Analog SFF, June 2011 (25 page)

Something closed around his leg. Miyamoto cried out, as much in surprise as in pain, and nearly fell onto his face. Regaining his balance, he looked down, a fresh wave of agony passing along his right calf.

Beneath the blanket of needles, someone had planted a metal trap with two sprung jaws, and he had put his foot right in the center of it. The jaws had snapped shut around his ankle, too tightly for him to pull himself out. Bending down, he tried to wrench the trap loose, but it had been set too firmly into the ground, and the effort only brought tears of pain to his eyes.

A sound came from up ahead. Miyamoto looked up. Standing twelve yards away, in the middle of the path, was the boy in the red raincoat, the briefcase in his arms. He had been joined by two other children, a boy and a girl. They stood there together, watching him without a word.

"Help me!” Miyamoto said, his voice cracking. “My foot is caught. Find someone—"

The children did not move. They continued to watch him blankly, as if they hadn't heard him at all, which, he realized, they probably hadn't. He tried to remember the little sign language he knew, a few words and phrases, but none of it seemed relevant to his current predicament.

Miyamoto bent down again, trying to pry the trap apart with his hands. The jaws were studded with blunted teeth, and it was hard to find a grip for his fingers. He pulled, straining as hard as he could. Nothing. Clenching his teeth, he tried a second time, but the trap gave less than a millimeter.

He heard a footstep. Another. Something was coming up the path behind him, its pace slow and shuffling. His first thought, as he listened to those dragging steps, was that it was some kind of animal. Something with claws. A bear, perhaps, although he wasn't sure if there were still bears in these woods—

Miyamoto turned. Standing before him was a dark, hunched figure, hard to make out in the shadows. There was something in its hands.

As the figure took another step forward, a shaft of light fell across its body. Its face was sickly yellow, its skin scaly and dry. Except for a fringe of long, stringy hair, its head was bald. Beneath its chin hung a massive, distended pouch, swollen like the vocal sac of a toad.

Miyamoto opened his mouth to scream. There was a flash of silver in the creature's hand. He felt a set of strong fingers grip the top of his head, then a strange pulling sensation as his throat was torn open. His last conscious thought, as he fell wetly to the ground, was that the children were still watching him.

II.

The police came to the school the following morning. Hakaru had set up his tripod in the rear corridor, where he was filming a boy of eight, along with a teacher who was serving as an interpreter. As far as he could tell, though, Dr. Nakaya, who was standing just out of camera range, seemed to need no assistance.

As Hakaru recorded the proceedings, he watched the boy through the viewfinder. Although he could not understand what Dr. Nakaya and the student were signing, the boy struck him as animated and intelligent. He recalled that while there had yet to be a true genetic study of the village population, its deafness was believed to be nonsyndromic, with intelligence tending to be average or higher.

Withdrawing his eye from the camera, he saw that a man had entered the room. The stranger wore a police inspector's peaked cap, which he removed, and a navy vest with a radio harness. Hakaru glanced back at Dr. Nakaya, who had not noticed the inspector yet. As usual, her eyes were fixed intently on her subject, studying the boy closely as they signed back and forth.

As the conversation wound down, she saw the inspector for the first time. For a second, her face darkened, but she managed to hide it as she signed to the boy, signaling that they were finished. The boy signed back, giving her a broad smile, then slid off his chair and ran into the other room.

Hakaru paused the camera. Before he could say anything, Dr. Nakaya had already approached the inspector. “What do you want?"

The inspector held up his badge. “I'm from the prefectural station. Mr. Miyamoto—"

"Did he ask you to come here?” Dr. Nakaya demanded. “If he told you to shut down our work, he has no legal grounds to do so—"

The inspector broke in. “Mr. Miyamoto never came home last night. At first, his wife assumed that he'd gone out with friends. When he wasn't back this morning, though, she called the police. His car is still parked outside. I understand that both of you saw him yesterday?"

"We spoke with him yesterday afternoon,” Hakaru said, coming forward. “A teacher can confirm this. Then Dr. Nakaya and I left the school together. That was the last time we saw him."

The inspector made a note of this. “And you can verify your whereabouts last night?"

