Part 4 (1/2)
”Hear, hear! What would the last two be then, a cross-talk act?”
”And if we were only one...Miyako Harumi?”
They all helped themselves freely to the Canadian Club during this exchange of ideas. And as the alcohol kicked in, the atmosphere of the old six-member Midori Society gradually returned.
”We all know who's behind this,” Suzuki Midori said. ”The ones trying to turn us into the Kas.h.i.+mas.h.i.+ Sisters or Simon and Garfunkel are those cretinous friends of Sugioka.”
The following day, Suzuki Midori accompanied Henmi Midori to the scene of Sugioka's murder. They were standing beneath their parasols, at the very spot where he'd been stabbed in the throat, speaking in hushed tones, when the junior college girl with the indescribably disturbing face and voice-the one who'd caused n.o.bue and Is.h.i.+hara such distress-approached. following day, Suzuki Midori accompanied Henmi Midori to the scene of Sugioka's murder. They were standing beneath their parasols, at the very spot where he'd been stabbed in the throat, speaking in hushed tones, when the junior college girl with the indescribably disturbing face and voice-the one who'd caused n.o.bue and Is.h.i.+hara such distress-approached.
”Excuse me, may I help you?”
The two Midoris hadn't been behaving as if they were looking for help or trying to find an address, and they were startled to be accosted so unexpectedly-doubly so by someone with such a face. It was a face that instantly robbed those who gazed upon it of a good thirty percent of the energy they needed to go on living.
”We're ffine, thanks.”
Suzuki Midori and Henmi Midori exchanged looks. They were both the sort of people who tend to gauge where they rank on the happiness scale by comparing themselves to others, so when they saw this girl they both experienced a sense of superiority welling up from deep inside and thought something along the lines of, What a face! I guess being young isn't everything after all! What a face! I guess being young isn't everything after all! They soon became aware of a second, more powerful reaction, however-a sudden desire to go somewhere far, far away and fling themselves off a rock-bound cliff-and that swelling sense of superiority dissolved in their throats. They soon became aware of a second, more powerful reaction, however-a sudden desire to go somewhere far, far away and fling themselves off a rock-bound cliff-and that swelling sense of superiority dissolved in their throats.
”And you are...?” Henmi Midori asked, enduring the sensation that a heavy, bitter liquid was surging up toward her esophagus from the gap between her stomach and liver.
”I'm a Flo-Ju student. I live in this dormitory.”
The junior college girl's voice made every hair on their bodies stand on end and quiver. Their pubic hairs, and even the freshly shaved stubble under their arms, seemed to wave and ripple in a hideous breeze.
”Flo-Ju?”
Suzuki Midori thought maybe the word was student slang for dripping snot or something. The girl's nose wasn't actually running, she noticed, but on a face like this a bit of dripping snot-or even dripping tears or dripping p.o.o.p or dripping menstrual blood-could only have been an improvement.
”Flower Petal Junior College, we call it Flo-Ju for short, but I have another aspect to my ident.i.ty, which is that I'm also a witness.”
The junior college girl puffed out her chest in her white cotton blouse. A tepid wind began to blow and a shadow suddenly blocked out the sun that had been s.h.i.+ning merrily all day.
”Witness?” the two Midoris squeaked in unison. The tips of their pubic hairs continued to undulate sickeningly as a feverish sort of chill shuddered through them, like the prelude to an eruption of foul-smelling secretions from every pore.
”Don't you remember? A while back, right about there, where you're standing now, a young man with everything to look forward to in life was murdered, and I saw it all. And then after that I was honored to cooperate with the police in their investigation, and later I met two of the victim's friends and went with them to an ice-cream parlor, where we had the opportunity to discuss various topics of interest to young people like ourselves.”
As the junior college girl spoke, Henmi Midori, whose bushy area was still billowing like the gra.s.sy meadow where Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind lies sleeping, began to feel as if the creepiest man in the world were licking her all over. But she screwed up her courage and croaked: ”His friends?”
”Such funny, cheerful boys, and the short one gave me his telephone number, and maybe I'm just a coward but I still haven't called him yet.”
Don't do it-all the optic fibers will disintegrate at the sound of your voice, Suzuki Midori thought as she asked, ”Do you happen to know the young man's name? We're friends of poor Sugioka-kun's mother-the boy who was murdered?-and she wants to put together a memorial alb.u.m of his life.”
”Is.h.i.+hara-san,” said the junior college girl, with a sparkle in her misaligned eyes.
III.
Suzuki Midori riffled through her Louis Vuitton personal organizer. She found a blank page and with a pencil wrote the name in katakana: Midori riffled through her Louis Vuitton personal organizer. She found a blank page and with a pencil wrote the name in katakana: [image]
”Do you know the kanji?” she asked. ”Is.h.i.+ like 'stone' and like 'stone' and hara hara like 'field'? And if you could give me his phone number too-after all, we won't be able to contact him if we don't have his telephone number, isn't that so?” like 'field'? And if you could give me his phone number too-after all, we won't be able to contact him if we don't have his telephone number, isn't that so?”
