No,
not forgiveness
, Ushikawa decided, rethinking it. Those eyes
pitied
him. She knew
how ugly Ushikawa’s actions were, and she felt compassion for him.
Looking at her eyes, he had felt a sharp stab of pain between his ribs, as if a thick
knitting needle had been thrust in. He felt like a twisted, ugly person.
So what?
he
thought.
I really am twisted and ugly
. The natural, transparent pity that colored her
eyes sank deep into his heart. He would have much preferred to be openly accused,
reviled, denounced, and convicted. Much better even to be beaten senseless with a
baseball bat.
That
he could stand. But not
this
.
738
Compared with her, Tengo was much easier to deal with. In the photo he was
standing at the entrance, also looking in his direction. Like Fuka-Eri, he carefully
examined his surroundings. But there was nothing in his eyes. Pure, ignorant eyes like
those couldn’t locate the camera hidden behind the curtains, or Ushikawa.
Ushikawa turned to the photos of the
mystery woman
. There were three photos.
Baseball cap, dark-framed glasses, gray muffler up to her nose. It was impossible to
make out her features. The lighting was poor in all the photos, and the baseball cap
cast a shadow over her face. Still, this woman perfectly fit his mental image of
Aomame. He picked up the photos and, like checking out a poker hand, went through
them in order, over and over. The more he looked at them, the more convinced he was
that this had to be Aomame.
He called the waitress over and asked her about the day’s dessert. Peach pie, she
replied. Ushikawa ordered a piece and a refill of coffee.
If this isn’t Aomame
, he thought as he waited for the pie,
then I might never see her
as long as I live
.
The peach pie was much tastier than expected. Juicy peaches inside a crisp, flaky
crust. Canned peaches, no doubt, but not too bad for a dessert at a chain restaurant.
Ushikawa ate every last bite, drained the coffee, and left the restaurant feeling
content. He picked up three days’ worth of food at a supermarket, then went back to
the apartment and his stakeout in front of the camera.
As he continued his surveillance of the entrance, he leaned back against the wall,
in a sunny spot, and dozed off a few times. This didn’t bother him. He felt sure he
hadn’t missed anything important while he slept. Tengo was away from Tokyo at his
father’s funeral, and Fuka-Eri wasn’t coming back. She knew he was continuing his
surveillance. The chances were slim that the
mystery woman
would visit while it was
light out. She would be cautious, and wait until dark to make a move.
But even after sunset the
mystery woman
didn’t appear. The same old lineup came
and went—shopping bags in hand, out for an evening stroll, those coming back from
work looking more beaten and worn out than when they had set off in the morning.
Ushikawa watched them come and go but didn’t snap any photos. There wasn’t any
need. Ushikawa was focused on only three people. Everyone else was just a nameless
pedestrian. But to pass time Ushikawa called out to them, using the nicknames he had
come up with.
“Hey, Chairman Mao.” (The man’s hair looked like Mao Tse-tung’s.) “You must
have worked hard today.”
“Warm today, isn’t it, Long Ears—perfect for a walk.”
“Evening, Chinless. Shopping again? What’s for dinner?”
Ushikawa kept up his surveillance until eleven. He gave a big yawn and called it a
day. After he brushed his teeth, he stuck out his tongue and looked at it in the mirror.
It had been a while since he had examined his tongue. Something like moss was
growing on it, a light green, like real moss. He examined this moss carefully under the
light. It was disturbing. The moss adhered to his entire tongue and didn’t look like it
739
would come off easily.
Do'stlaringiz bilan baham: |