Kara no Kyoukai

Chapter 6

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Part V: Paradox Spiral
Back when I was a kid, I used to hold on to this little piece of metal all the
time. It was an ugly little thing, with these dull, jagged teeth that started to
dig into your skin if you held it tight enough. A lot of times, it felt like holding
all the loneliness of a cold December day. Still, I loved that little thing.
I loved the way it made a click every time you turned it around, a chime
for each day’s beginning and another for its end. The sound made me
so proud every time I heard it, but it was also twinned with something
strangely melancholic.
But in time, I soon found those spiraling days coming to a close. The
only thing that remained is the silver glint of the metal, and the chill of its
surface. There was no joy when I held it now, only blood that sometimes
oozes when I grip it too tight. There wasn’t any sadness either. Maybe
there never had been. It’s just a simple sc.r.a.p of metal, nothing more. And
when I grew older still, even the glint of it—which once seemed so magical—disappeared.
It was then that it finally hit me: growing up is throwing away fantasy for
the cunning of survival. And for realizing that, I praised myself for my own
cleverness.
46 • KINOKO NASU
Prologue
This is the year when autumn went as fast as it came.
Having just entered the departing days of November, and with winter
already well underway, the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department found
another strange tale adrift on its sh.o.r.es. To be fair, ghost stories and the
like were never out of season for the Crime Investigation Section, a trait it
lovingly shares with hospitals all over the city. It’s practically a year-round
campfire, huddling together in a dark corner of the human experiment to
share what new stories the city decided to churn out the murder mill.
Which is probably why when Detective Akimi, who is as natural a police
as they come, actually gets interested in a case of his own accord, it is a
case of some deserved curiosity. Akimi built his career on stone whodunits,
a man who loved the mystery. Combine this with him hearing gossip about
a very peculiar report, and you have him phoning the relevant stations for
the very same report in no time at all.
So far however, reading the plainly written report held little for him. It
told a story of a bizarrely failed burglary that took place in some residential
high-rise a small ways away from downtown in early October. The perp was
a joe with a previous record, an all too common caper: burgle the apartments
of people who’d just left it unlocked. Simple, old, but still effective.
The day of the incident, he stole into just such an apartment after staking
the place out and waiting for someone to leave, which was probably the
extent of his planning.
What came after was what made this report interesting. Apparently, the
same guy came running to the nearest police station yelling for help. The
on-duty officers eventually got a story out of his hysteria: that he saw the
dead bodies of the family that lived in the apartment he broke into. An
officer escorted him back to the apartment immediately, only to find that
the family he spoke of was indeed there. On the other hand, they weren’t
dead. Instead, they were in quite good health and in fact enjoying a family
dinner. This understandably disturbed the burglar, though the officer really
cared only about the fact that the man had exposed himself to breaking
and entering, and thus, took him into custody.
Leaning back on his squeaky pipe chair, Detective Akimi offers an incredulous
“What the f.u.c.k?” at the air, directed at no one. The suspect tested
negative for alcohol or drugs, and didn’t suffer from any glaring mental
health problems. Certainly a strange and curious report, but otherwise,
/ PROLOGUE • 47
there didn’t seem to be a case here, if it was worthy of even being called
one. Hardly a case to stand beside the current investigation that’s got half
the section in a rustle: four missing one after another, with no clue as to
their whereabouts, and four families that they needed to shut up while
they worked the case from an angle that benefitted from their silence.
Much like the serial killings three years ago, it’s resulted in many a sleepless
night for him, and he certainly didn’t need this case to add more.
Still, he could feel the hairs on his back rise when he read the report, a
feeling that he’d learned to trust as the instinct that something was there,
waiting to be discovered; maybe even a report that could be turned into a
case with legs to spit shine the clearance rate.
“Worth a call, at least,” Akimi says as he picks up the receiver on his
desk phone and puts it to his ear. He dials the number of the station where
the report came from. Before long, an on-duty officer answers and Akimi
starts to inquire for details on the report. Did they check with the other
tenants for anything out of place? Did they find any inconsistency with the
suspect’s description of the family? But it becomes fruitless as the answers
fit his expectations, that they had indeed asked the neighbors, and no there
was nothing out of place, and that the description of the perp was spot-on
except with regards to the family’s state of being. With quick thanks, Akimi
puts the receiver back.
At that instant, a voice calls him from behind. “What are you on the
phone for, Daisuke? You need to get rolling. The second guy’s body’s just
been found, and you’re the primary on the case.”
“f.u.c.k it, another one? Don’t tell me it’s another partially eaten body.”
Akimi’s friend only responds with a curt nod, which is his cue to drop his
curiosity and get out of here. No one’s going to care about the report, but
it was all tumbleweeds when he read it anyway. And nothing takes priority
over this new serial murder case. With that, the report goes back into file
in a cabinet somewhere to be forgotten, even by Detective Akimi, the CIS’s
lover of mysteries.
48 • KINOKO NASU
Paradox Spiral - I
In the first few days of October, the streets already blow over with the
bitter cold.
Winds with fingers of ice grant gentle caresses to the lamp posts and
dumpsters. Usually, the city still looked alive at this hour, at 10 o’ clock in
the evening. But tonight is different. Tonight, scattered pools of light in the
streets, from display stores to the street lamps, only serve to accentuate
the little shadows and silhouettes playing across them. Winter is coming
early this year, and considering the temperature, it wouldn’t be at all out
of place to discover snow falling tonight. The silhouettes of people exiting
the train station, jackets worn and collars fluttering in the wind, lack all
the life they normally have. Like automatons, they walk at brisk paces to
their homes, not stopping for a look at a display window or a warm cup
of coffee. They hurry because they all want the warmth and familiarity of
their homes.
From the wave of people, to the heat that refuses to gather, and even
the shops whose lights seem just a little bit dimmer; the boy witnesses all
of it. He sits beside a vending machine situated in a little nook beside the
avenue, idly watching the people exiting the train station. Almost as if to
hide himself, he sits hugging his legs to his chest, and he cuts a pitifully
thin figure that makes it hard to determine his gender from afar. His hair,
arranged like a bundle of unkempt straw, is dyed red. He looks to be around
the age of sixteen or seventeen. His eyes are narrowed, yet they don’t seem
to be particularly interested in anything. He shivers under strange clothes:
dirty jeans and a blue jacket one or two sizes too big for him, with nothing
else to cover his top. It isn’t surprising to see him with teeth chattering.
