Ring (16 page)

"I understand," Asakawa said, meekly.

"Now go wash your face or something. Pull yourself together."

Asakawa could cry in front of Ryuji. Ryuji was the outlet for all the emotions he couldn't break down and show his wife.

He came back into the room, wiping his face with a towel, and Ryuji held out a piece of paper. On it was a simple chart:

1) Intro 83seconds [0] abstract

2) Red fluid 49 [0] abstract

3) Mt Mihara 55 [11] real

4) Mt Mihara erupting 32 [6] real

5) The word 'mountain' 56 [0] abstract

6) Dice 103 [0] abstract

7) Old woman 111 [0] abstract

8) Infant 125 [33] real

9) Faces 117 [0] abstract

10) Old TV 141 [35] real

11) Man's face 186 [44] real

12) Ending 132 [0] abstract

Some things were clear at a glance. Ryuji had broken down the video into separate scenes.

"Last night I suddenly got the idea for this. You see what it is, right? The video consists of twelve scenes. I've given each one a number and a name. The number after the name is the length of the scene in seconds. The next number, in brackets, is-are you with me?- the number of times the screen goes dark during that scene."

Asakawa's expression was full of doubt.

"After you left yesterday I started to examine other scenes besides the one with the infant. To see if they had any of these instants of darkness, too. And, lo and behold, there were, in scenes 3, 4, 8, 10, and 11."

"The next column says 'real' or 'abstract.' What's that?"

"Broadly speaking, we can divide the twelve scenes into these two categories. The abstract scenes, the ones like images in the mind, what I suppose we could almost call mental landscapes. And the real ones, scenes of things that really exist, that you could actually look at with your eyes. That's how I divided them up."

Here Ryuji paused for a second.

"Now, look at the chart. Notice anything?"

"Well, your black curtain only comes down on the 'real' scenes."

"Right. That's absolutely right. Keep that in mind."

"Ryuji, this is getting annoying. Hurry up and tell me what you're driving at. What does this mean?"

"Now, now, hold your horses. Sometimes when one is given the answers up front it dulls one's intuition. My intuition has already led me to a conclusion. And now that I have that in mind, I'll twist any phenomenon to rationalize holding onto that conclusion. It's like that in criminal investigations, too, isn't it? Once you get the notion that
he's the guy,
it suddenly seems like all the evidence agrees with you. See, we can't afford to wander off the track here. I need you to back up my conclusion. That is, I want to see, once you've taken a look at the evidence, if your intuition tells you the same thing mine told me."

"Okay, okay. Get on with it."

"Alright: the black curtain only appears when the screen is showing real landscapes. We've established that. Now, cast your mind back on the sensations you felt the first time you saw these images. We discussed the scene with the infant yesterday. Anything besides that? What about the scene with all the faces?"

Ryuji used the remote to find the scene. "Take a good, long look at those faces."

The wall of dozens of faces slowly retreated, the number swelling into the hundreds, the thousands. When he looked closely at them, each one seemed different, just like real faces.

"How does this make you feel?" Ryuji asked.

"Like somehow I'm the one being reproached. Like they're calling me a liar, a fraud."

"Right. As it happens, I felt the same thing- or, at least, what I felt was very similar to the sensation you're describing."

Asakawa tried to concentrate his nerves on where this fact led. Ryuji was awaiting a clear response.

"Well?" asked Ryuji again.

Asakawa shook his head. "It's no good. I've got nothing."

"Well, if you had the leisure to spend more time thinking about it, you might notice the same thing I did. See, both of us have been thinking that these images were captured by a TV camera, in other words by a machine with a lens. No?"

"They weren't?"

"Well, what's this black curtain that momentarily covers the screen?"

Ryuji advanced the film frame by frame until the screen went black. It stayed black for three or four frames. If you calculated one frame at a thirtieth of a second, then the darkness lasted for about a tenth of a second.

"Why does this happen in the real scenes and not the imagined ones? Look more closely at the screen. It's not completely black."

