Ushikawa struck a match and lit a fresh cigarette. You cant keep it up forever, though. You're going to burn out sooner or later.
Everybody does. Its the way people are made. In terms of evolutionary history, it was only yesterday that men learned to walk around on two legs and get in trouble thinking complicated thoughts. So don't worry, you'll burn out. Especially in the world that you're trying to deal with: everybody burns out. There are too many tricky things going on in it, too many ways of getting into trouble. Its a world made of tricky things. I've been working in that world since the time of Dr. Wataya's uncle, and now the Doctor has inherited it, lock, stock, and barrel. I used to do risky stuff for a living. If I had kept it up, Id be in jail now- or dead. No kidding. The Doctors uncle picked me up in the nick of time. So these little eyes of mine have seen a hell of a lot. Everybody burns out in this world: amateur, pro, it doesn't matter, they all burn out, they all get hurt, the OK guys and the not-OK guys both. That's why everybody takes out a little insurance. I've got some too, here at the bottom of the heap. That way, you can manage to survive if you burn out. If you're all by yourself and don't belong anywhere, you go down once and you're out. Finished.
Maybe I shouldn't say this to you, Mr. Okada, but you're ready to go down. Its a sure thing. It says so in my book, in big, black letters about two or three pages ahead: TORU OKADA READY TO FALL. Its true. I'm not trying to scare you. I'm a whole lot more accurate in this world than weather forecasts on TV. So all I want to tell you is this: Theres a time when things are right for pulling out.
Ushikawa closed his mouth at that point and looked at me. Then he went on: So lets stop all this feeling each other out, Mr. Okada, and get down to business.... Which brings us to the end of a very long introduction, so now I can make you the offer I came here to make.
Ushikawa put both hands on the table. Then he flicked his tongue over his lips.
So lets say I've just told you that you ought to cut your ties with that land and pull out of the deal. But maybe you cant pull out, even if you want to. Maybe you're stuck until you pay off your loan. Ushikawa cut himself short and gave me a searching look. If moneys a problem, we've got it to give you. If you need eighty million yen, I can bring you eighty million yen in a nice, neat bundle. That's eight thousand ten-thousand-yen bills. You can pay off whatever you owe and pocket the rest, free and clear. Then its party time! Hey, what do you say?
So then the land and building belong to Noboru Wataya? Is that the idea?
Yes, I guess it is, the way things work. I suppose there are a lot of annoying details that will have to be taken care of, though....
I gave his proposal some thought. You know, Ushikawa, I really don't get it. I don't see why Noboru Wataya is so eager to get me away from that property. What does he plan to do with it once he owns it?
Ushikawa slowly rubbed one cheek with the palm of his hand. Sorry, Mr. Okada, I don't know about things like that. As I mentioned to you at first, I'm just a stupid carrier pigeon. My master tells me what to do, and I do it. And most of the jobs he gives me are unpleasant. When I used to read the story of Aladdin, Id always sympathize with the genie, the way they worked him so hard, but I never dreamed Id grow up to be like him. Its a sad story, let me tell you. But finally, everything I have said to you is a message I was sent to deliver. It comes from Dr. Wataya. The choice is up to you. So what do you say? What kind of answer should I carry back?
I said nothing.
Of course, you will need time to think. That is fine. We can give you time. I don't mean for you to decide right now, on the spot. I would like to say take all the time you want, but I'm afraid we cant be that flexible. Now, let me just say this, Mr. Okada. Let me give you my own personal opinion. A nice, fat offer like this is not going to sit on the table forever. You could look away for a second, and it might be gone when you looked back. It could evaporate, like mist on a windowpane. So please give it some serious thought- in a hurry. I mean, its not a bad offer. Do you see what I mean?
Ushikawa sighed and looked at his watch. Oh, my, my, my- I've got to be going.
Overstayed my welcome again, I'm afraid. Enjoyed another beer. And as usual, I did all the talking. Sorry about that. I'm not trying to make excuses, but, I don't know, when I come here I just seem to settle in. You have a comfortable house here, Mr. Okada. That must be it.
Ushikawa stood up and carried his glass and beer bottle and ashtray to the kitchen sink.
I'll be in touch with you soon, Mr. Okada. And I'll make arrangements for you to talk with Ms. Kumiko, that I promise. You can look forward to it soon.
After Ushikawa left, I opened the windows and let the accumulated cigarette smoke out.
Then I drank a glass of water. Sitting on the sofa, I cuddled the cat, Mackerel, on my lap. I imagined Ushikawa removing his disguise when he was one step beyond my door, and flying back to Noboru Wataya. It was a stupid thing to imagine.
17 The Fitting Room
A Successor
Nutmeg knew nothing about the women who came to her. None of them offered information about herself, and Nutmeg never asked. The names with which they made their appointments were obviously made up. But around them lingered that special smell produced by the combination of power and money. The women themselves never made a show of it, but Nutmeg could tell from the style and fit of their clothes that they came from backgrounds of privilege.
She rented space in an office building in Akasaka-an inconspicuous building in an inconspicuous place, out of respect for her clients hyperactive concern for their privacy.
After careful consideration, she decided to make it a fashion design studio. She had, in fact, been a fashion designer, and no one would have found it suspicious for a variety of women to be coming to see her in substantial numbers. Her clients were all women in their thirties to fifties of a sort that could be expected to wear expensive, tailor-made clothes. She stocked the room with clothing and design sketches and fashion magazines, brought in the tools and workbenches and mannequins needed for fashion design, and even went so far as to design a few outfits to give the place an air of authenticity. The smaller of the two rooms she designated as the fitting room. Her clients would be shown to this fitting room, and on the sofa they would be fitted by Nutmeg.
Her client list was compiled by the wife of the owner of a major department store. The woman had chosen a very carefully limited number of trustworthy candidates from among her wide circle of friends, convinced that in order to avoid any possibility of scandal, she would have to make this a club with an exclusive membership. Otherwise, news of the arrangement would be sure to spread quickly. The women chosen to become members were warned never to reveal anything about their fitting to outsiders. Not only were they women of great discretion, but they knew that if they broke their promise they would be permanently expelled from the club.
Each client would telephone to make an appointment for a fitting and show up at the designated time, knowing that she need not fear encountering any other client, that her privacy would be protected absolutely. Honoraria were paid on the spot, in cash, their size having been determined by the department store owners wife-at a level much higher than Nutmeg would have imagined, though this never became an obstacle. Any woman who had been fitted by Nutmeg always called for another appointment, without exception. You don't have to let the money be a burden to you, the department store owners wife explained to Nutmeg. The more they pay, the more assured these women feel. Nutmeg would go to her office three days a week and do one fitting a day. That was her limit.