Ryuji’s arms had been folded behind his head; now he stretched them wide. His eyes glittered. “Don’t you find it fascinating, Asakawa? The idea that genes could escape from our cells and become another life form? Maybe all opposites were originally identical. Even light and darkness—before the Big Bang they were living together in peace, with no contradiction. God and the Devil, too. All the Devil is is a god who fell from grace—they’re the same thing, originally. Male and female? It used to be that all living things were hermaphroditic, like worms or slugs, with both female and male sex organs. Don’t you think that’s the ultimate symbol of power and beauty?” Ryuji laughed as he said this. “It’d sure save a lot of time and trouble when it comes to sex.”
Asakawa peered at Ryuji’s face to see what was so funny. There was no way that an organism with both female and male genitalia epitomized perfect beauty.
“Are there any other extinct viruses?”
“Gee, if you’re so interested I suggest you look right into it when you get back to Tokyo.”
“If I get back.”
“Heh, heh. Don’t worry. You’ll get back.”
At that moment the high-speed boat they were on was exactly halfway through the voyage linking Oshima and Ito, on the Izu Peninsula. They could have made it back to Tokyo quicker by flying, but they wanted to visit Dr Nagao in Atami, so they’d taken the sea route.
Straight ahead they could see the ferris wheel at the Atami Korakuen. They were arriving right on time, at 10:50. Asakawa descended the gangway and ran to the parking lot where they’d left their rental car.
“Calm down, would you?” Ryuji followed at a leisurely pace. Nagao’s clinic was near Kinomiya Station on the Ito Line—not very far away at all. Asakawa watched impatiently as Ryuji climbed into the car, and then headed into Atami’s maze of hills and one-way streets.
Immediately after he’d settled himself, Ryuji said, with a perfectly straight face, “Hey, I was thinking—maybe the Devil’s behind this whole thing after all.” Asakawa was too busy looking at street signs to answer. Ryuji continued. “The Devil always appears in the world in a different form. You know the bubonic plague that ravaged Europe in the second half of the thirteenth century? Half of the total population died. Can you believe that? Half, that’s like the population of Japan being reduced to sixty million. Naturally, artists at the time likened the plague to the Devil. It’s like that now, too—don’t we talk about AIDS as if it were a modern Devil? But listen, devils never drive humanity to extinction. Why? Because if people cease to exist, so do devils. The same with viruses. If the host cell perishes, the virus can’t survive. But humanity drove the smallpox virus to extinction. Really? Could we really do that?”
It’s impossible in the modern world to even imagine the terror once inspired by smallpox, when it raged throughout the world claiming so many lives. Such was the suffering it caused that it gave rise to innumerable religious beliefs and superstitions in Japan, as well as elsewhere. People believed in gods of pestilence, and it was the God of Smallpox that brought that disease, though perhaps it should have been called a devil. In any case, could people really drive a god to the brink of extinction? Ryuji’s question harbored a deep uncertainty.
Asakawa wasn’t listening to Ryuji. In some corner of his mind he wondered why the guy was rambling on about this now, but mainly he was just thinking about not making any wrong turns. Every nerve focussed on getting to Dr Nagao’s clinic as fast as possible.
11
In a lane in front of Kinomiya Station was a small, one-story house with a shingle by the door that read Nagao Clinic: Internal Medicine and Pediatrics. Asakawa and Ryuji stood in front of the door for some time. If they couldn’t pull any information out of Nagao, it’d be sorry, time’s up! There was no more time to scare up new leads. But just what was there to find out from him? It was probably hoping for too much to think that he’d even remember much of anything about Sadako Yamamura from thirty years ago. They didn’t even have any hard evidence that Sadako had any connection at all with the sanatorium in South Hakone. All of Nagao’s colleagues at the sanatorium, except for Yozo Tanaka, had died of old age. They probably could have tracked down the names of some nurses if they’d tried, but it was too late for that now.
Asakawa looked at his watch. 11:30. Only a little over ten hours left until the deadline, and here he was, hesitating to open the door.
