The Maid Page 7

I must have blurted it out unconsciously. I was excited. Lately everyone has been saying that I talk to myself. I did it again – that’s all.

  Even while Katsumi was convincing himself of this, he was getting more violent so as not to think about it. Actually this behaviour was nothing new to him. Whenever something unpleasant happened that was beyond his comprehension, he would always try to forget it by escaping into his “work”.

  “No,” Nanase shook her head. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t ‘blurt it out unconsciously’.”

  Katsumi, who had one arm around her chest and the other around her waist, relaxed his grip ever so slightly. He stared at her wide-eyed.

  Nanase grinned and stared back at Katsumi, praying that her intense gaze would unnerve him.

  “Stop it,” Katsumi spoke for the first time, his voice low and threatening.

  It’s a mind-reading trick. That’s it. It’s just some silly mind-reading trick. She’s trying to startle me with her guesses. She’s hoping I’ll get frightened and stop.

  “Don’t talk nonsense. It’s not a ‘mind-reading trick’.” Nanase shook her head again. “I’m not ‘trying to startle you with my guesses’.”

  It’s her mind-reading trick again. Don’t be shocked.

  Contrary to what he was thinking, however, Katsumi instinctively felt something was wrong. Of its own accord his body separated from Nanase as primitive fear welled up inside him – a fear growing larger by the moment.

  Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Reading people’s minds completely. That’s crazy. She’s a monster. The goblin that knows it all. There is one! It really does exist.

  “That’s right. I can ‘read people’s minds completely’,” said Nanase as she slowly sat up. “I am the goblin that knows it all.”

  Katsumi retreated into a corner of the room, still staring at Nanase. His eyes wide and round, he had taken on the expression of an idiot.

  The goblin that knows it all. The goblin that knows it all. She’s the goblin that knows it all.

  The goblin that knows it all was a horror story Katsumi’s grandmother had told him as a child. Since the word “telepathy” was not part of Katsumi’s vocabulary, it was only natural that this monster would come to mind.

  “That’s right. Your grandmother told you about the goblin when you were a child,” Nanase went on. Acting the part to the hilt, she grinned broadly.

  Reason in Katsumi’s mind collapsed with a bang.

  In his confused consciousness, purpose, will and erotic impulse vanished. All that was left in him was the dread of the unknown and fear of nature common to uncivilized man.

  Nanase was no stranger to the legend of the goblin that knows it all. It thrilled her to think that a fear of telepathy had given birth to this legend long ago. Whether the story was Japanese or foreign in origin was of no great consequence. If such telepathists had indeed existed in the past, then it was possible that even today there were many others besides herself.

  The goblin that knows it all – referred to in some localities as the mountain man – was a monster who could read people’s minds. He lived in the mountains, and was said to have one eye and one leg. He would sometimes go down to a village and approach a man working alone in the fields.

  If the villager thought that a creepy-looking fellow had come along, the goblin would immediately say to him: “Just now you looked at me and thought that a creepy-looking fellow had come along.” He would then repeat the villager’s thoughts one after another. The villager would grow more and more confused, until he could no longer think of anything. The moment his mind became a blank, the monster would pounce on him and eat his brains.

  The legend of the mountain man was a bit different. Appearing before a farmer chopping firewood, the mountain man, like the goblin, correctly reads the farmer’s thoughts one after another. The farmer is flustered, but he continues chopping. Suddenly a piece of wood flies up and hits the mountain man in his one eye, crushing it. The monster runs off screaming into the mountains, never to return to the village.

  Since even the mountain man had been unable to predict the accident, the ending was reassuring in its message that telepathy is not all-powerful. If telepathy had indeed been used as a kind of torture, then this legend offered one passive way to contend with it.

  Of course, what really mattered to Nanase was that Katsumi’s horror story could be used against him to escape from his clutches. At first she had scared him by revealing her power gradually, but now she realized that this was her only way out.

  She understands everything I’m thinking. Don’t think. Don’t think of anything.

