Evil and the Mask Read online

  What else could I have done? In the face of the old man’s madness, what could a child like me have done? Even after it was all over I kept on thinking about this. Maybe I could have gone to the police and told them that half a year from now Father was going to show me hell? If I’d done that, I’d have been taken into custody as an emotionally disturbed minor. Or maybe I should have got a video camera and taped him watching Kaori. Then I could have sent it to the police or the orphanage where she was raised and asked them to take her back into their care. That might have worked. But those were all just “what ifs.”

  The orphanage’s main benefactor was a company in the Kuki Group—my father, in other words. I remembered two cases where firms related to the family had been accused of minor irregularities, and the local police had hushed them up. Even so, it still might work in this case. Perhaps Kaori could go back to the institution, beyond Father’s reach. But even if she could, would he give up? There was no way that this affair on its own would be enough to send him to prison. No matter how much I wanted to believe it might, the likelihood was far greater that it would not work out. And even if she did go back to the orphanage, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he would hire some people and come up with an ingenious plan to get her back—basically to abduct her. For him it was no longer just the enjoyment of taking me to hell. He’d also started to develop an obsession with Kaori herself. I was only given a tiny allowance, much smaller than you’d expect in a rich household like ours, so if Kaori and I ran away together he could easily track down a couple of penniless teenagers. And if my various schemes failed, things could turn really bad. If he discovered my treachery he might speed up his plans. In his usual detached manner, he might set things in motion immediately. The safest thing for us would be if my first act of rebellion could put an end to it—that is, if he disappeared. As long as he was alive, Kaori and I were always in danger.

  Was it always wrong to kill someone? Was it a crime to kill someone who was absolutely determined to harm you and the person closest to you? Was this just our selfishness? Weren’t we being forced to break the rules to protect ourselves from this powerful madman? Perhaps society would tell me no. You shouldn’t kill your father. First of all you should tell people about his wickedness, even if that’s unlikely to succeed, you should appeal for help to the police and the child welfare service. That you’ll both be taken straight to hell if you fail, that’s just your imagination. Perhaps your father will take your rebellion to heart and be reformed. You’re too quick to make judgments, to dismiss other possibilities. That’s what society would probably tell me. Maybe they’d say that I was the evil one. But I didn’t care.

  The most valuable thing in my life wasn’t virtue or society or God, but Kaori. I didn’t care if it was wrong to protect the most precious part of my world. Maybe I was misguided, but I believed that the things of greatest value must transcend ethics and morality. If your new-born baby was about to be killed, would you just watch and do nothing? If you could kill the person who was threatening your child, wouldn’t that be okay? Even if you could get away without killing them, wouldn’t it still be acceptable if it made the baby safer? Even if it was wrong? At least that’s what I thought at the time. If my father died unexpectedly it could cause chaos in the Kuki Group and spread ripples through the wider community, but of course that didn’t bother me at all. I proceeded with my plan.

  My first idea was poison. It was hard to get hold of, but among the many mushrooms on the hill out the back was a deadly variety called East Asian brown death caps. When I was eleven I’d looked them up in an illustrated book of plants, thinking I could use them if I needed to get rid of Father. But it would be tricky getting him to eat them, and even if I put them in his drink to make it look like suicide, there was no guarantee that the dose would be lethal. If he received immediate treatment, he would very likely survive. If he didn’t die and if the police discovered that the substance came from poisonous fungi, eventually they would find out that those mushrooms were growing nearby. Then it would be obvious that the perpetrator was someone in the household.

  In Father’s study was a hunting rifle. I considered using that to shoot him. Of course if I chose such an extravagant method everyone would know straight away, but perhaps that wouldn’t matter. Brazenly shoot my father with his own gun in his own room, like it went off of its own accord. If I shot him from an unusual angle, maybe it would look like I shot him by mistake when he was showing me how to use it. The only person in the house who knew of my murderous intent was Kaori, and no one would think I’d done it on purpose. Even if they were suspicious, they couldn’t arrest me unless I confessed. The only proof would be hidden inside my head. What’s more, by law they couldn’t prosecute a child of fourteen. Even if the whole story came out I wouldn’t go to jail. The worst that could happen was that I’d end up in juvenile detention. In this country anything a minor does is not a crime, and they can’t be punished for it. In the eyes of society, guilt is exonerated by youth. That fact gave me courage. If I couldn’t think of any other method, I decided to use the rifle.

  In the end I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t kill him, but rather leave him to die. How about locking him up in that secret underground room? By moving some heavy furniture on top of the hatch when he was inside, for example, or tampering with the door so that it couldn’t be opened from the inside. I turned over many possibilities in my mind. Then I could throw in a handful of death caps. When he got hungry enough he’d eat them, even knowing they were poisonous, either out of a will to live or to take his own life to avoid starvation. Down there he couldn’t get quick treatment. If it happened like that, if he was ever found it would look like Father had gone to the hidden basement room and killed himself. If I estimated when he would be dead and repaired the door and removed the furniture from the hatch, no one would know that he’d been imprisoned there. And even if he didn’t eat the mushrooms, since he couldn’t get out he would eventually starve to death. If his body was discovered later, surely it would be treated as a bizarre, mysterious death? At least there would be no evidence pointing to me.

