Villain a Novel (2010) (37 page)

He made hot tea for them, and placed the
bento
in front of Satoko. As she listlessly separated the disposable chopsticks, she murmured, “So
bento
shops are still open during New Year’s.…”

“Yeah, it was actually pretty crowded.”

Satoko looked about to reply, but silently speared a boiled carrot instead.

Yoshio had yet to tell Satoko about seeing Yoshino in the pouring rain at Mitsuse Pass. He knew she’d believe him if he did, and would insist that he drive her there. But when he thought about going and the possibility that they might not see Yoshino again, he couldn’t bring himself to explain what had happened.

He’d driven up to the pass three days in a row after that, hoping to catch another glimpse of his daughter. But that first day was the only time Yoshino appeared and called out to him. After that, no matter how much he waited, he neither saw her nor heard her voice. On the third day he visited, he was surprised to find one of Yoshino’s co-workers there, a girl named Mako Adachi.

Mako said she’d come a number of times to lay flowers there for Yoshino. She took the local bus up to the pass and then walked along the back road to the site.

Yoshio gave Mako a ride back to Kurume station. In the car they hardly spoke, but she did tell him that she was quitting at the end of the year and moving back to her parents’ home in Kumamoto. Yoshio asked her what she planned to do there.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I just don’t feel comfortable in the city anymore.” She told him how she once spotted Keigo Masuo in Tenjin after he was released. She didn’t talk with him, of course, but just seeing him made her feel bitter. “That might be the reason I decided to go back home,” she said. Yoshio asked her for Keigo’s address and at first she said she didn’t know it, but after a moment’s hesitation, she told him the name of a well-known building right next to his condo, a place everyone knew.

The call from the police came just as Yoshio and Satoko were finishing their
bento
s. He was expecting to hear that they’d captured the suspect, but all he learned from the detective—the same one who’d visited him the other day—was that although they’d been sure the suspect had already fled Kyushu, his abandoned car had been found near Arita, in Saga.

Yoshio hung up and told his wife what he’d heard. Strangely enough, he felt nothing at the news. Satoko was silent and placed the lid back on her half-eaten
bento
.

Yoshio figured that that was the end of it, but Satoko suddenly murmured, “So the police are working even during the New Year’s holidays.” For a moment she sounded like the old Satoko, before Yoshino had died. She wasn’t exactly smiling, but perhaps trying desperately to do so. “The police never give up, do they? They do their best even during New Year’s,” she murmured, her lips drawn back tightly, as if they were numb.

“Yeah, even during New Year’s, so I’m sure they’ll arrest the guy soon,” Yoshio said.

“Arresting him won’t bring back Yoshino,” Satoko said, her expression gloomy again.

“The day after tomorrow I’m going to reopen the shop,” Yoshio said, trying to change the subject.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Satoko smiled.

It was the first time she’d smiled since the murder. The smile was halfhearted, but he was proud of her for trying.

“Satoko, there’s something I wanted to tell you.…”

He was going to tell her about what took place at Mitsuse Pass, how Yoshino had apologized to him. He wanted to tell her about it, but somehow the words wouldn’t come.

Satoko put the leftovers in the plastic bag they came in, and tied the ends tight, then tied them again. She did it so many times there finally wasn’t enough slack left to tie it anymore. Yoshio took the bag from her and dumped it heavily in the kitchen wastebasket.

Satoko stared at the wastebasket and said, “Honey? … I just don’t get it. Why did that college student leave Yoshino up there at the pass?” She paused. “That’s what I want to know,” she went on. “When she called us and said she was going to Universal Studios, she mentioned his name.…” Her gaze was still fixed on the wastebasket.

“Did she say she was going with him?” Yoshio asked.

“I
don’t know yet
was all she said, but she seemed happy.
I hope we can
, she said.”

Yoshio didn’t know what to say. Out there was a man who had murdered his daughter. And another who had stepped on her heart. His hatred should be aimed at the one who killed her, but all he could picture was Yoshino being literally kicked out of that car.

The next morning Yoshio drove to Hakata.

Holding her breath, Mitsuyo listened to the voices and footfalls of the young men outside. Yuichi was crouched down beside her, his arm around her shoulder.

The men had just arrived here by car a few minutes before. The moment Yuichi heard the sound of their engine coming up the narrow logging road, he grabbed Mitsuyo’s hand and yanked her into the shack next to the lighthouse.

The lot where the men had parked was a little bit away and they heard the footsteps of three or four people getting closer. “This place gives me the creeps,” they heard one say. “The last time I was here, the road was blocked off.”

The door in the shack where Mitsuyo and Yuichi were hiding was made of frosted glass, and the lines of iron in the reinforced glass were sharply defined in the moonlight.

Before they knew it, the young men’s voices and footsteps were right outside the door. The door suddenly banged as they roughly tried to pull it open.

“Is it open?”

“Nah, it’s locked.”

“Want to use a rock and break the glass?”

Shadows moved beyond the frosted glass. Mitsuyo inched closer to Yuichi and they clasped each other’s numb hands.

“Don’t do it. There’s nothing inside anyway.”

As he said this a large rock clunked down on the ground. Apparently one of them had actually picked up a rock.

Yuichi was crouching next to a large plastic bottle of water. It was almost ready to fall over.

“The road back that way’s really dark, so you better watch out!”

