Killing Commendatore: A novel (15 page)

About the same age my little sister was when she died, I thought.

“And you have some sort of basis for conjecturing that this girl is your daughter. Is that what you're saying?”

“Some time after she died I suddenly received a letter from the deceased,” Menshiki said in a quiet voice.

One day a large envelope, with a return receipt, arrived at his office from a law firm he'd never heard of. Inside was a typed two-page letter (with the letterhead of the law firm) and a light pink envelope. The letter from the law firm was signed by a lawyer. The lawyer's letter read:
Ms. **** entrusted me with this letter while she was still alive. Ms. **** left instructions with me to send this letter to you in case of her death. She added a note to the effect that the letter should be for your eyes only.

That was the gist of the lawyer's letter. The circumstances leading to her death were described simply, in a businesslike manner. Menshiki was speechless, but finally pulled himself together and snipped open the second envelope. The letter inside was handwritten in blue ink, on four sheets of stationery. The handwriting was exquisite.

Dear Mr. Menshiki,

I don't know what month or year it is now, but if you are reading this it means I am no longer among the living. I'm not sure why, but I've always had the feeling I'd depart this world at a relatively young age. Which is why I made full preparations like this for after my death. If all this ends up being wasted, of course nothing could be better—but when all is said and done since you are reading this letter it means that I've already passed away. The thought leaves me very, very sad.

The first thing I'd like to say in advance (maybe it's something I really don't need to say) is that my life has never been of much consequence. I'm well aware of that. So it seems fitting for someone like me to quietly exit the world without making a big deal of things, without any uncalled-for pronouncements. But there is one thing I need to tell you alone. My conscience is telling me that if I don't, I may forever lose the chance to treat you fairly. So I've left this letter with a lawyer I know and trust with instructions to pass it on to you.

Suddenly leaving you like that, and marrying someone else, and not saying a word to you about it beforehand—I am deeply sorry about all of it. I can imagine how shocked and upset you must have been. But you're always so calm, so maybe it didn't shock you, or bother you. At any rate, that was the only path I could follow. I won't get into details here, but I do want you to understand that. I was left with hardly any other choice.

But one choice was left to me. A choice that was condensed in one event, in one act. Do you remember the last time I saw you? That evening in early fall when I suddenly came to your office, maybe I didn't seem like it, but I was at my wit's end then, completely driven into a corner. I no longer felt like I was myself anymore. But even in that confused state of mind, the act I did was utterly intentional. And I've never, ever regretted it. This was something profoundly important in my life. Something far surpassing my own existence.

I am hoping that you will understand my intentions, and ultimately forgive me. And I pray that none of this will cause you, personally, any harm. Since I know very well how much you dislike those kinds of things.

I wish you a long and happy life. And I hope that what a truly wonderful person you were will be passed along, in all its richness, for a long time to come.

****

Menshiki read the letter over so many times that he memorized it all (and he recited it to me without faltering). All sorts of emotions and suggestions played back and forth through the letter—light and dark, shadow and sunlight—creating a complex, hidden picture. Like a linguistics scholar researching an ancient language no one speaks anymore, he spent years considering the possibilities concealed in the letter's contents. Extracting each word and phrasing, recombining them, intertwining them, shifting their order. And he arrived at one conclusion alone: that the baby girl she gave birth to seven months after she got married was, he was now certain, conceived in that office, on that leather sofa, with him.

“I asked a law office I knew to investigate the daughter she left behind,” Menshiki said. “Her husband was fifteen years older than she was, worked in real estate. Or, rather, he was the son of a local landowner and managed the land and properties he'd inherited from his father. He had some other real estate holdings, too, of course, but wasn't that ambitious when it came to expanding the business. He had enough assets to live on comfortably without working. The daughter's name was Mariye. The husband had not remarried after his wife's accidental death seven years ago. The husband has an unmarried younger sister who lives with them and takes care of the household. Mariye is in her first year at a local public junior high.”

“And have you met this girl, Mariye?”

Menshiki was silent as he chose his words. “I've seen her from a distance many times. But never spoken with her.”

“And what did you think when you saw her?”

“Did she look like me? I couldn't say. If I think there's a resemblance then everything about her resembles me, but if I don't think that way then I don't see a resemblance at all.”

