“I killed an Idea that had taken the form of the Commendatore. I killed him with a carving knife in a nursing home in Izu Kogen. I did so with his permission. His death summoned Long Face, the Metaphor who opened the hole to the underground passageway. I forced him to let me in.”
The man fixed his empty countenance on me for some time. He didn’t speak. Had he understood me or not? I couldn’t tell.
“Was there blood?”
“A great deal,” I answered.
“Actual blood, I take it.”
“So it seemed.”
“Look at your hands.”
I looked. But no trace of blood remained. Perhaps it had been washed away when I drank from the river. There ought to have been a lot, though.
“No matter,” the faceless man said. “I have a boat, and I will ferry you across. But there is one condition.”
I waited to be told what that might be.
“You must pay me an appropriate fee. That is the rule.”
“And if I can’t pay, am I unable to cross to the far shore?”
“Yes. You would have to remain here for eternity. The river is cold and deep, and the current is strong. And eternity is a very long time. That is no figure of speech, I assure you.”
“But I have nothing to pay you with.”
“Show me what is in your pockets,” the faceless man said, in a quiet voice.
I emptied my jacket and pants pockets. My wallet containing slightly less than 20,000 yen. My credit card, my bank card, my driver’s license, and a gas station discount coupon. My key ring with three keys on it. A cream-colored handkerchief and a disposable ballpoint pen. Five or six coins. And that was it. Minus the flashlight, of course.
The faceless man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I see nothing that can pay for your passage. Money has no meaning here. Don’t you have something else?”
I had nothing more in my possession. A cheap watch was on my left wrist, but time had no value here either.
“If you give me paper, I can portray your likeness. My skill as a painter is the only other thing I carry with me.”
The faceless man laughed. At least I think he did. A faint trill echoed in the emptiness.
“In the first place, I have no face. How can you sketch the likeness of a man with no face? Can you draw a void?”
“I am a professional,” I said. “I have no need of a face to draw your portrait.”
I wasn’t at all sure I could pull it off. But I figured it was worth a shot.
“I would be most interested to see what you come up with,” the faceless man said. “Unfortunately there is no paper in these parts.”
I looked down at the ground. Perhaps I could scratch something on its surface with a stick. But it was solid rock. I shook my head.
“Are you certain that is all you carry with you?”
I carefully searched a second time. The pockets of my leather jacket were empty. Completely. I did find something small tucked in the bottom of one of my jeans pockets, though. A tiny plastic penguin. Menshiki had picked it up from the floor of the pit and given it to me. It had an even tinier strap, which Mariye had used to fasten it to her cell phone. It was her lucky charm. Somehow, it had fallen into the pit.
“Show me what is in your hand,” the faceless man said.
I opened my hand, revealing the figurine.
The faceless man stared at it with empty eyes.
“This will do,” he said after a moment. “I will accept this as payment.”
Should I hand it over or not? It was Mariye’s precious lucky charm, after all. It wasn’t mine. Could I just give it away? What if something bad happened to her as a result?
But I had no choice. If I failed to turn it over, I would never reach the opposite shore, and if I didn’t reach the shore, then I would never find Mariye. The Commendatore’s death would have been in vain.
“I will give you the penguin as my fare of passage,” I said. “Please take me to the other side of the river.”
The faceless man nodded. “The day may come when you can draw my likeness,” he said. “If that day arrives, I will return the penguin to you.”
* * *
—
The faceless man strode to the end of the wooden jetty and stepped down into the small boat moored there. It was a rectangular vessel, shaped like a pastry box. Barely six feet long and narrow, and made of heavy wooden boards. I doubted it could carry many passengers at a time. There was a thick mast in the middle of the boat, at the top of which stood a metal ring about four inches in diameter. A sturdy rope was threaded through that ring. The rope stretched across the river to the far shore in a straight line—it barely sagged at all. It appeared that the boat ran back and forth along that rope, which kept it from being swept away by the swift current. The boat looked as if it had been in use for ages. It had no visible means of propulsion, or even a proper prow. It was just a shallow wooden box floating on the water.
I followed the faceless man into the boat and seated myself on the horizontal plank that ran from side to side. He leaned against the thick mast with his eyes closed, as if waiting for something. Neither of us spoke. After a few minutes, as if it had made up its own mind, the boat began its slow departure. I had no idea what was propelling us, but we were moving silently toward the far shore. There was no sound of an engine, nor of any other machinery. All I could hear was the steady slapping of water against the hull. We moved at roughly the pace of someone walking. Our boat was dashed from side to side by the current, but the sturdy rope prevented us from being washed downstream. It was just as the faceless man had said—no one could cross the river without a boat. He leaned calmly against the mast, unperturbed even when it felt like our craft might capsize.
“Will I be able to find Mariye Akikawa when we reach the other side?” I asked, when we were about halfway across.
“I am here to ferry you across the river,” the faceless man said. “To help you navigate the interstice between presence and absence. After that, it’s up to you—my job is done.”
Not long after, we hit the jetty on the far shore with a small bump. The faceless man’s posture, however, did not change. He leaned against the mast, as if confirming some sort of internal process. When that was done, he expelled a great, empty breath and stepped up onto the jetty. I followed him out of the boat. The jetty and the winch-like mechanism attached to it were the same as those on the opposite bank. So similar, in fact, it felt as if we had made a round-trip, and ended back where we started. That feeling disappeared, however, the moment I stepped onshore. For the ground on this side was normal earth, not solid rock.
“You must proceed alone from here,” the faceless man announced.
“But I don’t know which path to take. Or which direction to go.”
“Such things are inconsequential here,” came the rumble from the milky void. “You have drunk from the river, have you not? Now each of your actions will generate an equivalent response, in accordance with the principle of connectivity. Such is the place you have come to.”
With these words, the faceless man adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, turned on his heel, and walked back to his boat. Once he was aboard, it returned as it had come, following the rope to the other side. Slow and sure, like a well-trained animal. The faceless man and the boat were one as they vanished into the mist.
* * *
—
I decided to leave the jetty behind and walk downstream along the bank. I could have gone in any direction, but it seemed best to follow the river. That way, there was water to drink when I got thirsty. A short while later, I turned to look back at the jetty, but it was already cloaked in white mist. As though it had never existed.