Vol 1 Chapter 2 (1/2)

Panorama - II

I see a dragonfly, beating its wings.

A b.u.t.terfly follows it, but its pace doesn’t slacken. The b.u.t.terfly tries to

keep up with the dragonfly, but it is a futile effort. As it flies further, I see

a glimpse of the b.u.t.terfly as its strength failed and gravity took hold. It

makes an arc as it falls, and then trails its way to the ground like a snake, or

a broken lily. A sad and cruel scene.

Perhaps, even if they could not travel together, they could have kept

each other company for a while longer. But I knew that was impossible. To

something like the dragonfly, whose feet don’t touch the earth, even such

freedom was denied.

I hear the distinct buzz of conversation, and I wake up.

My eyelids were screaming for two more hours of sleep, even as my

mind warred between sleeping and waking. In the end, the battle was won

by the latter, and I set to work on the laborious task of opening my eyelids.

Sometimes, I wonder if I worry about these things too much. I was up

all night working on the blueprints and diagrams, and I must have fallen

asleep in Miss Tōko’s room. I raise myself up from the sofa with a hint of

enthusiasm, pus.h.i.+ng up my gla.s.ses so I could see better, and I realize that

this was indeed the office.

The office was a cluttered place full of occult oddities and research that

Miss Tōko had acc.u.mulated throughout the years. The midday sunlight illuminated

this mess, as well as the two people conversing; s.h.i.+ki, wearing a

smooth kimono as always, was leaning with back to the wall, and Miss Tōko

was sitting cross-legged on a chair.

Miss Tōko always dressed smart, with thin black pants and a collared

white blouse that seemed to look new every time you meet her. Combined

with her short hair and the way it made her neck show, it gave her the

image of a company secretary, though I thought that with her scary, piercing

look, especially if she didn’t have her gla.s.ses on, it would probably be

impossible that she would ever get such a job.

“’Morning, Kokutō.” Miss Tōko gave a glance in my direction, like she

always does, to acknowledge my presence. No gla.s.ses were worn over her

hawk eyed glare today, a sign that she and s.h.i.+ki were probably talking business.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I guess I fell asleep.”

14 • KINOKO NASU

“Don’t start with excuses. I can see well enough. If you’re fully with us

on planet Earth now, then go make something to drink. A cup of coffee

would be good. It should warm your bones a bit after that long rest.”

Long rest? Well, I did feel exceptionally tired, so it wasn’t a completely

strange thing to say. I don’t know why Miss Tōko would say it, but she’s

always talking cryptically at the best of times anyway, so not asking her has

become the standard operating procedure.

“How about you, s.h.i.+ki? Need a drink?” I managed to ask in my groggy

state, only half aware of my surroundings.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m about to hit the sack soon, anyway.”

Lazy eyes and sagging shoulders tell the story of s.h.i.+ki’s sleeplessness

well enough. Probably went and did another one of those nightly strolls

again last night.

Next to Miss Tōko’s office room was another one that served the purposes

of a kitchen, at least to her. To me, it looked more like a laboratory,

or at the very least it used to look like one. The sink had three faucets in

a row, just like you’d see in a lab. Two of those had wires strapped around

them, either disabled or possessing some unearthly, forbidden function ,

the operation of which I suspect only pa.s.sed between G.o.d and Miss Tōko.

G.o.d sure wasn’t revealing anything, and Miss Tōko is of the same mindset,

and I was in no particular rush to find out. Either way, it gave the entire

room a disturbing air.

I turn on the coffee maker, and it emits a low hum as it processes the

drink. The first thing I do upon arriving here every day is make coffee for

Miss Tōko, so it’s come to the point where I could do it with my eyes closed.

It’s been almost half a year since I’ve started working for her. “Work” in

this case being a very loose term. This place could hardly be called your

typical office environment. Despite that, I stay on, probably because I saw

something in what she worked on.

