Cult X Read online

“. . . We broke up.”

  “Liar.” Mineno made herself smile. As naturally as possible. But just trying that hard already made her seem unnatural.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? To you, anyway. If you’re just going to make fun of me, can we do it some other day? My head hurts.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. Oh, I need to tell you . . . You won’t be able to get in touch with me for a while.”

  Mineno looked straight at Takahara’s face. Her pulse quickened.

  “We’ve got this plan at the cult. It’s a training period for the officers. We have to block all calls to our phones.”

  “Why not just turn them off?” Why do they need to block all calls? Because he can’t turn his phone off in case Ryoko Tachibana calls. He’s just going to block my number. He’s going on a trip with her.

  “We have to be able to take calls from the leader. But we still have to stop all other communication.”

  Lies. It’s all lies. Mineno’s body grew hot.

  “So . . . Go see your boyfriend while I’m gone.”

  “Well, I guess I don’t have a choice.” Mineno smiled. She didn’t have the energy to stop her face from twitching. I don’t have a boyfriend. You’re all I have. But if I didn’t lie to you, you wouldn’t see me. You’re actually such a coward, and so cold, but kind in all the wrong, weird ways. If a woman didn’t have a partner, you’d think treating her the way you treat me was unforgiveable. A child, she thought suddenly. If we have a child. Yes, a child.

  “Hey, then maybe we should finish what we started.” Mineno reached a hand out to Takahara. But he didn’t take it. He didn’t pull her onto the bed.

  “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “What?” Mineno just stood there. “Never mind. It’s fine. Make up for it later,” she said, and put her phone in her bag. I’ll listen to what I recorded at home and shake with jealousy. But her phone rang suddenly, surprising her. It was Yoshida.

  “I’m sorry, my phone.”

  She pressed a button and answered the call. Yoshida was speaking so quickly she couldn’t make out what he meant. The hospital. Matsuo-san. What was he saying? He . . .

  The world went dark.

  When she came to, someone was holding her. Takahara-kun. Takahara-kun is holding me up.

  “I have to go,” she said. She noticed she was crying. “I have to go. Matsuo-san is going to die.”

  22

  The moment Matsuo collapsed, Narazaki ran to him. Yoshida called an ambulance. The audience stood and made a bit of a fuss, but when the ambulance got there, they cleared a path and Matsuo made it to the hospital without any trouble.

  They managed to save his life, but he was in critical condition. According to the intensive care unit doctor, given the state of his health, the very fact that he was alive was surprising, and though he might regain consciousness, he would only last a few more days.

  Even his wife, Yoshiko, was not allowed to see him. She was surprised at how calm she remained, but when she thought about it, she realized she’d been prepared for this. Both she and Shotaro had lived too long already. Considering his age, this would make for a peaceful death.

  Yoshiko remembered the first time she met Shotaro Matsuo. She’d lost her parents in the war, and in the confusion that followed, she’d been chased out by her relatives. She sold her body to make ends meet. Just like today, that hadn’t been a rare position for a woman to find herself in. She lived in a huge house that served as a restaurant and also had rooms for prostitution.

  Her body was small, but she quickly grew used to the garish makeup and kimonos they wore. She had never really liked sex, but she considered herself good at her job. What was I thinking back then, living like that? Yoshiko wondered. I can only remember it vaguely now. But that’s thanks to Matsuo.

  He was a war vet and a member of a strange religion who worked in a nearby factory. The second she saw him arrive as a customer, her pulse quickened. He’d looked at Yoshiko vacantly, talked quietly about his life, and then left without sleeping with her. That night Yoshiko realized that there were still things in life that could unsettle her. She hated Matsuo. But if she’d really been so shaken up, she wouldn’t have been able to stand the days that followed. The smell of oil from the factory that clung to his clothes lingered faintly in the small room.

  When he appeared again the next day, she was shocked. And out of the blue he said, “I’ve fallen for you.” He said, “Please date me, on the condition we eventually get married.”

  What is this man talking about? Yoshiko had wondered. Is he playing a trick on me? But he seemed nervous, as if he were confessing his love to some high-class lady. He kept scratching his head the whole time. He was even sweating.

  “I’m sorry, but I work in this sort of establishment . . .”

  He looked at her strangely when she said that. “And is there a problem?”

  “What?”

  “Is there someone else you like?”

  They didn’t understand each other. Yoshiko had no choice but to say it again.

  “I’m telling you, I work at this sort of establishment.”

  “And?”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Bother me? Oh, right. I forgot to mention that. If you date me, please leave this place. I’ll support you.”

  They still didn’t understand each other. The small room went quiet. The floor was tatami, and the only furniture was a simple futon and a low table for drinking sake. They could hear the voices of some bureaucrat and a noisy drunk woman from the next room. Yoshiko’s heart was racing, she couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t know what to do.

  “That’s not it. I mean, I’m . . . this kind of woman. My past . . .”

  “Your past? That doesn’t matter.” Matsuo looked at Yoshiko as he spoke. “Whatever kind of life you’ve lived, whatever happened in your past, it doesn’t matter . . . That is, if what you choose in the end is me.”