“Do you have a photo of her?”

Menshiki silently shook his head. “No, I don't. I could get one easily enough, but that's not what I was after. What good is carrying around a photo of her in my wallet going to do? What I'm after is—”

But nothing came after this. He was silent, the quiet buried in the lively buzz of the hordes of insects outside.

“But you told me earlier, Mr. Menshiki, that you were totally uninterested in blood relations.”

“True enough. I've never cared about lineage. In fact, I've lived my life trying to avoid that as much as I could. My feelings haven't changed. But still, I find I can't take my eyes off this girl, Mariye. I simply can't stop thinking about her. There's no reason for it, but still…”

I couldn't find the right words to say.

Menshiki continued. “I've never had this experience before. I've always been very self-controlled, even proud of it. But sometimes now I find it painful to be alone.”

I went ahead and said what was on my mind. “Mr. Menshiki, this is just a hunch on my part, but it seems like there's something you want me to do in regard to Mariye. Or am I overthinking things?”

After a pause Menshiki nodded. “I'm not sure how I should put this—”

I realized at that instant that the clamor of insects had completely stopped. I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was just past one forty. I held a finger up to my lips, and Menshiki stopped in midsentence. And the two of us listened carefully in the still of the night.

Menshiki and I stopped talking, and sat still, listening carefully. The insects had stopped chirping, just like they had two days ago, and again yesterday. In the midst of that deep silence I could again make out the tinkling of the bell. It rang a few times, with uneven periods of silence in between before ringing once again. I looked over at Menshiki, seated across from me on the sofa. I could tell he was hearing the same sound. He was frowning. He lifted up his hands on his lap, his fingers moving slightly in time to the ringing of the bell. So this wasn't an auditory hallucination.

After listening intently to the bell for two or three minutes, Menshiki slowly rose from the sofa.

“Let's go where that sound's coming from,” he said drily.

I picked up my flashlight. He went outside and retrieved a large flashlight from his Jaguar. We climbed the seven steps and walked into the woods. Though not as bright as two days before, the autumn moonlight clearly lit the path for us. We walked in back of the little shrine, pushing aside pampas grass as we went, and emerged in front of the stone mound. And again we perked up our ears. No doubt about it, the sound was coming from the cracks between the stones.

Menshiki slowly circled the mound, cautiously shining his flashlight into the cracks between the stones. But nothing was out of the ordinary, just a jumble of old, moss-covered stones. He looked over at me. In the moonlight his face resembled some mask from ancient times. Perhaps my face looked the same?

“When you heard the sound before, was it coming from here?” he whispered.

“The same place,” I said. “The exact same spot.”

“It sounds like someone underneath the stones is ringing a bell,” Menshiki said.

I nodded. I felt relieved to know I wasn't crazy, but I had to admit that the unreality of the situation had now, through Menshiki, taken on a reality, creating a slight gap in the seam of the world.

“What should we do?” I asked Menshiki.

He shone his flashlight on where the sound was coming from, his lips tight as he considered the situation. In the still of the night I could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind.

“Someone might be seeking help,” Menshiki said quietly, as if to himself.

“But who could have possibly gotten under these heavy stones?”

Menshiki shook his head. He had no idea either.

“Anyway, let's go back to the house,” he said. He lightly touched my shoulders from behind. “At least we've pinpointed the source of the sound. Let's go home and talk it over.”

We cut through the woods and came out onto the empty space in front of the house. Menshiki opened the door of his Jaguar and returned the flashlight. In its place he took out a small paper bag. We went back inside the house.

“If you have any whiskey, could I have a glass?” Menshiki asked.

“Regular Scotch okay?”

“Of course. Straight, please. With a separate glass of water, no ice.”

I went into the kitchen and took a bottle of White Label from the shelf, poured some into two glasses, and took them and some mineral water out to the living room. We sat across from each other without speaking, and drank our straight whiskey. I went back to the kitchen to get the bottle of White Label and poured him a refill. He picked up the glass but didn't drink any. In the silence of the middle of the night, the bell continued to ring out intermittently. A small sound, but with a delicate weight one couldn't fail to hear.

“I've seen a lot of strange things in my time, but something this strange is a first,” Menshiki said. “Pardon me for saying this, but when you first told me about this I only half believed you. It's hard to believe something like this could actually happen.”