Just after s.h.i.+ki lapsed into a coma, I graduated high school and entered

college with no motivation or any particular purpose. At some point back

in our high school days, me and s.h.i.+ki made a deal to go to college together.

Even if s.h.i.+ki had no hope of waking up, I still wanted to keep that promise.

But my life after s.h.i.+ki’s coma was one of aimless drifting, just watching the

calendar as the days swept past.

One day I was invited by an acquaintance to a doll and puppet exhibit,

and it was there that I found it: A doll in the shape and size of a human, so

finely made that it must have taken its craftsman years of hard work; some

/ PANORAMA - II • 15

measure of his soul went into that doll. Though I knew it was just a doll like

anything else there, it looked more like a human being, frozen in place, and

one I was sure would move any second now, if someone breathed into it. A

thing on the brink of existence, but didn’t live, preserved on the boundary

that no one else walked.

I was attracted to that contradiction, maybe because it reminded me so

much of the person that s.h.i.+ki was before. Apparently, the maker of the doll

was unknown. Even the pamphlet of the exhibit didn’t mention any names.

I dove into investigation, desperately seeking the person who could craft

such a beautiful doll. It turned out to be someone not entirely connected

to the business of doll making, and did it with no real intent for fame. A

mysterious recluse named Tōko Aozaki.

Apparently she makes dolls as her main occupation, but was also an

architect on the side. She seemed to be involved in just generally “making”

things, whatever those thing may be, but she never accepts requests. Mysteriously,

she just knows who needs things made, goes to them, announces

her intent, and proceeds to make whatever it is they want after receiving a

generous advance payment.

She must be the world’s greatest freelance craftsman, or the world’s

biggest weirdo.

I got even more interested in finding her after that, even though I got

a sense that I really should have quit at that point. Something seemed to

pull at my effort, almost as if she didn’t want to be found out. Eventually,

through much time and record searching, I found out she lived in some

place away from the city, not in the suburbs, or the industrial district.

It wasn’t even a house.

It’s an abandoned building.

Well, to be more specific, it’s a building where construction was stopped

when it was halfway done, probably because whoever funded it ran out of

money. It has the shape of a building, seen from afar, but inside the floor

and walls are bare. It was left as it was, neglected and surrendered to time

and the weather. Had it been completed, it would have had six floors, but

there’s nothing above the fourth floor. Nowadays it would be more efficient

to start the bulk of the construction from the top, but I guess they

were still using the old methods back then. Now the fifth floor has been

dragooned into the service of a roof. Though surrounded by a high concrete

wall, anyone who wanted to go in would have an easy time of it, since

the gate was always open. It’s a miracle the local kids don’t mess around

in it. They probably just see it as some suspicious, dangerous building they

should stay out of. Pretty convenient.

16 • KINOKO NASU

I don’t know if Miss Tōko really bought the building, but it seems that

way, so for now, she stays here. The laboratory-slash-coffee room I’m in

right now is situated on the fourth floor, and the second and third are Miss

Tōko’s various offices, storage rooms, and workshops, so we usually talk

shop on the fourth floor.

After finding Miss Tōko, I got to know her and asked for employment

of some sort, just to sate my interest in this master craftswoman. I quit

college, and started working for her. And amazingly enough, I actually get

paid. She once said to me that humans can be divided into two types with

two attributes: those who craft and search, and those who use and destroy.

She made it clear to me that I wasn’t someone who “crafted” but one who

“searched” or some such, and that’s why she hired me.

“Running a little late there, Kokutō,” said an accusatory voice from the

other room. It was Miss Tōko, her patience obviously running thin. Well,

the coffee maker’s just about done, and the black liquid sits there, waiting

to be drunk.

“Yesterday makes the eighth,” Miss Tōko says abruptly, while stubbing

out her cigarette. “Soon people are going to take notice of their connection.”

She is, of course, talking about the recent case of high school girls falling

to their deaths. There’s nothing else to talk about anyway, so I guess this

was as good a topic as any. But wait…eight?