He sits there for a long time, and just when the number of people exiting
the station begins to thin noticeably, he finds himself surrounded by a
number of other people.
“Yo, Tomoe,” says one of them, not even attempting to hide the scorn in
it. The red-haired boy doesn’t respond.
“Ah c’mon, Enjō, don’t be a d.i.c.k and ignore us,” he persists. Lifting the
boy by his jacket, he forces the boy from the ground. The boy saw all of
them now, five people surrounding him, stand at almost the same height
as he does, and it is easy to tell their ages are not so far apart. “What, just
‘cuz you stopped going to school, we strangers now?” The same person
continues. “Oh, now I get it. Our little Tomoe is a f.u.c.king grown up now, so
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - I • 49
he don’t talk to kids like us anymore, eh?”
The rest of his companions all snicker in response. But when the noise
dies down, Tomoe continues to ignore them. Frustrated, the boy holding
Tomoe by the jacket lets it go with a grunt, only to bring his hand back up
in a fist, punching Tomoe in the face. He collapses back to the ground, and
he hears a distinct clinking sound of something metallic falling out of his
pocket.
“Hey, don’t even think about sleepin’, man.” More laughter. Hearing that
clinking sound seems to jolt Tomoe Enjō from whatever state of shock he
had been suffering up to now. He whispers his own name, like some sort
of resuscitative ritual, remembering who he was, why he was here. With
senses regained, he looks at the boys surrounding him, finally remembering
them as his cla.s.smates, former “friends.” Normal students who played
at being adult.
Preying on weak people like me, Tomoe thinks.
“Aikawa, right?” says Tomoe. “h.e.l.l you doing here at this hour?”
“Right back at you, man. We all been worried you be suckin’ d.i.c.k behind
the restaurants just to get by. I mean, seeing as you’re such a girl. Am I
right?” He gestures and looks over his shoulder toward his compatriots.
Because of his overly thin build, Tomoe has been called a girl in school
for as long as he can remember. He never paid any heed to it, and that is
largely how he reacts now. However, he does pick up the empty aluminum
can he had been drinking from some minutes ago.
“Hey, Aikawa,” Tomoe calls. Aikawa returns his attention to him.
“Wha—“
As soon as Tomoe sees that pimple-ridden face turn towards him, mouth
half open to speak, he thrusts the can violently into it, twisting the can as
deeply as he can inside Aikawa’s mouth. He quickly follows it up by slapping
the can as hard as he can muster. Now it is Aikawa’s turn to collapse.
Tomoe’s slap partially crushed the can, causing the surface to bend sharply
in places, and when Aikawa coughs it up on the ground, both the can and
his mouth are dripping with blood.
Aikawa’s companions are dumbstruck. They thought they would just
mess with their former cla.s.smate, maybe even take some of his money. It
never occurred to them that it would turn to violence.
“Still s.h.i.t for brains, I see,” Tomoe remarks wryly. Then he kicks him
sharply and repeatedly in the head, almost like he wants to kill him, a stark
contrast to his seemingly uninterested demeanor earlier. Aikawa doesn’t
move an inch, though whether it’s because he’s unconscious or his neck
is broken, Tomoe doesn’t know. After a few quick kicks, Tomoe makes a
50 • KINOKO NASU
break for it, before Aikawa or his cronies can come to their senses. Thinking
the crowd will just slow him down, Tomoe turns instead towards one of
the side alleys where he can make good his escape in the sharp, confusing
turns. It’s only a second or two after he starts running that the group he left
behind start to process what just happened before them. He hears their
angry calls as they start after him.
“a.s.shole thinks he can just do this to us? Let’s kill that son of a b.i.t.c.h!”
says a voice echoing in the alleyways, whipping his companions into a
frenzy. Through the capillaries of the city, they chase Tomoe like live game,
baying for blood.
“Kill that son of a b.i.t.c.h.”
I let the words bounce around in my head, and I laugh heartily to myself.
I heard the verve in their voice, heard how serious they were, and they
would probably follow through on it when they catch up to me. But they’re
faking it, as much as anyone else who says it jokingly. They don’t know
what happens to you after you do it for the first time. They don’t know
what killing someone does to a person. But see, I do.
I killed someone, just before I went to the train station. I remember
gripping the knife, and feeling the tenderness each time I stabbed. Just
thinking back on it makes me shiver and want to throw up. My teeth start
to chatter again, and my mind recoils on the memory with the force of a
hurricane. Those guys don’t understand how far it removes you, and that’s
why they can say they’ll “kill” as if they’re just going for a little walk.
Guess I’ll be the one to teach them, then. I focus my mind and allow my
laughter to recede into a little smile. I don’t consider myself a particularly
violent guy. I believe in an eye for an eye, but tonight’s the first time I’ve
ever busted someone up who just hit me. Disproportional response. It ain’t
like me, but I did it. Maybe because I actually liked the feeling of not holding
back.
I come to a narrow alley sandwiched between two buildings, far from
the main road and any curious eyes or ears. I stop here, right at the corner,
thinking it a prime spot for the act. Before long, they catch up, and things
happen in snapshots of time. One of them, ahead of the others, rounds
the corner of the alley, and I take a fraction of a second to confirm it’s who
I want it to be before I spring on him. The palm of my left hand shoots up
to connect with his jaw. I think fast. In an amateur fistfight, it often comes
down to endurance in an exchange of blows. I know I don’t have a hair’s
breadth of a chance winning like that, especially outnumbered, so if I’m
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - I • 51
going to do this, I do it to kill them one by one, without hesitation, before
I’m surrounded.
The guy I just hit tries to return the favor, but before that happens, I
thrust a finger into his left eye. It feels kind of like slightly hard jell-o when
I twist my finger around.
His scream is enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine. Before he has
time to regain their composure, though, I grab the guy’s head and, putting
my whole body behind it, finish him off by slamming the head into the wall.