Something in that expression caught my attention. “What do you mean, could actually happen?”

Menshiki raised his head and looked me in the eyes.

“I read about this sort of thing in a book once,” he said.

“You mean hearing a bell from somewhere in the middle of the night?”

“No, what they heard was a gong, not a bell. The kind of gong they would ring along with a drum when searching for a lost child. In the old days it was a small Buddhist altar fitting that you would hit with a wooden bell hammer. You'd strike it rhythmically as you chanted sutras. In the story someone heard that kind of gong ringing out from underground in the middle of the night.”

“Was this a ghost story?”

“Closer to what's called a tale of the mysterious. Have you ever read Ueda Akinari's book
Tales of the Spring Rain
?” Menshiki asked.

I shook my head. “I read his
Tales of Moonlight and Rain
a long time ago. But I haven't read that one.”

“
Tales of the Spring Rain
is a collection of stories Akinari wrote in his later years. Some forty years after he finished
Tales of Moonlight and Rain
. Compared with that book, which emphasized narrative,
Tales of the Spring Rain
was more an expression of Akinari's philosophy as a man of letters. One strange story in the collection is titled ‘Fate over Two Generations.' The main character experiences something like what you're going through. He's the son of a wealthy farmer. He enjoys studying, and one night he's reading late when he hears a sound like a gong coming from underneath a rock in the corner of the garden. Thinking it odd, the next day he has people dig it up, and they find a large stone underneath. When they move that stone they find a kind of coffin with a stone lid. Inside that they discover a fleshless emaciated person, like a dried fish. With hair down to his knees. Only his hands are still moving, striking a gong with a wooden hammer. It was a Buddhist priest who long ago chose his own death in order to achieve enlightenment, and had himself buried alive in the coffin. This act was called
zenjo
. The mummified dead body was unearthed and enshrined in a temple. Another term for
zenjo
is
nyujo
, meaning a deep meditative practice. The man must have originally been quite a highly revered priest. As he had hoped, his soul reached nirvana, and the soul-less physical body alone continued to live on. The main character's family had lived on this plot of land for ten generations, and this burial must have taken place before that. In other words, several centuries before.”

Menshiki ended there.

“So you're saying the same sort of thing took place around this house?” I asked.

Menshiki shook his head. “If you think about it, it's not possible. This was just a take on the supernatural written in the Edo period. Akinari knew that this tale had become part of folk legend and he adapted it and created the story ‘Fate over Two Generations.' What I'm saying is, the story does have strange parallels with what we're experiencing now.”

He lightly shook his glass of whiskey, the amber liquid quietly oscillating in his hand.

“So after he was unearthed, what happened?” I asked.

“The story took off in strange directions,” Menshiki replied, sounding hesitant to go into it. “Ueda Akinari's worldview late in his life is deeply reflected in that story. A quite cynical view of the world, really. Akinari had a complicated background, a man who went through a lot of troubles in his life. But rather than hearing me summarize, I suggest you read the story yourself.”

Menshiki took an old book out of the paper bag he'd brought inside from the car, and handed it to me. A volume from a collection of classical Japanese literature. The book contained the entire text of Akinari's two most famous books,
Tales of Moonlight and Rain
and
Tales of the Spring Rain
.

“When you told me what was going on here, right away I recalled this story. Just to be sure, I reread the copy I had on my shelves. I'll give you the book. If you'd like, please take a look. It's a short tale and doesn't take long to read.”

I thanked him and accepted the book. “It's all pretty strange,” I said. “Kind of unbelievable. Of course I'll read it. But apart from all that, what am I actually supposed to
do
? I don't think I can just leave things the way they are. If somebody really is buried beneath those rocks, ringing a bell or gong or whatever, sending out a call for help every night, we have to help get him out.”

Menshiki frowned. “But the two of us would never be able to move that pile of stones.”

“Should we report it to the police?”

Menshiki shook his head a few times. “The police won't be any help. Once you report that you're hearing a bell ringing from under stones in a woods in the middle of the night, they're not going to take you seriously. They'll just think you're crazy. It could make things worse. Better not go there.”

