The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (79 page)

These facts have led us to the following suppositions:

1. The car’s regular a.m. visits: These suggest that someone is “commuting” to this house. The identity of the “commuter” is unclear, however, owing to the black tinted glass used all around the car.

2. The car’s irregular p.m. visits: These suggest the arrival of guests and are probably tailored to the guests’ convenience. Whether these “guests” arrive singly or with others is unclear.

3. There seems to be no activity in the house at night. It is also unclear whether or not anyone lives there. From outside the wall, it is impossible to tell if any lights are being used.

One more important point: The only thing to enter or leave the property during our ten-day survey was the black Mercedes: no other cars, no
people on foot. Common sense tells us that something strange is going on here. The “someone” living in the house never goes out to shop or to take walks. People arrive and depart exclusively in the large Mercedes with dark-tinted windows. In other words,
for some reason, they do not want their faces seen, under any circumstances.
What could be the reason for this? Why must they go to so much trouble and expense in order to do what they do in total secrecy?

We might add here that the front gate is the only way in and out of the property. A narrow alley runs behind the lot, but this leads nowhere. The only way into or out of this alley is through someone’s private property. According to the neighbors, none of the residents is presently using the alley, which is no doubt why the house has no gate to the back alley. The only thing there is the towering wall, like huge castle ramparts.

Several times during the ten days, the button on the intercom at the front gate was pushed by people who appeared to be newspaper canvassers or salesmen, but with no response whatever. If there was anyone inside, it is conceivable that a closed-circuit video camera was being used to screen visitors. There were no deliveries of mail or by any of the express services.

For these reasons, the only investigative route left open to us was to tail the Mercedes and determine its destination. Following the shiny, slow-moving car through city traffic was not difficult, but we could get only as far as the entrance to the underground parking lot of a first-class Akasaka hotel. A uniformed guard was stationed there, and the only way in was with a special pass card, so our car was unable to follow the Mercedes inside. This particular hotel is the site of numerous international conferences, which means that many VIPs stay there, as do many famous entertainers from abroad. To ensure their security and privacy, the VIP parking lot is separate from that for ordinary guests, and several elevators have been reserved for VIPs’ exclusive use, with no external indicators of their movements. This makes it possible for these special guests to check in and out unobtrusively. The Mercedes is apparently parked in one of the VIP spaces. According to the hotel management’s brief, carefully measured response to this magazine’s inquiries, these special spaces are “ordinarily” leased at a special rate only to uniquely qualified corporate entities after a “thoroughgoing background check,” but we were unable to obtain any detailed information on either the conditions of use or the users themselves.

The hotel has a shopping arcade, several cafés and restaurants, four wedding halls, and three conference halls, which means that it is in use day and night by a wide variety of people in large numbers. To determine the identities of the passengers in the Mercedes in a place like that would be impossible without special authority. People could alight from the car, take one of the nearby exclusive elevators, get off at any floor they liked, and blend in with the
crowd. It should be clear from all this that a system for maintaining absolute secrecy is solidly in place. We can glimpse here an almost excessive use of money and political power. As can be seen from the hotel management’s explanation, it is no easy matter to lease and use one of these VIP parking spaces. Contributing to the need for “thoroughgoing background checks,” no doubt, are the plans of security authorities involved with the protection of foreign dignitaries, which means that some political connections would have to be involved. Just having a lot of money would not be enough, though it goes without saying that all of this would take quite a lot of money.

[Omitted here: conjectures that the property is being used by a religious organization with the backing of a powerful politician]

I sit down in front of Cinnamon’s computer at the appointed time and use the password to access the communications program. Then I input the numbers I’ve been given by Ushikawa. It will take five minutes for the circuits to connect. I start sipping the coffee I have prepared and work to steady my breathing. The coffee is tasteless, though, and the air I inhale has a harsh edge to it.

Finally, the computer beeps and a message appears on the screen, informing me that the connection has been made and the computer is ready for two-way communication. I specify that this is to be a collect call. If I am careful to prevent a record of this transaction from being made, I should be able to keep Cinnamon from finding out that I used the computer (though of this I am anything but confident: this is
his
labyrinth; I am nothing but a powerless stranger here).

A far longer time goes by than I had anticipated, but finally the message appears that the other party has accepted the charges. Beyond this screen, at the far end of the cable that creeps through Tokyo’s underground darkness, may be Kumiko. She, too, should be sitting before a monitor, with her hands on a keyboard. In reality, all I can see is my monitor, which sits there making a faint electronic squeal. I click on the box to choose Send mode and type the words that I have been rehearsing over and over in my brain.

>I have one question for you. It’s not much of a question, but I need proof that it’s really you out there. Here it is: The first time we went out together, long before we were married, we went to the aquarium. I want you to tell me what you were most fascinated to see there
.

I click on the symbol for sending the text
(I want you to tell me what you were most fascinated to see there.
).
Then I switch to Receive mode.

The answer comes back after a short, silent interval. It is a short answer.

>Jellyfish. Jellyfish from all around the world.

My question and the answer to it are lined up on the upper and lower halves of the screen. I stare at them for a while.
Jellyfish from all around the world.
It has to be Kumiko. The real Kumiko. That very fact, though, serves only to fill me with pain. I feel as if my insides are being ripped out.
Why is this the only way that the two of us can talk to each other?
I have no choice now but to accept it, though. And so I begin typing.

>Let me start with the good news. The cat came back this spring. All of a sudden. He was kind of emaciated, but he was healthy and unharmed. He’s stayed home ever since. I know I should have consulted with you before I did this, but I gave him a new name. Mackerel. Like the fish. We’re getting along together just fine. This is good news, I guess
.

A delay follows. I can’t tell whether it is due to the time lag inherent in this form of communication or a silence on Kumiko’s part.

>I’m so happy to hear the cat is still alive! I was worried about him
.

I take a sip of coffee to moisten my now dry mouth. Then I start typing again.

>Now for the bad news. Actually, aside from the fact that the cat is back, it seems that everything else is going to be bad news. First of all, I still haven’t been able to solve any riddles
.

I reread what I have written, then continue to type.

First riddle: Where are you now? What are you doing there? Why do you continue to stay away from me? Why don’t you want to see me? Is there some reason for that? I mean, there are so many things that you and I have to talk about face-to-face. Don’t you think so?