I walked slowly to the door. Who could possibly be ringing the bell? Had a car pulled up in front without my knowledge? The dining area was toward the rear of the house, but it was a quiet night, so I should have heard the crunch of gravel and the rumble of an engine. Even the vaunted “silent” hybrid engine of a Prius. Still, my ears had picked up nothing.
No one would climb such a long, steep slope on foot at night on a lark. The road was unlit, and deserted. My house had been plopped down on top of an isolated mountain, with no neighbors close by.
For a moment, I thought it might be the Commendatore. But that didn’t make much sense. I mean, he could come and go whenever he wanted, so why ring the bell?
I unlocked and opened the door without bothering to check who it was. Mariye Akikawa was standing there. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn that afternoon, only now a thin navy-blue down jacket covered her windbreaker. Naturally, it got chillier once the sun was down. She had a Cleveland Indians cap on her head (why Cleveland?) and a large flashlight in her right hand.
“Can I come in?” she asked. There was no “Good evening,” no “Sorry for the surprise visit.”
“Sure,” I said. “Come on in.” That was it. My mental desk drawer wasn’t closing properly yet. That ball of yarn was still jammed in there.
I showed her into the dining room.
“I’m still eating dinner. Mind if I finish?” I said.
She nodded silently. She was free of all the tiresome social graces—they meant nothing to her.
“Want some tea?” I asked.
She nodded again. She took off her down jacket, removed her cap, and straightened her hair. I set the kettle to boil, and put some green tea in a small teapot. I wanted a cup of tea myself.
With her elbows on the table, Mariye watched me polish off the broiled yellowtail, miso soup, and salad as if she had come across something very strange. She could have been sitting on a rock in the jungle, watching a python swallow a baby badger.
“I marinated the yellowtail myself,” I explained, breaking the silence. “It keeps a lot longer that way.”
She didn’t respond. I couldn’t tell if my words had reached her or not. “Immanuel Kant was a man of punctual habits,” I said. “So punctual that people set their clocks by when he passed on his strolls.”
Absolutely meaningless, of course. I just wanted to see how she’d react to something so totally random. If she was really listening or not. Again, no response. The silence around us only deepened further. Immanuel Kant continued strolling through the streets of Königsberg, leading his regulated and taciturn life. His last words were “This is good” (Es ist gut). Some people can live like that.
I finished dinner and carried the dishes to the sink. Then I made tea. I returned with the teapot and two cups. Mariye sat there at the table watching me throughout. She was eyeballing me intently—like a historian meticulously checking the footnotes of a text.
“You didn’t come by car, did you?” I asked.
At last she opened her mouth. “I walked,” she said.
“All the way from your house, by yourself?”
“Uh-huh.”
I waited for her to go on. But she didn’t. We sat there across from each other at the table for a while without speaking. I’m pretty good at long silences, though. No accident I’m holed up by myself on top of a mountain.
“There’s a secret passageway,” Mariye said at last. “It’s a long way by car, but not far if you take the passageway.”
“I’ve walked all over this area but I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“You don’t know how to look,” she shot back. “You really have to pay attention to find it. It’s well hidden.”
“You hid it, right?”
She nodded. “I’ve lived here since I was small. The whole mountain is my playground. I know every part of it.”
“So the passageway is really well concealed.”
She gave another firm nod.
“And you used it to come here.”
“Uh-huh.”
I sighed. “Have you had dinner?”
“I ate already.”
“What did you eat?”
“My aunt isn’t a very good cook,” the girl said. Not a real answer to my question—it was clear she wanted to let the matter drop. Maybe she didn’t want to recall what she’d eaten for dinner.
“Does your aunt know you came here by yourself?”
Mariye didn’t reply. Her lips were set in a straight line. I chose to answer my own question.
“Of course she doesn’t. What responsible adult would let a thirteen-year-old girl wander the mountains after dark? Right?”
There followed another period of silence.
“She’s not aware of the passageway?”
Mariye shook her head several times. So her aunt didn’t know.
“And you’re the only one who knows about it?”
Mariye nodded several times.
“In any event,” I said, “given where you live, once you left the passageway you probably went through the woods and past an old shrine to get here. Right?”