“Huh? Weren’t there only six people?”

“A few more popped up while you still had sand in your eyes. All this

started in June, and it’s been going at about three per month. Maybe

another one’ll happen before the next three days are out, eh?” Miss Tōko

is in the habit of saying really ominous things, so I’m kind of used to it. I

take a quick glance at the calendar, noticing that there’s only three days left

in August. For a moment, a flash of worry enters my mind for some reason,

but I quickly dismiss it.

“They’re saying the suicides have no relation, though,” I remark. “Different

schools, no friends of the third degree or anything like that. It could

still turn out that the police are withholding information from the media

to better their chances when they interview the perp…if this case even has

one.”

“What, Kokutō, you don’t trust the police on this one? That sleep must

have really done a number on you to suddenly be skeptical of people like

that.” She grins. As usual, her spite knows no bounds when her gla.s.ses are

/ PANORAMA - II • 17

off.

“Because they didn’t leave behind a suicide note, right?” I explain. “Suicidals

usually leave behind a note or some sort of last message to the living.

I mean, what is it six…erm, eight people now? At least one of them

should have done it. That only means one of two things: that the police

aren’t publicizing the note so that it serves as leverage against a suspect,

or it could mean a statistical improbability.”

“Which by itself becomes the only thing connecting these incidents,”

says Miss Tōko. “The girls weren’t taking drugs, nor were they members of

some weird cult. By all accounts their lives were perfectly mundane. Neither

their family nor their friends know any reason why they would throw

themselves off a building. So it follows that they probably killed themselves

over some emotional or psychological distress, or perhaps to prove something.

That’s why they don’t leave behind any last words.”

“So you’re saying that it’s not that the police are hiding anything, it’s

that they truly didn’t have any suicide note?” I ask.

“Well, statistically speaking, most people don’t leave behind any note

when they commit suicide…but yeah.” Miss Tōko leans back on her chair,

sipping her coffee while looking at me funny. I put a mug to my own lip and

tip it, tasting the bitter coffee inside. I think back on what she said, something

nagging me in the reasoning.

How could there be no suicide note? It didn’t fit. The girls were, as far

as we knew, all happy and content, very much attached to the world of the

living. In a situation where one is forced to die, final words are what you

leave behind to cement that connection. Not doing so means you have

nothing to leave to this world, and you can decide to bravely face that great

unknown of death. A suicide without a note, or parting words, or even

the remote chance of discovery of the incident: that would be the perfect

suicide.

Jumping off a building, then, is far from the perfect suicide.

Such an exhibitionist act makes the suicide clear and attention-grabbing.

In a way, the suicide and the resulting publicity itself results in having the

air of a “suicide note”, so to speak. If the suicidals picked as obvious and

public a method as jumping off a building, then they did so knowing they

would be seen by many. Publicity formed at least a part of their choice of

death. In that case, why the lack of parting words at all?

I can think of only one reason. Perhaps, like s.h.i.+ki said once, they were

just accidents, or at the very least, they did not intend to die. Then they

wouldn’t have any reason to write a suicide note, just like running into a

traffic accident while going home from school. Unfortunately, I can’t fath-

18 • KINOKO NASU

om why you’d jump off from a building while taking your daily commute

from school, though.

“There won’t be any more girls. .h.i.tting the pavement for a while after

the eighth, ‘least not ones related to these incidents.” s.h.i.+ki, now standing

beside the window, joins the conversation.

“How could you possibly know that?” I say.

“How else? I checked. There were eight of them floating around that

building. I took care of ‘em, but they’ll be there for a little while longer,

even if it does make me sick.” s.h.i.+ki faces away from the window, posing

with arms crossed. “Say, Tōko, do all people end up flying that way when

they bite the bullet?”

