Popular Hits of the Showa Era Part 7

"What's 'knives'?" Ishihara asked. He was staring at a palmful of blood he'd collected from the miniature geyser at the top right corner of his forehead. "You mean knives like with blades?" Though unable to grasp what was happening, he was terrified in his own way. He'd never had blood squirt from his head before. Worried that it might prove fatal, he was desperately trying to push the blood back inside. 'knives'?" Ishihara asked. He was staring at a palmful of blood he'd collected from the miniature geyser at the top right corner of his forehead. "You mean knives like with blades?" Though unable to grasp what was happening, he was terrified in his own way. He'd never had blood squirt from his head before. Worried that it might prove fatal, he was desperately trying to push the blood back inside.

"Drive, dammit!" n.o.bue shouted. "They're coming this way! With knives! It's f.u.c.kin' crazy! Yano-rin and O-Sugi and Kato-kichi are dead! They're all in pieces!"

Ishihara looked at him uncomprehendingly, pressing his blood-soaked palm against the gash in his head. "Where's 'pieces'?" he asked, then added, "It's strange, you know-all this blood coming out but it doesn't even hurt. Why do you think that is, n.o.bu-chin? I mean, if you just cut the tip of your finger a little it hurts so bad you could scream, so how come this doesn't?"

It didn't look as if Ishihara would be doing any driving. n.o.bue spun toward the driver's seat, but as he did so he saw through the windshield the four masked, knife-wielding figures, who were now within a few steps of the van. He dived for the switches and locked all the doors. The four black-attired attackers, their faces hidden behind woolen ski masks, reached the van just as the locks clicked shut, and in an animalistic sort of frenzy they began pounding on the vehicle and rocking it back and forth. The explosion had blown out all the lights, and it was pitch-dark around the HiAce, but the dim interior lamp was just enough for n.o.bue to make out the figures outside. When all four of them raised the knives in their fists, n.o.bue too succ.u.mbed to panic, and urine soaked his boxer shorts as he plopped into the driver's seat. Ishihara was on the bench in the rear, still trying to push blood back inside his head. The driver's-side window was cracked where fragments of concrete had hit it, and two of the shadowy figures outside picked up baseball-sized rocks and began pounding them against the gla.s.s.

The window didn't break, however. Such was their frenzied state that Takeuchi Midori and Henmi Midori weren't even aware that all strength had drained from their arms. n.o.bue, meanwhile, was trying to turn an ignition key that wasn't there. His thumb and forefinger pressed against the ignition, gripping the nonexistent key and twisting clockwise and back, clockwise and back. He even tried going, Vrooom, vrooom, Vrooom, vrooom, with his voice, but this of course had no effect either. "What's wrong with this thing?" he was muttering when, outside, Suzuki Midori shouted, "Gangway!" and slammed a rock the size of a baby's head against the side window. The gla.s.s folded in with a strange, fingernails-on-chalkboard sort of sound, which caused Ishihara finally to remove his hand from his head and look up. His face was smeared with blood on one side and completely drained of color on the other. with his voice, but this of course had no effect either. "What's wrong with this thing?" he was muttering when, outside, Suzuki Midori shouted, "Gangway!" and slammed a rock the size of a baby's head against the side window. The gla.s.s folded in with a strange, fingernails-on-chalkboard sort of sound, which caused Ishihara finally to remove his hand from his head and look up. His face was smeared with blood on one side and completely drained of color on the other.

"Did you just hear like a super ultra mega-creepy sound, like somebody grinding their teeth?" he asked n.o.bue, who was still trying to start the van with the nonexistent key.

About a quarter of the window gla.s.s had given way, but now Suzuki Midori hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Surely if she had been thinking clearly she would either have (a) thrust her knife through the available opening or (b) knocked out the rest of the gla.s.s, unlocked the door, and forced her way inside. Neither of these alternatives occurred to her in the heat of the moment, however. The SDF man, Sakaguchi, hadn't shared any details on how to mop up survivors after a firefight. She knew she had memorized such sections in Green Beret manuals and guerrilla handbooks, but what with the roar and the blinding light of the explosion, the acrid smell of gunpowder, and the spectacle of three living bodies being literally blown apart, her brain seemed on fire and suddenly empty of any information whatsoever, including her own name and where she was and what she was doing. The other Midoris, whose ski-mask mouths resembled those of inflatable dolls, were trembling violently as they urged her on: "Stab them! Kill them all!"

"What're you doing, n.o.bu-chin?" said Ishihara. He was standing behind n.o.bue now, nudging his shoulder. "How can you start the engine when I've got the key?" n.o.bue didn't respond but continued to gape wide-eyed at the four attackers outside the windshield and side window. "Hey," Ishihara said, looking up, "there's some strange people out there wearing masks and-EEEK!-they've got knives!"

Suzuki Midori slammed the big rock against the window once more. A shower of bursting gla.s.s sprayed over n.o.bue, eliciting splotches of color on his pallid face, and the rock landed in his lap.

"Ishi-kun!" he screeched.

"Yes?" Ishihara replied, as if reading from a script.

"Help! They're trying to kill us!"

The Midoris, standing just outside the windowless door, heard him say this, of course. They were so close to n.o.bue that they could have stood on their tiptoes, leaned forward, and kissed him. Takeuchi Midori was shouting, "Suzuu, hurry up and open the door! Open the door!"

"What the f.u.c.k?" said n.o.bue, scooting away from them. "Ishi-kun, they're women! Oba-sans!"

As he tried to scramble over the seat to join Ishihara in the rear of the van, shards of gla.s.s rained from his clothing. A gloved hand reached through the window and lifted the lock b.u.t.ton, and Suzuki Midori wrenched the door open and climbed aboard, awkwardly thrusting at n.o.bue with her Randall knife-a lagniappe Sakaguchi had thrown in with the rocket launcher. It was an unstudied move, but the weight of her body was behind it as she clambered aboard, and the tip of the blade was just at the right elevation to sink into the flesh of n.o.bue's cheek and slice through his gums, stopping only when it came into contact with the teeth on the other side. n.o.bue looked for a moment as if he didn't understand what had just happened, then tried to scream but found that the hardware inhibited his ability to produce any sounds. The other three Midoris screamed in his stead when they saw Suzuki Midori's blade buried in the enemy's cheek. It was this close-up view of a knife lodged in a face that finally drained the frenzy out of them. Henmi Midori felt something hot drip down the inside of her thigh and wondered if her period had begun unexpectedly, but of course it was only urine.

