Inter Ice Age 4 Read online

  “Why? I don’t intend to pass over a slight like this in silence.”

  “Al right. If you don’t want to call her to the phone, then I’ll let you ask her yourself. Now, about that fake nurse who took her in. I seem to remember your wife saying something to the effect that she had a mole on her cheek, but I wonder if she wasn’t mistaken. The mole was located above and to the side of the upper lip, and not on the cheek, wasn’t it?”

  30

  I panted laboriously as if I had forgotten to breathe. From a great distance a faint beam of light shone in, and the aspect of my surroundings underwent a complete change. A woman with a mole on her upper lip, not on her cheek. Perhaps there had been such an illusion, memory being as vague as it is. If so, then was the nurse my assistant, Wada Katsuko? Wada had a mole on her upper lip. It distressed her, and she had the habit of bending her head so that it would not be conspicuous. When she did that, naturally the mole seemed to be on the lower part of her face. Vaguely remembered, it could well have shifted to her cheek.

  “Oh, Sadako!” I cried out, shaken, in a voice that could be heard throughout the house. “That nurse’s mole . . .”

  Immediately the door before me moved, and my wife’s surprised face peeked in.

  “What’s wrong? You frightened me.”

  “The mole . . . it wasn’t on the cheek, but about here, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, now that you mention it, I think it was.”

  “Tell me. Where was it, precisely?”

  “I’d remember if I saw it, but . . . yes, I really feel it was there.”

  “Ah, exactly!” interjected the I on the telephone.

  I hurriedly waved my hand, trying to shoo my wife away. But she stared back at me without moving, a cold glint in her eye. I did not understand why she wore such an expression on her face. Keeping the receiver pressed hard against my ear, I remained silent, my back turned toward her.

  “Well,” continued the voice, the other I, “the woman was Wada as you surmised. This year, on New Year’s day, when the rest of the members of the Institute all came to present their respects, Wada unexpectedly came down with a cold and couldn’t come with them. Consequently your wife couldn’t have known her. If this is clear, then it’s also clear that the idea of whether she’s your enemy or friend is of little use, isn’t it?”

  “Ah right, if that’s the way it is. She did what she did at my, that is, your request.”

  “Something you don’t agree with?”

  I glanced guardedly around. My wife was no longer there.

  “Well, it’s just that everything seems to be working against me.”

  “It would seem so,” the machine said calmly in-was it my imagination?-a regretful tone. “For example, you’re your own enemy, there’s no way out of it. We’ve ail exerted as much effort as we can for you.”

  “I know that. That’s enough!” Suddenly I was unreasonably angry. “What’s your conclusion? I’ve had enough of going round in circles. For God’s sake, what are you saying I should do?”

  “Curious. I thought the conclusion was already clear. You don’t have to cause trouble by putting your wife on the machine.”

  “Why would that cause trouble?”

  “But it would, wouldn’t it? Or were you thinking she’d meekly let herself be manipulated without any explanation? What a simpleton you are if you did. You apparently flatter yourself on being a cold-hearted man, capable of feigning ignorance at will, but you’re simply a boring reactionary. At point your wife will not permit her mind to be looked into. Why? Because there are things in her heart she doesn’t want you to see. No, don’t worry, nothing to breed unfaithfulness or jealousy. But maybe they’re worse than that: resignation and contempt.”

  “That’s absurd!”

  “No. The ambush is always where you least expect it. The obstacle in an unexpected place is the turning point of destiny. In order to reason your wife into compliance, you can’t help revealing just a bit of the truth. And the promise that you made at the Yamamoto Laboratories is broken in spite of yourself.”

  “If you base yourself on such an hypothesis . .

