Killing Commendatore: A novel (54 page)

“Maybe she didn't plan on a baby, but changed her mind once she got pregnant. Women can do that, you know.”

“Still, it'll be tough to look after the child all by herself. Hard to hang on to her job, for one thing. So why not marry him? He is the child's father, right?”

“Yeah, he doesn't understand either. He thought they were getting along just great. And he was happy a child was coming. That's why he's so confused. He asked me about it, but I'm stumped too.”

“Have you talked to Yuzu directly?” I inquired.

Masahiko frowned. “To tell you the truth, I'm trying hard not to get too sucked in. I like Yuzu, but he's my colleague at work. And of course you and I have been friends for ages. I'm in a tough spot. The more I become involved, the less I know what to do.”

I didn't say anything.

“I always enjoyed seeing the two of you together—you seemed like such a happy couple,” Masahiko said, looking perplexed.

“You said that before.”

“Yeah, maybe I did,” Masahiko said. “But it's the truth.”

After that, we sat there without speaking, looking at the clock on the wall, or the ocean outside the window. Tomohiko Amada lay on his back in a deep sleep, not moving a muscle. He was so still, in fact, that I worried whether he was alive or not. No one else seemed concerned, though, so I figured his stillness was normal.

Watching him lying there, I tried to imagine how he might have looked as a young exchange student in Vienna. But of course I couldn't. This was an old man with furrowed skin and white hair, experiencing the slow but steady annihilation of his physical existence. All of us are, without exception, born to die, and now he was face-to-face with that final stage.

“Aren't you planning to contact Yuzu?” Masahiko asked me.

“Not at present, no,” I said, shaking my head.

“I think it might be a good idea for you two to get together and talk things over. Have a good heart-to-heart, so to speak.”

“Our formal divorce proceedings were handled through our lawyers. That's the way Yuzu wanted it. Now she's about to give birth to another man's child. Whether she wants to marry him or not is her problem. I'm in no position to say anything about it. So what exactly are the
things
we should talk over?”

“Don't you want to know what's going on?”

I shook my head no. “I don't want to know any more than I have to. It's not like what took place didn't hurt.”

“Of course,” Masahiko said.

All the same, to be honest there were times I couldn't tell if I had been hurt or not. Did I really have the right? I wasn't clear enough about things to know. Of course, people can't help feeling hurt in certain situations, whether they have the right to or not.

“The guy is a colleague of mine,” Masahiko said after a pause. “He's a serious guy, hard worker, good personality.”

“Yeah, and handsome, too.”

“True. Women love him. Only natural, I guess. Sure wish they flocked to me like that. But he has this tendency that always left us all shaking our heads.”

I waited for him to go on.

“You see, we've never been able to figure out why he's chosen the women he has. I mean, he always has lots of women to pick from, and yet he comes up with these losers. I'm not talking about Yuzu, of course. She's probably the first good choice he's made. But the women before her were real disasters. I still can't figure it out.”

He shook his head, remembering those women.

“He almost got married a few years back. They'd printed the invitations, reserved the venue for the ceremony, and were heading off to Fiji or someplace like that for their honeymoon. He'd gotten leave from work, bought the airplane tickets. The bride-to-be wasn't at all attractive. When he introduced us, I remember being shocked by how homely she was. Of course, you can't judge a book by its cover, but from what I could see, her personality was nothing special, either. Yet for some reason he was head over heels in love. Anyway, they seemed poorly matched. Everyone who knew them felt that way, though no one said so. Then, just before the wedding, she skipped out. In other words, it was
the woman
who split. I couldn't tell if that was good or bad for him, but all the same it blew my mind.”

“Was there some kind of reason?”

“Not that I know of. I felt sorry for the guy, so I never asked. But I don't think he ever understood why she did what she did. I mean she just
ran
. Couldn't stand the thought of marrying him. Something must have bothered her.”

“So what's the point of your story?”

“The point is,” Masahiko said, “it still may be possible for you and Yuzu to get back together. Assuming that's what you want, of course.”

“But she's about to have another man's child.”

“Yeah, I can see that might be a problem.”

We fell silent again.

Tomohiko Amada woke up shortly before three. His body twitched at first. Then he took a deep breath—I could see the quilt over his chest rise and fall. Masahiko stood and went to his father's bedside. He looked down on his face. The old man's eyes slowly opened. His bushy white eyebrows quivered in the air.

Masahiko took a slender glass funnel cup from the bedside table and moistened his father's lips. He mopped the corners of his mouth with a piece of what looked like gauze. His father wanted more, so he repeated the process several times. He seemed comfortable with the job—it appeared that he had done it many times before. The old man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down with each swallow. Only when I saw that movement was I sure he was still alive.

“Father,” Masahiko said, pointing at me. “This is the guy who moved into the Odawara house. He's a painter who's working in your studio. He's a friend of mine from college. He's not too bright, and his beautiful wife ran out on him, but he's still a great artist.”