  Yoshiko stared at Matsuo, flabbergasted.

  “You may have painful memories . . . But the thing about memories is if you make new ones, those old ones will fade. We’ll just have to make more memories together and get rid of the painful ones.” He kept speaking. “The cells in your body—they’ll all be replaced with new cells. Your memories don’t even have a physical form to replace. You can change.”

  And after that, when Yoshiko found out it would be hard for her to have children, Matsuo did not seem the least bit depressed. “I’m married to you,” he said. “I love you. I don’t need children.”

  Remembering all this, Yoshiko cried. What a great life they’d had together! Tears welled up and wouldn’t stop. What Matsuo said was right. The older we grew, the more the memories of before I met him faded. Only the memories I had with him increased.

  They’d lived together in the decades that followed, fighting, leaving the house, thinking about how they wanted the other to die, and making up. It was a long, long time. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Yoshiko began to cry again. What a great life! At this age, even memories of fights make me want to smile.

  Before she knew it, she was telling the other old members, who were sitting with her in the hospital, about first meeting Matsuo. The only one here who doesn’t know I used to work in a brothel is Narazaki, I think. But he came here because he was interested, so of course he’s not the least bit surprised.

  “Men,” Yoshiko said, smiling. “This may just be the wish of a selfish woman, but men should be like Shotaro. If you can, be like Shotaro.”

  Yoshiko knew from the sound of hurried footsteps that Mineno had arrived. The second she saw Yoshiko, she collapsed in tears as everyone watched. A man’s presence lingered on her body. Why? Yoshiko wondered. Why does this child take everything out on herself?

  Yoshiko held Mineno, stroking her hair. She’s warm, s
he thought. She’s just over thirty. Her real life has just begun. She smells good. Yoshiko tried to comfort Mineno, but she knew she herself was the one being saved by that lingering warmth.

  “Everyone, please go home,” Yoshiko said, but none of the old members made any signs of leaving.

  “Everyone still at the house is probably worried . . . Narazaki-kun,” Yoshiko said, smiling, “at this rate, Mine-chan will collapse, so take her home . . . Tell everyone waiting there the truth. That Matsuo won’t live much longer.”

  Narazaki teared up, and seeing that, Yoshiko almost cried again, too. This one, too, Yoshiko thought, looking at Narazaki. This one also needs saving.

  “Narazaki-kun.” He was already supporting Mineno, who couldn’t walk properly, when Yoshiko called out. She came up to him and said softly, “If anything happens to me . . . take care of her.”

  23

  “In other words, you failed.”

  The man with long hair was standing directly in front of the leader. The room was too quiet. It was so quiet he was careful even to avoid swallowing his own spit. It was dark, and his legs hurt. The leader was lying in bed, facing the ceiling. What was he looking at? He probably wasn’t looking at anything.

  “He collapsed, so . . . we . . .”

  He couldn’t say any more. Anything more would just be an excuse. All the leader wanted was to hear that they’d succeeded. He had no interest in the reasons they hadn’t.

  Bring Shotaro Matsuo to me. That had been his order. The man had been certain Shotaro Matsuo would come on his own—all he’d have to do was hand him a note with the leader’s name and address. They could just take him in their car. There was no problem with the plan. The man with long hair knew Matsuo very well. He’d once looked up to him as his teacher. But Matsuo had collapsed without any warning. There was no way he could have brought him.

  “Will he die?”

  The man with long hair swallowed quietly. “I just spoke with Narazaki. He said they’re not sure.”

  “Mm. In that case, he’ll probably die.”

  Narazaki feels for Matsuo, the man with long hair thought. The whole time he was here, Matsuo was in his heart. When he took my call, he was clearly unhappy.

  “Leader?” the man with long hair asked. There was no reply. But the man with long hair didn’t give up. He wanted to talk about the secret he and the leader shared, just for a moment. “Why did you want me . . . Why did you want me to bring Shotaro Matsuo here?”

  His voice began to shake as he spoke. The room suddenly grew cold. He dropped to his knees in a fit.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  He was shaking. He was scared. Unbelievably scared. If he was kicked out, he’d have nowhere to go. If the leader abandoned him, there’d be no reason for someone as pathetic as himself to go on living. It’s no good. I’m no good. I don’t want to go back to the outside world. The world is trash; it fails to recognize my greatness and the possibilities within me. I can’t stand to live surrounded by that trash any longer.

  Why? Why did I just do something so pushy? That’s right. It’s because of Matsuo. Because I heard that story about the leader when he was a young man. He seemed almost like a different person. I can see him. I can imagine when he was young . . . What is this feeling? What is it? Can I say it while I’m kneeling? What? What do I want to say?

  “Leader.”

  What am I saying?

  “Leader . . . What did you do?”

  He stopped breathing. But his mind was full of words. Where did you go after leaving Matsuo? What did you do? What did you do to become the way you are now? No, I must ask more clearly.

  How did you become like this?

  His vision narrowed. What am I doing? Am I resisting? Am I an obedient insect? If the leader gets mad at me, I’ll die. I’m confused. What should I do? What should I . . .

  “I’m sorry . . . I . . .”