A dull thud as it makes impact with the concrete, and when I let go of him,
his body slides against the wall towards the ground, the back of his head
leaving a lazy blood trail on the wall and his left eye a dripping, b.l.o.o.d.y
mess. Still, he’s probably not dead from just that. I pull my eyes away from
him to meet the other four still coming, and if I’m lucky, they’ll be just that
little bit hesitant after they heard their friend screaming his guts out.
When the rest of them turn the corner, they are immediately taken
aback at the sight of their friend. Just as I thought, they are unprepared.
They’ve probably seen their share of accidentally spilled blood in street
fights, but they’ve never seen a body that looks like it’s bleeding its life out
on the asphalt. Wasting no time, I attack the nearest guy, slapping him, and
then grabbing him by the hair. I lower his head fast, then bring my knee
up to his kindly waiting face. A low crunching sound tells me that I may
have broken his nose. I give him three more kneeings for good measure,
then bring my elbow down at his skull. The impact is a painful shockwave
traversing my arm for a brief moment.
Two down. My knee is a dark red, soaked in the second man’s blood.
“Enjō, you motherf.u.c.ker!”
That last one finally pushes the rest of them over the edge. Without any
sense of reason or forethought, they jump into the brawl all at the same
time. That’s when I know I’m done. I can’t take on three guys at the same
time, and they prove me right.
They lash out punches and kicks, pushing me back against the same wall
I slammed their friend against not moments ago until they force me to the
ground. I feel the knuckles digging into my cheeks, and I reel from every
kick that lands on my stomach. Nevertheless, they’re not fighting the same
way I did earlier. No ferocity. They’re not gonna kill me. They don’t want to.
And yet, if they keep this up, they will eventually kill me. They won’t know
that they’ll break bones, cause internal bleeding, and make it more difficult
for me to breathe. The fact that my death will be a slow slide into nothingness
instead of a quick and easy one grants me a measure of anguish.
See? Even if they don’t mean to, people still end up killing other people.
52 • KINOKO NASU
As the hits continue to land on my body, I wonder: Between people like
me who truly seek to kill, and people like them who will just commit an
unintentional homicide, who carries it heavier in the end?
My body is already covered in bruises, but the pain is becoming routine,
almost welcoming now. I’m sure that bunch are getting really into it in their
own way, too. It won’t be long before they start to enjoy it, and they won’t
be able to stop themselves.
“Now don’t we look cute with that face, Enjō?” says one of them. He
thrusts his foot keenly into my chest, and my violent coughing immediately
afterwards leaves the taste of blood in my mouth. I’m down for the count,
and I realize I have maybe a precious few seconds before they completely
beat the life out of me, the same life that I never valued as anything
above expendable. A fist hits my eye, and half my vision goes dark. At that
moment, I hear a faint sound. Then a beat of silence. Another beat. They
don’t seem to be moving.
The noise resounds again like a bell: the singular, clacking tone of wood.
With pained eyes I see the three guys, heads already turned towards the
sound emanating from the alley’s entrance. I train my vision to the same
direction even as the swelling in my eyes grow more painful as I move them.
My mind stops.
Silhouetted against the mouth of the alley is a person who clearly
doesn’t belong here. The clacking sound we’d all heard earlier comes from
the person’s wooden geta footwear; the dark finish, red strap, and oval
shape clear even from this distance. A woman’s geta. The clothing on the
figure is peculiar to say the least: a red leather jacket atop a dead plain
orange kimono.
The shadow advances, each step like a reverberating wooden bell. The
person’s movement is a hypnotic sway of clothes and carelessly cut inkblack
hair that invite surrender, and I almost forget myself. Wraithlike white
skin, and eyes of clear void. Surely not the usual everyday sight in a backlane
filled with scattered bottle shards and discarded syringes.
A woman…a girl. I almost can’t tell her gender, but somehow, I know
she’s a girl.
“Hey,” she calls out, continuing to venture deeper into the alley and
closer to us. The three who had surrounded me now break off to meet her.
It’s painfully obvious what they’re planning on doing to the girl.
“Ain’t nothing for you here, lady.” The trio flex their fingers for a new
round of violence, the excitement in their gait barely contained. They move
to surround the lone girl. Unable to move more than an inch, and with
my speech coming out as strained gasps of air, I can do nothing except to
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - I • 53
curse them in my mind. I chose this place so as not to involve anyone else,
and yet here she is in defiance of all probability. And now, no doubt only
because she chose to turn the wrong alley for a shortcut home, she’ll be a
victim as well.
“I ain’t playing, girl!” one of the three shouts. “Don’t you got ears to
hear what I just said?”
The girl is silent again now, but in a flash, she extends a hand, using it
to grab the arm of one of the approaching boys. She pulls. Her posture
changes subtly to one that puts her entire weight behind the action, and
her purchase on the boy’s arm then forces him to the ground in one violent
motion. Watching it from where I lie, the entire thing seemed to go frameby-frame,
as if I was turning the handcrank on an old viewing machine.
The remaining two attempt to close in on the girl, and she immediately
strikes the closest one in the chest with her palm, causing him to crumple
like a ragdoll to the ground, unconscious. It amazes me that she knocks
them out of commission with such ease, all in the s.p.a.ce of about five or
so seconds, while I exerted so much effort to take out an equal number of
people. The last one must have realized this fact as well, since as soon as
the second man is down he starts to turn on his heels and run screaming.
She soon ends that with a swift roundhouse kick delivered straight to the
guy’s head, with barely the noise of rustling clothes to its credit. Like the
previous two, he is rendered unconscious.
“Ouch. Literally hard head on that last one,” she grumbles as she fixes
the creases on her kimono. I keep my eyes fixed on her, wondering if she’s
even going to talk to me. It’s strange but not altogether uncomforting that
I can still slightly distinguish her form in this isolated place, even in the
absence of light. “Hey, mister punching bag,” she calls out as she turns to
me. I try to speak but it only results in me coughing. She reaches inside
a pocket in her leather jacket and pulls a small object out, throwing it on
the ground within my reach. “Dropped it back there on the street. S’yours,
right?”