  “Oh, no, it’s no hypothesis. It’s quite a certainty. It amounts to a conclusion. If I hadn’t made this telephone call, you would surely have broken your promise and revealed something. Of course, there was still a way out of the difficulty. You might, for instance, have previously made a request, through Professor Yamamoto, for permission for your wife to observe, but that would hardly seem to have been your intention. Your thoughts are turned in just the opposite direction. They are, aren’t they? Although you’ve visited the laboratory, you’re beginning to think that what until now has been ordinary is perhaps an upside-down reality. You are thinking only of escaping to an upside-down world, severing your links with the future by murdering your own child. Do you remember last night Wada saying as she was talking with you that this was a trial? It was indeed, a real trial. And perhaps the verdict is what I’m saying now. You’re a dyed-in-the-wool reactionary who bears no resemblance to the designer of the forecasting machine. A really amazingly reactionary man.”

  “Did you go to the trouble of calling me just to preach like this?”

  “Don’t talk as if you were someone else. I’m you, you know. All right. I’d like to minimize the number of victims, anyway. Now that you know that the nurse was Wada, there’s no longer any need to put your wife on the machine. If you’ll agree, we’ve made that much progress.”

  “But then you mean that my child was put into an artificial placenta for aquans?”

  “Precisely.”

  “But why? Why was it necessary to do that?”

  “I knew you would want to know the reason. I understand that Professor Yamamoto obviously anticipated you would ask questions about the creation of human life outside the womb and that he laughed at your timidity in not doing so. So I have made another request for you to see the breeding of aquatic humans. We are expected to submit separate requests. Perhaps the screening is already completed, but for the answer you’d better ask the committee directly. Someone will pick you up after five.”

  “Just one more thing: Who, for God’s sake murdered the accountant?”

  “Tanomogi, of course. But not so fast, it was I, that is you, who gave the order.”

  “I didn’t know that!”

  “Even if you didn’t, I can’t do anything about it, that’s the way it was.”

  “Tanomogi’s there, isn’t he? He just coughed.”

  “No. This is Wada.”

  “I don’t care who it is. Put him on immediately!”

  “Do you want to take it?” asked the machine as if turning around. At once it was answered by Wada’s nasal peal of laughter. “But Professor, you’re talking to yourself.”

  It was quite true. Since I was already there, to appear in person would be comical no matter how you looked at it. But what should my position be? Suddenly my sense of touch was dulled; and the receiver, sticky with perspiration, seemed about to slip from my grasp. As I endeavored hastily to catch it, I cut the connection. I tried calling back, but only a low buzzing answered me.

  Perhaps it was best so. If the machine was my second self and knew everything about me, it had certainly anticipated this blunder too. But as far as I was concerned, I still had questions to ask. Supposing this other I had ordered the murder of the accountant, that would mean at least that it was already in existence before that time. That is, it must mean that this I already existed before it occurred to me to forecast the future of individuals. How in heaven’s name to pinpoint exactly when it had come into existence? And who was responsible for its birth?

  I tried phoning Tanomogi. He was out. Of course Wada was not in either.

  My wife called through the door.

  “I’m ready now.”

  “We’re not going.”

  “We’re not going . . . ? What does that mean?’’

  “It means you don’t have to come along.”
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  “I see. That was a very strange call, wasn’t it?”

  I opened the door and stood in front of the entrance to the living room. My wife averted her eyes, and taking off the clasp of her sash, flung it beside the dressing table.

  “Just a minute. Are you being contemptuous of me?”

  My wife looked up in surprise and then, as if she weren’t at all in the mood for it, laughed, but with her voice alone. “You’ve got white tooth powder all around your mouth.”

  I was reduced to insignificance. I was still trying to say something, but I had been reduced to insignificance. Without dreaming that these faces we showed to each other-my wife’s depressing, laughing countenance and my own stupid one with its tooth powder—we would never see again, I returned to the bathroom, blocking her out with the door. I rinsed my mouth and began to shave.