  Katsumi, bathed in sweat, sat upright on the tatami mat and stared at Nanase.

  “That won’t work,” Nanase said slowly. “It’s impossible for a human being not to think of anything.”

  “Ah.”

  Katsumi’s chin dropped a few inches. He tried to move, but was paralysed.

  She knows everything. Then she might also know about my lusting after Ayako.

  “Of course I know. Inside your head, you’ve undressed Ayako and raped her. Over and over. Over and over.”

  “Yaah.”

  Katsumi tried to stand up. But he still could not move. His face began to twitch.

  “Forgive me. Please forgive me.”

  Don’t think. Keep talking. I mustn’t think.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ayako. I mustn’t think.

  “I’ll never again…”

  My daughter-in-law. Don’t think. Immoral.

  Nanase responded not to Katsumi’s words, but only to what appeared in his mind.

  “That’s right. Even thinking about it is ‘immoral’. Raping your daughter-in-law.”

  Katsumi broke out into a smile. It was a smile coming from the far end of fear and confusion. His consciousness was regressing.

  It’s Teruko’s fault. She’s the one to blame. She kept refusing me. Forgive me. Granny. Fairy tales. What’s so wrong? Just once in a lifetime… I was level-headed at work. I never fooled around once. All the other section chiefs fooled around with the girls at work. I didn’t. After retiring, my free time put all kinds of thoughts into my head.

  “That’s unfair,” said Nanase sharply. “Blaming your wife for your bad conduct. ‘Free time after retiring’? You think that kind of excuse will wash with me?”

  Katsumi’s mind had regressed to his early childhood, into fragments of distant memories.

  You’re wrong. I’m not to blame. Let’s wipe out the bad guys. I’m the little peach boy Momotaro. I’ll teach them a lesson. I’ll go and teach them a lesson. I’m not the one who has to be taught a lesson. OK. Granny, let’s go teach the bad guys a lesson.

  “No, You’re the one who has to be taught a lesson. I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

  Nanase had no idea where this meaningless exchange would lead them. Still, once begun, she felt compelled to see it through to the end.

  “Ugh…”

  Katsumi stood up finally and stumbled into the hallway.

  I’m leaving. I’m leaving. Granny. I’m going to Granny’s. I’m going to Granny’s.

  “Wait!” Nanase hurriedly followed him, throwing on the pyjamas Katsumi had ripped off her. “I’m not going to let you leave.”

  Katsumi was about to sit down in the hall, but with Nanase’s voice raining down on him from behind, he stumbled off again. He began to crawl up the dark stairs.

  I’ve got to go back. I’ve got to go back. Go back to Granny’s .

  Nanase stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching a grotesque Katsumi squirm idiotically in the darkness.

  Any further punishment would be too cruel. But Nanase could not stop now. Once Katsumi regained his reason, his existence would be a terrible threat to her. He would know about her ESP, and there was no telling what he might do. He could blab about it to anyone.

  Even if no one believed him, he would be the only person in the world who knew about her power. For that
reason alone she had to do whatever was necessary to obliterate his existence.

  In order to protect herself, Nanase had no choice but to destroy his mind.

  She faced the dark second-floor landing and shouted, “Your grandmother isn’t there. She isn’t anywhere. That grandmother of yours who was always sitting in the upstairs parlour – she’s dead. She’s been dead for ages. Dead. Dead. The granny who protected you from everything is gone. There’s no place for you to go to.”

  All the decorations fell gently from the roof of Katsumi’s consciousness, and in a flash the room turned into a void. In that instant, his consciousness became so perfectly empty that it took Nanase’s breath away. Katsumi stood up on the landing and, just as Nanase wondered whether his mind had really become a blank, he started to laugh quietly to himself.

  “Hee hee hee.”

  The strange clutter inside Katsumi’s subconscious broke down its last restraining barrier and all at once burst forth onto the surface. Katsumi had gone mad.

  “Ha ha ha.”

