Vol 3 Chapter 3 (2/2)

”Yes, but I don't want to be a burden on you, Rikiga-san,” s.h.i.+on insisted. ”I'm fine. I've managed until now, and I'll keep managing. And I actually enjoy being around Nezumi.”

”There's no way you'd enjoy being around an a.s.s like him. You don't have to put on a brave face. You're having a hard time, aren't you? Look, you're not even wearing a sweater. You poor kid.”

”Oh, no, I'm just using my sweater to wrap my meat and bread―”

But Rikiga wasn't listening to s.h.i.+on's answer. He was glancing at his surroundings, and nodding fervently to himself.

”I know a good store. Let's go there.” He yanked s.h.i.+on by the arm, and walked into a shop that was lined with an enormous quant.i.ty of clothes. It looked like a used-clothing shop, and there were garments even hanging from the ceiling. The clothes ranged from well-worn to almost new.

”G'day.” A woman almost as large as the shopkeeper from the kebab stand materialized out of the shadows of a mountain of clothes. As soon as she noticed that Rikiga was her customer, she pasted a bright business smile onto her face.

”Whah, Mr. Rikiga. Nice to see you again,” she drawled. ”If you're looking for a dress to give to someone, we've got some very good ones, we do. One of these would leave her pleased as punch, yessir.”

”No, I'm not looking for women's clothes today,” replied Rikiga. ”Can you find something warm that would look nice on this boy here?”

The woman's eyes narrowed, and her gaze raked s.h.i.+on from head to toe.

”Whah, what an adorable gentleman we have heah,” she said appreciatively. ”And mah, what bee-yootiful hair. Is it fas.h.i.+onable with young people these days?”

s.h.i.+on pulled his wool hat further down over his eyes. His glossy white hair stood out, even in the dim darkness of the shop. When the parasite wasp had hatched inside him, as the price for his survival or some sort of side-effect, s.h.i.+on's hair had been drained of its colour in a single night, and a red scar had appeared on his skin, snaking its way up from his leg to his neck. He could hide his scar with clothing, but with his hair, it wasn't so easy. His snowy hair and youthful face were an unusual combination, and drew stares wherever he went. In the West Block, it wasn't particularly out-of-place for young people to be balding or have greying hair from malnutrition. There were many children that had salt-and-pepper hair which would otherwise be more common to those entering their senior years. But those like s.h.i.+on, whose every strand of hair was pure white and s.h.i.+ny, was a rarity.

”It's more transparent than white, I'd say. I think it looks way prettier than before, to tell you the truth.” Even Nezumi had said so, while touching his hair with his fingertips.

”Is he your boy? Highly unlikely, Ah'd say,” the women remarked, her artificial smile still plastered to her face as she gazed at s.h.i.+on. He felt like he was being sized up. It was a little uncomfortable.

”Rikiga-san, um, I really don't need any winter clothes, can we just―”

”Nonsense,” Rikiga interrupted. ”Winters here are harsh. You've got barely enough flesh on those bones to get you through. You need some good, warm clothes to keep the cold out. Well?” he said impatiently to the shopkeeper. ”Are you going to put out some clothes or not? If you're not, I'll take my business elsewhere.”

Under Rikiga's glare, the woman sprang hastily into motion.

”Whah, of course Ah will. We've actually just gotten a s.h.i.+pment in. Just a momen' now.” The woman heaved an armload of clothes from behind a dirty curtain.

”There y' go. Choose any one you like. They're all excellent qualitay.”

s.h.i.+on had his doubts about whether they were of excellent qualitay or not, but there was certainly a variety of garments. There were overcoats, half-coats, sweaters, heavy shawls, and sports jackets of every size, material, and colour, all heaped high.

”Guess you just have to look in the right place,” s.h.i.+on muttered to himself. Here was a wealth of clothing, where just down the road there were people clad in rags, s.h.i.+vering in the cold. Even in a severely impoverished place like the West Block, there was still a stark divide between the poor and privileged.

”s.h.i.+on, you don't need to be modest. Pick anything that catches your eye.”

”But Rikiga-san, there's no reason for you to be so good to me―”

”Don't worry about it. You're Karan's son― and to me, that sort of feels like you're my son too. Think of it as a kind of treat from your dad.”

s.h.i.+on blinked, and gazed into Rikiga's flushed face. It looked like his drinking had done away with some of his inhibitions; what he was saying now was probably close to how he truly felt. Perhaps Rikiga had lived alone all this time in the West Block, with no family. And now, he was trying to re-enact the sort of family life he never had, with the son of a woman he had once loved. Freedom and loneliness. He had the cunning it took to succeed in the underground business with No. 6 officials as his patrons; but he had the frailty of one who had wearied of living too long in solitude.

