Life for Sale, page 11
Hanio spoke confidently, then yawned broadly. He settled down on the pillow, and before long he was snoring.
“He has nerves of steel,” said one of the men.
The two overnight guests exchanged glances, full of admiration.
31
Next morning, it was a perfect spring day, and quite cloudless. Hanio managed to wangle a permit from the doctor to leave the hospital. While the first man was away at the embassy, he used the time to quietly shave his beard before the bathroom mirror.
With his companion away, the second man suddenly sprang to life and became talkative. His admiration for Hanio was all too clear, but everything he said was unbelievably banal and clichéd.
“Hah, such readiness in the face of death is commendable. You have the heart and soul of a warrior.”
For breakfast the man enjoyed a cream bun, which he had got the nurse to go out and buy for him. Hanio watched in fascination as he crammed it into his guileless mouth and as he bit into the bun a crescent of yellow cream oozed out from the side like the rising sun.
For the first time in ages, Hanio had encountered something about human life that tickled him. From what he could deduce, some spies from Country A, one of the most advanced nations in the world, had been responsible for some momentary but catastrophic oversight, and this had led inexorably to their own deaths. Of course, whether he was correct in his deduction remained to be seen.
When he applied shaving lotion, his reflection in the mirror looked so youthful and radiant that even he found it captivating. He had the face of a self-indulgent young man from a family of means, without a single care or responsibility in the world. Outside the window, partially opened cherry blossoms swayed in the breeze.
The first man came back, out of breath.
“Great news. They do have some of the paper in question. The spies of Country A are assiduous in their work. Ah, that reminds me. You’ve been asked to meet the ambassador of Country A before you go on your do-or-die mission and break into the embassy.”
“What time should I go and meet him?”
“They said any time between ten and eleven.”
“Right.” Hanio looked at his watch. “I have to drop by somewhere first, so I should be able to get there at ten thirty.”
“What do you mean, you have to go somewhere? Incidentally, you have some soap behind your ears.”
“Thanks.” All this uncalled-for interference had distracted Hanio this morning. But now he rubbed behind his ears with a towel and, while he was about it, wiped his chin. Some drops of red were left on the towel. He had nicked himself with the razor.
The blood brought back memories of the vampire woman, and his heart tightened. Probably never again would he be able to savor that sense of deep immersion in a languid, sweet bath of death. Quite possibly, it was in order to bestow that very favor upon him that she had purchased his life.
“Where do you have to go?” The first man pressed him for an answer.
“No questions. Just come with me. I’ve some shopping to do, that’s all. A certain amount of preparation is required if you’re going to kick the bucket.”
At a loss how to respond, the man adopted a serious expression. This amused Hanio.
As he left the hospital, his nurse warned: “Now don’t go on the rampage just because you’re going out. You’re not being formally discharged yet.”
“I think I managed to prove to you yesterday that I’m a hundred percent healthy.”
At this, the nurse pinched Hanio’s arm. Even the tingling that this left had more of a sparkle outside in the spring sunlight. The three of them might have been a group of friends off to the horse races as they walked down the broad slope toward town, a mixture of amusement and tension in their faces.
“We need to go to a quality greengrocer, one with only the freshest vegetables,” announced Hanio to his two companions. “Somewhere around Aoyama, perhaps.”
They hailed a taxi and all climbed in.
It was a while since Hanio had been into town. Signs of death were nowhere to be seen. People were soused in everyday life right up to their necks. You might say they walked around like human pickles.
“When I’m in that world, I’m a sour pickle,” Hanio thought. But even as a pickle, he had never amounted to more than an appetizer served with a drink. The dull routine of three solid meals a day was not his bag. “That’s fate for you. What can you do?”
At K— store, Hanio bought some carrots that had already been peeled and cut into sticks, and he had someone place them in a polyethylene bag that was frosted from being kept in the fridge. The two men looked on with serious expressions.
“Is that all you’re buying?” said the first man.
“Yup,” Hanio replied. “Right then, let’s go to the embassy of Country A.”
Hanio’s pride was a tiny bit hurt that they had to enter through the tradesman’s entrance at the back of the splendid chalky limestone embassy. Passing through the kitchen, they ascended a grubby stairway. They opened a door and immediately came into a magnificent Edwardian-style study.
His two companions stood to attention.
On the opposite side of an imposing desk sat a distinguished-looking gray-haired gentleman. He was sitting very straight.
“Sir, we have brought the person we mentioned.”
“You have done well. I am the ambassador of Country A.” The gentleman courteously extended his hand to Hanio. When Hanio shook it, he felt as if he were grasping a dried flower. It seemed so soft that the merest grasp would crush it. Even so, he imagined numerous thorns sticking into his own palm.
“Here is the advance,” the ambassador then said.
A check lay on the table. The ambassador quickly filled in the amount to be paid, two hundred thousand yen, signed his name, and gave it to Hanio before the ink had even dried.
