In the set of images from the second day the man waited in almost the exact same spot. This time he leaned back, shoulders against the wall, and bowed forward as soon as Yee Jan came out of the doors and followed after, not quite so zombie-like (in fact pretty ordinary, though somewhat languid) one hand running along the brim of his cap, a ring on his finger. The ring passed too quickly for him to see which finger (he suspected it was a signet ring, it would be too much to hope that a married man with some secret vice was following him, smitten). On the third day the man waited, hands in pockets, a little more anxious perhaps and wary of the street. When Yee Jan came out, among a burst of other students, he waited, held back, his right hand wiped his face and he walked out of view, more zombie than not, again following Yee Jan.
The director of the language school cleared her throat throughout the viewing. She spoke softly with the two policemen, then directly addressed Yee Jan in English.
‘This isn’t the first time. I think the film, it’s possible, is making things worse.’
Yee Jan sucked the skin on his knuckles — which film? Did she mean the movie they were shooting on the seafront? The policemen didn’t appear to care and he wondered at how Italians seemed to love their uniforms, however stupid they appeared wearing them because they always looked a size too small and were over-dressed in ornament. Just dumb.
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘No. Most of the people who come, come only once. And sometimes, once they’re here, they wait for a while. It’s not clear why, exactly.’ But this time there was a complaint from one of the students about a man waiting outside, and when the secretary checked the tapes, she noticed it was the same man coming time after time. ‘We don’t know for how long.’
Yee Jan sat forward, and repeated his question. ‘Why is he here?’
The director shifted back in her seat. ‘There isn’t much we can do. It’s a public street. There is the sign outside. Every time something comes out in the newspapers or a book — and now this film — we have people who come to the school, they go to the palazzo on via Capasso, then they come here to look at the sign outside. I have asked them to take down the sign. But I don’t think it would make a difference.’
It sounded to Yee Jan like this would be the preferred option. Take down the sign, rename the school. Easy.
‘Why is he following me?’
‘Was. He was following you. This footage is from last week. He hasn’t come back this week.’
‘So why was he following me?’
At this the director looked deeply pained. ‘Because,’ she answered carefully, ‘one of the people who disappeared was one of our students. A Japanese student.’
Yee Jan nodded, he knew the story. ‘I’m American. The features are Korean.’
‘I don’t understand it either. But it’s always the same. People are curious. It’s an unfortunate mistake. I think this is what happens when an idea spreads. I think someone has seen you and just become fascinated with the idea.’
While the error was just about plausible — in a general sense — it was a simple fact that Yee Jan looked nothing like a Japanese housewife, not even close. In any case, Yee Jan had shown utmost sensitivity for the first couple of weeks at the school over the issue of his mannerisms and his clothes, and toned everything down. He’d kept to a simple wardrobe of dark T-shirts and black jeans. Although he sometimes changed after lessons, not one person from the school had seen him. Only slowly, over several weeks (and the difference becoming more noticeable this week), had he allowed himself to relax, to return to being human, feminine; his body becoming less constricted, his gestures broader, larger, and he’d started wearing a few more bangles, a little more make-up. He’d began to laugh again, that double laugh, the supple ripple that underscored and lit up conversations, and that coarse horny bellow that singled him out of any crowd. Yee Jan’s laughter was a gift given generously. He began to address himself in the third person when he was forgetful, or if he made a mistake. He began calling the boys girlfriend, girl, ragazza, or sometimes she, in a manner which suggested affection, and enjoyed making a mess of the genders in class to amuse himself, his tutors, the other students.
It was possible with his black hair, the occasional clasp, the eye-shadow, the hint of eye-liner (nothing even close to the amount of make-up he wore at home), the plucked eyebrows, his mannerisms (that lazy, sexy walk, those smooth gestures where his hands followed one beat behind every motion), his height, his skinniness, that he could be mistaken for a girl — a girl — but not, no way, a middle-aged Japanese housewife.
There were too many questions. Did this man follow him because he looked the type — Asian and petite? Did the man have some kind of problem with his sight, or was he crazy? Was he certain about his choice, or did he consider, vacillate, become certain then uncertain? How long did he follow? Did he come all the way to Vomero, door to door, or did he give up at the funiculare? Did he intend to harm him? Or was it something else? Yee Jan had seen in movies how a slight gesture made without deliberate intention could fashion a whole world of consequences, happenstances, and while he didn’t believe that this would occur in life, he wanted to know if the man believed that he had given him a signal, a please follow me? In any case: how curious was he, this man who wore jackets in the middle of the summer?
The police had a slightly different idea. Some of the people who came to the palazzo were from families with missing people. Since the disappearance of the first victim, and possibly because he wasn’t identified, the case had brought the attention of almost everyone who had lost someone. There were forty-five similar cases in the region, of people who had just gone missing without any indication or any obvious plan or prior warning. The case was a touchstone, and sometimes people came to the palazzo or the school in the faint hope that there would be some kind of discovery or realization. Yee Jan found this unbearable.
The director said she didn’t know what to do, because there wasn’t really much that could be done. They had debated whether they should let Yee Jan know, and thought it sensible to see if he recognized the man. ‘But really … other than that…’ She raised her hands in submission.
The police asked him to watch the images again, just to make sure, and this time, Yee Jan noticed some differences. The clothes were the same, the baseball cap, the jacket, the hand to his cap, the same hand to his face. Yee Jan asked for the images to be replayed. Now he was used to the idea, something didn’t quite fit. There was a something else, a piece they hadn’t shown him on the first viewing where the man had made some kind of gesture to the camera above the door. It looked like sign language, he couldn’t tell, being brief and perfunctory it passed almost without remark.
‘It’s a wasp.’ The director dismissed the gesture before Yee Jan could say anything.
‘That isn’t the same man.’ He cocked his head to think. ‘Look.’ He pointed at the monitor. ‘They aren’t the same. Their shoulders, this one is smaller, he’s a little shorter and he isn’t so broad.’
The policemen couldn’t see it.