Shigeko had offered very little usable commentary at the park about the disappearances, the only memorable moment her resigned remark that it was all too much for her. They could use that footage to say that the incident could not be construed as a supernatural phenomenon and segue into a more scientific direction.
Indeed, the local magnetic field had experienced a disturbance, and aurora-like lights had appeared in the evening sky. Fault lines, sunspots, geomagnetic disturbances, luminous atmospheres — it could all be brought together scientifically, perhaps in a way that suggested an influence on group psychology.
Hashiba outlined the possible format to Saeko: a good-looking female reporter in front of the camera, the scientific advisor playing second fiddle throughout.
“Have you found anyone suitable?” Saeko asked.
“I have a friend who’s a science professor at a national university, and he introduced me to this guy who’s quite a character — Naoki Isogai, a genius of sorts with doctorates in math and physics. He’s youngish, only in his thirties, just back from America and looking for work. They say he’s got a few quirks but also a strong interest in the media. I’d say he’s just about perfect for the role. Actually, I have a favor to ask, Saeko. Do you think you’d be able to meet him tomorrow, either at Shinagawa or Atami? I’d really appreciate it if you could show him around the park.”
Saeko could only nod her assent since she was still part of the crew. “I guess so …”
There was no denying that Shigeko’s death had played havoc with the program’s original concept. The move away from an occult interpretation toward a heavy reliance on scientific analysis was exactly what Hashiba had wanted. Only, Saeko found herself worrying that the program wouldn’t gel if they tried to use both types of footage together.
But if she, who usually worked alone, tried to preach ideals to a man who worked as part of a team, she could end up sounding naïve. In order to get the best ratings, even Shigeko’s death could be used as a trump card. Perhaps it was the norm in television.
“One can only do one’s best, I suppose,” she remarked.
“What do you mean?” Hashiba put an arm around her, not sure how to place the comment.
“Nothing really.” Saeko hadn’t meant anything by it; a phrase her father had often used had come to her.
She could feel the warmth of Hashiba’s arm through her coat, but his touch seemed different than before. It was not only more hesitant but included a delicate movement of the fingers that concealed some sort of bad conscience on his part.
Though Saeko noticed the change from a slight detail, she had no idea of Hashiba’s true inner struggle. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms, kiss her, and make love to her. She was within physical reach now, but he was limited to expressing himself with hesitant fingers. His affection for her was building up to the point where he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back for much longer.
If only he could indulge his male selfishness, how splendid that would be: have both his family and a lover … But if he did this, his wife would die. It was no longer a mere superstition for him but a conviction.
It wasn’t until a few hours after he became privy to Shigeko’s suicide note that he came to feel that a code meant only for him was hidden in the words. When the staff first faxed the letter to him, he was drawn as a matter of course to the sentence that mentioned him directly and hinted that his wish would be granted.
There was no question that Shigeko had sensed his wish to replace her and take the program in a different direction. He’d been suspicious about the psychic’s gift though he was the director, and her somehow reading his thoughts awed him. But his imagination went further. If she’d read his thoughts while working together, then she would have also divined his feelings for Saeko.
Your wish seems ready to be granted.
Coming from an old lady, it sounded like innocuous encouragement, but in the context of the complexity of their relationships, the phrase started to sound more like a warning. Shigeko was not hinting at anything as trivial as his wish regarding the direction of the program. She had seen the truth about his relationship with Saeko and divined that his wife had a lump on her breast and had been asked to come in for further testing. Shigeko had written the sentence with all of that in mind.
Saeko was within his reach now; she could be his. But Shigeko was warning him that to do so would be to sacrifice the other one. On the threshold of death, she had tried to teach him that the web of relations obtaining on the world’s underside meant that his choosing one would cause the other’s disappearance.
In Saeko’s apartment, the moment of consummation had been thwarted from afar when his fingers traced the lump on her breast, and the very next day he’d learned of his wife’s ominous exam results. That was just the tip of the iceberg. The more he became involved with Saeko and sauntered to the point of no return, the worse his wife’s diagnosis would become. With each naked embrace, his wife’s cancer would grow worse and eventually she would die.
The train of thought made Hashiba’s spine tingle. The various events that occurred in the world were, in truth, surface manifestations of a complex tangling of volitions and causalities that remained hidden to ordinary people, but which Shigeko could discern with her mind’s eye. Hashiba understood now, for the first time. That was the true nature of her gift.
Hashiba scrunched his face as if to hold back tears. Just when Saeko noticed this, the confession came spilling out of his mouth.
“Saeko, I want to take things further with you. But, I can’t … I have a family.”
Saeko let out a gasp of surprise. Caught completely off guard, her mind went blank and she couldn’t find any words to utter. But they came out, before she could gather her thoughts, like some conditioned reflex, all too slick.
“That much was obvious.” It wasn’t in retaliation that she was lying. Saeko had really believed that Hashiba was single. She was desperately hiding her turmoil. “I didn’t really think someone as attractive as you could still be single.” Oblivious to Hashiba’s consternation, the words flowed, completely contradicting her feelings, but Saeko could not stop herself. “You’re just too nice. You were just saying what you knew I wanted to hear.”
Hashiba just stood there, neither apologizing nor justifying himself, afraid that any line he attempted might sound smug.
“Why don’t you say something?”
Even at this point, Saeko expected professions of love to come tumbling out of Hashiba’s mouth.
“I’m sorry I lied to you. I hope that we can stay good friends.”
Saeko felt her eyes widen. She wanted to bang her fists against his chest and tell him:
I don’t care if you have a family. Love me. Please, don’t leave me alone.
For the first Christmas Eve in a long while, Saeko found her thoughts dwelling on the fact that she was spending it alone. After the wake — after his confession that he was married with a family — Hashiba had taken a train to Atami. Alone despite it being Christmas Eve, Saeko had dragged herself through the cold and visited Kitazawa’s office. There, she’d asked Kitazawa to help her in looking for any connections between the Fujimura family and her father. She’d only just come through her front door.
While the warmth of her apartment gradually helped dispel the chills from the cold winter air, Saeko felt her icy loneliness become more distinct. Wondering what to do, she unconsciously picked up the remote and clicked on the TV.
The news reported that the emergency services had made no progress in their search for the whereabouts of the ninety-one people who had gone missing in Herb Gardens in Atami.