“Right, Ambassador, let’s get right down to business,” said Hanio. “Is that blank paper you have there from Country B?”
“Yes, it is. We got some ready for you.”
“Could I please ask you to get someone to type out one of the intercepted telegrams from Country B, making sure it fits neatly within the borders of the blank sheet?”
“Of course.”
The ambassador rang a bell to summon the typist, and handed her a copy of one of the intercepted telegrams and the blank sheet of paper.
“I’ve got a copy of the telegram here,” he said to Hanio. “Have a read.”
Hanio could tell at a glance that the telegram consisted of a meaningless jumble of words. Even if it were translated directly into Japanese, it would make no sense.
As they waited for the typist to do her job, Hanio, the ambassador, and Hanio’s two companions sat facing each other in complete silence. The wall was decorated with portraits of major politicians from Country A, and the desk was surrounded by bookshelves with gorgeous old leather-bound editions, among them The Collected Works of Benjamin Disraeli. A sickly-sweet odor redolent of Westerners hung in the air.
The rather formal, middle-aged typist showed no expression as she returned with the typed sheet, before taking her leave.
“So…” said the ambassador.
“Right.” Hanio took one of the carrot sticks from the still icy polyethylene bag and tossed it into his mouth.
32
The color of carrots comes from carotenoids, which can be converted by the body into vitamin A. The deeper the carotenoid pigmentation, the more abundant the potential amount of vitamin A. The one constituent in carrots that works to destructive effect is the enzyme ascorbinase, which breaks down vitamin C. On the other hand, carrots contain no starch whatsoever. Consequently, the saliva-based enzyme ptyalin, which changes starch into maltose, has no effect on carrots.
Hanio had a hunch that the secret to ungarbling the letters might be found in the ingenious way in which ascorbinase and ptyalin, two elements that have no effect on each other, combined. There had to be some connection with the reciprocal reactions of these two elements with other chemicals that coated the telegram paper. Where ascorbinase has no effect, ptyalin would produce one chemical reaction, and where ptyalin has no effect, ascorbinase would produce its own separate chemical reaction.
Hanio gave the carrot a good chew, then spat the masticated mush out onto the telegram and smeared it about. They watched as a coded text emerged from among the words.
“Astonishing!” The ambassador was in code-breaking heaven. He began to nod, and emitted a series of contented grunts. “We have lots more carrots. There are plenty of other telegrams I want deciphered. I’m so relieved. This means we have nothing to fear in our dealings with Country B. They won’t know what’s hit them. It looks like it’s ended in a complete tie.”
Hanio was still chewing away. “It could do with a bit more salt. But I think it would work well served as a snack with a drink. Could I trouble you for a glass of whisky?”
“You’ll get your drink later, when it’s all over. Right now, I wouldn’t want anything to affect the chemical reaction.” The ambassador’s eyes shone with delight as he gazed in anticipation at Hanio, who munched away on the carrots like a hungry horse.
33
Once the chewed remnants of all the carrots had been thickly smeared over all the telegrams, Hanio was led into a separate room where he received a check for a further two million yen. His two companions also received a check each. From the happy look on their faces, it was a hefty sum.
The ambassador offered a whisky to Hanio. “How on earth did you manage to do it?” he asked. “I’m dying to know how you figured out a plan of action that involved no risk to life.”
It was beyond Hanio’s ability to spell out all the complex details in English, so he asked the elder, more talkative of his two companions to interpret for him. The man was more than happy to step in, and his English turned out to be pretty fluent—far superior to the basic language skills that Hanio had expected. It ought to be said that Hanio did not mince his words, so the man did some editing where appropriate.
“First of all, I’m amazed at how sloppy Country A has been. Losing three key intelligence officers like that—why, that must have cost millions. On the other hand, those guys were complete mugs, so your country’s probably better off without them. I’d say your biggest mistakes come down to avarice, obliviousness to the essential simplicity of things, and obsession with trivial details. Am I wrong?
“Three intelligence officers went into the embassy of Country B, one after the other, to try out the carrots. They were on the right track, at least up until that point.
“I should tell you that I had a look at a newspaper article reporting the first death. How did the headline go? ‘Dumb Thief Enters Embassy of Country B, Eats Poisoned Carrots, Drops Dead.’ The article went on to describe how the victim was found with a piece of carrot laced with potassium cyanide in his mouth. It included the ambassador’s explanation that some feed for animal experiments they were conducting had been accidentally left out on the table: the thief must have been hungry and eaten it. Everyone who read the article must have thought it was hilarious.
“Now, this is where you all had the wool pulled over your eyes. And, as a consequence, a second spy suffered the same fate. Your mistake was to believe, even after the first death, that the ambassador of Country B was continuing to place poisoned carrots on his table night after night, and was lying in wait for the next thief.
