feed me once in a while. And my band’s practice space was something Kaoru found for us. She
looks
like a tough guy, but she’s actually a very caring person. I still stop in for a visit now and then. And they still call me if a computer goes out of whack or something.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“The one who went to the hotel with me?”
Mari nods.
“That was it for us,” Takahashi says. “I haven’t seen her since then. I’m sure she was disgusted with me. I really blew it. But anyhow, it’s no big deal. I wasn’t that crazy about her. We would have broken up sooner or later.”
“Do you do that a lot—go to hotels with girls you’re not particularly crazy about?”
“Hell no. I couldn’t afford it, for one thing. That was the first time I ever went to a love hotel.”
The two continue walking.
As if offering an excuse, Takahashi says, “And besides, it wasn’t my idea. She was the one who suggested we go to a place like that. Really.”
Mari says nothing.
“Well, anyhow, that would be another long story if I got started,” says Takahashi. “All kinds of stuff led up to what happened…”
“You seem to have a lot of long stories…”
“Maybe I do,” he says. “I wonder why that is.”
Mari says, “Before, you told me you don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
“Right. I’m an only child.”
“If you went to the same high school as Eri, your family must be here in Tokyo. Why aren’t you living with them? It’d be a lot cheaper that way.”
“That would be another long story,” he says.
“You don’t have a short version?”
“I do. A
really
short version. Wanna hear it?”
“Uh-huh,” Mari says.
“My mother’s not my biological mother.”
“So you don’t get along with her?”
“No, it’s not that we don’t get along. I’m just not the kind of guy who likes to stand up and rock the boat. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend every day making chitchat and putting on a smiley face at the dinner table. Being alone has never been hard for me. Besides, I haven’t got such a great relationship with my father.”
“You don’t like each other?”
“Well, let’s just say our personalities are different. And our values.”
“What does he do?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know,” Takahashi says. “But I’m almost one hundred percent sure that it’s nothing to be proud of. And besides—this is not something I go around telling people—he spent a few years in prison when I was a kid. He was an antisocial type—a criminal. That’s another reason I don’t want to live with my family. I start having doubts about my genes.”
“And
that’s
your really short version?” Mari asks in mock horror, smiling.
Takahashi looks at her and says, “That’s the first time you’ve smiled all night.”
10
E ri Asai is still sleeping.
The Man with No Face, however, who was sitting beside her and watching her so intently, is gone. So is his chair. Without them, the room is starker, more deserted than before. The bed stands in the center of the room, and on it lies Eri. She looks like a person in a lifeboat floating in a calm sea, alone. We are observing the scene from our side—from Eri’s actual room—through the TV screen. There seems to be a TV camera in the room on the other side capturing Eri’s sleeping form and sending it here. The position and angle of the camera change at regular intervals, drawing slightly nearer or drawing slightly farther back each time.
Time goes by, but nothing happens. She doesn’t move. She makes no sound. She floats face-up on an ocean of pure thought devoid of waves or current. And yet, we can’t tear ourselves away from the image being sent. Why should that be? We don’t know the reason. We sense, however, through a certain kind of intuition, that
something
is there. Something alive. It lurks beneath the surface of the water, expunging any sense of its presence. We keep our eyes trained on
looks
like a tough guy, but she’s actually a very caring person. I still stop in for a visit now and then. And they still call me if a computer goes out of whack or something.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“The one who went to the hotel with me?”
Mari nods.
“That was it for us,” Takahashi says. “I haven’t seen her since then. I’m sure she was disgusted with me. I really blew it. But anyhow, it’s no big deal. I wasn’t that crazy about her. We would have broken up sooner or later.”
“Do you do that a lot—go to hotels with girls you’re not particularly crazy about?”
“Hell no. I couldn’t afford it, for one thing. That was the first time I ever went to a love hotel.”
The two continue walking.
As if offering an excuse, Takahashi says, “And besides, it wasn’t my idea. She was the one who suggested we go to a place like that. Really.”
Mari says nothing.
“Well, anyhow, that would be another long story if I got started,” says Takahashi. “All kinds of stuff led up to what happened…”
“You seem to have a lot of long stories…”
“Maybe I do,” he says. “I wonder why that is.”
Mari says, “Before, you told me you don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
“Right. I’m an only child.”
“If you went to the same high school as Eri, your family must be here in Tokyo. Why aren’t you living with them? It’d be a lot cheaper that way.”
“That would be another long story,” he says.
“You don’t have a short version?”
“I do. A
really
short version. Wanna hear it?”
“Uh-huh,” Mari says.
“My mother’s not my biological mother.”
“So you don’t get along with her?”
“No, it’s not that we don’t get along. I’m just not the kind of guy who likes to stand up and rock the boat. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend every day making chitchat and putting on a smiley face at the dinner table. Being alone has never been hard for me. Besides, I haven’t got such a great relationship with my father.”
“You don’t like each other?”
“Well, let’s just say our personalities are different. And our values.”
“What does he do?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know,” Takahashi says. “But I’m almost one hundred percent sure that it’s nothing to be proud of. And besides—this is not something I go around telling people—he spent a few years in prison when I was a kid. He was an antisocial type—a criminal. That’s another reason I don’t want to live with my family. I start having doubts about my genes.”
“And
that’s
your really short version?” Mari asks in mock horror, smiling.
Takahashi looks at her and says, “That’s the first time you’ve smiled all night.”
10
E ri Asai is still sleeping.
The Man with No Face, however, who was sitting beside her and watching her so intently, is gone. So is his chair. Without them, the room is starker, more deserted than before. The bed stands in the center of the room, and on it lies Eri. She looks like a person in a lifeboat floating in a calm sea, alone. We are observing the scene from our side—from Eri’s actual room—through the TV screen. There seems to be a TV camera in the room on the other side capturing Eri’s sleeping form and sending it here. The position and angle of the camera change at regular intervals, drawing slightly nearer or drawing slightly farther back each time.
Time goes by, but nothing happens. She doesn’t move. She makes no sound. She floats face-up on an ocean of pure thought devoid of waves or current. And yet, we can’t tear ourselves away from the image being sent. Why should that be? We don’t know the reason. We sense, however, through a certain kind of intuition, that
something
is there. Something alive. It lurks beneath the surface of the water, expunging any sense of its presence. We keep our eyes trained on
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