We were operating under the tacit assumption that nothing else was to be done. I knew that the phone could ring, and that Shoko Akikawa or the person behind the “invitation” the Commendatore had mentioned might be on the other end. But I was pretty sure neither would call this early. Call it a vague premonition on my part.
We put on our jackets and headed out. It was a sunny day. A southwesterly wind had swept away the cloud cover of the previous night, leaving behind a sky almost unnaturally high and transparent. Indeed, when I raised my eyes to the sky, I had the feeling that up and down had been reversed, and that I was peering down into a spring of clear water. I could hear the faint drone of a long train running along a faraway track. When the air was like this, you could pick up distant sounds on the wind with great clarity. That’s the sort of morning it was.
Without exchanging a word, we cut through the woods and around the little shrine. The plank cover of the pit was exactly as we had left it the night before. Nor had the stones holding it down been moved. When we took off the boards, the ladder was still leaning against the wall, its position unchanged. No one was in the pit. This time, Menshiki didn’t offer to go down to search the floor. The bright sunlight made that unnecessary—we could see that nothing had changed. The pit looked altogether different in the light of day than it had at night. There was nothing at all unsettling about it.
We replaced the lid and rearranged the stones that held it down. Then we walked back through the woods. In front of my house, Menshiki’s spotless silver Jaguar sat reticently beside my dusty, unpretentious Toyota Corolla.
When he reached his car, Menshiki came to a halt. “I think I’ll head home,” he said. “I’ll just be in your way if I presume on your hospitality any longer, and there’s nothing I can do now anyway. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Please go home and rest. I’ll let you know right away if there’s any change.”
“Today is Saturday, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. It’s Saturday.”
Menshiki reached into his windbreaker pocket and pulled out his key. He stood there staring at it for a moment, thinking. Trying to make his mind up about something, perhaps. I waited for him to reach a conclusion.
“There’s one thing I should probably tell you,” he said at last.
I leaned on the door of my Corolla as he figured out what to say.
“It’s actually quite personal, so I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, but then I thought perhaps I should, for courtesy’s sake. I don’t want to cause any needless misunderstandings…Anyway, the thing is, Shoko and I have become—what’s the correct word?—quite intimately involved.”
“You mean you and she are lovers?” I asked, cutting to the chase.
“Exactly,” Menshiki replied after a moment’s pause. I thought I saw a faint blush rise to his cheeks. “You may think it quite hasty.”
“No, the speed isn’t the problem.”
“That’s correct,” Menshiki acknowledged. “The speed is not the problem.”
“The problem is—” I began.
“My motives, you were going to say. Am I correct?”
I didn’t respond. Yet it was clear that my silence meant yes.
“You should know,” he said, “that none of this was planned from the beginning. It was an entirely natural development. In fact, it happened without me being conscious of it. You may find that hard to believe, of course.”
I sighed. Then I spoke frankly. “All I know is that if you started with that plan in mind, it would have been pretty easy to carry out. I’m not being sarcastic, either.”
“You’re probably right,” Menshiki said. “I recognize that. Easy, or at least not all that difficult. Perhaps. But that’s not how it was.”
“So are you saying that you met Shoko Akikawa for the first time and fell in love right off the bat, or something like that?”
Menshiki pursed his lips as if embarrassed. “Fell in love? No, I can’t make that claim. To be honest, the last time I fell in love—I think that’s probably what it was—was ages ago. I can’t even remember what it was like. But I can say with confidence that I find myself powerfully attracted to Shoko, as a man is attracted to a woman.”
“Leaving Mariye out of the picture?”
“That’s hard to know. Mariye was the reason for our first meeting, after all. But had Mariye never existed, I think I still would have been attracted to her aunt.”
I wondered about that. Would a man whose mind was as complicated as Menshiki’s be so “powerfully attracted” to a woman as simple and easygoing as Shoko Akikawa? Still, I was in no position to judge. The workings of the human heart are impossible to predict. Especially when sex is involved.
“I understand,” I said. “At any rate, thank you for speaking so honestly. Honesty is always best, I think.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“To tell you the truth, Mariye already knew. That you and Shoko had begun that sort of relationship. In fact, she came to talk to me about it. A few days ago.”
The news seemed to catch Menshiki by surprise.
“She’s a perceptive child,” he said. “We tried our best not to let her find out.”
“Yes, a very perceptive child. But she didn’t find out from you. It was the things her aunt said and did that tipped her off.”
Shoko was a well-brought-up, intelligent woman, but while she could conceal her feelings to a degree, her mask was bound to slip sooner or later. Menshiki was aware of that, no question.
“If that’s the case…do you think Mariye’s disappearance is connected to her discovery of our relationship?”
I shook my head. “I can’t tell for sure. But I can tell you that you and Shoko ought to talk through everything together. She’s beside herself with worry, and she’s confused. She must be in need of your encouragement and support. Urgently in need.”
“You’re right. I’ll contact her the minute I get home.”
Menshiki wasn’t finished. Something else appeared to be on his mind.
He sighed. “To tell the truth, I don’t think I’ve fallen in love. I’m not cut out for that. Haven’t been from the beginning. I don’t know why I feel as I do. Would I have been so attracted to Shoko if not for Mariye? The connection between the two of them isn’t clear to me at all.”
I said nothing.
“But I swear I didn’t plan any of it in advance. Can you believe me?”
“Mr. Menshiki,” I said. “I can’t explain why, but I think you’re an honest man at heart.”
“Thank you,” he said. The corners of his mouth edged upward. It was a somewhat uncomfortable smile, but not an altogether unhappy one.
“Can I go on being honest?” he said.
“Of course.”
“Sometimes I think I’m empty,” he confessed. The smile still lingered on his lips.
“Empty?”
“Hollow inside. I know it sounds arrogant, but I’ve always operated on the assumption that I was a lot brighter and more capable than other people. More perceptive and discerning, with greater powers of judgment. Physically stronger, too. I figured I could succeed at whatever I turned my mind to. And I did. Put my hands on whatever I wanted to possess. Being locked up in Tokyo prison was a clear setback, of course, but I considered that an exception to the rule. When I was young, I saw no limits to what I could achieve. I thought I could attain a state close to perfection. Climb and climb until I reached a height where I could gaze down on everyone else. But when I passed fifty, I looked at myself in the mirror and discovered nothing but emptiness. A zero. What T. S. Eliot called a ‘straw man.’?”
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“My whole life may have been a mistake up till now,” Menshiki went on. “I feel that way sometimes. That I took a wrong turn somewhere. That nothing I’ve done has any real meaning. That’s why I told you I often find myself envying you.”
“Envying what, for example?”
“You have the strength to wish for what you cannot have. While I have only wished for those things I can possess.”
I assumed he was talking about Mariye. She was the one thing that had evaded his grasp. Yet there wasn’t much I could say about that.
Menshiki slowly got into his car. Then he rolled down the window, said goodbye, and drove off. When his car was out of sight I went back into the house. It was just past eight.
* * *