Death Sentences (33 page)

Time ... truly was sedimented there. Time had been stretched almost without limits in that place that held Schmitt's team, while moving restlessly.

Sakamoto could feel it. He had an awareness of it.

"I then began writing. The rendezvous with Monsieur Breton, the next day at three ... by then everything was supposed to become clear. Yes, indeed ... in every word ... in every letter ... I felt the keys to the secret unfolding before me one after

Schmitt was shaking.

The intrepid soldier was trembling head to toe like a patient with malarial fever. His will was clearly becoming weaker and weaker.

"As I wrote on ... I felt myself beginning to float away ... a moment of pure rapture! But it was not yet-not yet complete. I returned to myself and continued to write. Again I let myself go with the flow of time ... drifting ... returning .... After repeating this a few times, I finally finished writing. I had already broken with everything that might anchor me ..."

Maybe not a specter ... Who May's oversized eyes were bright with tears.

"I am here right now. With every ounce of strength I am holding on to this still point of time-this here. And you can see my form, can't you? And you can hear my voice? But those are not me. They are but shadows of me. Please try to imagine. A being living in a two-dimensional world is one day carried off to a three-dimensional world. Imagine what would happen if that being who had taken on a three-dimensional existence tried to transmit a message to the two-dimensional world."

(Two-dimensional being ... ? Three-dimensional existence ...?)

What next? Four-dimensional ... five-dimensional ... sixdimensional ... ?

Sakamoto tried to stretch his imagination. But he wasn't sure which way to stretch it.

"When I first drifted off ... it occurred to me. Human existence is just like driving a car in reverse. It's like a driver who can only see what lies behind him, in the past. He sees nothing of what lies ahead-"

With this analogy Sakamoto got the picture.

"-for instance, you drive merrily along not knowing that a dead end lies directly ahead .... the road so far has been perfectly straight and so you step on the gas, even though a bend in the road is coming ... or, even though you reach a wide open place, you advance fearfully ... human beings are such dangerous drivers. You look over the scenery that has gone past as a point of reference to try to `foretell' what `must' happen next ... but ultimately you fail, lose your cool, and rush headlong into disaster .... that's what history is."

Who May's voice varied in intensity, wavering like an echo. Where exactly was the voice coming from? Were his words coming from an extradimensional world-?

"Have you understood me? You simply have to turn around. If you turn around, you'll see. You can see what lies ahead, just as you see what you left behind. And once you do that-! There is nothing to fear, nothing to confuse you. You see exactly what is coming and can choose the path that suits you-that is what I believed. And that is why I absolutely had to write it down. With `The Gold of Time,' I believed that an entirely new world would open before us. And yet-"

The image of Who May wavered. It faded, nearly vanished, and then once again flickered back into view.

"I wrote it down ... I drifted out of myself ... and then it dawned on me. It wasn't only me ... countless others appeared, cut off from time ... but none of them could get back .... Imagine people from the flat two-dimensional world who have taken on three-dimensional form. From the heights of the three-dimensional, they can see all of the two-dimensional world. But ... although they can see all of it ... they can never go back to it. Which means that we cannot change a single thing in it!"

Sakamoto was confused.

If this were true, what did it mean? If spells, that is, "The Gold of Time," were at some point forgotten, people would have no choice but to rush headlong into the last moments of time, seeing only what lay behind? Is that what Who May was trying to tell him?

"You-I don't know anything about who you are. But it was I who had the power to bring you here."

Who May's gaze passed through Schmitt's body, staring at Sakamoto within it.

"You are about to drift away ... but not yet. You are not yet completely cut off from time. And so you haven't lost the power to affect substances, the shadow images of time. Right here and now, the force that has sucked you into this man's body is also your power of affinity. Such force no longer adheres in me. I can just barely project my image into this world by stopping the flow of time. I beg you ... beg ... you ..."

Who May's voice reverberated again and again.

"Time is like gold. Malleable, it takes on whatever form you impose. But no matter how much you shape it or change its form, it remains gold. Likewise, the substance of time remains the same. And so I implore you. Please change its shape! I cannot go back. I have lost the power to return. I can only ask someone to do it. Someone whose soul has not yet lost the power to affect substances-that is why I summoned you. I am only able to convey things to you here in this way. Innumerable companion consciousnesses are spinning here in the vortex, ineluctably shorn of substance. As a result of the massacre. The vortex has created this still point. I was wrong. I was entirely mistaken-!"

The shadow image of Who May flickered uncertainly, as if on a flame almost immobilized, frozen solid.

"I want you to do it over. I want you to take my place and remake it-!"

Sakamoto didn't understand ... he didn't understand anything ... if it was a dream ... if just a dream ... he wanted to wake up soon. He wished.

And then, unable to hold back, he had to ask.

(What should I do?)

"Come. Come with me-I will show you. With me-"

(Where to-?)

"To Paris of 1948-, to my apartment-"

(And then?)

"And then-I want you to become me!"

All of a sudden ... he felt himself being pulled out.

In an instant the still point had melted away.

He could see Hank running toward him with all his might.

He felt the heat of the fire and smoke again and saw them tossed about.

But, in an instant, everything spun around again. The red earth was quickly moving away from him. It turned into a sphere and then disappeared into the depths of space.

In its place a blue, brilliantly shining sphere rose out of the darkness. Sakamoto knew exactly what it was.

It was Earth. But it was not the Earth he knew.

He felt something alongside him. He could feel it right next to him.