“No one really knows for sure. Everyone’s different. All I can offer you is

an observation.” Miss Tōko puts down her cup, her smile morphing into a

more scholarly demeanor, as if she was about to teach the most important

thing in the world. “The words ‘flying’ and ‘falling’ are inextricably tied to

each other, because we humans can’t fly by ourselves. And yet, as expected

of men, the more we reach for the sky, the more we forget this. Even those

who live after death can try and reach for this goal, to fall towards the sky,

forgetting that it is the hubris of Icarus that led to his doom.”

s.h.i.+ki seemed perturbed by Miss Tōko’s cryptic response, more so than

usual. I can only guess as to what offensive statement Miss Tōko said that

has s.h.i.+ki in such a defensive att.i.tude. I decide to break the mood.

“Er, I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t seem to understand the topic.”

“Apologies, Kokutō. We’re talking about the ghost at the Fujō Tower. I

don’t really know if it’s the real thing or just some mage’s illusion. I wanted

to check, but if s.h.i.+ki really killed it, then there’s no way to know for sure

now.”

So it was about that. The conversations between s.h.i.+ki and gla.s.ses-offMiss

Tōko are always about the occult and the magical, so it wasn’t that

hard to guess anyway.

“You know that s.h.i.+ki saw those girls floating around in the Fujō Tower,

correct? Turns out there was another human figure flying around among

those floating girls. Since they couldn’t be removed, we figured perhaps

that place was something akin to a net to them, or something along those

lines.”

In my mind, I am frowning at this story’s sudden turn for the complex,

and then, as if sensing my confusion, she offers her layman’s summary of it.

“Well, to put it a bit more simply, there is one girl floating around that

building, and tagging along with her are what looks like our famous suicide

girls. I suspect that they’re something like ghosts or some other supernatu-

/ PANORAMA - II • 19

ral occurrence. The end.”

I nod my understanding, but the way s.h.i.+ki put it, I gather that the deed

was already done and taken care of. Once again, the story seems far past

me. It’s only been three months since I let these two get to know each

other, but already I’m the one lagging behind on their peculiar conversations.

Not that I had any particular interest in being involved in them either

way. However, since being ignored was also an unacceptable outcome, I

listen anyway. The way I’m stuck between their stranger world and my own

willing or unwilling ignorance of it sort of fits me, in a way. It’s one of those

small blessings I can be thankful for.

“That sounds like a story out of a dime novel,” I blurt out. Miss Tōko

nods her agreement, smiling. s.h.i.+ki, on the other hand, is somehow growing

more wound up, casting accusatory sidelong glances at me. Because

provoking a reaction out of s.h.i.+ki works about as often as Mercury in retrograde,

I have to wonder if I did something colossally idiotic without my

knowing again.

“But then, s.h.i.+ki saw the ghosts only at the beginning of July, right?” I

sound dumb for asking the obvious, but I do it just to confirm. “So there

were only four ghosts back then, s.h.i.+ki?”

A negative shaking of the head from s.h.i.+ki. “No, no, there were eight,

right from the start. I told you right? There wouldn’t be any more suicides

after the eighth. In their case, the order is reversed.”

“Uh huh. You gotta clarify with me whether or not you’ve gained any

future predicting powers like that one girl we talked to some time ago.”

“It’s not like that, Mikiya. It’s more like that place…the air there isn’t

normal. How do I put this?” s.h.i.+ki’s voice uncharacteristically wavers a bit as

a proper description fails to materialize. “It’s sort of like a strange sensation

of being in the middle of boiling water and freezing water.”

As s.h.i.+ki struggles with vocabulary, Miss Tōko steps in to help.

“It means that time there flows differently. Understand that there is more

than one way for time to progress. The speed upon which entropy acts on

something differs for each object. The same holds true for our memories.

When a person dies, the record of him existing doesn’t disappear instantly.

There are people who remember, people who have observed and watched

over his life and death. As long as these exist, the memories…, or rather,

their record of existence, doesn’t suddenly disappear, but only fades into

nothingness. If the observer of death was not a person, but instead a place

that resonates to people such as those girls, then they will remain even

20 • KINOKO NASU

after death as a sort of image, of wandering ‘ghosts’, or what have you.

