Evil and the Mask Read online

  He stood up and took another bottle from the liquor cabinet. He couldn’t be bothered getting ice, so he poured the lukewarm scotch into the glass just as it was.

  “Several years ago, in Shinjuku in Tokyo, there was a traffic accident.”

  He slouched heavily onto the sofa again.

  “Just a typical accident, and the person who died had nothing to do with us. An ordinary collision between a car and a cyclist. The driver hurt his wrist slightly and the woman on the bike was killed instantly. The driver took his eyes off the road, just for a second, distracted by his cell phone, which he’d tossed on the passenger seat. Hundreds of accidents like that happen every day. But when I looked into it, some eerie facts came to light.”

  His thick lips twisted at an angle, though whether he was smiling or grimacing I couldn’t tell.

  “The driver’s ancestor and the cyclist’s ancestor came into contact once, a long time ago, during the war with China in the 1930s. The man’s grandfather was a soldier. The woman on the bike was Japanese, but her relatives on her mother’s side were from China. The driver’s grandfather was in the Japanese army and during the war his unit was ordered to attack a particular Chinese village. Pillage, slaughter, they did it all. The man himself didn’t actually take part in the looting, but since he was the youngest member of the platoon he couldn’t put a stop to their folly and just had to endure it. And the cyclist’s grandparents were caught up in the massacre and lost their lives. In other words, many years later the descendant of the man who had witnessed the carnage in China ended up killing the descendant of two of the victims, here in Shinjuku. This sounds like some kind of fate passed down through the generations, but there are four things about the story that are quite creepy.”

  The ceiling fan started turning uncertainly.

  “One is that this traffic accident wasn’t some kind of ancestral revenge tragedy. The perpetrators were still the perpetrators, the victims still the victims. The second is that the ancestor was present at the massacre but didn’t actually join in. Third, the accident was not deliberate on the part of the driver. A moment’s inattention, as it were, a simple mistake. And the fourth thing is that the driver received a slight injury to his wrist, but the soldier, tormented by his memories of the atrocities, in later life attacked his own wrists several times with a hatchet. What do you think of that?”

  He poured another drink.

  “It’s just a coincidence,” I said.

  “True, you can look at it that way too. But you do hear stories like that from time to time. Or you could call it ‘karma.’ Like the killer driving the car and the victim were suddenly, through their respective bloodlines, swept up in that flurry of violence, that massacre in the Chinese village, like some kind of time slip. Retroactively, the accident makes the driver’s ancestor seem like a perpetrator as well. If the accident was really just negligence, perhaps that means that karma can manipulate people’s unconscious minds, as though they are linked through the unconscious. In this world, I believe that there are many incomprehensible karmic threads that transcend time and space. I don’t know what these threads are trying to achieve by repeating similar things in different times and places. Maybe that girl Kaori had some kind of connection with the Kukis. Maybe she’s descended from someone who was killed by one of the guns we sold in World War One.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Really? Or perhaps she’s the great-great-granddaughter of some woman who was raped by a Kuki. Or the descendant of that dead woman’s best friend. Don’t you think the word ‘karma’ has a really Japanese ring to it?”

  He laughed. The whiskey seemed to be seeping out through his eyeballs.

  “Maybe the Kuki family’s repeated acts of wickedness are leading somewhere too. At any rate, when I look at her I feel a definite attraction. She stirs something inside me. I bet it’s the same for you, isn’t it?”

  THE ONLY SOUND in the room was the tortured rumble of the fan heater. Maybe the place was soundproofed, because I couldn’t hear a peep from the adjoining rooms. I took another mouthful of scotch in the gloom, felt the warmth slide down my throat. My cigarette smoke swayed lazily at the edge of my vision.

  “It’s going to be another long night,” said Mikihiko, standing.

  He scooped a small red fish out of the aquarium and dropped it in a dish, where it twitched convulsively. He watched for a while without expression, then deposited it on the counter behind him. It was still floundering, but he had lost interest.

  “I’m so depressed. I almost killed this girl a little while ago.”

  He sank into the sofa in front of me again.

  “Hurry up and spoil her. Defile the thing you value most in the world. If you pass through that violent whirlpool you can truly liberate yourself from the mundane and from your own life. Then come over to my domain.”

  The red fish had almost stopped moving.

  “You’re drunk,” he said, smiling faintly. “This booze is strong. You look pretty slow-witted for someone who’s up to something. But never mind. You’re distracted, and I can bypass your consciousness and talk directly to your subconscious.”

  His eyelid was twitching slightly.

  “You should be my sidekick. You’ll enter my realm and be free. You’ll be a perfect cancer, and I’ll show you some wonderful sights. Since you killed Father and killed Yajima, you’re the ideal person to be by my side. Here, I’ll let you in on my modest goals.”

  I reached for more whiskey.

  “But before I do, let me ask you this. If you were king of a country and you had no ethics or morals, what kind of citizens would be your ideal?”

  He watched me. When I answered, my voice had gone hoarse.

  “Ones who are easy to manipulate, I suppose.”

  “That’s right.”

  I thought he might smile at that, but he didn’t.