I turn my eyes sideways to look at it, and see a single, shining key. It must
have fallen out of my pocket when the guys were roughing me up. My key
to a house that I’ve already tried to stop caring about. She must have come
here just to give it back to me.
She turns her back on me without a single word and starts to make her
way back out of the alley with all the airiness of her previous entrance: the
relaxed gait of a casual night stroll, leaving me lying on the ground to fend
for myself.
“Wai—,” the word comes half-formed out of my mouth, and I reach out
54 • KINOKO NASU
my hand towards her. Though I’m hesitant to call more attention than I
needed to from a girl who just took out three guys in the time it took me to
take out one, I couldn’t stand just being left here like a fake toy, lost among
the refuse of the city.
“Wait.” The word comes out, though in a weak breath. I try to redouble
the strength in my voice and shout. “Just wait, for crying out loud!”
I try to stand, and every bone in my body throbs with pain from the
attempt. I end up having to support my half-standing posture with a hand
on the wall, itself aching from having to exert pressure. At least my noisemaking
manages to stop the girl, who now directs her cold gaze in my
direction.
“What now?” she says, her voice still as calm as before. “Look, if you
dropped anything else, good luck finding it.”
“Are you just going to leave these dudes here?” I manage to protest in
between bouts of labored breathing. The girl in the kimono takes in the
scene around her, casting her eyes downwards almost as if it’s her first
time looking at it. Her sight lingers on the two persons who I took care of
in my haphazard, improvised fashion, then finally looks back at me with
upturned eyes and a curious sigh.
“You don’t have to worry about them. That one,” she says, motioning
her head towards the first of the two, “will probably get an eyepatch and
be doomed to do pirate impressions for the rest of his life. The other will
have trouble breathing with his nose for a while. But no one’s dead. I’d be
much more worried about what the first guy who wakes up will do to you.
And yet, here you are, implying that we should get them some help?”
“I…guess?” I respond.
“Well see, that puts us in a pickle. Who do we call, hmm? The police? An
ambulance, maybe?” Her eyes narrow with each sentence that prods me. I
wasn’t thinking about calling the police. Maybe the hospital. But they’d ask
questions. If I mentioned self-defense…maybe the police would be faster,
but—
“Five-oh are out of the question.”
“And why is that?” she asks, but it feels like she already knows the
answer. Her eyes continue to bore into me. There’s no use in hiding it
anymore. She’s got me, and if I tried to hide it, she’ll just ask more questions.
And so I say it.
“Because…I’m a murderer.” As I say it out loud, as much to myself as to
her, time seems to stop and all things grow silent. Far from my expectation
of her being shocked, however, she only walks toward me. Her eyes scan
me up and down.
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - I • 55
“Well, you don’t look like one.” She looks me over, an eyebrow c.o.c.ked
and a hand on chin and lip paused in pensive observation. Overtaken by
the moment, and feeling quite shocked by her doubt, I feel compelled to
explain.
“It’s true! It weren’t a few hours ago, I swear. I took a kitchen knife and
stabbed her over and over in the stomach until everything was all wet
and mushy, then I cut off her head. You can’t tell me she ain’t dead after
that!” I start to snicker in spite of myself. “The five-oh are all probably in
my house wondering where the f.u.c.k I’ve gone, all scratching their heads
‘cause of another late night job. Just you wait, I’ll be all over the morning
news tomorrow!”
It took me a while to notice that I was making a sort of strange laugh
after I said that, the kind of noise that lies somewhere in that ambiguous
s.p.a.ce between laughter and sobbing. The kimono-clad girl gives me time
to calm myself down before talking again.
“Right,” she says, unsurprised. “Well, cool, I guess. You’ve convinced me.
Let’s put off contacting anyone unless you want your mornings to have
significantly more iron bars than usual. Guess that explains why you’re
shirtless. I thought that was what all the cool kids run with these days.”
Her cold fingers brush over my chest with a light, almost curious touch.
“Hey,” I say, but with little force behind it. She was right. I dumped my
shirt since it was covered in so much blood I’d get noticed easily. I just
grabbed my jacket to compensate as I ran out of the house. “Ain’t you even
gonna say something about me? I really did kill someone. You think I’m just
gonna let you go, knowing what you know? Ain’t no difference between
killing one person or two.”
That seems to grab her attention. She brings her face closer to mine,
eyes half-closed in disappointment. “Yes,” she sighs. “There is.”
“There is what?”
“A difference.”
Her presence is almost overpowering, even though I stand a head higher
than her and she’s the one looking up at me. Her empty eyes never stop
staring at me, and I gulp involuntarily. I’ve never seen anything like them
before. The black irises are a tempting well that threatens to drown you
endlessly. In my seventeen years, I’ve thought people can be many things:
cruel, deceptive. But never beautiful. So overwhelmingly beautiful that I
almost forget myself.
“I’m…a murderer,” I declare again. I feel that there is nothing more to
say. The girl casts her bewitching glance away from me and lowers her
head.
56 • KINOKO NASU
“I know. I’m one of those, too.” She doesn’t explain further. There is no
need to. She turns on her heels, and with the wind ruffling her clothes and
the sound of her geta on the asphalt she starts to leave. I didn’t want her
to disappear. Not tonight.
“Wait!” I run to catch up to her, but with my injuries still getting the
better of me, I fall to the ground. I stand up again, and look straight at the
girl, unwavering. “If we really are the same breed of person, then help me,”
I yell with such uncharacteristically reckless abandon, casting away reason
and shame. The girl’s eyes open in surprise.
“Same breed? Well, I certainly know what it feels like to have that empty
s.p.a.ce in your chest. But what do you expect me to help you with? The
crime of your murder, or taking care of your wounds? Either way, I can’t do
anything for you.”
“Sooner or later, someone will spot us here. Maybe you could hide me.”
She ponders the suggestion with a scratch of her head and annoyed
grumbling, probably the most human thing she’s done so far.
“Are you saying I should help you go find some place where you can hole
up?”
“Yeah, someplace no one would think to try and find me.”
“It isn’t like there aren’t eyes all over this city, man. The only place you’re
really ever likely to find any privacy is your own home,” she says, making a
perplexed expression.