Tears had immediately formed in n.o.bue's eyes and were now streaming down his face. "It hurth!" he said, but moving his mouth made the blade twist and only intensified the pain. Suzuki Midori stood frozen for some moments after stabbing him. She felt as if she'd turned to stone, and her mind was still a complete blank-a state she'd never experienced before. The hand gripping the knife handle was trembling; so, in fact, was her entire arm. Time seemed to have come to a standstill, and no one knew what to do next, until Ishihara shuffled forward, reached out, and lifted the ski mask covering her face. She let out a startled, "Kyaah!"

"You're right, it really is a woman," Ishihara said, and then, as if to release all his tension and fear, he began laughing the most powerful, eldritch, and supernatural laugh he'd ever produced. It was like an exorcistic incantation recorded and played back at high speed and earsplitting volume, and it vibrated in one's brain and burrowed into one's stomach and seemed capable of causing the air and all living beings along the entire seacoast to freeze solid and then quickly decompose. In the short intervals between bursts of laughter, Ishihara tossed out words whose meaning wasn't clear-woman, Oba-san, pig, hullabaloo, jerk-off, s.e.x, I love you, and so forth-and Suzuki Midori, suddenly seized with unspeakable fear, began puking. Trying to cover her mouth, she let go of the knife, which then fell out of n.o.bue's cheek and clattered heavily to the floor. The other Midoris rushed to support the sagging and still-regurgitating Suzuki and began their retreat, dragging her along with them. Ishihara pressed his handkerchief against n.o.bue's cheek and, chuckling, took the ignition key from his own pocket.

Retreating across the beach, the Midoris had no choice but to view once again what remained of Yano and Kato and Sugiyama. They didn't want to see but couldn't avoid looking down, as they had to watch their steps in the darkness. Sugiyama's stomach was ripped open vertically, and his intestines were hanging out, looking exactly like the across the beach, the Midoris had no choice but to view once again what remained of Yano and Kato and Sugiyama. They didn't want to see but couldn't avoid looking down, as they had to watch their steps in the darkness. Sugiyama's stomach was ripped open vertically, and his intestines were hanging out, looking exactly like the dae-chang dae-chang Henmi Midori had once eaten at a Korean barbecue place, and she too vomited. One of Yano's eyes had melted and was oozing out of its socket, and the lower half of Kato's face was missing, so that his head resembled a grotesque but marvelously realistic half mask. Takeuchi Midori, seeing someone's hand lying all by itself at her feet, noted its resemblance to a starfish and began to weep. Crabs and sea lice were already feasting on Yano's melted eye, and when Tomiyama Midori happened to catch a glimpse of this, she screamed and then doubled over, holding her stomach and heaving. The four Midoris were still moaning and retching when they finally reached the car, and all of them were thinking something along the same lines: Henmi Midori had once eaten at a Korean barbecue place, and she too vomited. One of Yano's eyes had melted and was oozing out of its socket, and the lower half of Kato's face was missing, so that his head resembled a grotesque but marvelously realistic half mask. Takeuchi Midori, seeing someone's hand lying all by itself at her feet, noted its resemblance to a starfish and began to weep. Crabs and sea lice were already feasting on Yano's melted eye, and when Tomiyama Midori happened to catch a glimpse of this, she screamed and then doubled over, holding her stomach and heaving. The four Midoris were still moaning and retching when they finally reached the car, and all of them were thinking something along the same lines: That's it That's it. No more. That's enough revenge. No more. That's enough revenge.

9.

Dreams Anytime

I.

The four Midoris disbanded the Midori Society and decided not to meet or even to contact one another for the time being. The rocket attack at the seash.o.r.e just above Atami was treated as big news in the media. The authorities were investigating it as the probable work of some extremist political faction, and the four Midoris avoided all suspicion. Their names never even came up in the investigation. For one thing, the Midori Society wasn't on anyone's list of dangerous groups-left-wing terrorists, right-wing fanatics, organized crime syndicates, motorcycle gangs, and what have you. Local law enforcement enlisted the help of the National Police Agency, and the forensic a.n.a.lysis upon which j.a.pan prides itself was brought into full play but got no further than identifying the weapon as a portable rocket launcher. The authorities had no idea how anyone could have gotten their hands on such a weapon. The Self-Defense Forces publicly announced that M72s were not among the weapons in their a.r.s.enal, and off the record they cast suspicion on American forces in j.a.pan. The American military, for their part, took the att.i.tude that it wasn't their problem if a nation of dimwitted peaceniks wanted to make such a fuss over something that amounted to a virtual nonevent when compared to, say, the Los Angeles riots-which att.i.tude was vehemently criticized in four Midoris disbanded the Midori Society and decided not to meet or even to contact one another for the time being. The rocket attack at the seash.o.r.e just above Atami was treated as big news in the media. The authorities were investigating it as the probable work of some extremist political faction, and the four Midoris avoided all suspicion. Their names never even came up in the investigation. For one thing, the Midori Society wasn't on anyone's list of dangerous groups-left-wing terrorists, right-wing fanatics, organized crime syndicates, motorcycle gangs, and what have you. Local law enforcement enlisted the help of the National Police Agency, and the forensic a.n.a.lysis upon which j.a.pan prides itself was brought into full play but got no further than identifying the weapon as a portable rocket launcher. The authorities had no idea how anyone could have gotten their hands on such a weapon. The Self-Defense Forces publicly announced that M72s were not among the weapons in their a.r.s.enal, and off the record they cast suspicion on American forces in j.a.pan. The American military, for their part, took the att.i.tude that it wasn't their problem if a nation of dimwitted peaceniks wanted to make such a fuss over something that amounted to a virtual nonevent when compared to, say, the Los Angeles riots-which att.i.tude was vehemently criticized in Asahi Shimbun Asahi Shimbun editorials. editorials.