  31

  I called the research room at the Institute every half hour, trying to find where Tanomogi was. I filled the long intervals by reading the newspaper. The usual: INTERNATIONAL AGREEMENTS, TERRITORIAL WATER PROBLEMS, FINANCIAL SPIES, EXTRAORDINARY HEAT WAVE, RISE OF SEA LEVEL, EARTHQUAKE, then BEAUTY, MURDER, FIRE, and THE TALE OF A PROUD SPIRIT. However, it was curious, for this unprepossessing jumble of events made me feel rather sentimental. At forty-six I had glimpsed a bit of the future, yet I could not help but think that all these everyday occurrences belonged to a remote and distant past. I felt as if I had been left behind, exhausted.

  At some point I dozed off. A wet smudge the size of my face appeared on the newspaper crumpled under my head. Yoshio, just home from school, had flung aside his briefcase and was at once on the point of rushing out again. My wife’s irritated voice trailed after him. I rose involuntarily. I wanted to call Yoshio and speak to him, but in the next instant his light footfalls had faded away down some distant lane.

  I went downstairs. My wife called out from the kitchen: ‘‘Do you want something to eat?”

  “No. Not now. Later, I think.”

  Slipping on a pair of clogs, I went out. My intention was just to stroll a little while around the neighborhood and at the same time dry out my shirt, which was soaked with perspiration.

  No sooner had I stepped out than my eye caught the shadower. At this point he was coming toward me at a languid pace, a bored look on his face, and every two or three steps he would kick pebbles on the pavement right and left. He noticed me and stopped in surprise. I approached him, and this time he did not take to his heels but nodded his head and smiled with a perplexed air.

  “What are you up to?”

  "Uh . . .”

  I tried to pass by, ignoring him. But he turned on his heels and fell into step beside me. Well, let him do as he liked. He wouldn’t be fool enough to try anything in a place like this. I could hear the ceaseless shouting of children at play, and a number of pedestrians were to be seen. After we had walked along for some time, I remarked, with the intention of being disagreeable, how smoothly he had gotten away the other day, but he laughed loudly in the most guileless way.

  “Oh, no. I just did what they told me.”

  “Your assassination technique is quite good, obviously.”

  “I only follow orders.”

  “What are your orders now, then?”

  “Well . . .” He suddenly lowered his eyes in confusion. ‘‘Yeah, well, I was told to keep an eye on you.”

  “Who told you to do that?”

  “Mm. You yourself, wasn’t it, Professor?”

  So that was it. This other I was apparently willing to accept any order, even a murder. But I had absolutely no idea from where in me such a personality could be drawn. If I were not so oppressed and overwhelmed, my agony would have flamed hotter than the air around me, and I would have begun to tremble like someone consumed with fever.

  “Incidentally, how many men would you say you’ve killed already?”

  “Not a single one, yet, since I came to work for you.”

  I sighed in relief. “But what about before?”

  “Eleven. Yeah. My gimmick is: no traces. I get ’em unconscious. I block the nose. I block the mouth. Suffocation. It’s a pain in the ass, but it’s a sure thing. When I fake it like he’s drowned I don’t just stop up his nose, I blow water up it through a rubber tube. Press on his chest, like artificial breathing, and get the water to the lungs. Believe me, there’s no way to tell he didn’t drown. I’ve got a way to strangle too. Press with your palm, flat like this, here around the Adam’s apple, and there’s no marks. It takes longer. You get resistance. Sometimes you’ve got to calm him down. But be careful or he conks out on you the wrong way. Break his finger joints. Dig out an eye with a fingernail. That’s the way. No instruments, ever. Instruments always turn up again. Work with my bare hands. Might sound like boasting, but I can usually tell right away what method to use to break somebody down. Sort of hypnotism, I guess. Press on a vital part and he’s out of it. Take you, for instance, Prof. I know what I’d do, but, well, can’t tell you everything. If you know too much I’m not so effective. But you wouldn’t care, would you, Professor, huh? Certainly wouldn’t matter to me. In your case, it’d be some place in the face or around the side of the chest, I’d say.”

  What for God’s sake had my other self wanted in hiring such a man? He had been employed and had not once been put to work, so it was conceivable that the purpose had been to have him as my bodyguard; it was also conceivable that he was to keep special watch on me. Whichever it was, it was all very strange. There was no reason for me to be brazenly walking around with a fellow like this.

