calling people island by island to talk about Sapporo.”

Closing the Tokyo office was a done deal. All the regular and contract employees had to decide whether to move to Hokkaido or find another job. It would be a tough decision, especially for those with families. They also might earn less in Sapporo.

“So it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“I guess. Listen, take a look at this.” Kaname pointed to a Post-it stuck to the bottom edge of the monitor. “I finished processing this, but you might get a reaction. A high school student uploaded this video of himself jamming along the Tama River on his bike after scoring some herb last night.” The Post-it had a list of handles in Kaname’s rounded script.

“Pretty stupid.”

“I haven’t seen these handles before, but they look like friends of the biker who showed up here after he asked them to watch his video. They might get mixed up in something here. Seigo said we should keep an eye on it.”

Every island had its chief, usually a veteran employee, but Drug Island was headed by Seigo, partly because it was often the destination for new employees and staff on short-term contracts.

Kaname glanced at her watch. “Gotta catch my express. See you,” she said and hurried out. Kotaro gave her a big wave without taking his eyes from the monitor.

As Kotaro scanned his inbox, the other residents of Drug Island filed back from the meeting. Seigo was with them.

“Morning, Ko-Prime,” he tossed out a greeting as he sauntered back to his desk, which occupied a central position in the office. The rest of the team went back to work.

A few days before, Kotaro had come across a site that was bothering him. The administrator’s handle was Alice’s Rabbit. At first glance it looked like a site for gardening tips. The admin’s blog talked about growing spices and herbs for tea, but there was something about his (her?) “lemongrass” and “mint” and “basil” that didn’t seem quite right. Kotaro suspected these names were euphemisms for potentially dangerous if not illegal plants. He dug around for information on cultivating lemongrass, mint, and basil, and what he found matched nothing that Alice’s Rabbit blogged about.

If that weren’t enough, the blog sometimes contained cryptic, “those who know will know” remarks that seemed aimed at insiders. Alice’s Rabbit urged his readers to get into herb cultivation. He invited them to trade seeds and seedlings, and offered free seedlings he had crossbred himself. These were the kinds of clues Seigo called “omens”—ominous signs that would pop up and disappear on websites that otherwise seemed innocuous.