Nonetheless, had Ishihara been an average human being, or n.o.bue a normal one, the four members of the Midori Society might very well have been called in for questioning. Ishihara had gotten a look at Suzuki Midori's face, and it's possible that if he had said, I saw one of the killers. It was an Oba-san I saw one of the killers. It was an Oba-san, the investigating officers might have thought of connecting the incident to the murder of Iwata Midori, the woman who'd been shot with a Tokarev. But it wasn't as if Ishihara were holding anything back out of concern about the investigation widening to include the Tokarev incident. Both he and n.o.bue were called in to talk with the police several times, but the investigators couldn't make sense of anything they said. The noun "Oba-san" did issue from Ishihara's mouth from time to time, but always seemingly at random, in the midst of a confused and disconnected ramble, so that it never piqued the investigators' interest.

"n.o.bu-chin took a knife in the cheek and I lost at rock-paper-scissors but before that the girl in the apartment across the way got bare-a.s.s naked-Gyah ha ha ha! I mean bare-a.s.s bare-a.s.s! Suppon-pon! Suppon-pon! Turtle soup's on! What? BARE a.s.s me again! Ha ha!-and I couldn't concentrate on the rock-paper-scissors, so I lost, I went with paper and lost and it made me so mad I thought about peeing all over the karaoke set and speakers but I didn't have to pee and nothing came out but I was thinking, you know, when n.o.bu-chin got stabbed with the knife it was so intense, it reminded me of when they cut a wedding cake, and I thought about singing the wedding song, like Turtle soup's on! What? BARE a.s.s me again! Ha ha!-and I couldn't concentrate on the rock-paper-scissors, so I lost, I went with paper and lost and it made me so mad I thought about peeing all over the karaoke set and speakers but I didn't have to pee and nothing came out but I was thinking, you know, when n.o.bu-chin got stabbed with the knife it was so intense, it reminded me of when they cut a wedding cake, and I thought about singing the wedding song, like dan danka dan! dan danka dan! but I couldn't remember the melody and nothing came out but instead it was like on but I couldn't remember the melody and nothing came out but instead it was like on The Bold Shogun The Bold Shogun where there's this villain who always wears a mask but when they unmask him he turns out to be an Oba-san, and the Oba-san goes, like, 'What where there's this villain who always wears a mask but when they unmask him he turns out to be an Oba-san, and the Oba-san goes, like, 'What are are you insinuating?' but the truth is she's really evil and I always end up watching it because it's on right after you insinuating?' but the truth is she's really evil and I always end up watching it because it's on right after Sailor Moon Sailor Moon, but not really like wedding cake but more like when one of the villain's thugs skewers like a weak little kid with his sword and it goes pu-shutt pu-shutt, that's what it reminded me of, I mean, it was really funny and everything, but then..."

Ishihara was sent for a psychological evaluation and diagnosed as suffering from either schizophrenia or advanced and probably untreatable mania. The investigators had no choice but to give up on trying to get information from him. As for n.o.bue, since the knife had pierced his cheek, sliced through his gums, and shredded his tongue, he was unable to speak intelligibly even after leaving the hospital and gave the appearance of being severely mentally challenged. Eventually the police formed an unspoken consensus that murdering such unsalvageable youths was probably a service to the nation anyway, and the ma.s.s media, for its part, gradually moved on to other sensational stories. The real wall that the investigation had run up against, however, was the lack of any discernible chain of events. Crimes that don't have any clear motive are the most difficult to solve, and tying a rocket attack at the beach to three random murders in Chofu was a leap far beyond the imaginative powers of the police. The investigators briefly pursued the theory that the attack might have been perpetrated by a tribe of local juvenile delinquents angered by the late-night karaoke sessions, or by a roving motorcycle gang that claimed the roads in that region as their own territory, but after some five months with no concrete results the investigation was terminated.

By that time, the four Midoris had let down their guard somewhat and begun communicating occasionally by telephone, although they still forbade any meetings in person. Strangely, all four of them were leading much more fulfilling lives than ever before and exuding newfound self-a.s.surance. One of the Midoris became the most popular person in her workplace, and another was employee of the week seven weeks in a row. A third found that communication with her son had improved dramatically: he now opened up to her about his feelings and interests, his performance at school was improving, and he no longer spent hours at a time silently playing computer games. And the fourth Midori fell in love with a much younger man she'd met at a karaoke club. You have this serenity about you...that's so soothing to the heart...and at the same time...this vibrant, electric tension.... How do you do it? You have this serenity about you...that's so soothing to the heart...and at the same time...this vibrant, electric tension.... How do you do it? Such were the things the handsome, aquiline-nosed twenty-six-year-old graduate of Kyoto University, who was employed by a think tank for a major brokerage firm, would whisper to the mid-thirties Midori as he treated her to pa.s.sionate and tender c.u.n.n.i.l.i.n.g.u.s. What all four Midoris shared was an indelible, very serious, and very real secret-a secret that served both to bolster their self-confidence and to lend them a certain air of mystery. And that combination of self-possession and intrigue is what makes a woman truly appealing, especially when she herself seems unaware of it. Such were the things the handsome, aquiline-nosed twenty-six-year-old graduate of Kyoto University, who was employed by a think tank for a major brokerage firm, would whisper to the mid-thirties Midori as he treated her to pa.s.sionate and tender c.u.n.n.i.l.i.n.g.u.s. What all four Midoris shared was an indelible, very serious, and very real secret-a secret that served both to bolster their self-confidence and to lend them a certain air of mystery. And that combination of self-possession and intrigue is what makes a woman truly appealing, especially when she herself seems unaware of it.