  He pressed his forehead to the ground. Please, end this silence. The silence. He pushed down with his forehead. The floor was hard. But he had no choice but to press down with his head.

  “Don’t worry.”

  The leader’s voice was kind. The man with long hair began to cry.

  “I’ll tell you one day. Just you . . . You are my special pupil.”

  Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “Thank you. I . . .”

  “Mm. Go.”

  The long-haired man left the room. The confusion he had felt until a moment ago, that was certainly because of Matsuo. I got confused because of the things he talked about. Iron will. That is what I need. Iron will that will not heed any other thought. The harder it is, the more beautiful. The leader has told me that before. I gave myself up to the leader. Everything. My suffering, my sadness, my confusion. I no longer have to think. I no longer have to worry about anything. The leader will lead me. All I must do each day is carry out his commands. What beautiful days! So beautiful!

  Someone was coming. At this hour? He was slightly startled.

  “. . . Rina-san?”

  Rina was standing in front of him.

  “Where are you going? I . . .” The man brought his right hand to his chest. “I may become an officer. An officer! Just like you, and Sugimoto-san, and Takahara-san, and Maeda-san. One of the officers who have the coins . . .”

  “Really? Is the leader here? I have to see him.”

  “Oh, yes, he’s in.”

  It was too dark for the man with long hair to make out the expression on her face. However, her voice was trembling. “I have something urgent to report.”

  24

  When Matsuo woke up, he told Yoshiko he wanted to move. He didn’t want to be hooked up to machines like this. He wanted to die at home. Yoshiko brought her ear to his mouth and listened. She had known he would say that if he came to.

  The doctor let him do as he pleased. Matsuo had known him for a long time, and they had already talked about what they would do at the end of Matsuo’s life. When they heard that he had woken up, the old members wanted to come to the hospital, but Yoshiko stopped them. She could just imagine not only the old members but many others rushing there and making a scene.

  As Yoshiko began preparations to leave the hospital, Matsuo, staring off absentmindedly, said suddenly that he’d stay there for the day by himself. Though his voice was thin, Yoshiko heard him clearly from the doorway. “Why?” she asked.

  “I’ve come to understand a lot of things,” he responded vaguely.

  No normal wife would have allowed such a thing, leaving her husband who could die at any moment alone in a hospital room. But Yoshiko nodded. Matsuo had his own way of thinking.

  “But, Yo-chan . . . I promise,” Matsuo said slowly. “I won’t die today . . . I’m sure of it. Don’t worry.”

  That night it began to rain.

  Matsuo heard another faint sound mixed with the sound of rain. The careful footsteps of someone trying to sneak around. He was lying in bed, but he could have sworn he’d heard those steps the moment they crossed the hospital threshold. The man walking, too, could sense every sound he made being picked up. As though every step were part of something out of his control.

  The sound of footsteps finally stopped in front of the door to Matsuo’s room. Matsuo was waiting with open eyes. When the door opened, Takahara was standing on the other side.

  Takahara saw that Matsuo was awake, and his body instantly went stiff. This old man was waiting for me. His pulse quickened.

  The room was small and dark. Matsuo was in bed with a blanket spread over him. His body was partially raised, and he leaned back, his head pressed against the wall. This room is terribly cold, Takahara thought. Maybe this old man can’t feel the cold anymore.

  “I heard you’re about to die.”

  Takahara roughly placed the shabby bouquet he’d brought on the windowsill. Th
rough the curtain leaked the lights of the city. Lights that never go out, even at night.

  “And now you won’t be able to expose us for what we did . . . Even after we took your money, you didn’t tell the police. You like people too much. You won’t be able to sexually harass anyone anymore, either.” Takahara stared at the flowers. “Your talks, they were pretty good. I heard there were lots of people who thought they were boring, but I thought they were good, at least.” Takahara was nervous.

  “Why are you crying?”

  Takahara wiped his cheek with his finger. He had been crying since he arrived at Matsuo’s door.

  “Who knows. I guess there’s some human blood in me too.”

  From the other side of the wall, they could hear a motor vibrating.

  “Do you still have nightmares?”

  Takahara couldn’t look at Matsuo. “I don’t need your help. I don’t . . .”

  “Probably not. But still,” Matsuo said.

  Takahara’s body grew stiff again. How can he speak so clearly even though he’s half dead?

  “The problems you have now . . . They have no physical form.”

  Takahara’s head suddenly began to hurt. It was so bad he felt dizzy. He thought he was going to vomit, and crouched down right where he stood.

  “What do you know?”

  “Oh, if I could only move right now . . .”

  “What would you do? Kill me?”

  “I’d grab you by the shoulder and shake you. I’d take you somewhere, just the two of us, and I’d give you a good shaking.”

  Takahara finally looked at Matsuo. His body began to tremble slightly. Why am I losing my nerve in front of this half-dead man? I feel more pressure than when I’m with Sawatari. This generation, Takahara thought. This generation is terrifying. The times they lived through were different.

  “You’re too late,” Takahara said.

  The floor shook slightly. It was a small earthquake. Neither Takahara nor Matsuo paid the shaking any mind.

  “I feel like I’ve come to understand a lot,” Matsuo said. “There are these lines . . .”