“One of the characters in my novel gets bitten by an Irukandji. I want to write an accurate description of the long death-struggle that follows.” Now he’s sounding sober. His gaze travels to Xavier’s stomach. Before Xavier can react, or even fully understand the meaning of the words, Reizo nods to his companion, who carefully removes a water-filled plastic bag from the container. He hands it to Reizo, who slowly lifts it close to Xavier’s face. A small jellyfish is floating in the bag, its four tentacles about five centimetres long. The light-green creature is so pale that Xavier can hardly see it. It looks weak and fragile, like a glob of snot in water.
“Such a sensitive animal,” Reizo says. “So delicate, it dies if you carry it around in a glass tank. One bump against a hard glass wall and it falls apart. But the poison in those tiny tentacles will probably kill you. You can’t be certain, it depends on the circumstances. But there’s no doubt you’ll suffer horribly. You’ll feel as if your body is bursting, your guts exploding. It’ll be a struggle between life and death. That struggle is your task. Mine, to observe it, and write what I see.”
Xavier barely grasps the torrent of words coming from the young madman’s mouth. His brain refuses to believe that this is real.
“If you survive, I grant you the right to avenge yourself,” Reizo continues in all seriousness. “You know my name. You know what I look like. I wish you luck.”
“Wait, I…”
Reizo rips open Xavier’s shirt. He carefully pours the water with the jellyfish onto his chest. Xavier tries to wriggle free, but his hands are tied with tape. He feels a slight sting. He braces himself for the pain, but it doesn’t come.
It was a lie, after all. Xavier has never heard of an Irukandji. It must have been a tasteless prank. In a minute, Yori will pop her head around the door and they’ll laugh about it together.
Reizo stands, smiling: “I forgot to tell you that the symptoms only start setting in after about an hour. We’ll leave you alone until then, to give you time to fool yourself into thinking you can beat the poison. Should be interesting.”
The young men head towards the back of the van. With the deliberation of a film noir actor, Reizo turns his head and says: “In the time you have left to think, before your brains are fried, reflect on this: you thought you could have her, but she’s had you. She spent days looking for a suitable victim for my literary experiment. Such an obedient woman, Yori, very loyal to my ideals – she will never love anyone more than me.”
25
I remember my blood running cold when the miniature camera was disconnected. I left the room, not quite sure what to do next, and made my way down the crumbling staircase. The red lamps that had marked the way for the Yuzonsha members were still lit. The dark silhouettes of the Hashima buildings reminded me of an old story by the imperial lady in waiting Murasaki Shikibu, who wrote almost 1,000 years ago about houses absorbing gloom and hatred more easily than happiness and love. This had never been a beautiful island, just a lump of rock on top of a subterranean world of coal. The companies that erected these apartment blocks had been driven by the brute force of profit, and the whole island reflected this.
I wandered through the ruins in a strange stupor. I’d talk my way out, this wasn’t the first trick I’d played on him – my father seemed to enjoy this cat and mouse game between us, albeit secretly. But the tricks and games weren’t my biggest concern. What worried me most was that he had developed some, if not all, of the characteristics of Rokurobei. The snake-necked demon Rokurobei is also called the King of Lies. His speech had been nothing more than a carefully formulated distortion of reality. Under certain circumstances, Rokurobei has the ability to read the thoughts of anyone within his range of influence, something the Ancients described as “seeing into the soul”. Had my father just reached inside my soul?
I heard a fluttering sound behind me, the sound crows make when they fight over a piece of garbage, or out of boredom.
Someone was standing behind me on the path I had followed without thinking. He was shorter than me, by a head at least, and was standing still. I turned and walked towards him without stopping to think, my hands concealed in my wide sleeves.
I had almost reached him when the man bowed low, in the way expected of underlings. I knew then he wasn’t a Yuzonsha. “Ohimesama, it is an honour to meet you.” From this distance I noticed to my surprise that he was quite young, probably younger than me. He had an open face, and there was a hint of sensitivity in his eyes, or so I thought.
“Who are you?” I asked abruptly, unable to hide my self-consciousness. He had addressed me as Ohimesama – Princess – without even a trace of sarcasm. Though shorter than me, he was tall for a Japanese man. Long legs, a short trunk, sinewy arms. His eyes drew my attention: the usual Japanese skin fold was less obvious and it made him appear more Korean than Japanese.
“Hidetoshi Inaba, madam.”
“Where are you from?” I sounded like a policewoman. I was tense, on my guard, keeping my hands up my sleeves. But I couldn’t avoid the impression that the boy was sincere, cheerful, I don’t know why.
His “madam” brought home my elevated and cloistered existence. It made me feel uneasy, as if my best years were already behind me.
“Nagasaki.”
“What brings you here?” I knew it was a stupid question. Hashima was officially deserted. Only the boats of my father’s organisation moored here, and always at night.
“I’m a sailor,” he announced with pride.
“On one of my father’s boats?”
He nodded, smiling radiantly, like a child seeing its first butterfly.
It didn’t take me long to find out he was sixteen. He’d run away from his parents six months ago, but remained vague about the reason. Nothing he said about it has stuck in my memory, except for one sentence: “I was living as if in a deep sleep or trance, now I’m awake.”
What a strange boy. But from the first, there was something about him I can only describe as “romantic”, a quality that seemed to be shining down on him from above like a beacon of light. His smile was surprisingly frank and open. He soon appeared at his ease, and there was no sign of that sidelong look of reverential awe I would get from the other seamen on the rare occasions we met. He talked a lot and with great enthusiasm. Before I knew it, we were sitting together in the rubble. Grinning with pride, he produced a flask of spirits from his back pocket and cautiously offered me a drink. The stuff scorched my stomach like sunburn, then a comforting glow took its place. He said he didn’t want to live like his parents, working in the shipyards of Nagasaki. “I love music. When I hear a certain kind of music, something in me changes, I grow, and the world gets smaller.” Later, when I used his name, he said: “I’d prefer if you called me “Crow”, that’s what my shipmates call me. What may I call you?” His smile was so inviting that I allowed him without hesitation to call me Mitsuko. He was hoping to save enough money to go to a conservatory. “I like rap and all that, it’s not that I’m not modern, but the classical composers… Wow. It’s not just their music, though that’s impressive enough. But their lives; they were so—” he cast around for the right word – “exalted”. I was watching him closely, thinking he had also found the right word to describe his own inner life. By “classical”, I assumed he meant Western composers, but didn’t ask, afraid of appearing ignorant. I felt comfortable with him, something that never happened with other people. I found myself wondering if he thought I was ugly, but the way he looked at me didn’t seem to suggest it. I sensed something like admiration in him; or, more accurately perhaps, respect. Strangely enough, our age difference – his sixteen years, my twenty – wasn’t a problem. Doggedly independent from his early youth, he told me he’d always gone his own way, spending hours at the public library. “Libraries calm me down. Quite an achievement, in my case.” His mercurial energy was captivating. In his company I felt normal.