Outwardly, the Midoris' daily lives differed in no significant way from those of their coworkers and neighbors. But the three shredded corpses, the knife in n.o.bue's cheek, and Ishihara's more-powerful-than-a-rocket-launcher laughter were not the sorts of things one simply dismisses from one's mind. It was surprising how many things in this world could remind one of coils of intestines protruding from a ruptured stomach, or thirty centimeters of blackened, mangled tongue hanging from a ruined mouth, or a burned and detached, starfishlike hand. Organs and body parts that had been separated from their parent bodies and lost all purpose or function did not really resemble anything else in this world, and precisely for that reason almost any unusual sight or smell was enough to trigger those memories. Normally, for people who've witnessed such horrors-soldiers returning from foreign wars, for example-flashbacks of this sort are often harbingers of severe post-traumatic stress disorders. Even a single experience of something as unimaginably gruesome as what they'd witnessed can cause PTSD, and there have been countless reports of people developing such disorders after seeing friends or relatives die before their eyes in traffic accidents, fires, or natural disasters. But for the Midoris, who possessed a blind and unshakable belief in their own righteousness, the memories had the opposite effect. The battle at Atami had been a kind of holy war for them-they were, after all, avenging the murders of valued friends-and as such it was not something they felt any need to be ashamed of. The experience had, in fact, boosted their self-esteem, and they seemed to ooze fulfillment from every pore. They were, nonetheless, of the gentler s.e.x and not without maternal instincts. The recurring image of those mangled corpses naturally helped to dampen their exhilaration and to prevent their becoming overly intoxicated with themselves. And so they lived with their real-life nightmare, neither glorifying nor denying it. In any case, they had emerged victorious.

If it wasn't for this guy right here, n.o.bue was thinking as he gazed at Ishihara, I would have lost my mind long ago I would have lost my mind long ago. They were in n.o.bue's apartment, some seven months after the incident at Atami. The wound in n.o.bue's cheek had healed over, but he was still recovering and haunted by the trauma he had suffered that night. His tongue was mutilated, his scarred cheek pinched and tended to twitch, and he still couldn't speak normally. He had quit his part-time job in computer sales, but he wasn't in particularly straitened circ.u.mstances. His parents, in response to their son's misfortune at having been maimed in a senseless but spectacular attack that had been big news in all the national media, faithfully sent him a regular and rather considerable allowance. As for Ishihara, how he managed to pull it off is anyone's guess, but since the attack he had continued to commute each weekday to his job at a small design firm. And when Sat.u.r.day came around, he was sure to show up at n.o.bue's apartment, calling, No-o-bu-uchi-i-n! No-o-bu-uchi-i-n! as he climbed the stairs outside. In short, there was essentially no change in him whatsoever. as he climbed the stairs outside. In short, there was essentially no change in him whatsoever.

At the moment, Ishihara was nudging n.o.bue's shoulder and saying, "n.o.bu-chin! n.o.bu-chin, say 'Congratulations on the New Year'!" The closest n.o.bue could get was something like, Kon raw yoo rayon la la Roo Ya Kon raw yoo rayon la la Roo Ya, at which Ishihara collapsed on the tatami and rolled about, laughing hysterically. n.o.bue didn't mind. He knew now that when you've been badly damaged emotionally or physically, it isn't the people who are mournfully sympathetic or overly careful about your feelings that help you out so much as those who treat you as they've always done. "GYAAAAAH!" Now Ishihara was on his feet again, nudging n.o.bue's shoulder and bouncing up and down. "n.o.bu-chin, please, I'm begging you, now say, 'Red p.u.s.s.y blue p.u.s.s.y yellow p.u.s.s.y.' Please please please. I swear I won't laugh." As n.o.bue gazed at his old friend, a tear of grat.i.tude rolled down his cheek. All at once he realized how much he loved this person, and he grabbed the hand nudging his shoulder and clasped it tightly in his own. "Thank you, Ishi-kun," he said hoa.r.s.ely. Ishihara was so startled by both the gesture and the sentiment that he wondered if his friend had finally broken under the strain and gone mental. He pressed his forehead against n.o.bue's to see if the poor lad wasn't running a fever.

They would need a little more time before they'd be ready to rise to the final battle.

II.

