They were taken on board the five hundred ton freighter Pugachov. On the deck they found two second-hand Japanese cars, tied up with wire rather like Gulliver in Lilliput. There was also a pile of second-hand refrigerators, television sets, and the kind of bicycles that could have been abandoned at railway stations. It looked like a street on special trash-collection day.
They were introduced to each crew member in turn. Nicolai, Sasha, Misha, Alyosha, Kosta…it was quite an array of faces. Each was passing the time in his own chosen way. Some were playing chess, some exchanging cups of vodka, others reading, playing the guitar or sleeping. Shinobu smiled sweetly at them all in a rather bewildered fashion.
Then they were shown into the captain’s cabin, where they raised welcoming vodka glasses with Kewpie, and ate the proffered fatty salted pork on black bread.
They were given two empty bunks, one above the other. A young crewman brought them some damp sheets and mouldy-smelling blankets, and informed them that dinner was at six.
“We’ve managed to find a hidey-hole, haven’t we?” murmured Shinobu, gazing out at the sea through the round porthole in their room.
“Mind you, we’re not absolutely safe even here.”
“Let’s hope all goes well.”
“I’ll go off into the town after dinner and take a look at things,” Kita said. “I won’t stand out if I’m alone.”
Yawning irrepressibly, Kita lay down on the narrow bunk. Shinobu snuggled in beside him. She poked a finger into his nose and chin, and murmured sulkily, “You’re going to leave me on this ship all alone? What will you do if I get raped?” She rolled up his shirt and began to stroke his ribs.
“Stop it, that tickles.”
“What’ll you do, Kita? If the ship leaves while you’re away, I really will be kidnapped.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t think Captain Kewpie’s a bad fellow.”
“How do you know? He might be part of a mafia gang for all we know. All the crew look like mafia members, don’t you think?”
“Do the mafia collect junk like that?”
“They’d be carrying guns. Tokarevs or Kalashnikovs, I’d say.”
“You want one? Shall I inquire for you?”
“I don’t want to kill and I don’t want to get killed.”
“What if you had to choose?”
“I’d kill. What about you?”
“I’d die.”
“Not fair!”
“Look, I promise I’ll be back, right? All I’m going to do is just check that the abduction’s been reported in the media, and see if the money’s gone to the Red Cross yet.”
Shinobu pouted, and nodded unwillingly.
Six o’clock came, and the entire crew gathered in the ship’s dining room. Shinobu was somewhat relieved to discover that there were two Russian women among the crew. She and Kita were invited to the captain’s table as the evening’s guests, where they were re-introduced to the other members, and raised vodka glasses together.
For dinner, they were given a tomato and cucumber salad with hamburgers. There were also canapés of salmon roe on buttered black bread. As they sat there surrounded by a sea of Russian language, laughter, and hummed song, the two of them amused themselves by coming up with nicknames for each of the crew. The captain was “Valkewpin.” The translator was “Lipsikov.” A man who sang in a hoarse voice became “Tomwaitsky,” while the woman who served the meal was “Chubbinya.” The man who’d been working on one of the rescued refrigerators was “Siberian Electrics,” the glitzy six-foot woman was “Glitzerina,” a huge two hundred twenty-pound man called Misha became “Fatsikov,” and so on. Every time one of them came up with another name they’d laugh, and after a while a young crewman who spoke English asked with undisguised curiosity what they were talking about.
“We were wondering whether you have any Tokarevs or Kalashnikovs,” joked Kita, emboldened by the vodka.
“Yakuza?” somebody asked.
“We’re not yakuza. We fight the yakuza.”
“Polis?”
“No, we’re not the police either.”
“So what are you?” Fatsikov asked.
In his rudimentary English, Kita spelled it out. “I love her. She loves me.” This proved a hit. Gorika! cried Tomwaitsky, and everyone sang out the same word in response. Kiss! Lipsikov commanded. Apparently gorika meant “bitter,” and lovers had to kiss in order to make the vodka sweet. Not really following all this, the two were made to blushingly kiss.
Siberian Electrics came over to Kita and earnestly began to explain that Tokarevs were no good. “Makarovs are much better. Tokarevs are made in China so they’re cheap, but most of them are poorly made. Kalashnikovs also depend on whether they’re made in Russia or China. The Russian ones use fat bullets and are very destructive. If you want to buy a gun, buy a Makarov. Makarovs aim well.”
“How much does one cost?” asked Kita, and was told fifty thousand yen. But you could get one for five thousand in Vladivostok. A Tokarev cost one thousand.
A pistol suicide wasn’t a bad idea, Kita thought. It was nice and straightforward. But he didn’t have the money.
When darkness had descended, Kita left the ship to go take a look at the town. Shinobu asked him to bring her back an ice cream.
Kita took a taxi into the central shopping district, where he found a closed electric goods shop that had left the televisions running in the window. Every set, large and small, was tuned to the baseball. Two other men paused in the middle of the arcade as Kita had done, and stood with heads twisted, watching the match. A little girl just learning to walk came tottering out onto the pavement, pursued by her worried father. Kita felt he’d seen the same thing happen somewhere before. No doubt this little scene had also been played out yesterday and would be played out tomorrow, in other shopping arcades in other towns, repeated again and again without anyone ever noticing.
The little girl about a year old looked up into Kita’s face. Kita smiled back, with a sudden sense that he’d come across this particular child before. This man’s going to die the day after tomorrow, Kita told her silently. You’re going to go right on living for a long time. You live well, won’t you? Even if one day here or there doesn’t make much difference to you, with your long life to come. Then he walked off.
He stepped into a telephone booth, and called the merchant of death. “Hey man, where are you?” Yashiro said casually when he heard Kita’s voice.
“Give me back my money. I’m in a fix.”
“You want some money? I’ll send it through. You’re in Niigata, right? Where are you hiding out? Is Shinobu OK? You’ve finally stuck your neck out, haven’t you? It’s do or die. I admire you. Have you seen the TV news? You’re a fantastic promoter. You’ve made Shinobu a star overnight.”
“That doesn’t benefit me one bit.”
“Shinobu’s got the main part tonight. No one knows you’re the kidnapper yet. I’ll bet you’re holed up somewhere out of sight with her, eh? You won’t be out wandering the streets together, that’s for sure.”
“Her production manager sussed that it was me.”
“Don’t you worry. That guy’s tight-lipped. He won’t breathe a word to the media or the police. The abductor’s a mystery man. No one knows the name Yoshio Kita. As long as you’re alone, you’re just another passerby to everyone. I may call it an abduction, but to everyone else it’s just some drunk’s joke.”