“What are you waiting for? Go on in.” Ryuji gave him a shove. Of course, he could understand why Asakawa was hesitating, even though he’d been in such a hurry to get here. He was scared. No doubt he was afraid of seeing his last hope dashed, his last chance to survive eliminated. Ryuji stepped in front of him and opened the door.
A couch big enough for three people stood along one wall of the small waiting room. Conveniently, there were no patients waiting. Ryuji bent over at the little receptionist’s window and spoke to the fat middle-aged nurse behind it. “Excuse me. We’d like to see the doctor.”
Without lifting her eyes from her magazine, the nurse lazily replied, “Would you like to make an appointment?”
“No, that’s not it. There’s something we’d like to ask him about.”
She closed her magazine, looked up, and put on her glasses. “May I ask what this is in regards to?”
“Like I say, we’d just like to ask him a few questions.”
Irritated, Asakawa peeked out from behind Ryuji’s back and asked, “Is the doctor in?”
The nurse touched the rims of her glasses with both hands and studied the two men. “What is this about?” she asked overbearingly.
Both Ryuji and Asakawa stood up straight. Ryuji said, loudly enough to be heard, “With a receptionist like her it’s no wonder there are no patients.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
Asakawa hung his head; it wouldn’t do to get her angry. But just then the door to the examination room opened and Nagao appeared, dressed in a white lab coat.
Although he was completely bald, Nagao looked rather younger than his 57 years. He frowned and fixed a suspicious gaze on the two men in his entryway.
Asakawa and Ryuji both turned at the sound of Nagao’s voice, and the instant they saw his face, they gasped simultaneously.
And we thought this guy might be able to tell us something about Sadako? No kidding. As if it were an electric current coursing through his brain, Asakawa found himself replaying the final scene of the video in his head. The sweating, panting face of a man seen from close up, eyes bloodshot. A gaping wound in his exposed shoulder, from which blood ran, dripping into the viewer’s eyes, clouding them over. A tremendous pressure on the viewer’s chest, murderous intent in the man’s face … And that face was exactly what they saw now: Dr Nagao. He was older now, but there was no way of mistaking him.
Asakawa and Ryuji exchanged glances. Then Ryuji pointed at the doctor and began to laugh. “Heh, heh, heh. Now this is why games are interesting. Ah, who would have thought it? Imagine running into you here.”
Nagao was obviously displeased at the way these two strange men had reacted to seeing him. He raised his voice. “Who are you?” Unfazed, Ryuji walked right up to him and grabbed him by the lapels. Nagao was several centimeters taller than Ryuji. Ryuji flexed his powerful arms and pulled the doctor’s ear to his mouth, then spoke in a gentle voice that belied his strength.
“So tell me, pal, what was it you did to Sadako Yamamura thirty years ago at the South Hakone Sanatorium?”
It took a few seconds for the words to sink into the doctor’s brain. Nagao’s eyes darted around nervously as he searched his memories. Then they came to him, scenes of a time he’d never been able to forget. His knees sagged; all the strength seemed to go out of his body. Just as he was about to faint, Ryuji steadied him and leaned him back against the wall. Nagao wasn’t shocked by the memories themselves. Rather, it was the fact that the man before him, who may or may not have even been thirty years old, knew about what had happened. Indescribable dread pi
erced his soul.
“Doctor!” exclaimed the nurse, Ms Fujimura.
“I think it’s about time this place closed for lunch,” Ryuji said, signaling to Asakawa with his eyes. Asakawa closed the curtain over the entryway so that no patients would come in.
“Doctor!” Nurse Fujimura didn’t know how to handle the situation. She just waited, dumbly, for Nagao to instruct her. Nagao somehow pulled himself together a little and thought about what to do next. Thinking that above all, he couldn’t let this nosy woman find out about what had happened, he assumed a calm expression.
“Nurse Fujimura, you can take your break now. Run along now and get something to eat.”
“But, doctor …”
“Just do as I say. There’s no need to worry about me.”
First two strange men come in and whisper something in the doctor’s ear, and the next thing she knows the doctor is collapsing. She didn’t know what to make of all this, and so she just stood there for a few moments. Finally, the doctor shouted, “Go, now!” She practically flew out the front door.