Asakawa brought his face closer to the screen. Indeed, it wasn't totally dark. Something like a faint white haze hung suspended within the darkness.

"A blurred shadow. What we have here is the persistence of vision. And as you watch, don't you get an incredible sense of immediacy, as if you're actually a participant in the scene?"

Ryuji looked Asakawa full in the face and blinked once, slowly. The black curtain.

"Eh?" murmured Asakawa, "Is this… the blink of an eye?"

"Exactly. Am I wrong? If you think about it, it's consistent. There are things we see with our eyes, but there are also scenes we conjure up in our minds. And since these don't pass through the retina, there's no blinking involved. But when we actually look with our eyes, the images are formed according to the strength of the light that hits the retina. And to keep the retina from drying out, we blink, unconsciously. The black curtain is the instant when the eyes shut."

Once again, Asakawa was filled with nausea. The first time he'd finished watching the video he'd run to the toilet, but this time the evil chill was even worse. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had climbed into his body. This video hadn't been recorded by a machine. A human being's eyes, ears, nose, tongue, skin-all five senses had been used to make this video. These chills, this shivering, were from somebody's shadow sneaking into him through his sense organs. Asakawa had been watching the video from the same perspective as this
thing
within him.

He mopped his brow again and again, but still it was damp with cold sweat.

"Did you know-hey, are you listening? Individual differences aside, the average man blinks twenty times a minute, and the average woman fifteen times. That means that it might have been a woman who recorded these images."

Asakawa couldn't hear him.

"Heh, heh, heh. What's the matter? You look like you're dead already, you're so pale," Ryuji laughed. "Look on the bright side. We're one step closer to a solution now. If these images were collected by the sense organs of a particular person, then the charm must have something to do with that person's will. In other words: maybe she wants us do something."

Asakawa had temporarily lost his faculty of reason. Ryuji's words vibrated in his ears, but their meaning didn't make it to his brain.

"At any rate, we now know what we have to do. We have to find out who this person is. Or was. I think he or she is probably no longer with us. And then we have to find out what this person desired while he or she was still alive. And that'll be the charm that will allow us to go on living."

Ryuji winked at Asakawa, as if to say,
how'm I doin'?

Asakawa had left the No. 3 Tokyo-Yokohama Freeway and was now heading south on the Yokohama-Yokosuka road. Ryuji had reclined the passenger seat and was sleeping a perfect, stress-less sleep. It was almost two in the afternoon, but Asakawa wasn't the least bit hungry.

Asakawa reached out a hand to wake Ryuji, but then pulled it back. They weren't at their destination yet. Asakawa didn't even really know what their destination was. All Ryuji had done was tell him to drive to Kamakura. He didn't know where they were going or why they were going there. It made him a nervous, irritable driver.

Ryuji had packed in a hurry, saying he'd explain where they were going once they were in the car. But once underway, he'd said, "I didn't sleep last night-don't wake me till Kamakura," and then he'd promptly gone to sleep.

He exited the Yokohama-Yokosuka road at Asahina and then took the Kanazawa road five kilometres until they reached Kamakura Station. Ryuji had been asleep for a good two hours.

"Hey, we're here," said Asakawa, shaking him. Ryuji stretched his body like a cat, rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, and shook his head rapidly from side to side, lips flapping.

"Ahh, I was having such a pleasant dream…"

"What do we do now?"

Ryuji sat up and looked out the window to see where he was. "Just go straight on this road, and then when you reach the Outer Gate to the Hachiman Shrine turn left and stop." Then Ryuji went to lie down again, saying, "Maybe I can still catch the tail-end of that dream, if you don't mind."

"Look, we'll be there in five minutes. If you've got time to sleep, you've got time to explain to me what we're doing here."

"You'll see once we get there," said Ryuji, jamming his knees up against the dashboard and going back to sleep.

Asakawa made the left and stopped. Dead ahead was an old two-story house with a small sign reading "Tetsuzo Miura Memorial Hall."

"Pull into that parking lot." Ryuji had apparently opened his eyes slightly. He wore a satisfied look and his nostrils were flared like he was sniffing perfume. "Thanks to you I was able to finish my dream."