Earth ... it was probably Earth well before his birth. It had to be.

And then ... and then ... he was pulled into the globe.

In the Chaillot district of Paris lives an old man who speaks excellent Japanese.

He looks to be of Asian descent. Yet he says he is Parisian to the core, born and bred.

He is about sixty years old.

He has been running a small souvenir shop for some twenty years.

Whenever he sees Japanese tourists, he chats with them, asking about what is happening in Japan.

As a consequence, he knows a great deal about Japan.

When Sakakibara Koji and his wife Keiko (nee Mishima) visited Paris on their honeymoon, they happened to stop at his shop.

Sakakibara runs a small publishing business in Tokyo. Keiko once worked there as well.

The old man began to speak with them.

As they talked about various things, the topic of work arose.

Sakakibara explained that he published many French works. At present, he had just begun publishing a series of books on surrealism-when the old man heard this, the color drained from his face. He spoke up.

"In that case, you probably ... well, it is unlikely but ... you may have heard of a poet named Who May?"

Sakakibara was surprised.

"I know of him. But-well, this is quite incredible. We found two manuscripts attributed to Who May in Andre Breton's trunk. I was planning on including them in the fourth volume of the series, Languages of Surrealism. And yet-"

"Languages, is it ... ?" The old man looked rather displeased for some reason. But then he smiled again and asked, "You wouldn't by chance be using the character for phantom to write the word languages, would you?"

Sakakibara's eyes opened wide.

"Yes, we are! That's exactly it. But, how is it-?! How is it that you know about Who May?!"

"Just a lucky guess, really. But there's something I would like to say ..."

The old man looked down for a moment and then raised his head.

"Who May ... I thought it might be he. Yes ... it must be. A poet by that name once lived here in this district.... It was some time ... ago."

"So, you knew him-!"

The old man shook his head vaguely and then nodded as if left with no other choice.

"Yes ... I was acquainted with him. We met by chance ... and not for very long ... our encounter was quite brief."

"Really?!"

Sakakibara looked into the old man's eyes.

His eyes were large with a youthful gleam at odds with his age.

"May I ask your name-?"

"Me? My name? Of course ... my name is ... Carron. I use my stepfather's name."

Upon answering, the old man questioned Sakakibara in return.

"So, you found manuscripts by Who May? You only found two of them?"

"Yes-that's right-but-" Sakakibara asked excitedly, "then, are there others? Are there other works by Who May?"

"Others ... hmmm ... in fact, as I recall, there was another ... one more."

"Really-where is it now? And who exactly was Who May? Was he a real person?"

"Who May ... of course he was a real person. He really existed. As a young man."

"You mean ... ?"

The old man gazed off into space without answering.

"You're familiar with it, aren't you? The other work that he wrote-"

Sakakibara's questions became insistent.

"Yes ... I know something of it, of course ..." The old man's voice sounded deeper than before. "But I threw it away. As he had asked me to do-I tore it up and threw it out."

"You threw it away? But why?!"

"The work was a complete failure ... that's the best way to think about it. In any case, it was the sort of work that couldn't be shown to people-or so he believed. He came to that realization ..."

"Even if the work was a failure ... what a waste . .

"Not at all!"

The old man shook his head vigorously.

"It was-better that way."

How much did the old man actually know about Who May?

Had he really made his acquaintance?

Sakakibara put more questions to the old man, still uncertain of him.

"What happened to him later-Who May? Apparently, he was in contact with Andre Breton. Do you know anything about that?"

The old man's expression softened. But instead of answering the question, he asked one of his own.

"Andre Breton ... that's right ... you must be an expert on him. Do you recall what was written as his epitaph?"

His Japanese was impeccable.

Sakakibara was becoming more and more uncertain about the old man's identity. His pronunciation was so perfect that he had to be Japanese.

In any event-he supplied an answer. "Yes, I do ... it was, I think-'I seek the gold of time.' Breton was very taken with alchemy. Some say that he belonged to a secret society-"

The old man smiled faintly as he said this.

"Alchemy, is it? ... that's right ... it is not unrelated to alchemy. It is closely related ... closely ..."

He continued as if talking to himself, shaking his head slowly.

"There is indeed a relationship ... I too know about it ... after all, I have studied a great deal since then ... Andre Breton ... surrealism ..."

With these words, the old man heaved a sigh.

"I also went astray ... I alone ... that's right ... I was alone ... Breton dead ... when I think about it once again ... I think I should return right away . . ."

"Return?" Sakakibara asked. "Where to?"

"Yes ... to see my wife and children ... that is, to where I should be ... but ... if I did, what would happen then ... were I to do it, what would happen ... ?"

Keiko gave Sakakibara a poke in the ribs.

The old man was beginning to sound sad and forlorn.

Clearly, something was wrong. They could feel it.

"But ... in the end, I gave it up ... everything, I gave it up ... I decided to forget it all. Now I hardly remember any of it at all ..."

What had the old man resolved to give up, abandon, forget-? Could it be ... he himself is the one known as Who May ... ? The thought came suddenly to Sakakibara.

And then the old man began to smile again. Looking at the two of them, he asked, "Incidentally, how old do you two think I look?"

Sakakibara and Keiko looked at one another.

Tilting her head as if considering it carefully, Keiko answered, "Well, fifty ... or thereabouts?"

"I see ... hmmm ... just as you say. Or maybe a bit older, wouldn't you say? I was born on June 3, 1951, or by the Japanese calendar, Showa 26. That is my birthday."