Humans were complex. They housed in themselves both resilience and frailty; ying and yang; light and shadow; sacred and sinful. Here was the true form of a human that s.h.i.+on would never have been able to map from the vast sea of knowledge he had acquired in No. 6.

What he knew of the human body ― of roughly 32,000 genes; approximately 100,000 different kinds of proteins; 300 million base sequences of DNA; its neurons; collagen fibres; macrophages; the layered structure of muscles; the volume of blood in circulation ― he didn't think any of it a waste. He didn't think so at all. Butunderstanding a human being was an entirely different dimension. It was impossible to grasp any of the complexity or true form of a living being from systematic knowledge or information that could be converted to numbers.

It was something that s.h.i.+on had learned from his days of living with Nezumi on this land.

”Well, in that case, I guess I'll choose freely.”

”That's more like it,” Rikiga said jovially. ”Which one do you want? Find anything you like?”

s.h.i.+on pulled out a dark, heavy coat.

”I'll take this one. It looks warm.”

”Are you sure you want something that dull? Alright, then pick a flashy sweater. You're young, you'd look better in bright colours.”

”No, really―” s.h.i.+on protested, ”I don't need so much.”

”Nonsense. The coat by itself isn't going to keep you warm enough.”

”Ah'd say so too mahself, sir,” the woman chimed in. ”Our sweaters are verywarm, see. Whah don't you trah some on?”

The woman confidently yanked a sweater out of the pile. The mountain of clothes collapsed, and spilled in an avalanche over the floor.

”Oh, mah. Well. Ah do apologize―”

Rikiga clicked his tongue in annoyance.

”What are you doing?” he said irritably. ”Now we can't even choose from this mess. Ridiculous, huh, s.h.i.+on.” He paused. ”s.h.i.+on ― what's wrong?”

Although Rikiga had spoken right beside him, his words did not reach s.h.i.+on's ears. His gaze was glued to what had appeared underneath the scattered garments. All sound and colour disappeared from around him, and only that thing rose up into his vision.

It was a grey half-coat.

The soft colour, with a hint of blue; its premium quality obvious to the touch; the large b.u.t.tons on the cuffs of the sleeves ― he had seen them before.

”This is―” His hand trembled as he grasped the coat. There was a rip in the shoulder that had been sewn up crudely with black thread. There was also a b.u.t.ton missing, which looked like it had been torn off. His hands shook violently. He wanted them to stop, but they would not.

”That one capture your fancy? Ah, but this is ladies' coat, see. The very best qualitay, of course ― but maht be just a little snug on you, sir. Ah don't think it would fit. The last coat, the black one, that would look much―”

”Where did you―”

”Ah beg your pardon?”

”I'm asking you where you got this from!” He was yelling. He had no intention of intimidating the woman, but she raised her eyebrows in surprise, and took a step backwards.

”This coat― where― where did you get it?”

”s.h.i.+on!”

Rikiga clamped a hand on s.h.i.+on's shoulder from behind. ”What's wrong? What are you getting all worked up for? What's wrong with the coat?”

s.h.i.+on swallowed hard, and clenched the coat in his hands.

”This belongs to Safu.”

”Safu? Who's that?”

”My friend. My... very precious...”

”Friend? You mean, from when you were still inside the city?”

”Yes.”

”Are you sure it's not a mistake? There must be dozens of coats that look like this.”

s.h.i.+on gritted his teeth in hopes of stopping the trembling in his fingers, and shook his head from side to side.

It was no mistake. This was Safu's coat. It had been a gift from her only blood relative, her grandmother, and even for a boy like s.h.i.+on, he could tell that it was an elegant and becoming piece that complimented Safu's well-defined face.

”Your Grandma must really know you well, Safu. She always chooses things that look the best on you,” he had said.

”Yeah, I guess so. I mean, she's raised me all my life, after all. Hey, s.h.i.+on― if you were to give me a coat, what kind would you give me?”

”What? I'm sorry, but my wages are never gonna be able to get you a coat as nice as that one.”

”I'm just saying, 'what if'? I want to know what you would choose.”

”Hmm, tough question.”

”Well, think hard. Solving difficult questions is your thing, isn't it?”

Last year, they had walked down a winter path holding this kind of conversation. The rays of the winter sun had streamed through the bare branches and shone down on Safu, making her coat glow dimly. That was the first time he had thought his childhood friend looked beautiful. The wintry sun, the warm smile, the grey coat. It was Safu's. He was sure of it.

