Death Sentences (28 page)

(If I were a man, I wouldn't pay two thousand yen for the likes of me ...)

With such thoughts flitting through her mind, Eguchi Misa went into a large bookstore in some building.

(I'll just steal something.)

The idea popped into her head. It wasn't her first time shoplifting. She'd known the thrill of it from junior high.

She worried about getting hooked on it and so usually restrained herself. But today was different. If she didn't do something, she'd never clear her head.

The store was crowded. Especially around the magazines and new books corner, there were throngs of people.

She avoided those areas, heading to the back of the store. There were security mirrors hung along the ceiling. Shifting her position bit by bit, she found the blind spot. There was nobody around.

(Now!)

It was the art section. The fat oversized books would be impossible to do.

She glanced around. On the middle shelf were some fairly small books with attractive covers.

She stuffed two or three into her shopping bag, without even checking the contents. And then a few more-

Now her spirits soared. The stress vanished like smoke.

She removed her scarf and slung it over the bag to hide the books. She then hurried out of the store.

A feeling of elation coursed through her.

(I did it!)

Bursting with pride in herself, Misa nearly ran all the way back to the train station.

Her home was in Suginami, the eighth stop on the local train.

Taking a seat on the train, she pulled out one of her prizes. One thousand eight hundred yen. And there were five more. That made a total of about ten thousand yen.

She looked at the title. Undiscovered Materials-

(What the hell is this ... ?)

She cursed inwardly. This wasn't something she could sell to her friends. Maybe she could take them to a used bookstore. But she'd hardly make anything at all on them.

Oh, well. It hadn't been for the money.

She cracked open the book nonetheless. The pages were full of fine print:

. . if Artaud's so-called "surgical" and "purgative" plays are placed alongside those of Jarry and the pataphysicians as pointedly concrete manifestations of their deconstructive tendencies, which runs counter to the slanderous criticism that attended them ......

(... "surgical" ... "purgative" ... "pataphysician" .. .

Misa snorted.

If everything were an instance of something, then anything could surely be anything. Then there wasn't anything that couldn't be explained.

(What nonsense!)

No wonder there was no one in that part of the store.

Misa flipped through the pages: "Special Feature: Who May, Poet of the Fourth Dimension."

Poet-! (Huh!) Come to think of it, there had been a poem by Hagiwara somebody or other on the test today. She just couldn't remember the rest of his name. I was pretty sure it was Hagiwara Kotaro. That is what she had written. Now she wasn't so sure.

A title appeared, "The Gold of Time."

It looked like a story. If so, it might be worth reading.

"The shade of the shadow of light. The depth of the depths of light. Equinox of light." She'd been wrong, very wrong. It wasn't a story. (But ... what exactly was it?) It was like a poem, but it had lines like prose. Were there poems like that?

Despite herself Misa continued to follow the words: "Extending the gold. Spreading it. The light is withholding. Going around behind the shadow of the withholding light...."

(What the hell is this ... ?)

Still, there was something pleasant about it.

Maybe it was the heat of the train ... a feeling of drowsiness, the warm sponginess of fresh bread ... soft and fluffy ... why was that? ... "Like one swimming, you scoop through the light ... like one flying, you flap upon the wave-like layers of time ...... You ... you? ... (does that mean me?) ... you're truly flying ... the feeling ... is a good feeling ... everything in your head starts gradually to go numb ... what ... what-

The train jerked to a halt.

She looked up out of habit. The platform looked familiar. It was the station where she was supposed to get off.

Misa hurried to her feet.

With the book tucked under one arm and the shopping bag in the other, she scrambled out of the train.

The sensation stayed with her, even after passing through the turnstile. Her heart raced with excitement, it was not unlike falling ... in love.

As she walked, she was conscious of a heavy unwelcome wetness because of her period. But she didn't feel it all that much. Her spirits were soaring.

Misa skipped about half of her ten-minute walk back home.

She entered the house.

"Mi-chan? Is that you, Mi-chan?"

Probably it was only this poem. Probably only this poem could work such magic.

Why weren't they teaching this at school? If they put this in a textbook, everyone would develop a love of poetry.

"Mi-chan, how did exams go?"

She heard her mother's voice again.

Misa just ignored it and went on reading.

"Mi-chan, hey, where did that book come from?"

"Bought it."

She had no choice but to answer. But she didn't take her eyes off the page. What a nice feeling ...

"You bought it? But why do you have so many copies of it-"

(Crap!) Everything had spilled out of her bag when she tossed it on the chair.

"Stop it! This is my room! If you don't need anything, get out!"

Misa snapped the book closed, stood, and started to wriggle out of her skirt.