Hakaru glanced at Dr. Nakaya. “We walked back to the inn together, but didn't meet up again until this morning. I had some materials to review, so I had dinner alone and spent the rest of the night in my room."

The inspector turned to Dr. Nakaya, his expression polite. “And where were you?"

Before she could reply, there was a commotion from outside, as if a large number of people were moving up the street. Without a word, the inspector headed for the source of the noise, with the others following close behind. The classroom next door was already empty. Going up to where the children had rushed to stare, Hakaru saw a crowd heading along the main road, talking and signing excitedly.

As one of the villagers passed, Dr. Nakaya signed to ask what was going on. The man signed back, then pointed in the direction that the throng was headed. Hakaru stood back as they passed. “What's happening?"

"It's Miyamoto,” Dr. Nakaya said flatly. “They've found his body by the river."

They joined the crowd. After a minute, they found themselves near the river that cut the village in half. The river was crossed by a single bridge, barely wide enough for a single vehicle, and it was here that the mob had gathered, coming to a halt at the riverside. Hakaru inched forward to get a better look. As he did, he noticed a statue that had been mounted at the head of the railing, as if posted there to guard the bridge. It was the grinning head of a kawataro.

Before him lay the river itself. Beyond a narrow street, a rocky embankment sloped down to the water, which was edged with black silt. Lying on the riverbank, not far from the bridge, was the body of a man.

The inspector pushed past Hakaru, shouting for the others to get out of the way, then began to pick his way down the embankment. As he did, Hakaru got a better look at the body. Although it was lying with its face down, he recognized its pink shirt from the day before. Its right ankle was bloody and torn.

When the inspector had reached the riverbank, he took the dead man by the shoulders and raised it a few inches, giving him a look at its face. The crowd groaned. It was Miyamoto. His cheeks and forehead had been covered in mud. A pale gash, like a second mouth, was visible at the base of his throat. At the sight of its bloodless edges, Hakaru felt sick.

Lowering the body to the mud again, the inspector unslung his radio. As he watched the inspector call for backup, Hakaru noticed that Dr. Nakaya was standing beside him. Around them, the crowd was whispering nervously. He was about to suggest that they go when he saw a child standing a few yards away, clutching her father's hand. It was the girl he had encountered yesterday at the school.

The girl turned in his direction. When she saw him standing with Dr. Nakaya, a look of recognition passed across her face. She tugged at her father's sleeve. At first, he didn't react, but when the girl tugged again, more insistently, he looked down. The girl signed and pointed in Hakaru's direction. Her father glanced at Hakaru, then signed back to the girl, who nodded empathically.

Hakaru nudged Dr. Nakaya, indicating the girl and her father. “What's she saying?"

Dr. Nakaya studied the father and daughter, who were still signing. “The girl remembers us. She saw me talking to Miyamoto."

As they watched, the father whispered to the woman beside him, who reacted with visible surprise, then looked at Dr. Nakaya. Before long, an entire knot of villagers was staring at them, speaking in low whispers. Something in their eyes made Hakaru uneasy. “What's going on?"

Dr. Nakaya turned away from the group, her face tense. “They think I did it."

At first, Hakaru thought she was joking, then realized that she was perfectly serious. “That's ridiculous."

"Of course it's ridiculous. But you know how rumors can spread in a place like this. Especially about outsiders—"

The villagers were still watching them. After a beat, Dr. Nakaya spoke softly. “We'd better cancel the rest of the day's tapings. It's probably best if you aren't seen with me for a while."

Before Hakaru could reply, she pushed away from him and plunged into the crowd. Countless eyes followed her as she moved away from the river. He watched until she had gone, wishing uncomfortably that he had done something more, then turned back to the scene by the bridge.

As the minutes ticked by without incident, the crowd began to disperse. Hakaru was about to leave as well when he saw the innkeeper standing a few paces away. He walked over. “Strange, isn't it?"

"Yes, very strange,” the innkeeper agreed. As the crowd thinned, they headed back to the inn together. Hakaru sensed that the other man had something on his mind. Finally, when they were out of sight of the river, the innkeeper cleared his throat. “How well do you know Dr. Nakaya?"