Why― what was this doing here? Why, why, why....

”Why?” s.h.i.+on pressed urgently. ”Where, and how did you get this coat? Tell me, please. Now.”

”s.h.i.+on, calm down.” Rikiga stepped out in front of s.h.i.+on, and blocked the woman's way. ”So, what route did you s.h.i.+p this in through? Did it find its way here from No. 6, or―”

The woman's face had long been wiped clean of its plastic smile. Instead, it was filled with bold and disdainful suspicion.

”Whah, I never. Here Ah am, bein' polite for you, Mr. Rikiga, and what do Ah get in return? Is it any of your business where Ah get mah things? Or what is it― plannin' to find all the faults you can with mah goods, and get them for cheap, Ah suppose? This is no joking matter, no, this is not. Ah'm not laughing one bit.”

”What the h.e.l.l would I be doing wanting to make you laugh?” Rikiga snapped. ”I can a.s.sure you the chances of that is slimmer than a hair on my head. Why aren't you talking? What are you being so cautious for? It's that risky, is it, wherever you're getting these s.h.i.+pped from?”

The woman opened her wide mouth and let forth a stream of indignant complaints.

”Tha's quite enough. Ah'll have you know Ah run a decent business 'round these parts. If you've got somethin' to complain about, you can show yourself the door. Git out, Ah say. Go home!”

Before she could finish, Rikiga had twisted her arm behind her back, and pinned her down on the counter.

”What the h.e.l.l are you doin'? You dirty littl' b.a.s.t.a.r.d!”

”If you don't want your arm broken, you better spit it out,” Rikiga said darkly. ”How did you get this coat?”

”Ah got it from the waste disposal plant in No. 6. Picked it up 'cause it was floatin' in the sewage. Thas' all, mercy, Jesus!” She winced in pain.

”There was sewage coming out of that place? I don't think I've heard anything about that.”

”Thas' whah Ah'm sayin', it was a long time ago ― does it matter, really? They threw 't away 'cause it was garbage, Ah'm free to do whatever Ah want with it. It's n.o.body's business, 'specially not yours.”

”You're lying!” s.h.i.+on yelled. ”That's a lie! This coat was important to Safu. She would never throw it away!”

”What's the noise about?” A door at the back of the store opened, and a man walked in. He was a giant ― at least two metres tall in height. It looked like he weighed at least a hundred kilograms. His head was completely bald, and his face was strangely twisted. Despite the season, he was only clad in a short-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt. Tattoos of a scorpion and skull decorated his thick arms.

”You're back, and just in tahm. Will you kick these two out of here?” The woman smiled contemptuously while still being pinned by Rikiga. ”Ah'll have you know that mah husband's got mighty strong muscles in them arms. Could sure break a neck or two 'fore breakfast. Ah'd git outta here if Ah were you, 'fore you end up dead.”

Rikiga let go of the woman, and shrugged his shoulders casually.

”Well?” said the woman impatiently. ”What're you dawdling for? Beat 'em 'til they can barely stand, go on.”

The man remained silent. Then, without uttering a single word, he bowed his head low.

”Long time no see, Conk,” Rikiga said momentarily. ”Didn't know you settled down. So you're the hubby of a clothes-dealer now, huh?”

”Got married a month ago,” the man mumbled.

”Well, well. Congratulations. Will you be kind and ask your beautiful wife where she got this coat? She's got a lot of s.p.u.n.k, this madam of yours. Having a hard time getting the truth out of her.”

The man whom Rikiga called Conk stared intently at the coat in s.h.i.+on's hands, and turned to the woman.

”Tell Rikiga-san the truth.”

”Whah, whas' gotten in to you all of a sudden? What do you have to listen to them for?”

”Rikiga-san was good to me a long time ago. Hurry up. Say it.”

Under Conk's threatening gaze, the woman's face twisted into a scowl. Still scowling, she turned her face away huffily.

”Ah jus' bought it off some middleman. Ah dunno where he maht've gotten it.”

Rikiga clicked his tongue.

”Liar. There's no way you wouldn't know where your merchandise came from.”

”Ah don't know what Ah don't know,” the woman said stubbornly. ”No way Ah would.”

Rikiga posed another question while restraining Conk, who had taken a step forward with a clenched fist.

”Then tell me who that middleman is,” he said. ”I'll be able to figure out the rest.”

The woman didn't answer. Rikiga extracted a few bills from his breast pocket, placed them in the woman's hand, and closed her fingers around them.