“Aren’t you f.u.c.king listening?” I inadvertently shout. “I’m asking you
‘cause I can’t go back to my house! Maybe you could, oh, I dunno, take me
to your house, a.s.shole!” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop
them. The pain is making me lose my temper. At first I think I’m going to
regret saying that, but the girl just nods in understanding, letting the entire
thing slide.
“That it? Well, that’s a simple request. If my house is fine with you, then
you’re welcome to stay.”
Without even helping me to stand up by myself or offering a helping
hand, she starts to walk again, the movement of her back telling me to
keep close and follow. With renewed strength to my step that I didn’t know
from where in my battered body I obtained, I pursue her. The sound of her
clacking steps, and the sensation of the asphalt and broken bottle gla.s.s
beneath my feet seemed to make both the pain on my body and mind ebb.
Though I haven’t even asked her if she lived alone, or even what her name
was, I think it too insignificant for the moment. I only see her silhouette,
dimly lighted, guiding me like fate. It is the only thing I can see.
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - II • 57
Paradox Spiral - II
I hear the sound. An ominous metallic click, coming from the other
room.
The time must be almost ten ‘o clock. Dead tired from working my job
into the late hours of the evening, I immediately resigned myself to the
safety of my mattress after I got home. But it isn’t even a few minutes
before I am stirred from sleep by the sound. I heard it only once, but that
is enough.
The door to my room opens, letting a slit of white light into my darkened
room, widening slowly with each inch of the door that is parted. A shadow
occludes the light, and I turn to towards it only to see my mom.
It’s always around this part that I realize, and wish that I could never see
this scene again.
The light makes it difficult to make out any detail on her figure save for
the fact that she is standing. However, what little I can see of the scene
beyond the doorway is clear to my eyes: my dad, collapsed over the dining
room table. It isn’t clear at first whether he is merely unconscious or dead,
but it isn’t long before I see what I first perceive to be some sort of spilled
coffee. It slowly dawns on me that it is blood, dying the varnished brown
table into a deep red. It is then that the shadow in front of the door speaks.
“Die, Tomoe.”
I remember what comes afterwards. My mother advances, kneels in
front of me, raises the kitchen knife high above her, and brings it down on
my chest, then up, then down again, too many times for me to count. Then
I see her taking the same knife to her throat, then in a single, determined
motion, plunges it deep into her neck.
All of my nights are bookended by this nightmare, the worst I ever have.
I hear the sound. An ominous click, through which I wake up.
I turn my eyes toward the bed, only to find Ryōgi gone. I lift up my
bruised and battered body to observe where I find myself in: a house in the
nook of the second floor of a four-floor low rise, the house of the kimono
wearing girl. Well, better to call it a room than a house, really. A one-meter
long corridor barely deserving the label separates the front door and the
small living room, which, seeing as the bed which she slept in is also there,
probably also doubles as her bed room. Flanking the corridor to the right
is the door to the bathroom. Another door in the living room leads to
58 • KINOKO NASU
another, presumably unused, room. She led me to this place last night after
an hour’s walk. The name plaque that rested beside the entryway bore the
name “Ryōgi”, so that must be her last name.
That girl—Ryōgi—never said a thing when we entered her room, only
taking off her leather jacket and heading straight for her bed to fall asleep.
Her apathy almost provoked me to protest, but the last thing I wanted to
do was mouth off and have the neighbors be curious. After some consideration,
I took a cushion lying discarded on the floor and used it as a pillow,
then slept away.
And now I wake up with her nowhere to be found. I wonder what she
could be up to. It looks like our ages are quite close. Considering her age,
maybe she went to school? And yet, that wouldn’t be at all fitting for such
a drab room. The sum total of things in her room: a bed, a refrigerator, a
phone, a coat rack with four leather jackets, and a closet, which I a.s.sume is
for clothing. No TV, no radio, no throw-away magazines, and consequently,
no table to read them on.
I suddenly remember what she said last night. When I said I’d murdered
someone, she said she was the same. I only half-believed her last night,
but seeing her room, it might actually be true. Her pad seems to be set for
functionality, like a room designed not to be lived in, but instead for someone
who could suddenly be on the run at any time and could leave the
room behind. Thinking about what she said makes a chill run up my spine.
Did I think luck would allow me to draw the ace of spades, but instead
brought me the joker?
In any case, I don’t plan on staying any longer than I have to. I want to
at least give a word of thanks to Ryōgi for helping me out in a pinch, but
since she’s out, there’s really nothing I can do. With silent and careful steps
more befitting a burglar than a visitor, I make my exit from the mysterious
girl’s room.
Without heading toward any particular place, I loiter around town to kill
the time. Initially I am hesitant, even a bit scared, trying to make myself as
inconspicuous as possible, and think at first that I made the wrong decision.
But it soon becomes apparent that the world is turning like it always
did, with no one giving me a second glance. The days go on with all the
haste and weight of the hour hand on a clock. Somewhat disappointed at
the realization, I make my way to the main avenue.
It is here in the main avenue that I expected to find cops asking around
for a Tomoe Enjō, or at least people that might throw me the “I saw him
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - II • 59
on the 6am news” look, but there are none. Maybe the bodies haven’t
been found yet. Still, maybe I give myself too much credit. There’s no way
someone like me can affect people’s reactions to a noticeable degree with
such a half-baked murder. Either way, it seems, for the time being at least,
I’m not a fugitive. That being said, I still didn’t feel like going back.
Noon comes and pa.s.ses, and I find myself in Hachikō Square, right next
to Shibuya Crossing. I find a bench to rest on and feel content to spend
an hour or two just looking up at the neon lights set upon the buildings
stretching high into the sky. When the lights turn green, the cars stop to
give way to the mad press of people, flowing like water from a burst dam
across the large avenue. I can’t even imagine what it’s like when it’s a holiday.
The people are mostly teenagers like me, happily smiling and with a
levity to their walking pace, looking like they’re the most blessed individuals
in the universe. It’s the face of people in their world: a world where they
don’t aspire to anything anymore, or need to live for a good future. There’s
no need to. Their life is all laid out for them, and they know that’s all they
need to get by in their world. So how many of those smiles are real? All of
them, or only a handful? I keep looking at their faces, trying to figure out,
but it’s impossible to tell the real from the fake. I should have known better
than to try, since that realization comes from your own self.
