You have to leave this place as soon as possible, Mr. Okada. They'll come to find you when the lights go on. Follow me: I know a shortcut.
The man switched on a penlight. It cast a small beam, but it was enough to show me where to step. This way, the man urged me. I scrambled up from the floor and hurried after him.
You must be the one who turned out the lights for me, is that right? I asked the man from behind.
He did not answer, but neither did he deny it. Thanks, I said. It was a close call. They are very dangerous people, he said. Much more dangerous than you think. I asked him, Was Noboru Wataya really injured in some kind of beating? That is what they said on TV, the man replied, choosing his words carefully. I didn't do it, though, I said. I was down in a well at the time, alone. If you say so, I'm sure you are right, the man said matter-of-factly. He opened a door and, shining the flashlight on his feet, he began edging his way up the flight of stairs on the other side. It was such a long stairway that, midway through the process, I lost track of whether we were climbing or descending. I was not even sure this was a stairway.
Do you have someone who can swear that you were in the well at the time? the man asked without turning around.
I said nothing. There was no such person.
In that case, the wisest thing would be for you to run away. They have decided for themselves that you are the culprit.
Who are they?
Reaching the top of the stairs, the man turned right and, after a short walk, opened a door and stepped out into a corridor. There he stopped to listen for sounds. We have to hurry. Hold on to my jacket.
I grasped the bottom edge of his jacket as ordered.
The man with no face said, Those people are always glued to the television set. That is why you are so greatly disliked here. They are very fond of your wifes elder brother.
Do you know who I am? I asked. Yes, of course I do. So, then, do you know where Kumiko is now? The man said nothing. I kept a firm grip on the tail of the mans coat, as if we were playing some kind of game in the dark, rushing around another corner, down a short staircase, through a small secret door, through a low-ceilinged hidden passageway, into yet another corridor. The strange, intricate route taken by the faceless man felt like an endless journey through the bowels of a huge bronze figure.
Let me tell you this, Mr. Okada. I don't know everything that happens here. This is a big place, and my area of responsibility centers on the lobby. There is a lot that I don't know anything about.
Do you know about the whistling waiter?
No, I don't. There are no waiters here, whistling or otherwise. If you saw a waiter in here somewhere, he wasn't really a waiter: it was something pretending to be a waiter. I failed to ask you, but you wanted to go to Room 208, is that correct?
That is correct. I'm supposed to meet a certain woman there.
The man had nothing to say to that. He pressed for no details about the woman or what my business with her might be. He continued down the corridor with the confident stride of a man who knows his way around, dragging me like a tugboat along a complicated course.
Eventually, with no warning, he came to a stop in front of a door. I bumped into him from behind, all but knocking him over. His flesh, on impact, felt strangely light and airy, as if I had bumped into an empty cicada shell. He quickly straightened himself and used his pocket flashlight to illuminate the number on the door: 208.
This door is not locked, said the man. Take this light with you. I can walk back in the dark. Lock the door when you go in, and don't open it for anyone. Whatever business you have, get it over with quickly and go back where you came from. This place is dangerous.
You are an intruder here, and I am the only one on your side. Don't forget that.
Who are you? I asked.
The faceless man handed me the flashlight as if passing a baton. I am the hollow man, he said. Faceless face toward me, he waited in the darkness for me to speak, but I could not find the right words. Eventually, without a sound, he disappeared. He was right in front of me one second, swallowed up by darkness the next. I shone the light in his direction, but only the dull white wall came out of the darkness.
As the man had said, the door to Room 208 was unlocked. The knob turned soundlessly in my hand. I took the precaution of switching the flashlight off, then stepped in as quietly as I could. As before, the room was silent, and I could sense nothing moving inside. There was the faint crack of melting ice moving inside the ice bucket. I switched on the flashlight and turned to lock the door. The dry metallic tumbling of the lock sounded abnormally loud in the room.
On the table in the center stood the unopened bottle of Cutty Sark, clean glasses, and the bucket full of fresh ice. The silver-colored tray beside the vase shot the beam of the flashlight back with a sensual gleam, as if it had been waiting for me for a very long time. In response, it seemed, the smell of the flowers pollen became stronger for a moment. The air around me grew dense, and the pull of gravity seemed to increase. With my back against the door, I watched the movement around me in the beam of the flashlight.
This place is dangerous. You are an intruder here, and I am the only one on your side.
Don't forget that.
Don't shine that light on me, said a womans voice in the inner room. Do you promise not to shine that light on me?
I promise, I said.
34 The Light of a Firefly Breaking the Spell
World Where Alarm Clocks Ring in the Morning
I promise, I said, but my voice had a certain artificial quality, as when you hear a recording of yourself speaking.
I want to hear you say it: that you wont shine your light on me. I wont shine the light on you. I promise. Do you really promise? You're telling me the truth?
I'm telling you the truth. I wont break my promise. All right, then, what Id really like you to do, if you don't mind, is pour two whiskeys on the rocks and bring them over here. Lots of ice, please. She spoke with the slightest hint of a playful, girlish lisp, but the voice itself belonged to a mature, sensual woman. I laid the penlight lengthwise on the table and in its light went about pouring the two whiskeys, taking a moment first to steady my breathing. I broke the seal on the Cutty Sark, used tongs to fill the two glasses, and poured the whiskey over the ice cubes. I had to think clearly about each task my hands were performing. Large shadows played over the wall with every movement.
I walked into the inner room, holding the two whiskeys in my right hand and lighting my way along the floor with the flashlight in my left. The air felt somewhat chillier than before. I must have worked up a sweat in my rush through the darkness, and now was beginning to cool off. I remembered that I had shed my coat along the way.
In keeping with my promise, I turned out the light and slipped it into my pocket. Then, by touch, I set one whiskey on the night table and took my own with me to the armchair by the bed. In the total darkness, I still remembered the layout of the room.
I seemed to hear the sliding of sheets against each other. She was raising herself in bed and leaning against the headboard, glass now in hand. She gave the glass a little shake, stirring the ice, and took a sip of whiskey. In the darkness, these were all like sound effects in a radio play. I inhaled the aroma of the whiskey in my hand, but I did not drink.
Its been a long time, I said. My voice sounded somewhat more like my own than it had before.
Has it? she said. I'm not sure what that means: time or a long time. As I recall, its been exactly one year and five months, I said. Well, well, she said, unimpressed. I cant recall... exactly. I set my glass on the floor and crossed my legs. You weren't here last time I came, were you? Of course I was. Right here. In bed. I'm always here. I'm sure I was in Room 208, though. This is Room 208, isn't it? She swirled the ice in her glass and gave a little laugh. And I'm sure you weren't so sure.