All I am trying to say is
that selling off one’s talents and time in dribs and drabs to make ends meet never
produces good results
, Ushikawa had said pointedly.
“We know”—surely, that was the message.
I succeeded in meeting you and having this little talk with you, and I believe
that you have gotten
our
message
.
Could they have dispatched Ushikawa to see Tengo and offer him the three-
million-yen grant for no other purpose than to deliver this message? No, it didn’t
make sense. There was no need for them to devise such an elaborate plot. They
already knew where he was weakest. If they had wanted to threaten Tengo, all they
had to do was bring out the facts. Or were they trying to buy him off with the grant? It
was all too dramatic. And who were “they” after all? Was the New Japan Foundation
for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts connected with Sakigake? Did it
even exist?
Tengo went to see the secretary, carrying Ushikawa’s business card. “I need to ask
you to do me another favor,” he said.
“What would that be?” she asked, remaining seated at her desk and looking up at
Tengo.
“I’d like you to call this number and ask if they’re the New Japan Foundation for
the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts. Also, ask whether this director, Mr.
Ushikawa, is in. They’ll probably say he’s not there, so ask when he’s due back in the
office. If they ask your name, just make something up. I’d do it myself, except it
might be a problem if they recognize my voice.”
The secretary dialed the numbers and a standard back-and-forth ensued—a concise
exchange between two professionals. When it ended, the secretary reported to Tengo,
“The New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts does
exist. A woman answered, probably in her early twenties, a normal receptionist. Mr.
Ushikawa actually works there. He’s supposed to be back around three thirty. She
didn’t ask my name—which
I
certainly would have done.”
298
“Of course,” Tengo said. “Anyhow, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, handing Ushikawa’s card back to Tengo. “Is this Mr.
Ushikawa the person who came to see you?”
“That’s him.”
“I barely looked at him, but he seemed kind of creepy.”
Tengo put the card into his wallet. “I suspect that impression wouldn’t change even
if you had more time to look at him,” he said.
“I always tell myself not to judge people by their appearance. I’ve been wrong in
the past and had some serious regrets. But the minute I saw this man, I got the feeling
he couldn’t be trusted. I still feel that way.”
“You’re not alone,” Tengo said.
“I’m not alone,” she echoed, as if to confirm the grammatical accuracy of Tengo’s
sentence.
“That’s a beautiful jacket you’re wearing,” Tengo said, meaning it quite honestly.
He wasn’t just flattering her. After Ushikawa’s crumpled heap of a suit, her stylishly
cut linen jacket looked like a lovely piece of fabric that had descended from heaven
on a windless afternoon.
“Thank you,” she said.
“But just because somebody answered the phone, it doesn’t necessarily mean that
the New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts actually
exists.”
“That’s true. It could be an elaborate ruse. You just have to put in a phone line and
hire somebody to answer it. Like in
The Sting
. But why would they go to all that
trouble? Forgive me, Tengo, but you don’t look like somebody who’d have enough
money to squeeze out of you.”
“I don’t have a thing,” Tengo said, “except my soul.”
“Sounds like a job for Mephistopheles,” she said.
“Maybe I should walk over to this address and see if there’s really an office there.”
“Tell me what you find out,” she said, inspecting her manicure with narrowed
eyes.
The New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts actually
existed. After class, Tengo took the subway to Yotsuya and walked to Kojimachi. At
the address on Ushikawa’s card he found a four-story building with a metal nameplate
by the front entrance: “New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship
and the Arts.” The office was on the third floor. Also on that floor were Mikimoto
Music Publishers and Koda Accountants. Judging from the scale of the building, none
of them could be very big offices. None appeared to be flourishing, either, though
their true condition was impossible to judge from outside. Tengo considered taking
the elevator to the third floor. He wanted to see what kind of office it was, or at least
what its door looked like. But things could prove awkward if he ran into Ushikawa in
the hallway.
Tengo took another subway home and called Komatsu’s office. For a change,
Komatsu was in, and he came to the phone right away.
299
“I can’t talk now,” Komatsu said, speaking more quickly than usual, his tone of
voice somewhat higher than normal. “Sorry, but I don’t think I can talk about
anything here right now.”
“This is very important,” Tengo said. “A very strange guy came to see me at
school today. He seemed to know something about my connection with
Air
Chrysalis
.”
Komatsu went silent for a few seconds at his end. “I think I can call you in twenty
minutes. Are you at home?”
Tengo said that he was. Komatsu hung up. While he waited for Komatsu to call,
Tengo sharpened two kitchen knives on a whetstone, boiled water, and poured
himself some tea. The phone rang exactly twenty minutes later, which was again
unusual for Komatsu.
This time Komatsu sounded far calmer than he had before. He seemed to be
phoning from a quieter place. Tengo gave him a condensed account of what
Ushikawa had said in the reception room.
“The New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts?
Never heard of it. And that three-million-yen grant for you is hard to figure, too. I
agree, of course, that you have a great future as a writer, but you still haven’t
published anything. It’s kind of incredible. They’ve got some ulterior motive.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Give me a little time. I’ll find out what I can about this New Japan Foundation for
the Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts. I’ll get in touch with you if I learn
anything. But this Ushikawa guy knows you’re connected with Fuka-Eri, huh?”
“Looks that way.”
“That’s a bit of a problem.”
“Something’s starting to happen,” Tengo said. “It’s fine that Professor Ebisuno
managed to pry up his rock, but some kind of monster seems to have crawled out
from underneath.”
Komatsu sighed into the phone. “It’s coming after me, too. The weekly magazines
are going crazy. And the TV guys are poking around. This morning the cops came to
the office to question me. They’ve already latched on to the connection between
Fuka-Eri and Sakigake. And of course the disappearance of her parents. The media
will start blowing up that angle soon.”
“What’s Professor Ebisuno doing?”
“Nobody’s been able to get in touch with him for a while. Phone calls don’t go
through, and he doesn’t get in touch with anybody. He may be having a tough time
too. Or he could be working on another secret plan.”
“Oh, by the way, to change the subject a bit, have you told anybody that I’m
writing a long novel?” Tengo asked Komatsu.
“No, nobody,” Komatsu responded immediately. “Why would I tell anyone about
that?”
“That’s okay, then. Just asking.”
Komatsu fell silent for a moment, and then he said, “It’s kind of late for me to be
saying this, but we might have gotten ourselves into nasty territory.”
“Whatever we’ve gotten ourselves into, there’s no backing out now, that’s for
sure.”
300
“And if we can’t back out, all we can do is keep going forward, even if you’re
right about that monster.”
“Better fasten your seat belt,” Tengo said.
“You said it,” Komatsu said, and hung up.
It had been a long day. Tengo sat at the kitchen table, drinking his cold tea and
thinking about Fuka-Eri. What could she be doing all day, locked up alone in her
hiding place? Of course, no one ever knew what Fuka-Eri was doing.
In her recorded message, Fuka-Eri had said that the Little People’s wisdom and
power might cause harm to the Professor and to Tengo.
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