More than half a year went by. There had been no Sat.u.r.day Karaoke Blasts in all that time, of course, since the troupe of six had been diminished by four. n.o.bue's rehabilitation continued. On a sunny afternoon in late fall, he and Ishihara were strolling along shoulder to shoulder and all but hand in hand beside Koshu Avenue in Chofu. They were like the last two specimens, both male, of a soon-to-be-extinct species, exploring their narrow game preserve. Now that his cheek wound had healed to a permanent scar, n.o.bue in particular felt as if he'd aged tremendously. They were pa.s.sing the Koganei Electronics Inst.i.tute when he said, with only a barely noticeable speech defect, "There was a guy named Sugioka once, wasn't there?" Ishihara was carrying a Garigari-Kun popsicle in each hand, licking now one, now the other, and chanting things like, "Popsicles for autumn, popsicles in autumn, two popsicles on a warm autumn day! Two skinny weenies getting sucked, sucked off! The first one to squirt's gonna win first prize!" But at the mention of Sugioka's name he stopped. "n.o.bu-chin, what sort of a guy was Sugioka again?" he asked, and began to skip in a circle. It was, by any measure, a strange sight-a small man in his mid-twenties with a remarkably large head and eyes, sucking alternately on two popsicles and skipping in circles around another man of about the same age with equally oversized peepers, a nasty scar on his cheek, and a prematurely receding hairline. Other pedestrians on the street would catch a glimpse of Ishihara and quickly lower their gaze to avoid any sort of eye contact or interaction as they pa.s.sed. "Quit dancing around me like a crazy Indian," n.o.bue kept saying, though in fact he was enjoying the silliness. Finally Ishihara skipped to a halt and squatted abruptly on the pavement, holding his head and complaining of dizziness. Then he bounced up again. "Garigari-Kun A," he said to the bare popsicle stick in his right hand, "may you rest in peace. Garigari-Kun B, now it's your turn to die!" After chomping down on what remained of the second popsicle, he turned to n.o.bue and said, "Seriously, I can't remember-what was Sugioka like? I seem to recall that he was skinny and had a narrow face and loved knives and mumbled a lot and you couldn't tell if he was gloomy or cheerful, but there's lots of guys like that. I wish I could picture him clearly, like in a flashback in a movie or somethin', but I can't." than half a year went by. There had been no Sat.u.r.day Karaoke Blasts in all that time, of course, since the troupe of six had been diminished by four. n.o.bue's rehabilitation continued. On a sunny afternoon in late fall, he and Ishihara were strolling along shoulder to shoulder and all but hand in hand beside Koshu Avenue in Chofu. They were like the last two specimens, both male, of a soon-to-be-extinct species, exploring their narrow game preserve. Now that his cheek wound had healed to a permanent scar, n.o.bue in particular felt as if he'd aged tremendously. They were pa.s.sing the Koganei Electronics Inst.i.tute when he said, with only a barely noticeable speech defect, "There was a guy named Sugioka once, wasn't there?" Ishihara was carrying a Garigari-Kun popsicle in each hand, licking now one, now the other, and chanting things like, "Popsicles for autumn, popsicles in autumn, two popsicles on a warm autumn day! Two skinny weenies getting sucked, sucked off! The first one to squirt's gonna win first prize!" But at the mention of Sugioka's name he stopped. "n.o.bu-chin, what sort of a guy was Sugioka again?" he asked, and began to skip in a circle. It was, by any measure, a strange sight-a small man in his mid-twenties with a remarkably large head and eyes, sucking alternately on two popsicles and skipping in circles around another man of about the same age with equally oversized peepers, a nasty scar on his cheek, and a prematurely receding hairline. Other pedestrians on the street would catch a glimpse of Ishihara and quickly lower their gaze to avoid any sort of eye contact or interaction as they pa.s.sed. "Quit dancing around me like a crazy Indian," n.o.bue kept saying, though in fact he was enjoying the silliness. Finally Ishihara skipped to a halt and squatted abruptly on the pavement, holding his head and complaining of dizziness. Then he bounced up again. "Garigari-Kun A," he said to the bare popsicle stick in his right hand, "may you rest in peace. Garigari-Kun B, now it's your turn to die!" After chomping down on what remained of the second popsicle, he turned to n.o.bue and said, "Seriously, I can't remember-what was Sugioka like? I seem to recall that he was skinny and had a narrow face and loved knives and mumbled a lot and you couldn't tell if he was gloomy or cheerful, but there's lots of guys like that. I wish I could picture him clearly, like in a flashback in a movie or somethin', but I can't."

n.o.bue responded with a suggestion.

"Why don't we go look at the place where he was killed? It's not far from here."

On a late November afternoon like this, when the weather was fine and the sunshine warm on your shoulders, any normal person would be outside if possible, so naturally the junior college girl was in her room. Spying n.o.bue and Ishihara out her window, she opened it to lean out and call to them, "Hi! What a surprise!" n.o.bue, on hearing that voice and looking up to see that face protruding from the window, felt as if the wound on his cheek had been reopened and his tongue resliced. Ishihara let out a terrified, "GYAH!" and buckled at the knees. "Run!" they whispered to each other, but the junior college girl said, "Wait there! I happen to be free just now! I'll be down in a sec!" and a moment later they heard the rapid a late November afternoon like this, when the weather was fine and the sunshine warm on your shoulders, any normal person would be outside if possible, so naturally the junior college girl was in her room. Spying n.o.bue and Ishihara out her window, she opened it to lean out and call to them, "Hi! What a surprise!" n.o.bue, on hearing that voice and looking up to see that face protruding from the window, felt as if the wound on his cheek had been reopened and his tongue resliced. Ishihara let out a terrified, "GYAH!" and buckled at the knees. "Run!" they whispered to each other, but the junior college girl said, "Wait there! I happen to be free just now! I'll be down in a sec!" and a moment later they heard the rapid dan dan dan dan dan dan dan dan dan dan of her steps on the wooden stairs. n.o.bue and Ishihara were in a state resembling sleep paralysis as their brains tried to process the afterimage of the junior college girl's face. Unable to move, they were still shivering at the image when the actual face materialized before them, seeming to cause the blue sky to crack in two and the yellow ginkgo leaves to turn to sc.r.a.ps of rotting flesh, fluttering in the breeze. Both of them felt as if they'd just slurped up their own vomit. of her steps on the wooden stairs. n.o.bue and Ishihara were in a state resembling sleep paralysis as their brains tried to process the afterimage of the junior college girl's face. Unable to move, they were still shivering at the image when the actual face materialized before them, seeming to cause the blue sky to crack in two and the yellow ginkgo leaves to turn to sc.r.a.ps of rotting flesh, fluttering in the breeze. Both of them felt as if they'd just slurped up their own vomit.

"Long time no see! Did you come to visit your friend again?" the junior college girl said, twisting her already asymmetrical face even further out of line with what was probably meant to be a smile. What a relief it would be, n.o.bue and Ishihara were thinking, if only the skin of that face would just go ahead and peel back to reveal a reptilian alien or a beast of the underworld or something. Their legs felt as if rooted to the ground.

"For boys with such funny faces, you sure are loyal to your friends!"

n.o.bue wondered what sort of face he had, if the owner of one such as this thought it funny. An image flashed through his mind of Hundred Eyes, the ghostly goblin from Ge Ge Ge no Kitaro Ge Ge Ge no Kitaro, and he had the sickening sensation that he had been transformed into some such goblin or ghost. Without thinking he raised two limp wrists and moaned, "Mark me..." There was nothing funny about this, but the junior college girl cried, "Stop it!" and put both hands over her mouth, giggling exactly like the protagonist of a girls' manga: Ku ku ku ku ku ku! Ku ku ku ku ku ku! Ishihara felt as if his entire brain had broken out in a b.u.mpy rash. Instinctively sensing that he must act or risk a sudden descent into madness, he hollered a meaningless, "Yo-de-lady-who!" Ishihara felt as if his entire brain had broken out in a b.u.mpy rash. Instinctively sensing that he must act or risk a sudden descent into madness, he hollered a meaningless, "Yo-de-lady-who!"