  “Oh.” Nanase covered her face and cowered. She had never glimpsed the mind of a madman before. The muddle of Katsumi’s id, full of a fright far more primitive than the most irrational of fears, now gave rise to a coarse, devilish laughter that came swooping down the stairs and over Nanase’s head.

  In a panic, Nanase let down the latch in her own mind, shutting Katsumi’s mind out. But the horror would not leave her.

  She could not stop shaking.

  Finally Nanase stood up slowly and stared at Katsumi.

  Her victim was there, laughing senselessly. She had accomplished her purpose.

  From the dark staircase into the dark hallway, throughout the darkened house, the mad Katsumi’s laughter spread.

  “What’s wrong? What are you laughing at?” Teruko’s footsteps came pattering down the hallway.

  “Nana, what’s happened? Where are you? What are you laughing at?”

  5

  The Saint in the Flames of Hell

  “The Negishis? Dear, isn’t Mrs Negishi that quiet, refined woman?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Nanase had asked the couple who ran the stationery store by the station for directions to the Negishi residence. In a town that did not seem particularly small, Mrs Negishi’s refinement must have quite outshone that of the other housewives – enough to have created an impression even at the local stationery store.

  The Negishis lived in a modern neighbourhood about five minutes uphill from the station. Unlike the other houses with their spacious, American-style front lawns, the Negishi residence was built on a stone-faced embankment, surrounded by high concrete walls.

  The intelligent-looking Mrs Negishi led Nanase into a living room that faced a large garden, and, without being overly inquisitive, chatted about this and that. Nanase had heard about her from her previous employer and, as she had pictured her, Mrs Negishi was a woman of elegant speech and bearing, with a gentle expression.

  “I have a baby,” she said. She was smiling, but her eyes were not. “A ten-month-old boy, so I have a lot on my hands. Since my husband often works at home, I have to look after him as well. That’s why I’ve asked you to come.”

  It was obvious from her way of speaking that she feared the world would think ill of a twenty-nine-year-old housewife hiring a maid. She was trying to justify herself.

  However, her near-perfect act could not fool Nanase’s telepathy. After ten minutes of conversation, Nanase realized that Mrs Negishi’s modesty, refinement and cordiality were all a charade. Any modesty and refinement that could impress the couple who ran the local stationery store were probably only achieved with a bit of overacting.

  In their three years of marriage, Mrs Negishi had been playing a role before her husband as well. For her, the only way to keep her marriage going was either to maintain a tight control over her husband or to continue her charade. Since she considered herself an intellectual, she chose the latter course.

  Kikuko Negishi’s husband, Shinzo, was an associate professor at a private university and, like his wife, was twenty-nine years old. They had fallen in love when they were both psychology students. In fact, Shinzo’s specialization in psychology was one of the reasons that Nanase had decided to take this job.

  That day, Shinzo returned at four in the afternoon when his lecture was over. His tiny eyes peered from behind rimless glasses and his expression was almost always the same. When Kikuko introduced Nanase in the living room, his mouth suddenly tensed.

  Nanase Hita. Hita. Hita. I’ve heard that name before.

  Hita was an unusual last name, and it had sparked Shinzo’s memory. Nanase tried to explore his consciousness, but all she could find there was that the name seemed to belong to someone connected with his research. Shinzo himself was unable to recall who it was, and he immediately started thinking about something else.

  “Don’t go into my study,” he told Nanase. “I’ll tell you when I want it cleaned.”

  The academic-minded Shinzo would never put up with a cloddish girl straightening out the papers on his desk or rearranging the books on his shelves.

  “But if I leave his study the way it is, the dust piles up,” Kikuko said to Nanase with a smile after Shinzo went off to his study. “Insects breed and it’s not sanitary. So sometimes I clean it without telling him. If he finds out, he gets angry. Still…”

  Kikuko was using cleanliness and order as a weapon. She knew that Shinzo could never brand her a bad wife just for cleaning his study; at the same time she wanted to show the world what an absent-minded and childish scholar her husband was. If word of her problems with this temperamental husband of hers got around, then her wifely act would be all the more convincing. In Kikuko’s logic, the role of “good wife” could only be carried off by turning her husband into a clown.

