Air Chrysalis
a
bestseller?”
“Seven years is a very long time, and nothing I have tried over the years has done
any good. If I don’t take this drastic measure now, the riddle may never be solved.”
“So you are using Eri as bait to try to lure a big tiger out of the underbrush.”
“No one knows what is going to come out of the underbrush. It won’t necessarily
be a tiger.”
“But you
do
seem to be expecting something violent to happen, I gather.”
“True, there is that possibility,” the Professor said with a thoughtful air. “You
yourself should know that anything can happen inside homogeneous, insular groups.”
A heavy silence followed, in the midst of which Fuka-Eri spoke up.
“It’s because the Little People came,” she said softly.
Tengo looked at her seated beside the Professor. As always, her face lacked
anything that might be called an expression.
“Are you saying that something changed in Sakigake because the Little People
came?” Tengo asked her.
She said nothing in reply. Her fingers toyed with the top button of her blouse.
Professor Ebisuno then spoke as if taking up where Eri’s silence left off. “I don’t
know what the Little People are supposed to mean, and Eri either can’t or won’t
explain in words what the Little People are. It does seem certain, however, that the
Little People played some role in the sudden drastic change of Sakigake from an
agricultural commune to a religious organization.”
“Or something Little People-ish did,” Tengo said.
“That’s true,” the Professor said. “I don’t know, either, whether it was the Little
People themselves or something Little People-ish. But it does appear to me, at least,
that Eri is trying to say something important by introducing the Little People in her
Air Chrysalis
.”
The Professor stared at his hands for a time, then looked up and said, “George
Orwell introduced the dictator Big Brother in his novel
1984
, as I’m sure you know.
The book was an allegorical treatment of Stalinism, of course. And ever since then,
the term ‘Big Brother’ has functioned as a social icon. That was Orwell’s great
accomplishment. But now, in the real year 1984, Big Brother is all too famous, and all
too obvious. If Big Brother were to appear before us now, we’d point to him and say,
210
‘Watch out! He’s Big Brother!’ There’s no longer any place for a Big Brother in this
real world of ours. Instead, these so-called Little People have come on the scene.
Interesting verbal contrast, don’t you think?”
Looking straight at Tengo, the Professor had something like a smile on his face.
“The Little People are an invisible presence. We can’t even tell whether they are
good or evil, or whether they have any substance or not. But they seem to be steadily
undermining us.” The Professor paused, then continued on. “It may be that if we are
ever to learn what happened to Fukada and his wife or what happened to Eri, we will
first have to find out what the Little People are.”
“So, then, is it the Little People that you are trying to lure out into the open?”
Tengo asked.
“I wonder, ultimately, whether it is possible for us to lure something out when we
can’t even tell whether it has substance or not,” the Professor said, the smile still
playing about his lips. “The ‘big tiger’ you mentioned could be more realistic, don’t
you think?”
“Either way, that doesn’t change the fact that Eri is being used for bait.”
“No, ‘bait’ is not the right word. She is creating a whirlpool: that is a closer image.
Eventually, those at the edge of the whirlpool will start spinning along with it. That is
what I am waiting to see.”
The Professor slowly twirled his finger in space. Then he continued, “The one in
the center of the whirlpool is Eri. There is no need for the one in the center of a
whirlpool to move. That is what those around the edge must do.”
Tengo listened in silence.
“If I may borrow your unsettling figure of speech, all of us may be functioning as
bait, not just Eri.” The Professor looked at Tengo with narrowed eyes. “You
included.”
“All I had to do, supposedly, was rewrite
Air Chrysalis
. I was just going to be a
hired hand, a technician. That was how Mr. Komatsu put it to me to begin with.”
“I see.”
“But things seem to have changed a bit along the way,” Tengo said. “Does this
mean that you revised his original plan, Professor?”
“No, that is not how I see it. Mr. Komatsu has his intentions and I have my
intentions. At the moment, they share the same direction.”
“So the plan is proceeding as if the two of you just happened to be riding
together.”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“Two men with different destinations are riding the same horse down the road.
Their routes are identical to a certain point, but neither knows what is going to happen
after that.”
“Well put, like a true writer.”
Tengo sighed. “Our prospects are not very bright, I would say. But there’s no
turning back now, is there?”
“Even if we could turn back, we’d probably never end up where we started,” the
Professor said.
This brought the conversation to a close. Tengo could think of nothing further to
say.
211
Professor Ebisuno left the café first. He had to see someone in the neighborhood, he
said. Fuka-Eri stayed behind. Sitting on opposite sides of the table, Tengo and Fuka-
Eri remained silent for a while.
“Are you hungry?” Tengo asked.
“Not really,” Fuka-Eri said.
The café was filling up. The two of them left, though neither had been the first to
suggest it. For a while they walked the streets of Shinjuku aimlessly. Six o’clock was
drawing near, and many people were hurrying toward the station, but the sky was still
bright. Early-summer sunlight enveloped the city, its brightness feeling strangely
artificial after the underground café.
“Where are you going now?” Tengo asked.
“No place special,” Fuka-Eri replied.
“Shall I see you home?” Tengo asked. “To your Shinano-machi condo, I mean. I
suppose you’ll be staying there today?”
“I’m not going there,” Fuka-Eri said.
“Why not?”
She did not reply.
“Are you saying you feel you’d better not go there?”
Fuka-Eri nodded, saying nothing.
Tengo thought about asking her why she felt she had better not go there, but he
sensed that it wouldn’t get him a straight answer.
“So, will you be going back to the Professor’s?”
“Futamatao is too far away.”
“Do you have somewhere else in mind?”
“I will stay at your place,” Fuka-Eri said.
“That … might … not … be a … good idea,” Tengo said. “My place is small, I
live alone, and I’m sure Professor Ebisuno wouldn’t permit it.”
“The Professor won’t mind,” Fuka-Eri said with a kind of shrug of the shoulders.
“And I won’t mind.”
“But I might mind,” Tengo said.
“Why.”
“Well …,” Tengo started to say, but no further words came out. He was not even
sure what he had intended to say. This often happened when he was talking with
Fuka-Eri. He would momentarily lose track of what he was going to say. It was like
sheet music being scattered by a gust of wind.
Fuka-Eri reached out and gently grasped Tengo’s left hand in her right hand as if
to comfort him.
“You don’t get it,” she said.
“Don’t get what?”
“We are one.”
“We are one?” Tengo asked with a shock.
“We wrote the book together.”
Tengo felt the pressure of Fuka-Eri’s fingers against his palm. It was not strong,
but it was even and steady.
“That’s true. We wrote
Air Chrysalis
together. And when we are eaten by the tiger,
we’ll be eaten together.”
212
“No tiger will come out,” Fuka-Eri said, her voice unusually grave.
“That’s good,” Tengo said, though it didn’t make him especially happy. A tiger
might not come out, but there was no telling what might come out instead.
They stood in front of Shinjuku Station’s ticket machines. Fuka-Eri looked up at
him, still gripping his hand. People streamed past them on both sides.
“Okay, if you want to stay at my place, you can,” Tengo said, resigning himself. “I
can sleep on the sofa.”
“Thank you,” Fuka-Eri said.
Tengo realized this was the first time he had ever heard anything resembling polite
language from Fuka-Eri’s mouth. No, it might not have been the first time, but he
could not recall when he might have heard it before.
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