  This method had other advantages as well. Father often left the estate without telling the servants or anyone else where he was going. Sometimes he stayed away for up to a month. The staff was scared of him and would welcome his absence. No one would worry about him, assuming that he was up to his usual tricks, and it would be at least a couple of months before anyone started asking questions. By that time he would already be dead, either through lack of food or by his own hand. As long as I cleared away all traces of my handiwork, I’d be home free. And on top of that, there was high turnover among the servants, so not one of them knew there was another room beneath the vast cellar. Ever since one of the maids stole some old jewelry from a cupboard in the basement many years ago, they had been forbidden to set foot down there. The housekeeper Tanabe might have known about it, but something had happened and she’d left and found another job.

  Lately Father had got into the habit of visiting the underground room about once a month. He went alone in the middle of the night, without a servant to accompany him. What he did there I didn’t know, but he had told Kaori that next month he would take her somewhere. Probably he meant this room, I thought.

  One problem was what I’d do if, for example, he had an appointment with someone from his company two days after he died. When he didn’t show up they’d contact the house. Then they’d learn that he had vanished and the police would be called. They’d search the house and garden in case he’d collapsed somewhere. If they decided to check the basement as well, I’d be in trouble. I decided to take extra steps to make doubly sure.

  After he was safely confined, I would leave the window in his room on the ground floor closed but unlocked. Then I’d go out the back door wearing adult-sized shoes, leave footprints from the end of the gravel path and climb in the window. I’d leave a little bit of dirt behind on the carpet, not too much,
and go out the window again. Next I’d put on a different pair of shoes and repeat the process, sometimes retracing my steps. Hopefully they’d think that several men had been in the room. I’d also leave all the drawers of Father’s desk shut, but empty one of them, so it would look out of place. Basically, my plan was to plant some subtle clues, things that wouldn’t be too obvious but would be noticed once they started to look closely.

  There were some shadowy figures lurking behind my father. He had some influence with several people with yakuza connections. His disappearance would be strange but somehow typical of him. Maybe he had surprised some burglars, who killed him, went through his papers and took the body away with them so it wouldn’t be discovered right away. Or perhaps they had intended to kill him from the outset, and for some reason wanted to delay discovery. Certainly no one would suspect his thirteen-year-old son of locking him in an underground room, because at school I was regarded as a bright, cheerful boy. At least, I thought I was.

  WEARING THICK RUBBER gloves, I picked five brown death caps on the hill, put them in a case and sealed it. I took the train all the way to Mie and bought two large pairs of mass-produced sports shoes. While my father was out I went into the cellar and studied the mechanics of the knob on the door to the secret room. It was the common lever type, with a handle that you pushed down to open. That meant that if I put a piece of furniture or something under the handle on the outside so it couldn’t move, the door wouldn’t open. Perhaps I could make it look like some of the furniture on the stairs had somehow tipped over and obstructed the door entirely by chance. Among the junk stored down there I found the remains of a broken air-conditioner that was exactly the right height. When I tilted it forwards from the steps, it fit so snugly under the lever I could hardly believe it. It blocked the handle completely, so no matter how much you shoved or pounded, the door wouldn’t open. And if I placed a cloth over the hatch at the top of the stairs as camouflage and dragged a piece of furniture on top of it, there was no way it could be opened from below. I planned to scatter tires and old plywood around the furniture. No one would ever think there was another flight of stairs beneath it.

  I made my preparations, rehearsed the process several times, and then kept my ears open. The next time my father went to the cellar, that would be D-Day. But one night, after waiting for several days, I heard Kaori’s bedroom door open.

  If Father summoned her before I killed him, she would have to go to his room. Foolishly, I had overlooked this vital fact. In my nervousness about committing the murder, my judgment had deteriorated markedly. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I left my room, rushed along the corridor after her.

  “You don’t have to go!” I called.

  “But …”

  Her back and shoulders were unnaturally stiff.

  “You don’t have to. From now on if he calls for you, tell me first.”

  Taking a deep breath, I headed towards his room. Maybe all my schemes were about to come tumbling down. I was too panicked to come up with a better plan. If the game was up, I might as well kill him now. That’s how I felt in my desperation, and my fear prevented me from thinking clearly. Many thoughts raced through my mind. Uppermost among them was that nobody could punish me, because I was only thirteen. Surely the old man would die if I strangled him. Any method would do. If he was gone, all my problems would be solved. Confused, unprepared and gasping for air, I knocked on his door.

  Even when he saw that it was me and not Kaori, his expression didn’t change. The light over the bed was on and he was reclining in his dressing gown, sipping whiskey. Glancing at me and then looking away in disgust, he raised his glass to his dark red lips. My heart was thumping and I could hardly breathe.