"What was it about?" asked Asakawa, as he turned the steering wheel.

"What do you think? I was flying. I love dreams where I'm flying." Ryuji snorted happily and licked his lips.

The Tetsuzo Miura Memorial Hall looked deserted. A large open space on the ground floor featured photographs and documents in frames on the wall or in cases under glass, and an outline of this Miura fellow's achievements was plastered onto the centre wall. Reading it, Asakawa finally figured out who the man was.

"Excuse me. Is there anyone here?" called Ryuji into the depths of the building. There was no reply.

Tetsuzo Miura had died two years ago at the age of 72, after retiring from a professorship at Yokodai University. He'd specialized in theoretical physics, concentrating on theories of matter and statistical dynamics. But the Memorial Hall, modest as it was, didn't result from his achievements as a physicist, but from his scientific investigations of paranormal phenomena. The resume on the wall claimed that the Professor's theories had attracted worldwide interest, although undoubtedly only a limited number of people had actually paid any attention. After all, Asakawa had never even heard of the guy. And what exactly were this man's theories? To find the answer, Asakawa began to examine the items on the walls and in the display cases.
Thoughts have energy, and that energy
… Asakawa had read this far when he heard, echoing from another room, the sound of someone hurrying down stairs. A door opened and a fortyish man with a moustache poked his head in. Ryuji approached the man, holding out one of his business cards. Asakawa decided to follow his example and took his own card-holder from his breast pocket.

"My name is Takayama. I'm at Fukuzawa University." He spoke smoothly and affably; Asakawa was amused at how different he sounded. Asakawa held out his own card. Faced with the credentials of an academic and a reporter, the man looked rather dismayed. It was Asakawa's card he was frowning at.

"If it's alright, there's something we'd like to consult with you about."

"What would that be?" The man eyed them cautiously.

"As a matter of fact, I once had the pleasure of meeting the late Professor Miura."

For some reason the man seemed relieved to hear this, and relaxed his expression. He brought out three folding chairs and arranged them to face each other.

"Is that so? Please, have a seat."

"It must have been about three years ago… yes, that's right, it was the year before he died. My
alma mater
was sounding me out about possibly giving a lecture on the scientific method, and I thought I might take the opportunity to hear what the Professor had to say…"

"Was it here, in this house?"

"Yes. Professor Takatsuka introduced us."

Hearing this name, the man at last smiled. He realized he had something in common with his visitors.
These two must be on our side. They're not here to attack us after all.

"I see. I'm sorry about all that. My name is Tetsuaki Miura. Sorry, I'm fresh out of business cards."

"So you must be the Professor's…?"

"Yes, I'm his only son. Hardly worthy of the name, though."

"Is that right? Well, I had no idea the Professor had such an outstanding son."

It was all Asakawa could do to keep from laughing at the sight of Ryuji addressing a man ten years older than himself and calling him an "outstanding son".

Tetsuaki Miura showed them around briefly. Some of his late father's students had got together after his death to open the house to the public, and to put in order the materials he'd collected over the years. As for Tetsuaki himself, he said, somewhat self-deprecatingly, that he hadn't been able to become a researcher like his father had wanted, but instead had built an inn on the same lot as the Hall, and devoted himself to managing it.

"So here I am exploiting both his land and his reputation. Like I say, I'm hardly a worthy son." Tetsuaki gave a chagrined laugh. His inn was used largely for high-school excursions-mostly physics and biology clubs, but he also mentioned a group devoted to parapsychological research. High-school clubs needed to have a reason to go on trips. Basically, the Memorial Hall was bait to bring in student groups.

"By the way…" Ryuji sat up straight and tried to guide the conversation to the heart of the matter.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm afraid I've been boring you, babbling on like this. So tell me, what brings you here?"

It was apparent that Tetsuaki didn't have much in the way of talent for science. He was nothing but a merchant who adjusted his attitude to suit the situation, Asakawa could tell that Ryuji thought little of the man.

"To tell you the truth, we're looking for someone."