“Now, then. Let’s hear what you have to say for yourself.” Ryuji went into the examination room. Nagao followed after, looking like a patient who’s just been informed he has cancer.
“I’ll warn you before we start, you mustn’t lie to us. I and this gentleman here know everything—we’ve seen it with our very eyes.” Ryuji pointed first to Asakawa and then to his own eyes.
“What the … ?” Seen it? Impossible. The bushes were too thick. There was nobody else around. Not to mention, these two are too young. They would have only been …
“I understand why you might be reluctant to believe me. But we both know your face—all too well.” Suddenly Ryuji’s tone changed. “Why don’t I tell you one of your distinguishing features? You’ve still got a scar on your right shoulder, haven’t you?”
Nagao’s eyes grew wide with astonishment, and his jaw started to quiver. After a pregnant pause, Ryuji said, “Now, shall I tell you why you have that scar on your shoulder?” Ryuji leaned over and stretched his neck until his lips were almost touching Nagao’s shoulder. “Sadako Yamamura bit you, didn’t she? Just like this.” Ryuji opened his mouth and pretended to bite through the white cloth. Nagao’s trembling grew worse, and he desperately tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t work. He couldn’t form words.
“I think you get my point. Now, we’re not going to repeat anything you tell us. We promise. All we want to know is everything that happened to Sadako.”
Not that he was in any condition to think at all, but Nagao didn’t think Ryuji’s words quite added up. If they’d already seen everything, why did they need to hear anything from the doctor’s mouth? But wait, the whole idea that they saw anything is silly. They couldn’t have seen anything. They probably weren’t even born yet. So what’s going on here? What do they think they’ve seen? The more he thought about it the less sense it made, until his head felt like it was ready to burst.
“Heh, heh, heh.” Ryuji chuckled and looked at Asakawa. The man’s eyes said it all. Frighten him like this and he’ll come clean. He’ll tell us anything.
And indeed, Nagao began to talk. He himself was puzzled as to why he remembered everything so clearly. And as he spoke, every sensory organ in his body began to recall the excitement of that day. The passion, the heat, the touch, the glossy shine of her skin, the song of the locusts, the mingled smells of sweat and grass, and the old well …
“I don’t even know what caused it. Maybe the fever and headache robbed me of my ordinary good judgment. Those were the early symptoms of smallpox—which meant I had already passed through the incubation period. But I didn’t dream that I had caught the disease myself. Fortunately, I managed not to infect anyone else in the sanatorium. To this day I’m haunted by the thought of what would have happened if the tuberculosis patients had been attacked by smallpox as well.
“The day was a hot one. I’d been examining the tomograms of a newly-admitted patient, and I had found a hole the size of a one-yen coin in one of his lungs. I’d told him to resign himself to spending a year with us, and then I’d given him a copy of the diagnosis to give his company. Then I couldn’t take it anymore—I just had to get outside. But even breathing the fresh mountain air didn’t make the pain in my head go away. So I went down the stone steps beside the ward, thinking to take shelter in the shade of the garden. There I noticed a young woman leaning against a tree trunk, gazing at the world down below. She wasn’t one of our patients. She was the daughter of a patient who’d been there long before I arrived, a man named Heihachiro Ikuma, a former assistant professor at Taido University. Her name was Sadako Yamamura. I remember the name well: her family name was different from her father’s. For about a month she had been making frequent visits to the sanatorium, but she didn’t spend much time with her father. Nor would she ask the doctors much about his condition. All I could assume was that she was there to enjoy the alpine scenery. I sat down next to her and smiled at her, asking her how her father was doing. But she didn’t look like she even wanted to know much about his illness. On the other hand, it was clear that she knew he didn’t have much longer. I could tell by the way she spoke. She knew the day her father was going to die, with more certainty than any doctor’s educated guess.
“Sitting there beside her like that, talking to her about her life and her family, I suddenly became aware that my headache, so unbearable a little while ago, had retreated. In its place appeared a fever accompanied by an odd feeling of excitement. I felt vitality well up within me, as if the temperature of my blood had been raised. I gazed at her face. I felt what I always felt, a sense of wonder that a woman with such perfect features should exist in the world. I’m not exactly sure what defines beauty, but I know that Dr Tanaka, who was twenty years older than me, used to say the same thing. That he’d never seen anyone more beautiful than Sadako Yamamura. My breathing was choked with fever, but somehow I controlled it enough to softly put a hand on her shoulder and say to her, ‘Let’s go somewhere cooler to talk, in the shade.’