“But I ask you, did anyone actually see the first spy die after putting a carrot in his mouth? Mightn’t someone have crammed it down his throat? The fact is, the ambassador of Country B managed to fool you all into thinking a special carrot was required to break the code you were after. He convinced you that the problem centered around how to distinguish between poisonous and safe carrots. He was running circles round you.
“The moment I heard the story, I could smell a rat. Did it never occur to you that they might be nothing more than ordinary carrots? Even a child could have come up with that idea. But you thought it must all be so incredibly complicated that people ended up losing their lives.
“That’s why I came here with another plan up my sleeve. First of all, I wanted to conduct an experiment with some completely ordinary carrots. I assumed that most carrots in a bunch would be effective. But if my experiment had failed and I’d ended up having to go and try a carrot laced with potassium cyanide, I would have died without regret. When you’re putting your life on the line, there’s no use fussing over a few carrots.
“Actually, I might as well admit right now that I loathe carrots. That dull shade of orange—such a crude, boorish color! And the smell of them—especially when they’re raw! Truly disgusting.
“I detested my father, and when I was a child I’d watch him crunch away on raw carrots. I used to think that, if he carried on like that, he’d turn into a horse. And I swore I’d never allow anything so vulgar to pass my lips for the rest of my life. At some point, that childish way of thinking developed into a visceral revulsion.
“As I grew up, whenever I found myself having to eat a beef stew or some such dish that contained carrots, I would be overcome with disgust—it was worse than peering into the depths of a toilet bowl. And if I came across that novel Poil de carotte—Carrot Head—by Jules Renard on the shelves of a bookshop, the author’s insensitivity would astonish me.
“In short, if I had a choice, I guarantee I’d rather get a hole in the head than eat carrots. But at the present moment, my life lies in my client’s hands rather than my own, so I have made an exception and opted, albeit unwillingly, for the carrots. Two million yen is probably about the right price.
“And now a few words for you, Mr. Ambassador. Stop overcomplicating the way you think about things. Life and politics are generally simple, much more simple—shallow, even—than you imagine. Of course, I’m aware that my attitude might be different if I weren’t prepared to meet death at any moment. It’s only the desire to live as long as possible that makes everything seem complicated and mysterious.
“And now I take my leave. I doubt I’ll be seeing you again. I promise never to discuss the work I’ve done here with any other party, so please refrain from sending any of your fine intelligence officers to keep a watch on me.
“And please do not ask for my help ever again. I’m not going to be any use to you in the future. The petty political squabbles between Country A and Country B do not interest me in the slightest. I imagine it’s only because you have too much time on your hands that all you ever do is pick fights with each other…Goodbye.”
By the time the other man had finished interpreting, Hanio was almost out of the splendid door, his head respectfully lowered.
34
Back at the hospital, he quickly gathered up his belongings and checked out. Taking care that he was not being followed, he went back to his old apartment, and immediately started packing up his things there.
“So you’ve decided finally to leave? Just when you have made such a good recovery? Well, I’m sorry to see you go. I’m afraid I can’t return the half-year’s rent in advance you gave me,” said the super.
“Keep it,” said Hanio.
“For a young guy, you’re pretty loaded, aren’t you?” The words rolled jealously inside the super’s mouth. He seemed to be re-tasting bits of food still caught in there somewhere, like a ruminating cow.
There was not much to pack. Hanio had hardly any books to speak of, and he always threw away clothes that he grew tired of, so all he had to do was to gather together his furniture and pack everything else into three large cardboard boxes. He came upon the toy mouse he had once shared dinner with and tossed it into one of them.
A small removal truck he had booked earlier waited in front of the apartment. The driver gazed idly at a scrawny-looking cherry tree at the entrance to the house opposite. It was the cherry-blossom season, after all. But the tree could not have had more than ten blossoms on it.
Since no help was forthcoming, Hanio brought the furniture down by himself one piece at a time. It may have been that he was not physically back to normal yet, or perhaps the carrots had not agreed with him, but he was drenched in sweat after carrying down just two chairs. The super, lurking somewhere inside, also failed to come to his aid.
As he struggled down the stairs, trying to support the table on one shoulder, he suddenly felt the weight lift off him, and he looked up in surprise to see the elder of his two recent companions lending him a hand.
“Let me help. You’re still getting back your strength.”
Then Hanio watched as the second of his two former companions came springing nimbly up the stairs. “Do you want me to carry these boxes down?” he asked.
It took no time for everything to be loaded into the truck.
“Thanks very much,” said Hanio. “But I told you not to come after me.”
“We weren’t coming after you,” said the first man. “We just thought we ought to help. It’s our experience that people always turn tail and try to run away after they’ve done us some act of kindness. It’s perfectly understandable. We’ll leave you in peace after this, but if you ever do find yourself in need of a favor, please call us anytime. We’ll come straightaway.”
“I take it you carry guns?”
“Naturally.” The man spoke emphatically, presenting his business card with an expression of genuine integrity. There was a name, Makoto Uchiyama, an address, and a telephone number, but no company position.
