As if she could read Saeko’s thoughts, Torii transferred her cup of sake into her left hand and softly laid her right hand over Saeko’s. The skin of her hand was dry and surprisingly cool.
“It’s always hard when we lose a loved one.”
As fumes of alcohol carried Torii’s voice to Saeko’s ears, Saeko felt the old woman’s sadness at losing her son flood her own body as if through the contact of their hands. Feeling another person’s sadness usually involved a sense of being removed, one’s stance as observer intact, but Saeko had experienced a comparable loss. The deep sorrow conveyed by Torii’s touch triggered a vivid memory of the tragedy she had experienced in high school, almost exactly as she had experienced it at the time.
Overcome by emotion, Saeko doubled over, laying her forehead against Torii’s arm. Her eyes closed, Saeko longed intensely for her father’s return. The image she saw was that of her father at forty-four just as he had been at the time of his disappearance.
Torii seemed to fully comprehend Saeko’s emotional state. With her free hand, she gently stroked Saeko’s head, whispering softly, “It’s all right. I’m sure you’ll find that special person.”
If Torii’s pronouncement meant that Saeko’s most fervent wish of the past eighteen years was to come true, it was welcome news.
Even full of tears, however, Saeko’s eyes were sharp. She noticed that Torii’s hands had once again begun to tremble. The minute tremors in both hands were more violent than before, causing her fingernails to rattle against the cup holder of the armrest. Their rhythm reminded Saeko of the sound of a mouse gnawing away at something hard.
They got off the Matsumoto express train at Chino. As they passed slowly through the ticket gate, Saeko scanned the crowd. But before she caught sight of him, Hashiba was already running towards her.
“Thank you so much for coming all this way.” He bowed politely to Torii and flashed Saeko a more familiar smile. “You must be tired,” he added considerately.
Out of the corner of her eye, Saeko noticed that Hashiba’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscular arms. She felt a flood of relief. Never had she been so glad to have someone come to meet her.
Saeko’s emotional reserves were drained after her ride next to Torii. Not that the old woman was unkind. The two-hour ride had been more than enough time for Saeko to see that the psychic was a generous soul. But being with someone who could see straight into your heart was deeply exhausting. In the time they spent together, Saeko saw clearly that as long as Torii retained her unusual powers, she was fated to suffer perpetual loneliness.
Saeko noticed that Hashiba was carrying both women’s suitcases. He had relieved them of their heavy bags so naturally that she hadn’t even noticed.
The women were to ride with Hashiba in the van while Kagayama and the others traveled in a separate vehicle. The latter group needed to buy a few things but would meet them at the destination.
The two women sat side by side in the second row of seats and were buffeted by the sharp turns of the steep mountain road through the Tsuetsuki Peak pass.
When Saeko had come to research her report, she had taken the Iida line to North Ina Station and driven from there to Takato in a rental car. It had been summertime then, and the mountains had seemed different somehow. On a November afternoon, with the daylight hours growing shorter, the air was dry. Even though the forecast had been for the coldest temperatures yet this year, the sunlight was strong, even hot. Inside the van, it was actually warm enough for air-conditioning. But when the sun set, the temperature would probably drop quickly.
After exiting Highway 152, as they climbed the slope towards the Fujimura residence, Saeko spotted a familiar figure. He wore a track suit with a hand-towel around his neck in lieu of a scarf. He stood off to the side as the camera and sound technicians set up their equipment. When the van approached, he followed it with his eyes.
Seiji Fujimura. He was the older brother of Kota Fujimura, the owner of the Fujimura residence. Now the designated caretaker of the home, Seiji stood to inherit the Fujimuras’ entire estate if the family’s whereabouts remained a mystery seven years later. Saeko had arranged with Seiji to lend her the key to the Fujimuras’ house that day.
Her chest filled with an opposite emotion from the relief she’d felt at the sight of Hashiba. The wave of inexplicable aversion reminded her of turning on the light in a dark room and discovering a cockroach. More revulsion than fear, it was pure instinct.
When the van reached the front of the house, Seiji grinned from ear to ear and approached the vehicle, rapping his knuckles against Saeko’s window. It was a signal for her to roll down the window, it seemed, but the side windows of a van didn’t open. Saeko raised both palms to the glass, then gave a light bow in way of greeting. Seiji leaned in closer towards the window, peering inside and letting his gaze wander over Saeko’s legs.
Saeko pressed both legs together firmly and looked the other way as she gathered her belongings. Even with a window between them, Saeko was in a hurry to get away from Seiji.
Ugh. Why did he have to take a shine to me?
Hurriedly, Saeko moved to follow Torii out of the van. As she did so, Seiji sprinted quickly around and, ignoring Torii, offered Saeko his hand. No doubt it was an attempt to play the chivalrous gentleman, but his obliviousness to the older woman who was undoubtedly in need of help was painfully transparent, and Saeko had no desire to accept the gesture.
Despite herself, however, Saeko gave Seiji a smile. She didn’t like being two-faced, but she did her best to feign happiness to see him. She knew it was a look that was likely to mislead a susceptible member of the opposite sex, but her calculating instincts as a journalist reminded her that Seiji was critical to the success of the project. If anything provoked his ire, the entire project might have to be scrapped.
Saeko tossed her hair, trying to shake off a wave of self-loathing.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Seiji greeted her.
“We appreciate your consenting to work with us,” Saeko responded formally, setting the tone at a professional level.
Seiji waved his hand dismissively, as if to negate the need for such politeness. “Oh, pshaw!” he spat. Loudly, he continued to engage Saeko in friendly conversation as if to show off to the others what good friends they were.
“Ms. Kuriyama, could I have a word with you?” Hashiba intervened just in time with a request for a quick meeting with Torii and the rest of the team. The five staff members gathered around Shigeko Torii as Hashiba briefed them on the agenda.
Hashiba wanted to be very careful in his approach to filming Torii. He wanted the footage to be as genuine as possible, with no element of “staging.” Of course it would help the process if they showed the psychic the interior of the house in advance and went over what she would say. But they would lose all spontaneity through that approach, and Hashiba wanted to get Torii’s first impressions on camera. He wanted to capture her psychological reactions at the moment she first touched the Fujimuras’ belongings. He knew his audience would want to see the exact impact the Fujimura residence had on the psychic.
Torii listened as Hashiba explained his preference.
“Yes. I feel the same way,” she agreed.
“If possible, I’d like to go ahead and film the inside of the house today,” Hashiba ventured, shooting Saeko a quick glance. Seiji had sidled up so close to her that she could feel his breath on her hair. She shivered and took a small step forward, but to no avail — Seiji moved with her.
Hashiba seemed to be suggesting that if Torii was tired from the journey, she could rest up at the hotel and they could start filming tomorrow. But if possible, he preferred to try to capture the main footage they needed today. There was no guarantee that Seiji wouldn’t change his mind. Saeko felt the same way. The longer she spent with Seiji, the more likely she was to end up angering him. The sooner they could film the inside of the house, the better.