"You two are so funny!" the junior college girl said, and giggled again, and it seemed as if the nightmare might repeat itself endlessly. "That friend of yours..." she said. "What was his name again?"

n.o.bue felt as if he were going to pee his pants. "Su...Sugioka," he said, unwisely lifting his eyes. This gave him a close-up of the junior college girl's face, and he actually did leak a few drops.

"Oh, that's right, Sugioka-kun. He still comes here a lot, you know. He just stands there crying and crying."

Ishihara let out a shriek and sank to his haunches, and hot tears filled n.o.bue's eyes. The tears were not for Sugioka, of course, but simply a product of abject terror.

"Sometimes, when conditions are right, I see things like that. Like in my room in the dormitory here, now and then I see this girl in her early teens standing by the bookcase, and then one time I noticed that her feet kept disappearing, and it dawned on me that she was a ghost, because the ghosts in stories always don't have feet, and that explained a lot. Sometimes I see them at the pool too, but..."

No! Ishihara and n.o.bue inwardly cried out. Ishihara and n.o.bue inwardly cried out. Please don't take a face like that to a swimming pool! Please don't take a face like that to a swimming pool! But paralysis prevented them from displaying any emotion. But paralysis prevented them from displaying any emotion.

"I see mostly little kids there, floating in the water with their hair all spread out and wavy. It happens a lot when my body's exhausted or my nerves are frayed."

Tired, are you? Then why don't you go lie down somewhere for, like, FOREVER? Try the Elephants' Graveyard!

"I always see Sugioka-kun standing right over there with a big open gash in his neck, and it looks like all the blood has drained out of him, because he's about twice as skinny as when he was alive and used to pee there all the time, but I feel sorry for him because he just stands there and looks frustrated and cries. He says he can't go anywhere else, he's afraid to, and no one comes to help him. 'All I can do is stand here and cry,' he says, 'but n.o.body notices me, and it was always my dream to go jogging with a pretty girl but now I don't have any feet so I'll never be able to do that, and my friends are all being murdered, getting blown to pieces and dying with their guts spilling from their stomachs and their eyeb.a.l.l.s hanging out, and all I can do is stand here and cry, and it's boring and lonely but now it's too late to change anything,' he says."

The two of them slogged back to n.o.bue's apartment, unable even to speak as they suppressed simultaneous urges to urinate, defecate, and regurgitate and battled dizziness, palpitations, and chills. The junior college girl's face and voice, and her figure and words and body odor, had drained them of every last scintilla of energy, and both of them were reliving all the unfortunate turns of events and traumas and physical and emotional wounds and maledictions and enmities and jealousies they'd ever experienced. Under the terrible weight of these various evils they collapsed just inside the door and slumped there, incapable even of raising their heads. two of them slogged back to n.o.bue's apartment, unable even to speak as they suppressed simultaneous urges to urinate, defecate, and regurgitate and battled dizziness, palpitations, and chills. The junior college girl's face and voice, and her figure and words and body odor, had drained them of every last scintilla of energy, and both of them were reliving all the unfortunate turns of events and traumas and physical and emotional wounds and maledictions and enmities and jealousies they'd ever experienced. Under the terrible weight of these various evils they collapsed just inside the door and slumped there, incapable even of raising their heads.

"Wa-water...somebody give me water," n.o.bue said, but Ishihara couldn't move, and though he made an effort to laugh several times he couldn't get the muscles of his mouth and cheeks to budge either. Suddenly realizing that he'd forgotten what laughter was, he wondered if this might be the end, if this was how he was going to die.

Eventually the sunny late autumn afternoon drew to a close. As the room sank into darkness, n.o.bue began to weep. Between convulsive sobs, he spat out the words, "f.u.c.king h.e.l.l!" Ishihara picked up on the rhythm and tried to imitate it. Hic, hic, hic. f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! What is that rhythm? What is that rhythm? he wondered. he wondered. It's like reggae. It's like reggae. Hic, hic, hic, hic. f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! Hic, hic. Through the window on the far side of the darkened room they saw a light go on in the apartment across the parking lot. Maybe one of these nights they'd see the woman with the unbelievable body dancing in nude silhouette again, they were both thinking even as they continued their Hic, hic, hic, hic. f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! Hic, hic. Through the window on the far side of the darkened room they saw a light go on in the apartment across the parking lot. Maybe one of these nights they'd see the woman with the unbelievable body dancing in nude silhouette again, they were both thinking even as they continued their f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! duet. After repeating bar after bar of the sobbing reggae rhythm and intoning the words a couple of hundred times, they stopped and looked at each other. Something, they sensed, had begun to take shape inside them, something that might just serve to revive their flagging spirits. They didn't know it at the time, but that something was rage. duet. After repeating bar after bar of the sobbing reggae rhythm and intoning the words a couple of hundred times, they stopped and looked at each other. Something, they sensed, had begun to take shape inside them, something that might just serve to revive their flagging spirits. They didn't know it at the time, but that something was rage.

III.

The two of them were now getting together not just on Sat.u.r.days but more or less on a daily basis. Ishihara often spent the night as well, and n.o.bue's neighbors had come to regard them as a devoted h.o.m.os.e.xual couple. They didn't actually engage in s.e.xual activity together, but they did frequently embrace for no particular reason, laughing meaninglessly, and often cooked their own specialties for each other-mostly things like instant ramen or plastic packaged retort foods or reheated box lunches. They would dine facing each other across n.o.bue's small table, after which they'd sit side by side hugging their knees and watching a video of two of them were now getting together not just on Sat.u.r.days but more or less on a daily basis. Ishihara often spent the night as well, and n.o.bue's neighbors had come to regard them as a devoted h.o.m.os.e.xual couple. They didn't actually engage in s.e.xual activity together, but they did frequently embrace for no particular reason, laughing meaninglessly, and often cooked their own specialties for each other-mostly things like instant ramen or plastic packaged retort foods or reheated box lunches. They would dine facing each other across n.o.bue's small table, after which they'd sit side by side hugging their knees and watching a video of Rain Man Rain Man or or Stand By Me Stand By Me or or Lethal Weapon Lethal Weapon or some other saga of male bonding. And at night, when anxiety or fear made sleep impossible for either of them, they would lie together in one futon, even going so far as to hold hands. or some other saga of male bonding. And at night, when anxiety or fear made sleep impossible for either of them, they would lie together in one futon, even going so far as to hold hands.