It wasn't clear how much Masahiko's father comprehended. But he slowly turned his head in my direction as if following his son's finger. His face was blank. He seemed to be looking at something, but that
something
carried no particular meaning for him. Nevertheless, I thought I could detect a surprisingly clear and lucid light deep within those bleary eyes. That light seemed to be biding its time, waiting for that which might hold real significance. At least that was my impression.

“I doubt he understands a word I say,” Masahiko said. “But his doctor instructed us to talk to him in a free and natural way, as if he was able to follow. No one knows how much he's picking up anyway. So I talk to him normally. That's easier for me too. Now you say something. The way you usually talk.”

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Amada,” I said. I told him my name. “Your son has been kind enough to let me live in your home in Odawara.”

Tomohiko Amada was looking at me, but his expression hadn't changed. Masahiko gestured:
Just keep talking—anything is okay.

“I'm an oil painter,” I went on. “I specialized in portraits for a long time, but I gave that up and now I paint my own stuff. I still accept occasional commissions for portraits, though. The human face fascinates me, I guess. Masahiko and I have been friends since art school.”

Tomohiko Amada's eyes were still pointed in my direction. They were coated by a thin membrane, a kind of layered lace curtain hanging between life and death. What sat behind the curtain would fade from view as the layers increased, until finally the last, heavy curtain would fall.

“I love your house,” I said. “My work is steadily progressing. I hope you don't mind, but I've been listening to your records. Masahiko told me that was all right. You have a great collection. I enjoy the operas especially. Oh yes, and recently I went up and looked in the attic.”

I thought I saw a sparkle in his eyes when I said the word “attic.” It was just a quick flash—no one would have noticed it unless they were paying attention. But I was keeping close watch. Thus I didn't miss it. Clearly, “attic” had a charge that caused some part of his memory to kick in.

“A horned owl has moved into the attic,” I went on. “I kept hearing these rustling sounds at night. I thought it was a rat, so I went up to check during the day. And there the owl was, sitting under the beams. It's a beautiful bird. The screen on the air vent has a hole, so it can go in and out at will. The attic makes a perfect daytime hideout for a horned owl, don't you think?”

The eyes were still fixed on me. As if waiting to hear more.

“Horned owls don't cause any damage,” Masahiko put in. “In fact, they're said to bring good luck.”

“I love the bird,” I added. “And the attic is a fascinating place too.”

Tomohiko Amada stared at me from the bed, not moving a muscle. His breathing had turned shallow again. That thin membrane still coated his eyes, but the secret light within seemed to have brightened.

I wanted to talk more about the attic, but Masahiko was beside me, so there was no way I could bring up what I had found there. It would only prick Masahiko's curiosity. So I let the topic hang in the air while Tomohiko Amada and I stared into each other's eyes.

I chose my words with care. “The attic suits owls, but it might suit paintings too. It could be a perfect place to store them. Japanese-style paintings, especially—they're really tricky to preserve. Attics aren't damp like basements—they're well ventilated, and you don't have to worry about sunlight. Of course, there's always the danger of wind and rain getting in, but if you wrap it up carefully enough a painting should keep for quite a while up there.”

“You know, I've never even looked in the attic,” Masahiko said. “Dusty places creep me out.”

I was watching Tomohiko Amada's face. His gaze was fixed on me as well. I felt him trying to construct a coherent line of thought. Owl, attic, stored paintings…these familiar words all needed to be strung together. In his current state, this was no easy thing. No easy thing
at all
. Like trying to pick through a labyrinth blindfolded. But I sensed that making those connections was important to him.
Extremely
important. I stood by quietly watching him concentrate on that urgent yet solitary task.

I considered bringing up the shrine in the woods, and the strange pit behind it. To describe to him the steps that had led to it being opened, and the shape of its interior. But I changed my mind. I shouldn't give him too much to think about at one time. His level of awareness was so diminished that even one topic placed a heavy burden on his shoulders. What little he had left hung by a single, easily severed thread.

“Would you like more water?” Masahiko asked, funnel cup in hand. But his father didn't react. It was as if he hadn't heard his son's question. Masahiko drew nearer and asked again, but when his father still didn't respond, he gave up. The son was invisible in his father's eyes.

“Dad seems to have taken a real shine to you,” Masahiko marveled. “He can't stop looking at you. It's been quite a while since anyone or anything held his interest like this.”

I continued to look into Tomohiko Amada's eyes.

“It's strange. When I talk to him he won't turn to me, no matter what I say, but in your case he won't turn away. His eyes are riveted on you.”

I couldn't help notice a mild envy in Masahiko's voice. He wanted his father to
see
him. That had probably been a common theme in his life, ever since childhood.

“Maybe he smells paint on me,” I said. “The smell may be triggering his memories.”

“You're right, that could be it. Come to think of it, it's been ages since I touched actual paint.”