"Oh dear! Mi-chan, just look at that stain!"

When she noticed the large stain on her underwear, her mother's voice became shrill with disgust.

"Look, I'm already changing! See! Now get out!"

"Mi-chan, I don't know what's going on with these books, but you'd better not let your dad see them. You should put them away somewhere."

"What! Why can't I let Dad see them?"

Her mother left the room without another word.

Not wanting to fuss, she changed the sanitary pad in her room. And then, in nothing but her underwear, she sprawled on the bed.

She opened the book again.

Her spirits rose at once, clearing and brightening. (... Ah ...) A sigh escaped her. (... what a feeling. . )

She didn't go down for dinner when called, saying she didn't feel well.

All through the night ... time and time again ... Misa reread the poem ... until she finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion just before dawn.

Who May ... that was the author's name.

But she couldn't grasp anything of the other two poems in his name.

This poem alone was special, after all. Only "The Gold of Time" contained within it this special magical power.

And then Misa had such dreams.

In a foreign city she met a beautiful young man with large dark brown eyes.

Somehow she felt it was France.

The language spoken by the beautiful young man sounded like French.

Although she didn't understand the exact meaning, she grasped something of what he was trying to say. "You're looking for Who May, aren't you, young lady? That would be me."

He spoke again. "Let's go."

"Where?" Misa asked in return.

"Where, anywhere-" he replied. "Anywhere, and at any time, you can go. You'll have the ability to go. But. . ."

He smiled.

It was a beautiful smile. But there was something sad about it, too.

Suddenly, the scene vanished before her eyes.

Vast endless space appeared. She didn't know what it was. It was physically too vast for her to grasp. She couldn't see anything. She couldn't breathe.

Instinctively, she began screaming.

Her screams woke her.

It was now morning.

"Mi-chan, wake up! Mi-chan!-"

Her mother was out there yelling.

Misa jumped out of bed.

She had a lot to do today.

She simply had to tell somebody about this poem.

3

(What the hell!? What is this ... ?)

Kiuchi Yoshiaki shook his head violently from side to side.

His glasses nearly slipped off his nose. Pushing them back on, Kiuchi looked around the teachers' office with frightened eyes.

The sixth period had already begun. More than half the teachers had already left the teachers' office.

All was still.

The remaining teachers were grading papers or preparing for classes, heads bent over their desks.

No one noticed Kiuchi's unusual behavior.

As he looked around, the vice-principal raised his head. Their eyes met.

With a slight shrug, Kiuchi returned his gaze to the book in front of him.

It was a hardcover volume. It had a beautifully illustrated jacket. But apparently it had seen some rough treatment, since it was quite tattered.

With the book closed, one section appeared grimy with use. It was easy to see that that part had been read over and over again.

Kiuchi heaved a large sigh.

He had taken the book from a student in the previous period. He had called the student's name repeatedly during roll call, but the student hadn't answered. Thinking the student asleep, he went over to find him absorbed in a book lying open on the desk.

He rapped him on the head and confiscated the book.

He told him he could pick it up after school and returned to teaching.

The student's name was Takehashi. He was a fairly good student. He was a shy boy who belonged to the astronomy club.

The book that Takehashi had been reading so attentively that he missed roll call bore the title Languages of Surrealism.

It wasn't at all what he had expected. He'd first thought that he was reading some sort of pornography. But then he opened the book to the well-worn section and started to read ...

(And after all that ... utter nonsense!)

Kiuchi considered reading it again. But it frightened him.

Surely, it's an illusion, he thought. Yet if it wasn't an illusion-it must be a drug.

Still, that wasn't possible. This was a serious, solid work of art historical research. And it was in translation. Letters ... words can't possibly act like drugs.

Critics sometimes referred to works as "intoxicating," but that was rhetoric. But a prose poem that actually exerted a narcotic effect on its readers ... (Ridiculous!) ... there was no such thing as spells or enchantments ... it defied reason.

(It's an illusion.) (I must be tired ...) (That has to be it.) (... and yet ...) (But ...)

As the same thoughts churned in his head, the bell rang, announcing the end of sixth period.

"Mr. Kiuchi."

He turned his head at the sound, and Takahashi was standing there. And it wasn't just Takahashi. Misaki, student council president, and Shizimu Reiko, the vice president, were with him.

Shizimu Reiko spoke in a low, measured tone. "You read it, didn't you, Mr. Kiuchi?"

"What are you talking about?" Kiuchi asked in return.

Shizimu Reiko glared at him, eyes aflame.

Misaki stepped forward, and without asking, snatched the book from his hands. Only then did Misaki speak: "You'd better keep quiet about this. Reading such material in the teachers' office won't be permitted again."