Another month went by. On a night when a cold wind was blowing and drifts of fallen leaves rustled and shivered and swirled in corners of the parking lot, the two of them agreed that they wanted to eat something that would warm even the c.o.c.kles of their hearts, and with that goal in mind they set out for the convenience store. On the way, n.o.bue stopped any number of times and pressed his hand to his cheek. Each time he did so, Ishihara would skip around him, chanting in that singsongy way of his, "What's the matter, n.o.bu-chin? n.o.bu-chin, what's wrong? Your cheek's all red, are you okay? Tell me, n.o.bu-chin!"

"It hurts whenever the cold wind hits it," n.o.bue would reply, and invariably add, "f.u.c.king h.e.l.l!"

"I love that expression," Ishihara said this time, and launched into a strangely coherent reminiscence.

"You know, n.o.bu-chin, I was always a good kid, and my father was a good guy too, so we never had any big problems when I was growing up, but when I was in middle school, I don't know how to explain it exactly, but the fact that we never had any problems started to feel like a lot of pressure on me, because I wasn't just like him-we were different-but I didn't know how to get that across to him, and it bothered me a lot, I really worried about it, and I still remember one night, him and me and my mother, we were watching this comedy show on TV-it might've been The Drifters The Drifters-and one of the comedians came out with some stupid gag that wasn't even funny, just some dumb catchphrase like, 'Oops! I'm a ba-a-a-a-ad boy!' or whatever, and my father starts laughing like crazy, and as he's laughing he's tapping me on the head-tap! tap! tap!-and I told him not to do that because it hurt, and he's like, 'Oh, don't be such a grouch,' and keeps on tapping, and finally I knocked his hand away and shouted, 'STOP IT!' at the top of my lungs, and my mother's, like, stunned, and my father gets all fl.u.s.tered and goes, 'What got into you you all of a sudden? You're not going to let a little thing like all of a sudden? You're not going to let a little thing like this this bother you, are you?' and he raps me on the head again, only harder, trying to make a joke out of it, like we're just playing around, and that's when I felt myself snap. It was a definite physical sensation, and I knew I was just about this close to stabbing him with a kitchen knife or bashing his head in with a metal bat or something, but instead I said, bother you, are you?' and he raps me on the head again, only harder, trying to make a joke out of it, like we're just playing around, and that's when I felt myself snap. It was a definite physical sensation, and I knew I was just about this close to stabbing him with a kitchen knife or bashing his head in with a metal bat or something, but instead I said, f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! And when I said that, my father exploded. He's like, 'HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT TO ME!' But then, right after shouting at me like that, with the audience on TV still screaming with laughter, he suddenly starts crying like a little girl, just blubbering, and my mother puts her arm around his shoulder, like this, and goes, 'He didn't really mean it, dear!' But the truth is, if it hadn't been for And when I said that, my father exploded. He's like, 'HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT TO ME!' But then, right after shouting at me like that, with the audience on TV still screaming with laughter, he suddenly starts crying like a little girl, just blubbering, and my mother puts her arm around his shoulder, like this, and goes, 'He didn't really mean it, dear!' But the truth is, if it hadn't been for f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! I'm pretty sure I would've killed him. And then, after that, every time I shouted I'm pretty sure I would've killed him. And then, after that, every time I shouted f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! f.u.c.king h.e.l.l! it was like, I don't know, like whatever I was feeling would turn into something I could see with my eyes, oozing right out of me. I mean, not all mushy like puke or something, but...I mean, it would suck if it looked like puke, right? Yuck." it was like, I don't know, like whatever I was feeling would turn into something I could see with my eyes, oozing right out of me. I mean, not all mushy like puke or something, but...I mean, it would suck if it looked like puke, right? Yuck."

There were hardly any other customers in the convenience store, it being a weekday and a slow time of the evening. The two of them made straight for the magazine corner as if drawn by gravitational force and spent the next thirty minutes leafing through periodicals with pictures of naked girls. "Whoa-look at the size of these nipples," n.o.bue would remark, and Ishihara would say, "This one's got teats like a goat," and start bleating. n.o.bue pointed at another picture and wondered, "Why does she have this, like, dark red five-o'clock shadow on her crotch?" and Ishihara said, "Here's one with pimples on her b.u.t.t, and they're in the shape of the Big Dipper!" They both burst out laughing at that one and bounced up and down twelve or fifteen times, magazines still in hand. Ishihara then approached the register and asked the clerk, a sweet-faced youth of about his own age, "Do you have any food that can warm the c.o.c.kles of hearts?" The young clerk tilted his head, thinking. "Let me see...c.o.c.kles of hearts, that's a difficult one. May I ask you to wait a moment?" He called for the manager, a serious-looking, bespectacled man of maybe thirty. "The customer is looking for a dish that will warm c.o.c.kles of hearts," the sweet-faced clerk said, and the manager muttered, "I see," and with his arms crossed and a look of intense concentration began walking up and down the aisles. The clerk marched along behind him, and Ishihara and n.o.bue followed. Finally the manager selected a package of nabeyaki udon nabeyaki udon, an earthy noodle dish that required only fire and water to prepare. "This ought to do the trick," he said.