"We'd spoken on the phone a few times,” Hakaru said. “But I only met her yesterday. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, the people here find her interesting. There are a lot of rumors about her—"

Hakaru remembered how the villagers had whispered. “What kind of rumors?"

"Oh, you know.” The innkeeper smiled evasively, then lowered his voice. “They say she isn't married and has no children of her own. Some think she can't have children at all. Which is why she is so interested in ours. And why she was so worried about them being taken away."

Hakaru had no trouble believing that such rumors could circulate around a young, unmarried woman, especially one who did not go out of her way to endear herself. “You think she killed Miyamoto?"

The innkeeper chuckled nervously, as if he felt that Hakaru was being too direct. “No. Not her. If it were just Miyamoto, that would be a different story. But there are things that happen here that nobody likes to talk about."

Hakaru halted before a noodle shop on the main road. Across the street, among a few other villagers, he noticed one of the children, the girl, who had followed him on the road the day before. “What do you mean?"

The innkeeper hesitated. “There have been other deaths. People don't mention it because they don't believe it could happen in our village. We've come a long way over the past few years—"

"I understand,” Hakaru said. He knew that burakumin, who had long been regarded as a criminal underclass, were sensitive about how they were perceived. “You can tell me. I have no reason to judge you."

They continued on their way. Now that the topic had been raised, the innkeeper seemed eager to speak. “The first one took place about three years ago. A teacher named Mrs. Tanaka disappeared, along with a boy she was tutoring. The boy, Kenji, was deaf and from a bad family, so he was unpopular with the other kids. Anyway, they found her body a week later, in the woods by the river. They never found the boy. The police seem to think he did it—"

Hakaru kept an eye on the innkeeper as he spoke. “But that isn't what you believe."

"It makes no sense. The police say he killed the teacher, then ran away. But consider it. Kenji was not even eleven yet. He was deaf, with no money, and knew little Japanese. And we're supposed to believe that he could vanish forever without being found?” The innkeeper smiled grimly. “No. Mark my words, his body is still somewhere in the woods. Or in the river."

Hakaru felt an unexpected chill, as if the back of his neck had been touched with ice. “What else?"

"A year later, another woman, Mrs. Yukawa, was found dead under the docks. She had moved here with her husband a few months before. They were rich, from across the river, and had bought one of the new houses. Some of us thought they were conceited. Anyway, the police seemed to believe that she drowned by accident, but no one could explain what she was doing there in the first place. Perhaps she was pushed into the water. Or pulled in—"

Hakaru saw a yellow face in his mind's eye. “Have you mentioned this to the police?"

They arrived at the inn. Sliding open the door to the vestibule, the innkeeper shook his head. “No point in getting involved."

As they passed into the entrance hall, the innkeeper seemed embarrassed, as if he feared that he had said too much. Before Hakaru could ask anything else, the other man strolled to the far end of the hall, heading for the door that led out to the rock garden, and stepped onto the verandah. Hakaru followed him into the rear yard, where a few distinctive stones, eroded into intricate shapes, had been mounted on the ground, surrounded on all sides by gravel, which had been raked into neat lines and spirals. Statues of guardian spirits stood to either side.

The innkeeper indicated the garden. “You like it? At first, I wanted to grow vegetables here. Tomatoes, turnips, that sort of thing. But it was no good. Too much iodine in the soil—"

Hakaru broke in, sensing that the innkeeper was trying to change the subject. “Listen, I'd like to know more about the deaths you mentioned. Maybe we can talk about it over dinner?"

"I have plans.” The innkeeper eyed him curiously. “Why are you so interested?"

"A man was killed. Based on the rumors I've heard, it's going to be hard for us to do any work until this is cleared up."

The innkeeper sighed. “All right. I'll meet you here, on the verandah, at ten. Then we can talk more."

"Good,” Hakaru said, going back into the entrance hall. “I'll see you here tonight."

Hakaru spent the rest of the day on his own. When night fell, he found himself at a standing bar a block away from the inn, below framed pictures of fishing boats and record catches, talking with a group of fishermen in coveralls and parkas. After the usual discussion of prices and hauls, the conversation inevitably turned to the murder. “I saw someone who spoke to the coroner,” one of the fishermen said. “The councilman's throat was cut with a funayuki knife."