“She suspected nothing. She nodded once and started to get to her feet. And as she stood up, and bent over, I saw—down the front of her white blouse—her perfectly-formed little breasts. They were so white that my whole mind was suddenly dyed milky white, and it was as if my reason was taken from me in the shock.
“She paid no attention to my agitation, but just brushed the dust from her long skirt. Her gestures seemed so innocent and adorable.
“We strolled on and on through the lush forest, surrounded by the droning of the cicadas. I hadn’t decided on any particular destination, but my feet kept heading in a certain direction. Sweat ran down my back. I took off my shirt, leaving only my undershirt. We followed an animal track until it opened up onto the side of a valley where there stood a dilapidated old house. It had probably been at least ten years since anyone had lived there. The walls were rotting and the roof looked like it could collapse at any moment. There was a well on the other side of the house, and when she saw it she ran toward it, saying, ‘Oh, I’m so thirsty.’ She bent over to look in. Even from the outside it was obvious that the well wasn’t used anymore. I ran to the well, too. But not to look inside. What I wanted to see was Sadako’s chest as she bent over again. I placed both hands on the lip of the well and got a close look. I could feel cool, damp air rising from the dark depths of the earth to caress my face, but it couldn’t take away the burning urge I felt. I didn’t know where the urge came from. I think now that the smallpox fever had taken away my mechanism of control. I swear to you, I had never experienced such sensual temptation before in my life.
“I found myself reaching out to touch that gentle swelling. She looked up in shock. Something snapped inside me. My memories of what happened next are hazy. All I can recall are fragmentary scenes. I found myself pressing Sadako to the ground. I pulled her blouse up over her breasts, and then … My memory skips to her resisting, violently, and then
biting my shoulder; it was the intense pain that brought me to my senses. I saw the blood flowing from my shoulder drip onto her face. Blood dripped into her eyes, and she shook her head in revulsion. I adjusted my body to that rhythmic movement. What did my face look like then? What did she see when she looked at me? The face of a beast, I’m sure. That’s what I was thinking as I finished.
“When it was over, she fixed me with an implacable gaze. Still lying on her back, she raised her knees and skillfully used her elbows to scoot backwards. I looked at her body again. I thought my eyes had deceived me. Her wrinkled gray skirt had bunched up around her waist, and she made no move to cover her breasts as she backed up. A ray of sunlight fell on the point where her thighs converged, clearly illuminating a small, blackish lump. I raised my eyes to her chest—beautifully-shaped breasts. Then I looked down again. Within her pubic mound, covered with hair, was a pair of perfectly developed testicles.
“Had I not been a doctor, I probably would have been shocked senseless. But I knew of cases such as this from photos in medical texts. Testicular feminization syndrome. It’s an extremely rare syndrome. I never thought I’d see one outside of a textbook—much less in a situation such as that. Testicular feminization is a type of male pseudohermaphroditism. Externally the person seems completely female, having breasts and a vagina, but usually not a uterus. Chromosomally the person is XY, however—male. And for some reason people with this condition are all beautiful.
“Sadako was still staring at me. I was probably the first person outside her family to discover the secret of her body. Needless to say, she had been a virgin up until a few minutes previously. It had been a necessary trial if she were to go on living as a woman. I was trying to rationalize my actions. Then, suddenly, words flew into my head.
“I’ll kill you.
“As I reeled from the strength of will behind the words, I instantaneously intuited that her telepathic message was no lie. There was no room within it for even a sliver of doubt; my body accepted it as a certainty. She’d kill me, if I didn’t kill her first. My body’s instinct for self-preservation gave me an order. I climbed back on top of her, placed both hands on her slender neck, and pressed with my full weight. To my surprise, there was less resistance this time. She narrowed her eyes with pleasure and relaxed her body, almost as if she wanted to die.