The only ones receptive to this image are the ones that share and keep the

memory of these ghosts, such as close friends and family. And people like

s.h.i.+ki and me, of course.”

Miss Tōko lights another cigarette before continuing. “Entropy acts on

memory too. People forget, and eventually the memories disappear. But

on the roof of the Fujō Tower, the entropy of those memories are slower, as

if the building itself doesn’t want to forsake them. The record of their time

alive hasn’t caught up to their current state, and as a result, the memories,

and the images of those girls remain, in that place where time is crooked

and broken.”

Miss Tōko seems to finish her explanation, which I suspect managed to

be even more puzzling than what s.h.i.+ki would have eventually gotten to. So

what she’s saying is that, when something dies or is lost, that thing doesn’t

truly disappear, as long as someone remembers it. And that remembering

it is to acknowledge its existence, and because of that, it can sometimes be

seen again. That just sounds like deluding yourself.

Well, Miss Tōko probably kept using the word “image” because it is

something of a delusion, a thing that can’t be real.

In a surprisingly frank display of annoyance, s.h.i.+ki is led to that timeless

impulse of headscratching. “Enough of these explanations, already. What

I’m really worried about is her. My knife did a pretty good job of proving my

point, but if there’s actually some mage using projection, then this’ll never

end.” Another soild glance comes my way. “I’m tired of being Mikiya’s

guardian, thank you very much.”

“I agree completely, s.h.i.+ki. I’ll settle things with Kirie Fujō, so just go on

and take Kokutō home…wait, he still has five hours to clock in, so you might

want to sleep. You can use that place.”

Miss Tōko pointed to a spot on the floor that looks like it hasn’t been

cleaned for at least half a year, littered with paper like a dirty furnace. s.h.i.+ki,

naturally, ignores her.

“So what was she, anyway?” s.h.i.+ki asks Miss Tōko. The mage walks over

to the window and stares outside, her footsteps inaudible, and with a cigarette

still in her mouth. We don’t really have any light in this room, not

electric light anyway. All the light comes from outside, and in certain areas

of the building where the sun doesn’t reach, it can be surprisingly difficult

to tell the time. In contrast, the view outside is clearly morning, perhaps

somewhere closer to noon. For a few moments, Miss Tōko stares silently at

the sun-bathed panorama.

“Before, you could have said that she flew.” She puffs out a cloud of

/ PANORAMA - II • 21

smoke, indistinguishable now from the white sunlight. From my position,

framed by the sunlight and smoke, she looked like some sort of mirage.

“Kokutō, what would you a.s.sociate with a high place? What imagery comes

to mind?” The sudden question snaps me back into focus. The only thing I

could think about was the time I went atop Tokyo Tower. I remember trying

real hard to spot my house, but in the end I couldn’t make it out among the

many tall buildings I saw.

“Maybe…small things?”

“Trying a bit too hard there, Kokutō.”

Well, fine, I didn’t think that answer through too much anyway. I try to

think of something else.

“Well, I can’t really think of anything in particular, but I do think that a

panoramic view is beautiful. Just the sight of the scenery is overwhelming.”

This was a more spontaneous response, which she somehow seems

to note, acknowledging it with a little nod while still staring at the window.

And like that, she continued to talk.

“Scenery seen from select vantage points is always wonderful. Even an

otherwise mundane landscape becomes something special. Looking down

at the world you live in, though, stimulates a different urge. In such a commanding

view, there is but one impulse.”

As the word “impulse” leaves her mouth, she cuts off her sentence.

An impulse isn’t something that comes from reason or intelligence, not

something that comes from within, but something that is triggered by an

external force, even if one rejects it. Like a murderous, destructive urge.

Then what is the destructive impulse that a view from on high brings?