  “Citizens with no doubts about anything, who will trust their king like children no matter what he does, who will get fired up as a single, unified body in support of war, who will turn a blind eye to corruption, who will swallow all his propaganda. Simple people, you could call them.”

  The fish behind him was completely still.

  “These days, in fact, when people are readily susceptible to images and impressions, it’s fairly easy to manipulate them with information from the government or the government’s proxies. There are lots of ways of doing it, some of them visible, some not. If you don’t believe me, just look at the screwed-up logic that was used to justify the Iraq War. The intelligentsia call this populism. They say that the public are stupid for being fooled by the government’s lies. But that’s not strictly true.”

  He smiled faintly.

  “Why did the simplistic logic of the so-called War on Terror end up prevailing, despite being widely criticized? Why does a politician’s popularity change because of images on TV? When three Japanese nationals were taken hostage in Iraq, why did the harsh phrase ‘individual responsibility’ become so widely accepted in Japan? Why is public opinion swayed by primitive images rather than by the complex reality of events? The answer is that people are busy. There are other reasons as well, but that’s the main one. Everyone is busy with their daily lives, their worries, their work, their search for happiness, and you can’t blame them for that. Who’s going to take time out from their busy life to think about a dispute in some tiny country in Africa, let alone the business interests behind it? Do you think they’re going to go beyond the mass media and examine the real meaning of the information the government is feeding them? Do you think that when some criminal is presented as an absolute villain, anyone is going to wonder if he’s been falsely accused and actually go out and do their own digging? Do you think anyone will look into whether a TV commentator has got close ties to a particular political party? Hardly anyone will do that. Most people are too busy. And by working away behind the scenes, we’re planning to provoke North Korea. We’re planning Japan’s Nine-Eleven.”
>
  He continued to study me, his face giving nothing away.

  “Imagine a missile hitting Japan. Public opinion would change in an instant. The Peace Constitution would be thrown out of the window. As the number of victims was reported, as the grief of their families was reported, the whole country would be filled with pity and seethe with hatred towards North Korea. When people believe they have a good cause, the violence within them bursts forth unrestrained, as if their good angel has given permission for it to escape. Basically, that’s how wars are started. The public executions they had in the old days worked on the same principle. Hardly anyone realized that they served any purpose other than punishing criminals, and even if they did, their voices were drowned out by the boiling violence of righteousness. People have enough on their plates just going about their day-to-day lives. Japan would agree to war, and our profits would be beyond our wildest dreams. The state would use taxes to buy the weapons we manufacture. Transport planes, the whole lot. And then after North Korea was defeated there’d be a construction boom. Obscene people flock to obscene money, and after millions of deaths there’d be even more obscene money swirling around. War is the best business model there is.”

  His mouth opened in a swallowing motion.

  “At first I thought it would be okay if the missile missed the target, with only a few casualties. In that case there wouldn’t be a war, but the defense budget would skyrocket and new markets would open up for us. That would certainly be entertaining to watch, but now I think we can go further than that, because I’m already ruined, and of course the object of a plan born from ruin will be more ruin. I don’t care how many missiles rain down on central Tokyo. The country will be thrown into chaos, America and China will get involved, and the whole munitions industry will come along for the ride. That’s part of my plan too. American arms manufacturers will be delighted, at any rate, because Japan will buy more weapons. This is all several years down the track, but I’ve got it all planned out.”

  He blew out a puff of air and rubbed his eyelid, as if the twitching was bothering him.

  “It won’t go that smoothly,” I said. I could feel the corners of my mouth curling in a faint smile. “Even if people like you make your plans, humans don’t always react as you expect. Sure, we’re busy with our own problems, and it’s hard to pay much attention to contracts for rebuilding in Africa. But you’re carrying out your plan in Japan, right? I can’t see the Japanese public acting like you think they will.”

  “That’s right. You’re not dumb, are you?” His voice grew stronger. “In fact, after we set things up, I think people’s reactions are likely to be even more extreme than we anticipate. We’ll just provide the catalyst, but the wave will pass through that human maelstrom and burst out in unexpected directions. Look at history. Before the Second World War, when Japan walked out of the League of Nations, the forerunner to the UN, Japan’s elite didn’t expect their stupidity to be greeted with wild applause by the public back home, did they? Even World War Two itself, which unleashed Father’s violence, the people supported it sincerely, fanatically. In other words, their frenzy provided the foundation for his violence. Do you think that the highest-ranking officials thought right from the start that the general populace would cooperate so eagerly with the war effort? They even continued to feed the public lies in order to manipulate them. But the people were busy and narrow-minded. They believed that they should slaughter foreigners to protect their friends and families. Their excitement and violence, rooted in a good cause, rose like a flood. It’s a fever, get it? That fever, that’s what I want. That fever, that flood, heading for doom.”

  By now he was almost shouting.

  “Everything fits together as part of the system. That JL group that’s active right now, their aim is probably to undermine authority. They’re trying to bring it all tumbling down. But even their attacks on authority are ultimately part of the system. Thanks to JL, people are far more security-conscious, and at the moment my security firms are making a killing. Burglar alarms, everything, they’re selling like crazy. Share prices are rising too, so the shareholders are making more money. The more they stir up trouble, the more money us rich people make. That’s how the system works. You see? They probably don’t even realize it themselves, but we actually provide some of their funding. This world is a monster.”

