“I want to be on a boat,” Shinobu said in response. “Even a fishing boat’s OK.”
“I guess we won’t get a good night’s sleep tonight even if we’re on land,” he said.
“So let’s run away to sea.”
“Would there be a boat that would take us on board? I mean, you’re a star and I’m a kidnapper. We’d have to make sure it all went according to plan.”
Kita winked at Shinobu, picked up the receiver, and dialled the number of the television station. “I’m Shinobu Yoimachi’s abductor,” he said. “Put me onto the head of the news section.”
“S-s-s-sure, one moment,” mumbled the receptionist. Please hold, someone will be with you shortly, a recorded female voice repeated, before being replaced by a resonant baritone.
“Hullo, this is Yamanouchi from the SM television News Section. We received your message. You’re with Shinobu Yoimachi now, right?”
“Correct.”
“Why did you kidnap her?”
“I want to help children suffering from serious illnesses.”
“You say you’ve demanded that the thirty million in ransom money be donated to the International Red Cross, right?”
“That’s right. I have a few other demands as well, actually. Here goes, OK? Get rid of the American military bases in Okinawa, and scrap the Japan–U.S. Security Treaty. Resignation of all Cabinet members. An end to the death penalty. A mandatory retirement system for all members of the National Diet. A ban on those “golden parachutes” for retired government officials in private sector employment. Support Tibetan independence. And drop those stupid variety programs and gossip shows on TV.” Kita was reeling the list off the top of his head as he went on. His idea was to estimate Shinobu’s life at the highest possible value, though the effect was a little like praying at one of those shrines that offer lots of benefits for a mere coin or two at the altar.
You could hear the wry smile behind the voice as Yamanouchi replied, “These are demands to the Japanese government, are they? I have to tell you there’s no one in this country who could possibly fulfil them. What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not expecting them to be fulfilled. But I want you to at least report the kidnapper’s demands verbatim to your listeners. If you don’t want to see her killed, you must report them all fully. All will be revealed on Friday. Shinobu will tell you herself, if she’s still alive then. I want you guys in the news media to put pressure on her studio manager to pay up that thirty million to the Red Cross. And while you’re at it, you must give a lesson to all those useless politicians. You’ll not only be saving Shinobu Yoimachi, but for once in your life you’ll be doing something for the sake of the world. This abduction is my own way of calling for justice. What I’m hoping is that it will set off a wave of Justice Terrorism. I want people to come clean about the secrets of the business or office they work in, and make a clean breast of all their nefarious doings. Terrorists of conscience throughout the nation, now is your hour! Here ends the declaration of Shinobu Yoimachi’s abductor.”
Kita put down the receiver, took a deep breath, and turned his mind to discussing with Shinobu where they should go to hole up.
“You sure made a lot of demands there. You’re a real pro, Kita.”
Kita had never received such praise in his life; in fact he’d been told the exact opposite when he worked as a salesman. Seemed like people really could change if they wanted to. Of course the level of responsibility was different when you were selling a life than when you were just selling health products. His working life had been devoid of responsibility until now, so it was only natural that he’d never improved. He’d been skilled at shutting up and listening to others, with the result that another of his skills was passively conforming to others’ expectations of him. Now he realized this old self had suddenly evolved. It felt pretty good.
“I’d say they know we’re in Niigata by now. That saleswoman in the shop where you bought the dress realized who you were.”
“Am I a millstone for you? Do I stand out?”
“That’s why we’ve got to hide somewhere, see. The police may already be on the move.”
“Well maybe, but this town feels pretty sleepy. It just doesn’t seem like the sort of place where anything would happen.”
“We’re the ones who’d be the event. If a patrol car sees us, we’re done for.”
“Really? It’s making me drowsy.”
The port had a lethargic air. The sound of a distant steam whistle drifted in like a yawn, while the two wandered along indecisively. Shinobu peeped into the deserted kiosk, and began idly looking for chocolate nibbles to buy. Kita bought himself a sports paper and a can of barley tea, put some eye drops in his eyes, and settled down on a bench with the idea of waiting for a good idea to present itself.
“Couldn’t we escape onto some boat?” Shinobu was perched on Kita’s knee, chewing gum.
A hotel would make them too visible. Abductors often holed up in a vacant house or some derelict building, but that was in the movies. They had no time to go searching around for the perfect ruin. They could just keep on the move, but they didn’t have the money for that. Finally, they settled on hiding on a boat. What kind? wondered Kita, and the moment he did so he recalled the face of the Russian he’d tried to sell health products to a few years earlier.
If they could get refuge on a Russian ship in port, he thought, neither the police nor the gangsters would get to them before Friday. The only problem was, would the ship take them? He’d heard the Russian Embassy was surprisingly unhelpful to refugees. Luckily, though, a Russian ship was not an embassy. It would all work out if they negotiated with the ship’s captain, he decided.
He approached two Russians as they got off the bus, huge paper bags clutched in both hands, and addressed them in English. Were they going back to their ship? Da, da, they nodded. Two faces, one like a grotesque kewpie doll and the other with great blubbery lips, ogled Shinobu as they spoke. Kita smiled back. He’d like to speak to the captain, so would they mind introducing him? Captain? The one with the gleaming lips pointed at the grumpy kewpie. Ah, you’re the captain? Kita asked. Da. Ya. Captain replied the kewpie. It seemed his English wasn’t too good. The thick-lipped one translated for him, rolling his r’s, while Kita dedicated himself to the task of negotiating, mouthing his English syllables with a heavy Japanese accent.
“My name is Minami. I’m a director of a television station. This is Mizuho, a reporter. We are making a travel program about Niigata. We would like to include your ship in our footage. Therefore, could you please show us your ship?”
The two had a few exchanges in Russian together, while Kita waited, wondering if his request had got through. Then the thick-lipped one turned to him and said How much can you pay? Sure enough, it was going to need money. How much do you want? he asked. Fifty thousand, came the outrageous answer. Kita looked resigned, shook his head, and turned as if to go.
OK, said Lips, forty plus a can of caviar. Forget it, muttered Kita. Lips came down another ten thousand. If you put us up on board for tonight, we’ll make it thirty thousand, Kita offered. You want to stay? Lips winced and looked dubious.
“You see, we want to cover the everyday life of Russian sailors,” Kita laboriously explained. “We want to know how you spend time while you’re in port, what you eat, what you talk about.”
Lips nodded to each thing Kita said, but he looked as if he couldn’t fathom just why they wanted to do this. He asked if the woman would come too. Yes, said Kita, she was eager to spend time on the ship as well. At this, Kewpie grinned broadly. Khorosho, he said, and reached for Kita’s hand to shake on the deal. It seemed negotiations had reached a happy conclusion.