“It’s how far everything is. A view too wide makes clear the boundary

between you and the world. People can only rest easy with things they are

familiar with. Even with an accurate map telling you your exact location,

you know that’s only information. To us, the world only amounts to something

we understand and feel from experience. The boundaries and connections

of the world, and of countries, and of cities, are only constructs

of the mind, not something we feel ourselves. But with a view too wide,

there appear gaps in our understanding. You have a ten meter radius that

you feel, and the ten kilometer s.p.a.ce that you’re looking down on. They’re

both one and the same, the same world that you’ve been living in, and yet

the first one feels more real.

You see, now we have come upon a paradox. Rather than recognize the

small world you can feel as the world you live in, you ascribe it to the wide

world you can only see. But within this wide world, you cannot feel that

you truly exist. Because the closer objects are to your person, the more

22 • KINOKO NASU

sure you can be of their existence, of their reality. In this way, reason, represented

by your knowledge, and experience, represented by instinct, will

start to conflict. Eventually, one will lose, and confusion sets in.

‘Viewing the city from up here sure puts it into perspective. I can’t believe

my house was down there. Did the park always look that way? I didn’t even

know that street or that alley or that building ever existed! This is a city

I’ve never seen before, like I’ve gone far, far away.’ Those are the sort of

thoughts that run through your head in a panoramic view.”

In a lull in her speech, I manage to sneak in a question which has been

nagging me since the start.

“So, what, looking out from a vantage point is somehow bad now?”

“Only if you gaze for too long. Remember that in the old myths, traveling

the sky was akin to traveling another world. To fly was to ascend to a

higher world, or perhaps to meet one’s final reward in the afterlife. Mortals

who ascended the skies became mad, unless they armed themselves with

charms or the power of reason. And always, lunacy was cured by returning

to solid ground.”

Now that she mentions it, I did have this indescribable urge to jump

from the school roof once, just to see what would happen if I did. It must

run through everybody’s minds at some point, when looking at that view.

Of course, I didn’t really want to do it, but why did I think that way when it

clearly leads to my own death? Why do other people think that way?

“Does that mean that, if only for a moment, you go mad?’ After I mention

the question, Miss Tōko bursts into laughter.

“Kokutō, you have to understand that thinking that is normal. Dig into

people’s dreams and you find them dreaming the taboo, eventually. We

possess the extraordinary ability of indulging our own fantasies with our

own imagination. Though you are right in a way. What’s important is that

we know that the fantasy has its place. Well, I guess that’s obvious. But in

your example, it’s less ‘crazy’ and more like a ‘numbing of thought.’”

“Tōko, this has gone on long enough.” s.h.i.+ki interrupts, sick of the onesided

conversation. Well, we have drifted quite far from the main topic so

it wouldn’t be uncalled for in this case.

“There’s nothing long about it. In fact, were this an actual thought

experiment, we’d only be ankle deep into it.”

“Well, cut it down to a phrase, will you? When you and Mikiya talk, it’s

like a G.o.dd.a.m.n thesis committee.”

Strong words, but words which I can accept have an all too valid point.

“s.h.i.+ki…” Miss Tōko starts, rubbing her temple in frustration, but s.h.i.+ki

continues to complain, ignoring the both of us.

/ PANORAMA - II • 23

“And then there’s this business of views from high places. I hope you

remember that just by walking around, we’re already ‘viewing from a high

place’ already.” Air quotations by s.h.i.+ki. “There’s no ‘normal view’ by your

logic.”

Well, someone’s wound up. As expected, s.h.i.+ki’s already trying to punch

holes in Miss Tōko’s argument. Certainly, a person’s eyes are higher than

the ground, which would qualify them for a “high place”, I guess. Miss Tōko

nods in approval at s.h.i.+ki, and continues her speech, probably condensed

now for the sake of s.h.i.+ki’s temper.

“Even if we count the fact that the ground isn’t actually flat but at an

angle, we also don’t usually call our normal vision to be a ‘commanding’

or ‘overlooking’ view. There’s a reason for that. Your vision isn’t exactly as