Ruined Map - Abe Kobo [18]
“Any time’s all right … tomorrow … sure, I’ll leave it at my sister’s place for you … by noon.”
The sister … as a woman … I had not put it into words yet, but I was transfixed by something like a pointed tool—was it the sharp pin sticking out from the opening in the lemon-yellow curtains? I was nailed to an invisible wall like an insect specimen … a bit of paper pinned to the edge of the curtain. Yet what in heaven’s name was this? Once again I had forgotten her face. Even though my retreating companion was leaning forward, his broad shoulders were still stiff … like a wall. The only thing missing was the black hole in a picture painted on a wooden panel.
Same day: 11:05 A.M.—Visited Dainen Commercial Enterprises. Requested interview with the man in charge of sales in order to check further on the details concerning the contents of the documents, which Nemuro had promised to hand over personally to a subordinate at S—– station on the morning in question.
“… MM, YES, a half year’s already gone by since then,” mused the director. On the table stood a china ashtray, like a miniature hibachi, bearing the name Dainen Commercial Enterprises in gaudy gold script, perhaps a leftover from those ordered for last year’s traditional midsummer gift. The devices for holding cigarettes that graced the four corners were very elaborate: four brightly colored Kutani-ware cats, with their paws raised, were attached by their backs. They were faintly grinning a saccha rine smile. The company president was a man from the country who had probably made his money in real estate. But the enterprise itself seemed to have made a good start for now. His office was located on the third floor of an old, run-down building. At least half of it was a loft room with a sloping ceiling. Only the reception area, partitioned off by decorative plywood, had furniture, tables and chairs of stainless-steel piping, and it was clear at a glance that they had cost money. Three walls, except for the one with windows, were covered with large, hand-made maps, dividing among them the suburbs into three sections: north, northwest, and west. The complicated diagrams, which were broken up into divisions by the use of red, blue, and green, gave a feeling of rawness quite like human anatomical charts, some places being like tangled skeins of thread, others like frayed nets. Moreover, cream-colored, triangular flags were pinned on them: Government Belt Line and Outer Belt Parkway. The building was located in a dilapidated section of town. The first floor contained a bicycle shop, and the second a mahjong parlor. Despite such surroundings, the president gave the impression of being a tough man to be reckoned with, if only because of his strength of character in doing business in a place like this.—“A half year ago. I think it must have been at the worst of the summer heat,” mused the executive director, the immediate superior of the missing husband. He stroked his bald head, covered with drops of perspiration like specks of isinglass—perhaps the heating was too high—rocking against the black-leather chair back, as he squirmed with pleasure. “Well, I understood that. Because nothing provokes curiosity so much as someone else’s misfortune once you know you’re not responsible for it. Nothing is more natural proof of innocence than wanting to hear about an other’s misfortune.” I went along with his mood and put my question to him casually.—“Since then, isn’t there something new, some clue that suddenly occurs to you for the first time?”—“No, no, I’ve nothing at all.” He waved his plump hand exaggeratedly. “Yes, frankly, I can say now that right after his disappearance I began to be suspicious of everything. I’ve had my hand bitten by a pet dog, so that for the time being I am quite prepared for anything.”—“But you weren’t hurt.”—“No, I don’t bear a single scratch.”—“Then actually there was no harm done, but was there a possibility of being