Tired of looking at all the people moving to and fro, I instead cast my
eyes toward the sky. Let’s be frank. I’m as much a fake as the rest of them.
Maybe at some point in time, I thought that my life was good and real, but
reality soon stripped that away.
Junior high school was my time. I was a sprinter in the track and field
club, and I kicked a.s.s in it. I partic.i.p.ated in all of the inter-school compet.i.tions
and I never, ever lost. I never even saw anyone’s back. No one could
say anything about my skill. All I cared about was cutting my time, and
even a few milliseconds difference was enough to make me happy. I was an
engine built for the sport, and I cherished it more than anything.
It follows, of course, that all this came to a screeching halt.
My family was never one blessed with an abundance of money. Dad lost
his job back when I was still in grade school, and never got one back again.
Mom was born into a rich family, but had a falling out with them after she
ran away to marry my dad. Her world didn’t teach her anything about what
happens after that. I think that broken family did only one thing right for
me: force me to grow up faster than other kids. I had to juggle jobs after
school, lying about my age just to get in, all so I could sc.r.a.pe out money
to pay the tuition I needed. I stopped trying to care about the antics of my
parents, and began to focus only on what I could do right by myself: sustain
60 • KINOKO NASU
myself, go to school, and work my a.s.s off for tuition. I thought of running as
my only release from both the constant problem of living expenses and my
parents who to me no longer seemed anything of the sort, the only reason
I kept paying for school and going to the club activities without giving a
heed to how tired I was.
Our troubles only truly began when my dad took the car out without
a license one day. He was never really good with driving, but it had never
bothered him before if he had to take his time parking or maneuvering the
car. That day, however, whatever luck that had compensated for his skill
ran out, and he got involved in an accident. He ran a pedestrian over. It was
apparently a quick death for the unlucky guy. It forced my mom to go back
to her family, head bowed and pleading for money just to pay the cost for
indemnities. To me it was yet another f.u.c.kup that I needed to look away
from, and so I refrained from prying too deep. What eventually concerned
me is the fallout from all that. It didn’t take long for everyone at school to
find out about the incident, and though I thought nothing of it at first, I
found that the att.i.tude of everyone at school had changed. My coach, who
had always been more helpful than anyone I could remember, suddenly
started to ignore me. The uppercla.s.smen who were so proud to have me
as the rookie star of the track and field team pressured me to quit. All
because of something I had no part in; all because I was their son.
My family was the real problem. Losing what little money he’d saved
over to help pay for the accident, my dad was far from fit to keep a family
together. Mom started to work part-time in jobs society hadn’t prepared
her for and she had no real idea how to do, but even that only paid for a
portion of the gas and electricity bills. Rumors about the accident began
to infest my neighborhood, growing and catching its own embellishments,
to the point that dad couldn’t even get out of the house without so much
as an angry neighbor trying to give him a piece of their mind. Mom still
tried to work, but the rumors always caught up to her, and it never made
her stay in one place for too long. I remember one time I was just walking
around when some random n.o.body threw a rock at me. And always, there
were the threats.
Yet even though the abuses got worse and worse, I never could muster
the motivation to be mad at them. After all, the one driving the car, the
one really at fault then was my dad. It’s all his fault. But then it’s not like I
hated my folks in particular back then either, because it’s when I realized
that whatever you do, even if you try as hard as you can, no matter how
fast and how far you run, it’ll all be the same. You can’t escape your family,
your past, or what you are. I mean, my folks walked their own path, tried
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - II • 61
to live a life as best they could, and look where it got them. That’s when I
stopped trying to fight it. I figured if I just accepted it, then I wouldn’t have
anything to cry about. It’s the moment when you’re a kid and you throw
away your fantasies because they’re useless, and in its place grows a kind
of new, self-crafted wisdom.
After that, feeling that there was little else it could teach me, I quit school.
Besides, I had to work whole days now for the money. If you aren’t picky
there’s plenty of work to be done even for people my age. Being someone
still straddled with at least half a conscience, I couldn’t completely abandon
my family, and so I had to put money in the house. Still, that didn’t
mean I needed to talk to them. I never did after I quit high school. Slowly,
like a poison, the joy and exhilaration in running and sprinting that I’d once
found essential faded into dim memory, along with the faces of the people
who once cheered me on, and the cold wind whipping past my face. It was
something I’d thought I couldn’t ever live without at one point, and to find
that I’d essentially thrown it away gave me no small measure of surprise.
My mind made its customary excuses: I didn’t need it anymore, there were
more important things. But they were only excuses. I lost. I gave up.
That’s the proof that I’m fake. If “running” was some sort of origin, a
cosmic impetus laid out for the boy known as Tomoe Enjō, then I had failed
it. And maybe, my mind thought, things would have turned out better if I
had just indulged that call.
My parents took me to see a stud farm once when I was little. There I
looked at all the nameless horses, whose lives were bred and figures built
solely for the singular act of running, and I cried, thinking that if such a
thing as a previous incarnation was truer than a tale spun for the naïve
idea of destiny, then I must surely have been one of those beautiful beasts.
My pa.s.sion was born there. And it was killed by the weight of the real. I
ultimately amounted to nothing more than a sham, imbued with dreams
that only lie.
And in the end, I became a murderer. I laugh, though there is nothing
truly funny about it. The sky I look at hardly changes, and I turn my eyes
back to the spectacle of the city, where at least the people move, never
stopping, with their smiling and content faces, all of us dolls as fake as
anyone else with no real purpose. Or maybe they do have a real purpose:
to fool around. They are in Shibuya after all. That’s the brand of reality I
can’t really tolerate, though.
The collective footsteps of the throng bring me back to reality. Positioned
above the entryway to a nearby building is a clock, showing the time nearing
evening. Not wanting to loiter here any more than I’ve already allowed
62 • KINOKO NASU
myself, I push myself up and out of the bench and leave the ma.s.s of people,
heading for no particular direction.