”You were talking to yourself, and you let the middleman's name slip. We just happened to overhear. We'll keep it that way. I won't cause you trouble.”

The woman glanced at the bills in her hand, and with her face still turned aside, mumbled an answer.

”It's the dogkeeper. That weird squirt who uses his dogs to do business.”

The dog curled up at s.h.i.+on's feet p.r.i.c.ked its ears. Rikiga gave a low growl.

”Inukas.h.i.+, huh. Then it must've come from the Correctional Facility.”

”Correctional Facility?” s.h.i.+on echoed in disbelief.

”Yeah,” said Rikiga. ”I heard the kid pa.s.ses prisoner's belongings along to the underground market.”

s.h.i.+on's heart stopped. Or at least, it felt like it did. He couldn't breathe. There was a dull ringing in his ears.

Correctional Facility, prisoners, Correctional Facility, prisoners, Correctional Facility...

”Then Safu... she's inside the Correctional Facility?”

”Most likely,” Rikiga answered heavily. ”And she probably hasn't been invited cordially as a guest, either. She's probably been taken into custody― treated as a prisoner, no doubt.”

s.h.i.+on burst out of the store with the grey coat in his arms.

He had to see Inukas.h.i.+ immediately. He had to learn the truth from him.

”s.h.i.+on!”

Behind him, Rikiga's yell scattered on the wind and dispersed fruitlessly into the air.

The man was walking strangely, and he had been doing so for some time. He stumbled on unsteady feet as if he were drunk.

Twelve-year-old Juse tilted his head in bewilderment as he dismounted from his bicycle. Off to the left, he could see the apartment building where he and his family lived. He was in a corner of a park, one of many that dotted the residential area. Although it wasn't as large as the Forest Park, it was nevertheless a peaceful alcove abundant in greenery. Juse pushed his bicycle along ― a crossroad bike he had gotten for this twelfth birthday from his father ― and followed the man with his gaze. He couldn't help but be concerned; he couldn't just leave the man there. His mother was always lamenting this habit of his. 'Don't get involved in other people's business,' she would say. 'You seem to want to stick your nose into everything, Juse. I wonder if you've gotten it from your grandfather.' But if he hadgotten it from his grandfather, for Juse it would have been the best thing he could ask for. He always thought so in his heart.

Juse loved his grandfather. When Juse was still young, his grandfather, who had once been a sailor, would always sit Juse on his lap and tell him stories. He spoke of the sea, which Juse had never seen before; of great white whales that were as big as mountains; lands that were suspended year-round in snow and ice; flocks of tens of thousands of b.u.t.terflies that streamed across the sky in one large flowing ma.s.s; giants that lived above the clouds; mysterious creatures that lived deep beneath the sea; faeries; magic; ancient wars of the G.o.ds ― his mother hated it, but there was a time in Juse's life when he became completely engrossed in the stories that his grandfather would tell him.

He grew up, and not long after he began attending an inst.i.tution selected by the Education Bureau, he received a formal reprimand from the instructor that he had delusional tendencies. He was told that this was a concern for his future. His mother broke down in tears, and his father reeled from the blow. Juse was streamed into the Special Program and received special instruction for a full year. It was mandated to him, and he was not given a choice. All the old books he had borrowed from the shelves of his grandfather were disposed of. And a few months later, his grandfather disappeared altogether. He had been taken to the Twilight Cottage. Juse always heard from people how it was the greatest happiness any elderly person could ask for, but he himself cried in bed for many nights from the loneliness of never being able to see his grandfather again. And on nights where he cried himself to sleep, he always dreamt of the stories his grandfather used to tell him.

A year later, Juse had stopped talking about great white whales, or faeries with transparent wings. The adults sighed breaths of relief. But in the depths of the boy's soul, the stories remained secretly alive, and breathed within him. He would never be able to wash them away. Perhaps that was why he found himself still concerned about other people, even now. He couldn't help but wonder, what does this person do? What's he feeling right now? But he had also acquired the sense not to say it out loud.

”Oh―!” Juse cried out softly. The man had collapsed at the foot of a beech tree. The man groaned in pain. Juse left his crossroad bike and trotted to the man's side. He thought he saw something black fly away from the man, who was lying face down. Juse didn't have the time to check. The man's body had begun convulsing, but soon lay still.

”Um― sir―”

Juse called out to him hesitantly. He peered into the man's face. The next moment, Juse was screaming.

-- END OF CHAPTER 3 --

Notes

Translated from the j.a.panese. (back)

<script>