“But if that bell keeps ringing every night, I don't think my nerves can take it. I can't get much sleep. All I can do is move out of this house. That sound is definitely trying to tell us something.”

Menshiki considered this. “We'll need a professional's help to move those rocks,” he said. “There's a man I know pretty well who's a local landscape designer. He's used to moving heavy rocks in landscaping. If need be, he could arrange for a small backhoe. Then it'd be easy to move the rocks and dig a hole.”

“Okay, but I see two problems with that,” I said. “First, I'd have to get permission to do that work from the son of the owner. I can't decide anything on my own. And second, I don't have the funds to hire someone to do that kind of job.”

Menshiki smiled. “Don't worry about the money. I'll take care of that. What I mean is, that designer owes me one, and I think he'll do it at cost. Don't worry about that. As for Mr. Amada, why don't you get in touch with him? If you explain the situation, I think he'll give permission. If somebody really is shut away underneath those rocks and we just leave him to his fate, Mr. Amada will be liable for it as the property owner.”

“But to ask you, an outsider, to go to all that trouble—”

Menshiki spread his hands wide on his lap, as if catching the rain. His voice was quiet.

“I mentioned this before, but I'm a very curious person. I'd like to find out how this odd story will play out. It's not something you run across every day. So, like I said, don't worry about how much it'll cost. I understand you have your own position to consider, but let me arrange everything.”

I looked Menshiki in the eye. There was a keen light there I hadn't seen before. Those eyes told me that no matter what happened he was going to pursue it to the very end. If you don't understand something, then stick with it until you do—that seemed to be Menshiki's basic approach to life.

“Okay,” I said. “Tomorrow I'll get in touch with Masahiko.”

“And I'll contact the landscape designer,” Menshiki said. He paused. “By the way, there's one thing I wanted to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“Do you often have these kinds of—what should I say?—paranormal experiences?”

“No,” I said. “This is a first. I'm a very ordinary person who's lived a very ordinary life. That's why I find it all so confusing. What about you, Mr. Menshiki?”

A faint smile rose to his lips. “I've had many strange experiences. I've seen things common sense can't explain. But something
this
strange is a first.”

After this we sat there in silence, listening to the ringing of the bell.

As always the bell stopped completely a little after 2:30. And the mountains were again blasted with the buzz of insects.

“I'd best be going,” Menshiki said. “Thank you for the whiskey. I'll get in touch soon.”

Under the moonlight Menshiki got into his glossy silver Jaguar and drove off. He gave a short wave out the open window and I waved back. After the sound of his engine had faded away down the slope, I remembered that he'd had a glass of whiskey (the second glass he hadn't touched), but his face hadn't turned red at all, his speech and attitude no different than if he'd drunk water. He must be able to hold his liquor. And he wasn't driving far. It was a road that only local residents used, and at this hour there wouldn't be any cars coming the other direction, or any pedestrians.

I went back inside, rinsed out our glasses in the kitchen sink, and went to bed. I thought about people coming with heavy equipment to move the stones behind the little shrine, and digging a hole. It was hard to picture it as real. Before that happened, I needed to read the Ueda Akinari story he'd mentioned, “Fate over Two Generations.” But I'd leave everything for tomorrow. Things would look different in the light of day. I switched off the bedside light, and to the background noise of buzzing insects, I fell asleep.

At ten a.m. I called Masahiko Amada's office and explained the situation. I didn't bring up Ueda Akinari, but told him how I'd had an acquaintance over to make sure that bell ringing in the middle of the night wasn't just an auditory illusion I was having.

“That is really creepy,” Masahiko said. “But do you really believe there's someone underneath those stones ringing a bell?”

“I don't know. But I can't just ignore it. I hear it every single night.”

“What will you do if, when you dig it all up, something weird emerges?”

“What do you mean, something weird?”

“I don't know,” he said. “Some mysterious thing that's best left alone.”

“You should come at night sometime and hear that sound. If you heard it yourself you'd understand why I can't just let it be.”

Masahiko sighed deeply on the other end of the line. “No thanks,” he said, “I'll pass. I've always been a bit of a coward. I hate scary stories, anything frightening. No thanks. I'll leave it all up to you. It's not going to bother anyone if you move those old stones and dig a hole. Do whatever you like. Just make sure not to unearth anything weird, okay?”