  As Nanase saw it, on a deeper level, Kikuko deliberately wanted to belittle her husband’s scholarship; she couldn’t ridicule Shinzo without making fun of his work as well. Yet, vain as she was, she would pray fervently for her husband’s academic success. Kikuko herself remained completely unaware of this contradiction inside her.

  “You don’t have to worry. I won’t make you do it,” said Kikuko, still smiling. She had misinterpreted Nanase’s pensive look. “I’ll do the cleaning myself. I’m used to getting yelled at.” She wanted Nanase to like her.

  She should feel sorry for me and blab to everyone about Shinzo’s odd ways.

  Kikuko was still thinking this as she fed her baby, who had woken up and started to fuss.

  But she may not work out – she seems the quiet type.

  Nanase was surprised to discover that here was the real reason Kikuko had hired her. In fact, the following day Kikuko began her machinations to make sure Nanase would notice her husband’s peculiar, childish ways. He’d extinguish his cigarettes in teacups or bowls; when he finished eating, he’d stick his chopsticks into the rice remaining in his bowl; left to himself, he’d use the same handkerchief every day, and after wiping his desk and shoes with it, he’d wipe his hands and face, and so on. Actually, from Nanase’s viewpoint, these eccentricities were only indications of the indifferent, simple nature of men.

  Obviously, Kikuko herself could not blab about her husband. If it became clear that she was bad-mouthing him, she’d no longer be the good wife.

  When Shinzo was home, he’d spend almost all of the time in the study and appear only at mealtimes. When he occasionally ran into Nanase, he would try to recall the person he knew named Hita. Always the face refused to surface, and his thoughts would immediately turn elsewhere. These thoughts often concerned his mistress, Akiko, who was a student in the psychology department.

  The sofa in my office, late at night. The cold bed in the inn. Her cold flesh. No one knows. It’s nothing but a cheap affair. I’m already tired of her. There are other possibilities. I’m better off breaking up with Akiko before anyone finds out about it.

  However, it wasn’t like
ly that someone so indifferent in his approach to appearance could carry off an affair unnoticed. First of all, Kikuko could sense it. She didn’t know the name of the woman, but traces she found on his handkerchiefs convinced her she was right.

  There are lots of girls studying psychology. Even a man like Shinzo can find someone who would sleep with him.

  Kikuko had even guessed that he was sleeping with a girl, but that he’d have no trouble moving on to someone new. Even granting that she knew the atmosphere at school, for someone without telepathic powers her insight was amazing.

  “What time will you be home today?” Kikuko always asked her husband at breakfast on the days he went to the university. Shinzo usually gave some mechanical reply. It never occurred to him that Kikuko would actually remember the time. That she might prepare a meal to coincide with his return was beyond his comprehension. For him, eating was something virtually forced on him when he happened to be at home during mealtimes. Shinzo had no interest in food, and Nanase found his primitive taste buds a source of wonder.

  His lecture ended at 3.50. It’s now 7.40. Three hours for sex. He’ll be home soon.

  Kikuko, who could figure out exactly when her husband was engaging in sex, would spend the same time burning with jealousy, hugging her baby to herself and brooding. Kikuko had no outlet for her violent jealousy. Whenever Nanase would peer into her mind and see this hell, she’d hastily retract her telepathic antennae and let down the latch on her own consciousness.

  Her husband’s affair was the one thing Kikuko kept hidden from Nanase. She wanted to maintain an intellectual superiority over Shinzo. If his adultery became common knowledge, people would be bound to blame her as well.

  “You must have had an exhausting day, coming home so late.”

  When he’d return after his sexual dalliance, while sharing a late meal, Kikuko would hurl this at him spitefully. She would smile at him sympathetically. But sarcasm was wasted on Shizo.

  “The young professors are made to do all the work for the conference. I don’t have any time for my own research.”

  Tonight Akiko was unusually passionate. Maybe she can tell I’m losing interest and is trying to stave off the break-up.