  He laughed and his eyes grew wider.

  “Now that I would love to see. All the buildings collapsing, the fortress of people’s happiness collapsing because their closed-up nature allows wars to break out and they get caught up in them. All that violent karma flying through space and time, converging on a single point. Wouldn’t that be a sight? For warped specimens like us? As I looked on the ruins of the earth, with my dying breath I would mutter, ‘Construction boom.’ If the human race dies out entirely, then beauty and morality will disappear too. If that happens, even the gods who have neglected this world for so long will scowl with displeasure—if gods have eyebrows, that is. The human race, that failed experiment, will take revenge on the gods through their own downfall. Revenge on their father. Maybe the gods will come to stop it partway through. If they do, humans will be able to see them in person for the first time. Wouldn’t that be amusing? It can all go to hell. In my dystopia, it can all just disappear!”

  Suddenly he started to tremble, eyes blazing. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

  “Ah, here it comes! Now!”

  He clamped his lips tightly together, sweat pouring off him, still staring into space. His hands fumbled under the table, searching for something.

  “Right. How about it?”

  His hands came out holding a knife. Slowly, carefully, he placed it on the table like some precious object.

  At some point the heater had stopped blowing out warm air, and I was getting cold. He took his hand away from the knife and sat rigid, as though turned to stone. His eyes remained unblinking, like a man possessed. I remembered the exalted state he had been in last time we met, similar to this. His gaze bored into mine, and I couldn’t break free.

  “Look!” he whispered in a choked voice, as if afraid of being heard. “Don’t you see? Look! Now’s your chance … look, do it, don’t miss it. What are you waiting for? Look, here’s my throat. Like this, like this.”

  He was making stabbing motions with an imaginary knife, as though teaching a child how to use one.

  “This person called Mikihiko Kuki, he’s already way past breaking point. Now’s the perfect opportunity, don’t miss it! Don’t let it get away. Yeah? Quick! Before the moment passes. Quick, it’s slipping away!”

  He forced the knife into my hand. I couldn’t move.

  “Now is the time. This is what you see at the limits of depression. Death isn’t the end, it’s just one part, it’s just one component. Give me that part, while I’m in this state, the epitome of evil, then my depression will break through, it will be complete, I will attain my true nature. Touched by death, the pleasure of extinction, at that instant I’ll overflow, I’ll become myself. I’ll become my true self, death itself, the end itself, perfectly, perfectly, in that single second. It will all soak right through me. I’ll join every other death, the pain and death of every person in every age, I’ll savor them all. Every nerve that runs through my body will experience an unbearable delight as that huge, final wave washes over me. That’s the moment. That’s what my life is about, to go there, to experience that feeling. Everything yearns for oblivion. No matter how hard people struggle, all things are just waiting for death, trembling with joy. That’s the reality of the world. It’s here, the end of everything, it’s really coming, subverting and perverting our innate energy.”

  He squirmed in his seat, speaking coaxingly, as though whispering words of love.

  “Quick! It’s all right. I’ve turned into this gigantic, grotesque monster before your eyes. You will be forgiven. The murders you’ve committed, they will all be f
orgiven. All your sins will disappear, by destroying an evil like me, by saving the lives of tens of thousands of people.”

  The knife started to shake in my hand.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? If I die, it will all be over, and I can become my true self. Kaori will be yours. Here’s my throat, one second will solve everything, the depression that’s holding me back, the revelation of my real self. Right here, right now. I can feel it coming.”

  I couldn’t breathe. His soft, fat neck was right there in front of me.

  “Do it quick. Yes, like that … Humans have always done this. They’ve always solved problems like this, by killing people they think are evil, by killing people who threaten their well-being. A man like me, who wants to destroy humanity, I’m an abomination, aren’t I, for all those people who want happiness, even for the gods? Aren’t I?”

  Suddenly he began to shout. His mouth opened so wide I thought it would split and his bloodshot eyes bulged. In his exposed throat the thick veins stood out clearly.

  “Quick! Everything will be forgiven. The gods and history are watching.”

  He stretched his neck even more, staring at me. My hand clutching the knife was soaked with sweat. I saw my father, twitching and convulsing with hunger in that tiny room.

  “I can’t.”

  “What?”

  His face contorted.

  “I’m too tired,” I said. “Tired of this feeling.”

  He looked at me, mouth sagging.

  “What a weakling! You’ve already killed two people. I expected better of you.”

  Gradually his expression regained its former blankness, as though something had passed. All that remained were the beads of sweat on his forehead. Once again his face revealed no emotion at all.

  “You’re pathetic. Really. Here’s what will happen if you don’t. I’ll ruin that girl Kaori, and there’s no way you can stop me. I’ll keep her alive, but I’ll destroy her, and I’ll make you watch. I’ll finish what Father couldn’t. Perhaps that echo will alleviate my depression a little.”