Dangling their plastic bags containing the nabeyaki udon and, for dessert, two Ricecake Snow Creams, they next visited the video store, where they rented a tape of the old TV series Combat! Combat! ent.i.tled "Tanks vs. Artillery." On the way back to the apartment, Ishihara stopped at a vending machine and bought a jar of One Cup Sake, which he opened on the spot and proceeded to drink as they resumed walking. A middle-aged drunk was heading toward them from the opposite direction, singing quietly. Whether he'd been in a fight or simply fallen down somewhere, the man was bleeding from a cut on the edge of his lip, his white shirt was muddy, his thinning hair pointed in every direction, and his necktie was stretched out of shape and wrinkled, but as he pa.s.sed them he was still singing contentedly to himself. ent.i.tled "Tanks vs. Artillery." On the way back to the apartment, Ishihara stopped at a vending machine and bought a jar of One Cup Sake, which he opened on the spot and proceeded to drink as they resumed walking. A middle-aged drunk was heading toward them from the opposite direction, singing quietly. Whether he'd been in a fight or simply fallen down somewhere, the man was bleeding from a cut on the edge of his lip, his white shirt was muddy, his thinning hair pointed in every direction, and his necktie was stretched out of shape and wrinkled, but as he pa.s.sed them he was still singing contentedly to himself.

"I know that song," Ishihara said. "What's it called again?"

"'Dreams Anytime,'" said n.o.bue.

They were watching Sergeant Saunders take on a German tank single-handedly when n.o.bue said, "O-Sugi and Yano-rin used to love that song. They always said we'd have to use it for the theme song one of these nights." He began humming "Dreams Anytime," and Ishihara joined in. Soon they were singing at the tops of their voices, and n.o.bue's eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. Ishihara too began choking up. "Who killed them?" he whimpered. "Who killed Kato-kichi and O-Sugi and Yano-rin?"

"Who do you think?" n.o.bue sobbed. "Those women, of course! Ishi-kun, the truth is, I did some investigating. Remember that list Kato-kichi made for us, with the Oba-sans' names and addresses? I've been staking out the places they live, and I'll tell you, they're on their guard, they're being very careful. They never gather in one place anymore, not even to go sing karaoke together. You know the one whose face we saw, the one who blew chunks when you ripped off her ski mask? Well, you can imagine how I felt, after staking out her apartment all day, when I finally saw her. I knew it was her right away-I could feel it in my cheek! These b.i.t.c.hes are scary, man, and I don't just mean their faces. I mean, they've got some serious f.u.c.kin' weapons...."

As n.o.bue was making these points in his new, somewhat nasal voice, a German soldier on the TV screen had been bellowing into a wireless radio. "The enemy is spread out all over the hill!" he bellowed now. "It's impossible to pinpoint a place to strike!"

n.o.bue and Ishihara turned to look at the TV. A German SS officer in a black form-fitting uniform shouted back into a radio of his own.

"Dummkopf! Then just blow up the entire hill!" Then just blow up the entire hill!"

They made the journey to an all-night bookstore and bought a map of Greater Tokyo. Back at the apartment, they rewarmed a couple of jars of One Cup Sake. Taking small sips so as not to get drunk too quickly, and snacking on smoked squid, they spread the map out on the floor and focused their attention on Chofu City. made the journey to an all-night bookstore and bought a map of Greater Tokyo. Back at the apartment, they rewarmed a couple of jars of One Cup Sake. Taking small sips so as not to get drunk too quickly, and snacking on smoked squid, they spread the map out on the floor and focused their attention on Chofu City.

"All right, Ishi-kun, I'll read the names and addresses, and you take these pins and mark the spot where each one lives. Approximately is good enough." n.o.bue opened the college notebook Kato had left behind and read the relevant information for each of the four Midoris. The first two lived near the center of town, the third on the northern edge, and the fourth on the western outskirts. Ishihara also put a pin at the location of the Flower Petal Women's Junior College dormitory, the abode of the girl with the misaligned eyes and terrifying face. The head of each pin was a little plastic sunflower.

"Pretty wide area," Ishihara muttered. "It'd be cool if I was a giant, and this map was the real Chofu, and I could just step on it, like this, and they'd all be dead. Squash 'em like marshmallows."

n.o.bue stared at the map between Ishihara's feet as the latter trod in a slow, city-leveling circle. What to do? The Tokarev was long gone-not that it would have done them much good against these four women. They were clearly not just your average Oba-sans. The newspaper had said they'd used a rocket launcher. Where in j.a.pan could you get your hands on a rocket launcher? n.o.bue had once seen an exGreen Beret on TV who was a resident of j.a.pan-maybe these women were the wives of geezers like that.

Ishihara was taking a felt pen to the first spot on the map where he'd placed a pin. He drew the omanko omanko mark, which consisted of two concentric circles bisected by a long vertical line, with wavy hairs radiating out from the doughnut, and was instantly recognizable to any j.a.panese middle school boy as a symbol for the female reproductive organ. "Omanko One, Suzuki Midori," he intoned, writing the name. He proceeded to sketch a pair of fat, warped lips, protruding teeth, and a distended tongue upon which he placed a coiled, steaming t.u.r.d; added a pair of large, deformed nostrils, into each of which he inserted a sharpened number 2 pencil; and finally completed the portrait with bulging eyes and a dialogue balloon inscribed with the words "Oh, yes, YES! Stick in a BIGGER ONE!" mark, which consisted of two concentric circles bisected by a long vertical line, with wavy hairs radiating out from the doughnut, and was instantly recognizable to any j.a.panese middle school boy as a symbol for the female reproductive organ. "Omanko One, Suzuki Midori," he intoned, writing the name. He proceeded to sketch a pair of fat, warped lips, protruding teeth, and a distended tongue upon which he placed a coiled, steaming t.u.r.d; added a pair of large, deformed nostrils, into each of which he inserted a sharpened number 2 pencil; and finally completed the portrait with bulging eyes and a dialogue balloon inscribed with the words "Oh, yes, YES! Stick in a BIGGER ONE!"

"Ishi-kun," n.o.bue groaned, "stop messing around and help me figure out what we should do."

Ishihara responded by drawing one big omanko mark that covered the whole of Chofu on the map.

"Dummkopf!" he said. "We'll just blow up the entire city."

10.