  “I’ve got something to ask you. I’m sorry, but could you please raise my allowance?”

  My voice quavered as I uttered this ridiculous request. Father turned back to me as though he knew exactly what was going on. I didn’t care. I was beside myself, but even in my turmoil I knew I was going to kill him. It didn’t matter how. I would conquer him. As for what to do afterwards, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. What happened next would depend on what he said, I repeated to myself.

  “Fallen for her, have you? The girl?”

  His voice was slurred with alcohol.

  “Obviously you have. How trite. But that’s fine. You …”

  I was sure he must be able to hear my ragged breathing.

  “In two months we’re going to the villa in Shizuoka. You, me and Kaori. Your fourteenth birthday will be just around the corner.”

  He stopped speaking, gestured for me to go. I left the room with my head in a whirl. At any rate, I thought, Kaori was safe for the next two months. But time was running out. To murder him I would have to overcome an even greater fear than that I had just experienced.

  When I went back to my room, Kaori was waiting for me. As soon as I saw her I began to cry. I asked for a kiss and she gave me one. We remained locked in each other’s arms for a long time. She started to say something, faltered, tried again and then closed her mouth.

  Three days later, in the middle of the night, my father left his bedroom. Clutching my backpack, I crept silently after him towards the underground chamber.

  THE WHITE LIGHT was hazy. I was lying face up on a soft bed. My head was still fuzzy, probably because the anesthetic hadn’t worn off yet. A faint smir of rain was hitting the window. It occurred to me that the same cold rain was also soaking the expressway away in the distance. Inside the room, however, it was warm. I realized I still had no feeling in my face.

  “I’ve got a daughter,” the doctor said as soon as I opened my eyes. “Now she’s old enough to understand what I do, and she keeps pestering me to fix her too.”

  He laughed softly.

  “That’s tricky,” I replied, but my mouth wouldn’t move and my words didn’t come out properly.

  “You still won’t be able to talk very well. I’d like you to stay here for a bit longer.”

  He was looking out the window. On the cabinet beside my bed was a peculiar doll, its arms and legs too long for its body. I noticed vaguely that it was wearing a white dress. The green outlines of the potted plants shimmered in the light. I spoke to his back.

  “I remembered some things from a long time ago.”

  “Yes?”

  “More than ten years ago. My first love, this gloomy mansion I was living in, different stuff.”

  He turned around slowly.

  “That often happens to people who’ve had major facial reconstruction, before they wake up. They’re trying to remember details of things they’ve lost from their past.”

  The rain kept falling.

  “It was a time when I was still happy, happier than I am now. A time when I had everything, when joy and despair were strangely mixed up. It’s like the other me was working its way through my memories to tell me the story.”

  “But here you’ve gained a new life.”

  I smiled faintly. Or more precisely, I tried to. My cheeks and lips were numb.

  “An unorthodox plastic surgeon like you must be able to tell that’s not why I changed my face.”

  “It’s not so you can make a fresh start?”

  “Nothing’s going to start. There’s nothing to start.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “How long before I can see my face?”

  “Two or three days. It’s going to be fine. It looks exactly like Koichi Shintani’s. You’ve taken on a dead man’s identity.”

  THE HOSPITAL WAS in an ordinary residential area in the suburbs of Tokyo.

  At first glance it looked like a private house, but the inside was a clinic for illegal plastic surgery, used by people who wanted to change their faces for nefarious reasons. Mobsters and the like came here, but the doctor didn’t have the air of desperation of other social outcasts. The interior was clean and quiet.

  On the day the bandages were removed, the doctor watched with a
smile. In the silver-framed mirror was another face. Confused, I moved my right arm in a meaningless gesture. When I opened my mouth, the man in the mirror opened his.

  “You might be a little uncomfortable for a while,” said the doctor. “Your brain is disoriented. It’ll take some time before it accepts the face it’s seeing as normal.”

  “I guess so.”

  He returned to his chair and drank his tea.

  “But it’s made you a little older. You were in your twenties, but now you’re thirty. If you’re going to use this Shintani’s identity unchanged …”

  I nodded.

  “The two of you have similar bone structures, very similar. For ID photos and things you’ll look the same, I think, but if you meet someone who knows him well they might think something’s not quite right. That’s how human faces work. It’s certainly a handsome one, though. Do you still think you have no future?”

  “Are you still going on about that?”

  The doctor smiled. A strong, thin beam of sunlight shone through the window.

  “What’s your story?” I asked. “The other day you were talking about your daughter, and you look like you’ve got a wife, too. Yet you’re doing this. You can’t get many patients, but your fees are enormous. Despite that, though, you don’t wear expensive clothes, and your watch and your car are average too. That’s been bugging me ever since we first met, for some reason, and now that I’ve had the chance to talk to you several times, it interests me even more. Nothing seems to hurt you, no matter what anyone says to you, no matter what happens. It’s like nothing touches you.”

  He sipped his tea again. Looking at his bland expression, I felt compelled to continue.