Regret no longer tinged his words. He was back to being the same old easygoing Masahiko. Just then, his cell phone began buzzing on the table.

Masahiko looked up with a start. “Damn, I forgot to turn the thing off. Cell phones are against the rules in this place. I'll have to go outside. You don't mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” I said.

Masahiko picked up the cell phone and walked to the door. “This may take a while,” he said, checking the caller's name on his screen. “Please talk to my father while I'm gone.”

He was already whispering into the phone as he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Tomohiko Amada and I were now alone. His eyes remained fixed on my face. No doubt he was struggling to figure out who I was. Feeling a bit suffocated, I circled the foot of his bed and went to the southeast-facing window. Bringing my face close to the glass, I looked out at the wide expanse of ocean. The horizon seemed to be pushing up against the sky. I followed the line where the sky met the water from end to end. No human being could draw a line so beautiful, whatever ruler they might use. Below that long, straight line, countless lives were thriving. The world was filled with so many lives, and just as many deaths.

Something else had entered the room—I felt its presence. I turned around and, sure enough, Tomohiko Amada and I were no longer alone.

“Affirmative, my friends. The two of you are alone no more,” said the Commendatore.

“Affirmative, my friends. The two of you are alone no more,” said the Commendatore.

The Commendatore was sitting on the same upholstered chair that Masahiko had occupied a moment earlier. He hadn't changed a bit: same getup, same hairstyle, same sword, same tiny physique. I stared at him without saying anything.

“The friend of my friends will not return anytime soon,” the Commendatore said, raising his right forefinger as though to pierce the sky. “His phone call promises to be a long one. So please do not worry. Instead, converse with Tomohiko Amada for as long as you desire. There are questions that my friends would like to ask him, are there not? How many he can answer, however, is a matter for debate.”

“Did you send Masahiko away?”

“Certainly not,” the Commendatore said. “I fear my friends have overestimated my powers. They are of a lesser sort. But company men are always at someone's beck and call. Those poor men have no weekends.”

“Have you been here the whole time? Did you come with us in the car?”

The Commendatore shook his head. “Negative. It is a dreadfully long way from Odawara, and I am prone to carsickness.”

“But still you came. Though you weren't invited, correct?”

“Affirmative! I was not invited. Technically, at least. But I was needed. There is a fine line between being invited and being needed, my friends. But leaving that aside, this time it was Tomohiko Amada who needed me. And I thought I could be of use to my friends as well.”

“Of use to me?”

“Indeed. I am somewhat beholden to you, my friends. You freed me from that place beneath the ground. It was thanks to you that I was able to rejoin the world as an Idea. As my friends asserted. So it is only proper that I repay that debt. Even Ideas can fathom the import of moral obligation.”

Moral obligation?

“Oh well, never mind.
Something like that
,” the Commendatore said, reading my mind. “In any case, my friends wish with all your heart to track down Mariye Akikawa and bring her back from the other side. Affirmative?”

I nodded. Yes, that was true.

“Do you know where she is?” I asked.

“Indeed, I met her not long ago.”

“Met her?”

“We exchanged a few words.”

“Then please tell me where she is.”

“I know, but cannot speak.”

“You cannot say?”

“I do not have the right.”

“But you just said that you came here today to help me.”

“Affirmative, I said that.”

“But still you can't tell me where Mariye is?”

The Commendatore shook his head. “That is not my role. I am most regretful.”

“Then whose role is it?”

The Commendatore pointed his right forefinger directly at me. “It is your role, my friends. You, yourself. My friends must tell yourself where Mariye Akikawa is. It is the only path that leads to her.”

“I have to tell myself?” I said. “But I haven't the faintest idea where she is.”

The Commendatore gave a long sigh. “My friends know. But my friends do not yet know that they know.”

“That sounds like a circular argument to me.”

“Negative! It is not circular. My friends will know in due course. In a place that is not here.”

Now it was my turn to let out a sigh.

“Please tell me one thing. Was Mariye kidnapped? Or did she wander off on her own?”

“That is something my friends can only know after my friends have found her and brought her back to this world.”

“Is she in great danger?”

The Commendatore shook his head. “Determining what constitutes great danger is a role that humans, not Ideas, must play. If my friends truly wish to bring her back, however, my friends must find the road and move quickly.”

Find the road? What road was he talking about? I looked at the Commendatore for a moment. It was as though he was playing a riddle game. Assuming his riddles had answers, that is.

“So what is it that you are offering me by way of assistance?”

“What I can do for my friends,” the Commendatore said, “is to send you to a place wherein my friends encounter yourself. But that is not as easy as it may sound. It will involve considerable sacrifice, and an excruciating ordeal. More specifically, the sacrifice will be made by the Idea, while the ordeal will be endured by my friends. Do I have your approval?”

What could I say? I hadn't a clue what he was talking about.

“So what is it exactly that I have to do?”

“It is simple,” the Commendatore said. “My friends must slay me.”