Mariye nodded again. “I know that shrine. And I know that someone used a big machine to dig up the pile of rocks behind it.”
“Did you watch?”
Mariye shook her head. “I didn’t see them digging. I was at school that day. But I saw the tracks. The ground was covered with them. Why did you do it?”
“I had reasons.”
“What kind of reasons?”
“If I tried to explain from the beginning it would take too long,” I said. So I didn’t try. The last thing I wanted was for her to find out that Menshiki was involved.
“It was wrong to dig it up like that,” Mariye said, abruptly.
“Why do you say that?”
She gave what looked like a shrug. “You should have just left that place alone. Everyone else did.”
“Everyone else?”
“It’s been there like forever, but no one touched it until now.”
The girl was right, I thought. Perhaps we shouldn’t have touched it. Perhaps we should have behaved like “everyone else” had. It was too late to change that now, though. The stones had been moved, the pit exposed, the Commendatore set free.
“Were you the one who removed the lid?” I asked. “Let me guess: you looked inside, then you replaced the boards and the stones that held them down. Am I right?”
Mariye raised her head and looked me straight in the eye. As if to say: How did you know?
“The rocks on the lid had been rearranged. My visual memory is pretty good, always has been. I could see the difference right away.”
“Wow,” she murmured, impressed.
“But the hole was empty. Nothing but darkness and damp air, right?”
“A ladder was there too.”
“You didn’t climb down it, did you?”
Mariye shook her head vigorously. As if to say: No way!
“And now,” I said, “you’ve come here at this time of night for a particular reason, haven’t you? I mean, this isn’t just a social visit, is it.”
“A social visit?”
“You know, an ‘I happened to be in the neighborhood so I thought I’d stop by’ kind of thing.”
She thought for a moment before shaking her head. “No, it’s not ‘a social visit.’ ”
“Then what is it?” I asked. “I’m more than happy to have you visit me, but if your aunt or your father found out, it could lead to a bizarre misunderstanding.”
“What kind of misunderstanding?”
“There are all sorts of misunderstandings in this world,” I said. “Some go far beyond what you and I can imagine. In this case, it could make it impossible for me to paint your portrait. That would bother me a lot. Wouldn’t it bother you?”
“My aunt won’t find out,” she said emphatically. “I go to my room after dinner and she never follows me. It’s like an agreement we have. I leave through my window and no one knows. No one’s ever caught on.”
“So you’ve been walking the mountain at night for a long time?”
Mariye nodded.
“Isn’t it scary all by yourself after dark?”
“Other things are a lot scarier.”
“Like what, for example?”
Mariye shrugged her shoulders slightly but said nothing.
“Your aunt may not be a problem, but how about your father?”
“He’s not back yet.”
“Even though today’s Sunday?”
Mariye didn’t answer. I guessed she wanted to avoid talking about her father.
“Anyway, you don’t have to worry,” she said. “No one knows when I leave the house. Even if they found out I’d never give your name.”
“All right then, I’ll stop worrying,” I said. “But why did you come here tonight of all nights?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Like what?”
Mariye picked up her cup and took a sip of hot tea. She looked warily around the room as if to make sure no one would overhear. Of course nobody was there but the two of us. That is, unless the Commendatore had returned and was listening in. I looked around as well. But the Commendatore wasn’t there. If he was, he hadn’t assumed bodily form.
“Your friend who showed up this afternoon, the guy with the pretty white hair,” she said. “What was his name? It was kind of weird.”
“Menshiki.”
“That’s right, Mr. Menshiki.”
“He’s not really a friend. I met him just a short while ago.”
“Whatever.”
“So what is it about Mr. Menshiki?”
She narrowed her eyes and looked at me. “I think,” she said, lowering her voice, “that man is hiding something. In his heart.”
“What sort of thing?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t believe he showed up this afternoon by accident, like he said. I think he came for a very specific purpose.”
“What purpose is that?” I asked, a little shocked by how observant she was.
She fixed me with her gaze. “I’m not sure. Don’t you know?”
“I have no idea,” I lied, praying that Mariye wouldn’t see through my deception. I have never been a good liar. When I lie it’s written on my face. But there was no way I could tell her the truth.