One of the men—who’d apparently started to walk toward the lighthouse—was shouting, and then the shadows outside the door grew distant, kicking pebbles as they went.

Mitsuyo reached out and grabbed the bottle. Yuichi, thinking she was trying to hug him, pulled her closer to him, the bottle now in her hand.

The men were apparently heading toward the cliffs.

“It’d be cool to come here to see the first sunrise of the year,” one of them said.

“But that’s west, isn’t it?”

“I wonder when was the last time they used this lighthouse.”

“It isn’t much fun here if it’s just four guys.”

Mitsuyo and Yuichi held their breath and listened.

Because of the cold, the men stood there only about a minute and then headed back to the shack.

Please
, Mitsuyo prayed,
please just go away
.

Beyond the frosted glass they saw one shadow pass by, then a second, and a third. Right when they were waiting for the last one to pass, a fist pounded on the glass. Mitsuyo nearly cried out, burying her face in Yuichi’s shoulder just in time.

The men stood there for a while, discussing where they should go next. An engine roared to life in the parking lot.

Mitsuyo tapped Yuichi’s shoulder twice and, relieved, she nodded. The sound of the engine faded in the distance.

Yuichi stood up and carefully opened the door and peered out. Mitsuyo stood behind him, and when she looked outside, she saw the car winding its way down the logging road, its high beams lighting up the road ahead.

The winter sky was full of stars, and they could hear the waves crashing against the cliff nearby. The strong wind shook the little shack, bending the plywood boards nailed to the windows. Mitsuyo took a deep breath. She looked and saw the lighthouse, bathed in moonlight.

They’d abandoned their car a few days before in Arita. When
Yuichi couldn’t decide what to do, Mitsuyo said, “Let’s go to a lighthouse.” She knew they couldn’t escape, but she couldn’t suppress the desire for one more day, one more hour together.

“There’s one lighthouse they don’t use anymore,” Yuichi murmured, finally bringing himself to get rid of his car.

Without a word, Yuichi took his sleeping bag out of the trunk, a red sleeping bag he apparently used when he went on long drives. They took a train, and then a bus, and finally arrived. Mitsuyo let Yuichi lead her by the hand; she had no idea where they got on the train, or where they were going.

They rode the bus along the seacoast and got off at a small fishing village where the lighthouse was. In front of the bus stop was a small convenience store and a tiny gas station, but other than that there were only twenty or thirty homes, with fishing nets hung out to dry in the gardens.

They walked a little while from the bus stop and passed a shrine, next to which was a steep logging road. At the entrance to the road were signs saying
Not a Through Road!
and
Closed Ahead!
The thick weeds growing along the road made it even narrower. The two of them held hands and walked up the road for nearly half an hour, feeling as though they were walking through a prairie.

“We’re almost there,” Yuichi said, many times, his hand on her back to help her along the steep road.

When they reached the road’s end, the sky opened up and there was the lighthouse.

“See, there it is,” Yuichi said, smiling for the first time since they’d abandoned his car.

Beyond the logging road was a parking lot. There wasn’t a single car there, of course, and the asphalt was missing in places, with weeds shooting out through the cracks. Beyond the parking lot was the lighthouse, surrounded by a fence. They slipped through a break in the fence, the shabby lighthouse looming above them, looking ready to topple over. Below it was a similarly grubby lighthouse keeper’s shack, painted white. Yuichi tried the doorknob and the door opened easily.

Inside, the space was empty and dusty, the light shining in illuminating the dust in the air. In one corner of the shack were plywood boards leaning against the wall and a pipe chair, the foam rubber sticking out of the cushion. The floor was littered with sweet-bun wrappers and empty juice cans.

Yuichi laid one of the plywood boards on the floor and tossed his sleeping bag on it. Then he took Mitsuyo by the hand and led her outside, right below the lighthouse. A single bird, a kite, was circling in the winter sky. The sky seemed close enough to touch.

The lighthouse looked out over the sea that lay beneath the cliff. A chain blocked the way and there was no path past this point. She could hear the waves crashing against the cliff. Gazing at the scenery spread out before her, it felt less like a dead end than a starting point. From here one could go anywhere.

“I bet you’re starving,” Yuichi said. Mitsuyo, gazing out at the distant horizon, nodded. The sun was out, but the wind was so cold they soon sought shelter again in the shack. They spread the sleeping bag out on top of the sheet of plywood and ate the lunches they’d bought at the convenience store in front of the bus stop.

“Are you sure nobody’s going to come here?” Mitsuyo asked, and Yuichi, his mouth full of rice, nodded.

“Do you really think we can stay here?” she asked, and then Yuichi stopped chewing.

“We can buy some candles and food at the convenience store down there.…” As he spoke, his voice grew softer.

Ever since they’d run away from the Karatsu police station, they hadn’t discussed the most important point of all. They knew they couldn’t escape. But they both felt the same way: that they wanted to be together right up until the moment they were arrested. They just couldn’t say it aloud.

The threatening phone calls she’d received at the year’s end stopped after New Year’s. She knew she couldn’t just crouch in fear in the
kitchen, but she was so afraid of the phone ringing, of those men pushing their way into her home, that she found herself trembling even while she was sitting down.

So when the front doorbell rang she was even more startled.
They’re here
, Fusae thought. But it turned out only to be the local patrolman.