Even here in the housing district the streetlamps shine no brighter than
in any other part of the city. I’ve been walking aimlessly for the past three
hours, and the autumn sun has long since set, reminding me that I still
need a place to stay for the night. Without thinking about it, I find myself
back in the familiar façade of Ryōgi’s apartment building. Though I always
thought that I could let go of lingering affections easily when the situation
demanded it, judging by where my wandering feet took me, it seems that’s
not the case. I look to the second floor, and find that her window is dark.
Looks like she isn’t home.
“Well, since I’m here anyway…” I mutter under my breath as I start to
climb the stairs to the second floor, squaring myself with the fact that the
only reason I’m doing this is to hang on pathetically to the last person that
helped me in my life. The metal treaded staircase rings a harsh sound as
I ascend as if to announce my presence. Confronting the door of Ryōgi’s
room, I find that the newspaper that was slipped under her door as I left
this morning is nowhere to be found. At first I think that she’s inside, but
when I rap on the door, no response follows. So she came home at least
once. Deciding to leave if the door is locked, I reach for the doork.n.o.b and
turn it.
But it moves unhindered, and the door slips ever so slightly open. As
I saw back in the street, the lights inside look like they aren’t turned on.
In the silence, even the mechanical clicking of the doork.n.o.b is audible,
and for a moment, it freezes my hand and blanks my mind in hesitation.
Thinking myself ridiculous for standing there doing nothing for such a long
time, I slowly widen the opening I’ve made and creep inside. I probably
would never have thought as a kid that I would be committing trespa.s.s
after killing someone not a few days earlier, and yet here I am. Well, she did
say I was welcome in her house, but I don’t know if this is what she meant
by that.
While my mind is busy making excuses, my body is creeping forward,
closing the door, going past the entrance, past the short corridor, and
finally into her living room. It’s black as pitch in here. Nothing can be heard
except my m.u.f.fled footsteps and my suspiciously rough respiration. Man,
this makes me look like any random break and enter. f.u.c.k, I need a light.
The lights, where the f.u.c.k are the lights? I start to take a hand to the wall
and feel around for the switch.
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - II • 63
At that point, I hear the distinct sound of the front door opening. The
person turns on the lights faster than I could even begin to consider who
it is. As the fluorescent lamp casts a warm glow over the room, she looks
at me with slightly surprised eyes that blink twice before she starts talking.
“Oh, you’re here. I hope you weren’t doing anything inappropriate,
what with lights being off and all,” she says in the manner of someone just
berating a cla.s.smate. She closes the door and takes off her jacket, then sits
down on her bed, rifling through the plastic bag she’s holding and producing
a small cup. “Wanna eat it? Cold things just don’t do it for me.”
She tosses the cup toward me, and up close I can see that it’s a cup
of Haagen-Dazs strawberry. Why she doesn’t care about my trespa.s.sing
is as much a mystery to me as her buying something she doesn’t even
like. Taking the cold cup in my hands makes me think. She knows I’m a
murderer, though I don’t know how seriously she takes it. And yet she
offered her room to me. I remember what I thought this morning: that her
room looked like she was some sort of fugitive ready to run at a moment’s
notice.
“Square one thing with me, Ryōgi,” I say to her. “Are you someone I
should be keeping one eye open for when I sleep?”
Contrary to what I expect, she laughs quite heartily at my question.”You’re
a strange one, aren’t you? A nice way to phrase that question, I have
to say,” she says in between bouts of raucous laughter that throws her
already mismanaged hair into even greater disarray. The sight only tells me
to be more cautious than before. At length, her laughter finally starts to die
down, and she exhales one long breath before she continues to talk. “Hah,
well, it’s true that this place has a shortage of people that can carry themselves
in a fight better than I can. But hey, you’re here aren’t you? Since
we’re both stuck with our respective pieces of wood in each other’s eye,
let’s just leave them in there and keep our peace. Is that all you wanted to
talk about?”
The kimono-clad girl looks up at me with a dangerously calm countenance
of a child expecting to get a new present, her grin laden with meaning.
“No, there’s something else I need to ask. Why did you help me?”
“’Cause you asked me to, that’s why. I wasn’t doing anything at the
time anyway, so hey, what the h.e.l.l. By the way, you don’t have a place to
sleep right? I meant it when I said you could use my place for now. Not like
Mikiya’s going to come by in a while, anyway.”
Because she wasn’t doing anything? What the h.e.l.l kind of reason is that?
My brain might be a bit frazzled lately, but not to the extent that I’d believe
what she just said. I glare at her, which seems to garner no reaction. She
64 • KINOKO NASU
only ignores me, not—I sense—out of indifference, but of a dignified sort
of oblivion that just comes naturally to her. It’s an alluring paradox. Still, I
realize that Ryōgi hasn’t given me any real reason to lie to me. Maybe she
does have no particular reason to take me in. She could have invented any
number of excuses to leech money from me by doing this, but she didn’t.
But even so…
“Are you serious? You take me in no questions asked without even being
suspicious of me? You sure you aren’t high?”
“You are seriously damaging your goodwill here, buddy. And to answer
your question seriously, no I don’t take drugs, and to answer the question
percolating in your mind, no I didn’t report you to the police this morning.
Although I will if you tell me to.”
Well, nothing to worry about on that front. Besides, just the thought of
this person talking to the police in polite tones seems like an impossible
picture to paint in my mind. “Then what are you after? Is it a quick f.u.c.k,
because—”
“Huh? There’s far better places a man can go to for s.e.x in this town than
my place, that’s for d.a.m.n sure.”
“Well, see, what I’m saying is—”
“Alright, fine, whatever man! If you don’t like it here and you’re just
gonna stand there and criticize me then you know the way to the door,
buddy. I absolutely do not understand why you feel the need to judge every
word out of my mouth, you know that?”
Her words brook no refusal. A silence hangs between us, but is broken
by her rummaging through the plastic convenience store bag again, pulling
out a triangularly-shaped tomato sandwich. Well, if I had any doubts about
whether or not she thought nothing of me before, I don’t now.