“For real?”
“For real,” I said. “I had no idea he would show up today.”
Mariye seemed to buy my story. Menshiki had not told me he would be coming, and his sudden visit had taken me by surprise. So I wasn’t really lying after all.
“His eyes are weird,” Mariye said.
“Weird in what way?”
“It’s like he’s always scheming about something. Like the wolf in ‘Little Red Riding Hood.’ When the wolf dresses up like the grandmother and lies in bed, you can tell it’s him by his eyes.”
Like the wolf in “Little Red Riding Hood”?
“So you had an adverse reaction to Mr. Menshiki, right?”
“Adverse reaction?”
“A negative impression. A feeling he might harm you.”
“Adverse reaction,” she said. She seemed to be storing the phrase in her mental filing cabinet. Alongside “a bolt from the blue,” no doubt.
“It’s not like that,” Mariye said. “I don’t think he’s planning anything bad. I just think Mr. Menshiki with the pretty white hair is hiding something.”
“And you sense it, right?”
Mariye nodded. “That’s why I came to see you. I thought you might be able to tell me more about him.”
“Does your aunt feel the same way?” I asked, trying to deflect her question.
“No,” she answered, tilting her head to one side. “That’s not what she’s like. She seldom has an adverse reaction to people. And I think she’s interested in him. He’s a bit older, but he’s handsome and well dressed and I guess very rich and living all by himself…”
“So you think she’s taken to him?”
“I guess so. She really lit up when she talked to him. Her face, and her voice—it got higher. She wasn’t like usual. I bet he felt the change too.”
I said nothing, just poured us both a fresh cup of tea. I took a sip.
Mariye seemed to be turning something over in her mind. “I wonder, how did he know we were going to be here today?” she asked. “Did you tell him?”
“I don’t think Mr. Menshiki came planning to meet your aunt.” I chose my words with care, hoping to avoid another lie. “In fact, he tried to leave when he realized the two of you were here, but I talked him into staying. He happened to stop by when your aunt happened to be here, and when he saw her he got interested. Your aunt is a very attractive woman, you know.”
Mariye didn’t look entirely convinced, but she didn’t push the issue any further. She just sat there frowning, elbows on the table.
“In any case, the two of you are going to visit his home next Sunday,” I said.
Mariye nodded. “Yes, to see your portrait of him. My aunt seems to be really looking forward to it. To paying Mr. Menshiki a visit, I mean.”
“I don’t blame her for getting excited,” I said. “After all, she’s living in the mountains with no other people around. Not like in the city, where she’d have opportunities to meet all sorts of men.”
Mariye pressed her lips together for a moment.
“My aunt used to have a boyfriend,” she said, as if letting me in on a big secret. “A man she saw for a really long time. When she was a secretary in Tokyo. But a lot of things happened, and in the end they broke up. It hurt her a lot. Then my mother died, and she came to look after me. She didn’t tell me any of this, of course.”
“I don’t think she’s seeing anyone now, is she?”
Mariye shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“So you’re a little concerned that your aunt is interested in Mr. Menshiki, and that she may be experiencing the first stirrings of something. So you came to talk to me about it. Is that right?”
“Tell me, do you think he’s trying to seduce her?”
“Seduce her?”
“I mean, that he isn’t serious?”
“There’s no way for me to tell,” I said. “I don’t know Mr. Menshiki that well. They just met this afternoon, so nothing has happened between them yet. When two people’s feelings are involved like this, things can change in subtle ways. What begins as a small feeling can grow into something really big, or the opposite can happen.”
“But I have a kind of hunch this time,” she asserted.
I sensed that I should believe her “kind of hunch,” baseless though it was. For I had a similar kind of hunch.
“So you’re worried something could occur that might harm your aunt psychologically,” I said.
Mariye gave a quick nod. “My aunt’s not a very cautious person, and she’s not used to being hurt.”
“It sounds like you’re the one looking after her, and not the other way around,” I said.
“In a way,” Mariye said seriously.
“How about you, then? Are you used to being hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Mariye said. “At least I’m not about to fall in love.”
“You will someday, though.”
“But not now. Not until my chest gets a little bigger anyway.”