”I don't know the kanji.”
The junior college girl twisted the corners of her lips in what was probably meant to be a mischievous smile. It was a smile like rotten eggs and mildewed cheese and poisonous toadstools. Suzuki Midori and Henmi Midori, receiving the full impact of this smile from a mere seventy centimeters away, felt their stomachs shrivel, along with two or three other internal organs, and a greasy sweat oozed from their temples.
”You see, girls of our generation, we write boys' names in katakana, like you do for foreign words, instead of kanji, probably because a young man's existence itself doesn't mean much of anything anymore, so their names are just sounds that don't have any meaning, like Tos.h.i.+-chan or Fumiya or Jun or Takas.h.i.+ or Takes.h.i.+ or Yos.h.i.+hiko or Kazu or Tomo or Yuki or Akira or Yasus.h.i.+ or Keisuke or Kohji or Yohsuke or Satos.h.i.+ or Tohru or Yuji or Potato or Jello or Cheeto or Tofu or Edamame or Monkeystoolmushroom or Bouillabaisse. I guess that's just the way we girls of today are.”
From their temples, the drops of greasy sweat slid down the hair tucked behind their ears to the nape of the neck and around to the base of the throat, finally soaking into the silk of their blouses. This sweat seemed many times heavier-hundreds of times heavier-than the sort one produces when in a sauna or playing tennis, and it made a deep, rumbling sound as it rolled past their ears. Another five minutes face-to-face with her Another five minutes face-to-face with her, Suzuki Midori thought, and I won't even know who I am anymore and I won't even know who I am anymore. The girl wasn't tremendously ugly or disgustingly unkempt or anything like that. It was just that vague asymmetry of her eyes and face that seemed to suck energy like a black hole.
”But, oh, the telephone number, it's in the drawer of my desk, shall I go get it? Or-it's only a small room, but would you like to come in? This is a women's dormitory, of course, so there's a strict rule against having men in your room, but there's no problem whatsoever with having other women visit you, especially such elegant and sophisticated ladies as yourselves. You don't look like cult members or anything, and a friend of mine who's studying in London sent me some apple tea, and I'd love for you to try it.”
Before I'd sit sipping apple tea brewed by you, and looking at that face of yours, thought Suzuki Midori, I'd strip naked before a handsome young male friend and suck jam through my nose I'd strip naked before a handsome young male friend and suck jam through my nose. ”That's very nice of you,” she said, ”but we too, when we were in junior college, lived in women's dormitories very much like this tranquil sanctuary of yours, and although there's nothing we'd like better than to visit your room, it wouldn't be right, really. After all, a women's dormitory is one of the few truly sacred places left in this nation of ours!”
When the junior college girl nodded and trotted back to the dorm to retrieve Is.h.i.+hara's number, Henmi Midori's head drooped, and she wobbled on her feet. Suzuki Midori lent her a supportive arm.
”Be strong,” she said. ”If we fall down now, how will we ever avenge Wataa?”
”Yes. Yes, you're right.” Henmi Midori took a Chanel handkerchief from her Lancel bag and pressed it against her temples and forehead and neck. ”What is she, though? Is she really an earthling, with the same kinds of genes and everything as us? When I saw that face, and heard that voice...”
”You lost the will to live, right?”
”Yes! No matter what anyone said, even if my spirit couldn't be reborn in the Pure Land, I just wanted to sink to my knees and beat my head against the pavement.”
”I know. But listen-I just realized something big.”
No sooner had Suzuki Midori said this than the junior college girl reappeared, skipping toward them with her hands linked behind her back. The two Midoris understood what it must feel like when the torturer returns with a fresh list of questions. Both experienced a wave of vertigo, and each opened her stance and bent her knees slightly, bracing herself to keep from collapsing.
Taking care not to look directly at the girl's face, Suzuki Midori copied Is.h.i.+hara's number down in her organizer.
”Are you sure you won't have some apple tea?” the junior college girl said. ”I've also got a pumpkin pie I bought. I was hoping to share it with somebody in the dorm, but I'd be-”
They interrupted to explain in a jumble of words that they were terribly busy helping Sugioka-kun's mother with her memorial alb.u.m and goodness look at the time, and with that they spun on their heels and ran like h.e.l.l. Not until they had turned a couple of corners did they slow to a stop and try to catch their breath.
”So tell me. What's the big thing you realized?”
Though she'd just sprinted a good hundred meters, Henmi Midori's face wasn't flushed but grayish blue. One sensed that if she hadn't spoken she'd have dissolved in tears, or possibly died.