“Well…then I’m sleeping over! You said it was fine, didn’t you?” I say
maybe a bit too loudly. Ryōgi, for her part, doesn’t even seem all that angry,
even though her words seem to indicate otherwise.
“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be sure to tell you if your a.s.shole glands are working
up again,” she says while nibbling on the sandwich. At that, I suddenly
realize how tired I am and promptly sit myself down on the floor. Time
pa.s.ses, but I can’t seem to give a mind to how long or how short that lasts.
I turn my thoughts away from my little spat with Ryōgi to more practical
matters. I’d found a place to sleep, if only temporarily. The 30,000 yen in
loose change I hastily took with me should last me the month for food, but
finding some way to work so I can survive while still hiding from the cops
is going to be key.
Wait. Now I remember what I was supposed to ask Ryōgi. How could I
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - II • 65
forget?
“Hey,” I call to her. “Why ain’t your door locked?”
“Lost the key, obviously.” Her answer is almost like a blow to the back
of my head. “I only lock the door when I’m sleeping, and I just close the
door when I’m out. Works for me, and as you can see, not much here for a
burglar to burgle.”
So my attempted trespa.s.sing wasn’t just some lucky coincidence. Her
not locking the room might even be the reason for why she barely has
anything in the room. Some regular thief could be slipping in and just stealing
what isn’t nailed down. It’s too much of an a.s.sault on my regular sensibility
that I have to tell her off.
“Christ, girl. You could at least ask for a spare one from the landlord.”
“Lost the spare too. C’mon, it’s not as if you have to worry about it, and
it’s not as if I need one.”
It’s really starting to grate on me how she just takes everything in stride.
I can’t have any sort of peace of mind without a key. Meanwhile, Ryōgi
here seems to lack the part of your brain that’s supposed to sound warning
alarms when you aren’t secure even in your own home. I forget about
my anger toward her some minutes ago and replace it with worry for this
reckless girl.
“A house without a key ain’t a house. Just you wait; I’ll get you a new key.”
An idea suddenly forms in my mind. I remembered the last job I managed
to hold down, until two days ago at least, was in a moving company. I got
to learn a few things about fixing some household related stuff, so a simple
doork.n.o.b replacement wouldn’t be beyond me. They must have some
kind of regular doork.n.o.b in that warehouse of theirs. “No, scratch that. I’ll
replace the whole d.a.m.n thing.”
“Well, whatever floats your boat. Do you have money for it?”
“Of course I do. It’s the least I could do for you. In fact, I’ll even do it
tonight, so you’ll have no problem tomorrow!”
And on saying that, I stand up immediately, filled with a force of will
whose origin even I couldn’t even begin to guess. I run towards the entrance,
twist the doork.n.o.b, swing open the door, and break out into a run into the
city canopied by night, barely allowing Ryōgi a word in edgewise. Here I
am, a wanted (or soon-to-be-wanted) man sprinting to a moving company
I planned to rob in the dead of night, putting some serious thought into
how I could slip in without getting caught. Forget Ryōgi. Going on this little
excursion for a girl whose first name I didn’t even know pretty much makes
me the certified crazy one.
66 • KINOKO NASU
Paradox Spiral - III
I’ve been living with Ryōgi for close to a week now. Over time, we’ve
established a simple pattern to our lifestyle. She wakes up, sometimes
going out earlier than me. Sometime later, I go out for the day as well, and
we only really see each other’s faces again when I come back to sleep at
night. It’s strange business to be sure. At some point, we gave each other
our names, thinking that it’d be quite strange to not know each other’s
names when it’s obvious I’d be over for some time.
Shiki Ryōgi. A repeating high school student…well, on paper at least,
considering her current truant history. That’s pretty much the sum total of
what I know about her.
She calls me by my last name, Enjō, which is why I might be given to
referring to her similarly as Ryōgi. She’s said more than once that she didn’t
like being called by her surname, but I can’t bring myself to call her Shiki.
It’s a pretty simple reason. Calling someone by their first name has always
seemed to me to be like some stamp of permanence, but this daily life right
now is as temporary a setup as I can imagine, which means someday, me
and Ryōgi will part ways. At any given time I could be actively hunted by
the police. I could be forced to run. Calling her Shiki, with all the baggage
that the first name tends to give you, will just weigh me down when that
day comes.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend, Enjō?”
On this night, like all the other nights, Ryōgi sits cross-legged atop her
bed, and as always, asks me a question that seems to come straight out of
nowhere. As for me, rolling around on the floor right next to her bed, I’ve
long become accustomed to them.
“If I had one, I wouldn’t need to swing by this dump every night, would
I?”
“That’s kind of strange, considering you’re not all that shabby looking.”
“That actually sounds more like an insult than a complement, coming
from you. And besides, I’ve had enough of women.”
“Interesting. Why, I wonder?” She lies down on the bed, which from my
position on the floor next to it, makes her temporarily unseen, though she
soon pops her head out directly above mine. She’s actually kind of cute like
this. “Are you gay?”
I take that back. Seeing her as anything resembling cute must have been
/ PARADOX SPIRAL - III • 67
a trick of the mind.
“No way. It’s just that, well…I’ve got a history with girls, and it didn’t
work out too well.” Before I know it, I’m already reminiscing with her. “Back
in high school, I went out with a girl for two months, and we spent most
of that quality time arguing. I didn’t want anything special from the relationship,
but she certainly did. She wanted all the cool, fancy things that
also happened to be expensive. I could practically hear my wallet screaming
at the time, but I still did it for her. When I could buy her things, she
was happy. When I couldn’t, she complained. That didn’t warm me to the
experience. And the s.e.x wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, honestly. Besides,
I could’ve just jacked off if I wanted to feel good.”
I thought this story would bore Ryōgi, but she actually seems to be hanging
on every word, so I continue with a sigh. “Eventually, I started to dislike
her. All the money and affection I gave her slowly looked more like a waste
of time. Maybe if I was a normal student, I could’ve given her more of my
time, but as it stood then, I didn’t have that kind of freedom. The hours
I spent with her started draining any hours I had left for sleep. Without
the free time, I guess it was doomed from the start. But, stupid as I was, I
never tried breaking up with her.

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