“That may happen sooner than you expect.”
Mariye made a wry face. I guessed she didn’t believe me.
I felt a seed of doubt sprout in my own chest. Would Menshiki draw close to Shoko Akikawa to establish a firm connection with Mariye?
After all, he had said to me, I couldn’t tell anything in one brief meeting. I need to see her more.
Shoko would be an important intermediary—through her, Menshiki could see Mariye on a regular basis. After all, she was the one looking after the girl. To a greater or lesser extent, therefore, Menshiki had to place Shoko under his thumb. That shouldn’t be too hard for a man of Menshiki’s talents. Not child’s play, perhaps, but close to it. I didn’t like to think that Menshiki was harboring a plan of that sort. Yet perhaps the Commendatore had been right, and he was a man who couldn’t help fabricating some scheme or other. From what I had seen, however, he wasn’t that cunning.
“Mr. Menshiki’s house is really impressive,” I said to Mariye. “You may or may not like it, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”
“Have you been there?”
“Only once. I went there for dinner.”
“It’s on the other side of the valley?”
“Right across from us.”
“Can you see it from here?”
I pretended to think for a moment. “Yes, but it’s far away, of course.”
“Show me.”
I led her to the terrace and pointed out Menshiki’s mansion on top of the mountain across the valley. Bathed in the light from the garden lanterns, the building floated white in the distance like an elegant ocean liner sailing the night sea. Several of the windows were also lit up. The lights burning there were small and unobtrusive.
“That enormous white house?” Mariye exclaimed in surprise. She stared at me for a moment. Then, wordlessly, she turned back to the distant mansion.
“I can see it from my house, too,” she said eventually. “The angle’s a bit different, though. I’ve always wondered who would live in a place like that.”
“It does stand out, that’s for sure,” I said. “Anyway, that’s Mr. Menshiki’s home.”
Mariye spent a long time leaning over the railing looking at the house. A handful of stars twinkled above its roof. There was no wind, and a small, sharp-edged cloud hung there motionless. Like a paper cutout nailed to a plywood backdrop in a play. Each time the girl moved her head, her straight black hair glittered in the moonlight.
“Does Mr. Menshiki really live there all by himself?” Mariye asked, turning to me.
“Yes, he does. All alone, in that big house.”
“And he’s not married?”
“He told me he has never married.”
“What kind of work does he do?”
“I’m not sure. Something connected to the information business, he said. Maybe having to do with tech. He doesn’t have a regular job right now, though. He lives on the money he made from selling his old business, and from stock dividends and so forth. I don’t know the details.”
“So he doesn’t work?” Mariye said, wrinkling her forehead.
“That’s what he said. Seldom leaves his home, apparently.”
He might well be standing on his terrace, watching the two of us through his high-powered binoculars just as we were watching him. What would run through his mind if he saw us standing side by side like this?
“You’d better head home,” I told Mariye. “It’s getting late.”
“Besides asking about Mr. Menshiki,” she said softly, as if confiding something, “I wanted to tell you I’m really happy that you’re painting my picture. I can’t wait to see it.”
“I hope it turns out well,” I said. Her words moved me more than a little. It was strange how much this girl opened up when painting was involved.
I walked her to the door. Mariye put on her tight-fitting down jacket and crammed her Indians cap down over her head. Now she looked like a boy.
“Shall I walk with you partway?” I asked.
“I’m fine. I know the path.”
“See you next Sunday, then.”
But instead of leaving, she paused for a moment with her hand on the doorframe.
“One thing bothers me,” she said. “It’s that bell.”
“The bell?”
“I thought I heard it ringing on my way here. The same kind of jingling sound that the bell in your studio made.”
I was at a loss for words. Mariye’s eyes were on my face.
“Where was it exactly?” I asked.
“In the woods. It came from behind the shrine.”
I listened to the dark. But I heard no bell. I heard no sound at all. Just the quiet of the night.
“Weren’t you scared?” I asked.
Mariye shook her head. “If I leave it alone, there’s nothing to be scared of.”
“Wait here just a second,” I told Mariye. I ran back to the studio. The bell was not where I had left it. It had vanished from the shelf.