Right about now they were both equally confused. Neither could assign meaning to Sadako's actions. Why had she suddenly kissed Shigemori? Why had she cradled his testicles in her hand? She had to mean something by it.
Sadako stepped away from the wall, leaving Shigemori there in his altered physical state, and suddenly turned toward Toyama. It was as if she'd known he was there all along. About twenty yards separated them, and he was mostly hidden behind the railing of the staircase, but still she looked straight at him, as if the eyes in the back of her head had already located him. It reminded him of how she'd reacted when he'd tried to embrace her that day when she was playing the piano. The way she'd moved, then and now, was amazing—intuition didn't begin to cover it.
Sadako met Toyama's gaze and flashed him a victo-rious wink.
You know what's going on, don't you? said her look.
But he didn't.
Sadako disappeared into the hallway leading to the green room, leaving confusion in her wake.
In contrast to Sadako's resolute, purposeful gaze, Shigemori appeared to be seeing nothing, his hollow gaze still turned toward the ceiling. He hadn't noticed Toyama in front of him. Sadako had disappeared speed-ily, leaving him sluggish, bereft of his usually scintillat-ing wits.
At length he seemed to come around. He pushed open the door and staggered into the theater. He was a tall, slender man, but at the moment his limbs looked leaden.
Both Sadako and Shigemori having left his field of vision, Toyama went into the sound booth.
His tapes were all ready. The curtain could go up any time, and he'd have no problems.
Finally Shigemori's voice came over the intercom.
"Okay, everyone. We're about to start the second act."
His voice quavered enough to be noticeable even to someone who hadn't just witnessed what Toyama had.
7
The curtain had gone up on the dress rehearsal's second act, but Toyama couldn't concentrate on his job. The scene he'd just seen kept flickering before his mind's eye, making him careless about checking for stray sounds on the tape. Jealousy, rage, and shock welled up from the depths of his heart and turned into a rushing current that threatened to engulf him.
For six months now, he'd considered his and Sadako's relationship to be that of lovers. When nobody was watching they'd hold and kiss each other, but that and honeyed words marked the extent of their relationship: no matter how he sought it, nothing more was forthcoming. Still, he was satisfied with what they had.
He decided that it must be her youth—she was only eighteen—that kept things from developing physically.
He found her innocence pleasing, in a way. She was a virgin. Of that he'd never had a doubt.
The only thing that nagged at him was Sadako's extreme caution that nobody else find out about their relationship. It seemed a bit excessive to Toyama.
When they were alone, her attitude proclaimed that she truly loved him. But when they were with other members of the troupe, she treated him with particular coldness, so that he was wracked with anxiety. For his part, he always looked on her as someone special to him, no matter where they were. But not her: when people were around, she treated him like just another face in the crowd.
His fondest wish was for her to sit by him, even in the presence of their colleagues, and simply look at him.
He was tired of being ignored in front of the others: it only made him watch her more closely, only increased his desire to elude the others so he could hold and kiss her.
He could understand her not wanting to be gossiped about, but still, he wished things would change. When he told her this, however, she always gave him the same answer.
I don't want to let everybody know how close we are. What we have is our little secret, and I want you to keep it that way. Okay? You can't tell anybody about us. Promise me—if you don't, I'll lose you.
Her explanation never convinced him. Why did things have to be kept so secret? What he'd witnessed her doing with Shigemori just now suggested a possible reason.
Everybody who joined the troupe did so because they wanted to make it as an actor or actress. Sadako radiated that desire even more strongly than most, and with her it was mingled with something in her gaze that challenged society in ways that normal people couldn't quite fathom. It verged on hostility. Sometimes Toyama saw a coldness and contempt for the world in her eyes that made him flinch.
The world doesn't hate you as much as you think it does.
He tried again and again to tell her that, but she never listened. She'd just scold him for being naive, saying if he went through life like that, they'd get him—at times like that she acted like a much older woman.
He wondered what there was in her past to make her that way, and sometimes he even tried to ask, non-chalantly. But she always evaded his questions, and so he was never able to grasp the true nature of her near-enmity toward society.
The only way for Sadako to triumph over the world was to become a famous actress. It was the one thing an eighteen-year-old girl could do that would command universal admiration in one fell swoop. He was sure she knew that.
Which led Toyama to a deduction. Becoming a star meant grabbing every chance that presented itself. What could she do right here, right now? The answer was plain. She could cozy up to Shigemori, who held absolute power over the troupe, in hopes of getting a part. That had to be how she'd gotten such an important role in the current production. It was, after all, a major coup for an intern who'd only been with the troupe for a year.
But how? Toyama didn't want to think about that.
The image of the two of them in the corner kept returning to his thoughts, tormenting him.
He thought he knew now why she'd wanted to keep her relationship with him so secret. It was quite clear. If it became common knowledge in the troupe that she and Toyama were lovers, word of it would naturally reach Shigemori. Certainly Shigemori would not be pleased to learn she had a boyfriend, and that would lessen her chances of ingratiating herself with him.
Am I just being toyed with? By this nineteen-year-old woman-child? This sylph?
Toyama hung his head—still wearing his headphones. For a moment, his eyes left the stage.
The stage manager's voice crackled over the intercom. "Hey, Toyama, you forgot the ring!"
He looked up. He'd missed his timing. Hurriedly he pressed the play button and the sound of a ringing telephone issued forth. It was late, so the actor onstage had been forced to ad lib; now he waited for it to ring twice before picking up the receiver. As he did so, Toyama stopped the tape.
Disaster had been averted, but all the same the stage manager berated him. "Idiot! Are you even watching the stage?"
"Sorry," Toyama said immediately.
"Just pay attention, alright?"
"I will."
He sighed as he broke out in a cold sweat. He had no excuse. He'd lost himself, lost his concentration, and caused problems for his colleagues. All because of his love for Sadako.
Shit. Get a hold of yourself.
He couldn't stand not being able to control his feelings. He'd always thought of himself as strong-willed, not at all the type to let himself be swept along by his emotions. And look at him now—all on account of a woman.
He shook his head, trying to clear it of lewd fantasies.
It was no use. Onstage, Sadako's scene was starting.
The Girl in Black appeared from stage left and stood wordlessly behind a middle-aged man who was yelling into a telephone. The man sensed something behind him, fell silent, and turned around. The stage went dark for an instant. When the lights came on again, the Girl in Black had disappeared. It was a remarkable effect, really, a skillful combination of lighting and set design.