  “Al right, you can go home now.”

  “Oh no, I don’t go for that,” he chuckled, looking at me craftily out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t you say yourself, Professor, I wasn’t supposed to pay attention to any order unless it was written, even your own? I don’t go along with that. Say, if you’ve got the time, what about standing me to a little snack? Forgot my lunch when I left this morning. I probably shouldn’t be eating, but if I go with you that won’t be against orders. What about it, Professor? Anything’s O.K. with me: noodles, stew. . . .”

  Reasoning that it would be troublesome to refuse and that furthermore I stood to gain by winning him over, I offered him a bowl of noodles at a nearby shop. It occurred to me that I had had nothing to eat since morning myself. I was not hungry, but being in the restaurant, I ordered a plate of buckwheat noodles. In spite of the heat, my bloodthirsty companion ordered some sort of noodle soup and vegetables, which he sprinkled bright red with pepper and slowly ate, one spoonful after the other, as if he were testing them. He was concentrating so hard he did not even notice the fly crawling around on his face. More than murderer, he was a spooky character.

  The daytime television matinee relayed from the stage had just finished, and I realized it was five o’clock. Automatically the man rose and looked around. “I’m supposed to call at five and see where I take you tonight,” he said nervously, and hurrying to the telephone, he began to dial. He spoke a word or two, nodded, then at once hung up and came back to the table, a relieved expression on his face. “Everyone’s there; they want you over right away.”

  “Over? Where?”

  “You say where. It was all arranged, wasn’t it? I was supposed to come and get you at five.”

  This was the man then who must have been sent for me by my other self in concert with Yamamoto and his group of aquan breeders. It was all so simple and yet so terribly circuitous.

  “But who did you call just now?”

  “Professor Tanomogi, of course.”

  “Tanomogi? Why Tanomogi? Does he have anything to do with a committee?”

  ‘‘Yeah, well . . .”

  “Do you know the place?’’

  “Sure I do.”

  With a sense of being hurried, I hastily led the way out of the shop and at once hailed a taxi. Gradually the puzzle ring was being reassembled, the hunter pulling the strings of the trap was showing himself, the trunk was becoming vi
sible through the welter of branches. Things were falling into place; we would now see what they added up to. I was not at all concerned either about having come out in a wrinkled shirt and clogs nor that I had only thirty yen left after paying the check at the noodle shop. Tanomogi would be there. I would get him to pay the taxi fare.

  As one would expect of an assassin, my guide was thoroughly acquainted with the streets. He deliberately chose the narrower lanes, making the taxi weave here to the right, there to the left. But as the direction seemed to be rather different from the one I imagined—the one to the site of the Yamamoto Laboratories on the reclaimed land—I gradually began to feel nervous. Abruptly we came out on a street I recognized, a main artery I traveled mournings and evenings. “Tum there ... at that corner with the cigarette store,” ordered my companion over the driver’s shoulder. “In front of the white fence . . . there, on the right.”

  “Don’t be funny,” I cried out involuntarily in my confusion, placing my hands on the back of the seat before me. “This is the ICT annex. It’s my own office.”

  “Right,” said my companion, shifting to the comer, “but Mr. Tanomogi said here, so here we are.”

  It was no use arguing, for there were no grounds for claiming a mistake had been made. Anyway, I decided to get out and question the guard. He confirmed that a meeting was in progress. There was apparently no mistake, for he said he had been told to let them know as soon as I arrived. My guide nodded in apparent relief, intently rubbing his jaw.

  “What room is it?”

  “Sir, I think it’s the room with the forecasting machine on the second floor.”

  The windows, reflecting the darkening clouds, shone blankly and I could see nothing.

  Instructing the guard to pay the taxi fare for me, I set out. When I turned and looked over my shoulder, he was staring at my wooden clogs in amazement. And the hired assassin, standing by his side looking amiable, was laughing, his two long arms hanging limply by his sides.