Paprika Read online

  “IL EST …” Noda started, but his schoolboy French failed him. Instead, he just muttered, “But he’s dead … he’s dead …”

  According to Noda’s signifiant, the old man who was so sternly criticizing office politics was the former President of his company.

  “And, CUT!” a voice suddenly called. The meeting was being filmed as a scene in a movie. A man unknown to Paprika was the director. The cameraman was Namba. The male actors in the meeting room, their faces unclear, all now relaxed and came out of character. The room was filled with commotion and chatter. The set was a lavish banqueting room that could have been a scene from a film by Visconti, say. Judging by the scarcity of women and the way the guests were dressed, it was obviously a company party.

  Baseball cap, sunglasses, mustache. He was every bit a film director, a stereotypical caricature of a film director. But he lacked the comical touch of parody. Paprika intuitively felt that this was a “shadow,” one of Jung’s archetypes. It was without a doubt the “potential self” of Noda, as the person who was having the dream. The film director must have been Noda himself; he had probably dreamt of being a film director when he was a boy.

  “Did you want to be a film director?” asked Paprika, hoping to confirm her theory. The viewpoint of the dream instantly changed. Now it was seen through the director’s eyes. Noda, the director, yelled at Paprika.

  “Come on, it’s ********! Ready! And—”

  But before he could say “Action,” Paprika yelled back at him. “Who’s the cameraman?!” It could not have been Namba.

  This appeared to come as a shock. Just as he was mouthing “*********,” Noda woke up. Paprika may have failed as a dream detective, but felt instinctively that she’d come close to the heart of the matter.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Noda was lying on his side and staring vacantly at Paprika.

  “What do you want to do? Can you get back to sleep?” she asked.

  “Ah, Paprika,” Noda said in unconcealed admiration. “You appeared in my dream, didn’t you. That was wonderful. Just wonderful.”

  It’s therapy, thought Paprika. You’re not supposed to enjoy it. “Well, all right. You just stay as you are and we’ll have a look at it, OK?”

  “OK.” Noda’s speech was unclear, as if he were still in his dream.

  Paprika decided to go through the dream strictly according to theory. “You were the director, weren’t you.”

  Noda looked embarrassed. “Well, it was nothing really. Just a childhood ambition – we all have them!”

  Paprika decided not to mention Namba, but skipped back from the still picture on the screen to the previous scene. “This first President, did he value you highly?”

  “Well … yes, I suppose he did. It must be about six years since he died. But you know, he wasn’t really the type to gather all the employees and lecture them like that …”

  “You respected him?”

  “Well, yes. I wish I could have learnt a lot more from him. He despised internal politics, and quite rightly so.”

  “Aah. The Wise Old Man.”

  “Pardon?”

  “One of Jung’s archetypes. The Wise Old Man. An old man in a dream is someone who teaches us how to act appropriately. It’s supposed to be a personification of the unconscious wisdom inside us.”

  “So he’s telling me that internal politics aren’t good?”

  “No, it’s something else. He mentioned victims, didn’t he?”

  “That’s right.” Noda’s expression changed to a grimace as he tried to remember something. “But I don’t understand what he meant.”

  Back-skip. “What about Segawa’s nonsensical math lesson?”

  “Yes. I met Segawa last night, at the party.” Noda laughed. “A residue of my day, I suppose?”

  “Could be, but why math?”

  “Well, he is a very calculating individual …”

  “Does he look like your old maths teacher?”

  “No.”

  “So who is this then, really? Try to think of someone from your school days. Someone who was good at math and looked like a bear?!”

  “Well, there was one boy called Takao. He was sickeningly good at math, and he was also quite thickset. But I hardly had anything to do with him.”

  If he was nothing more than a classmate of Noda’s, this Takao should have appeared as himself in Noda’s dream. But he was being camouflaged as Segawa; he had to be someone Noda didn’t want to remember.

  Back-skip. “And the scene before that was the old tobacco store.”

  “Ah. By the bus stop. It was about twelve minutes on foot from where I lived. Or thirteen. About that.” Noda had suddenly found his tongue. It was almost as if he were trying to hide something.

  “So we’re behind this old tobacco store. By the stream. Did something happen there?”

  Noda groaned. “Aha. That’s where my classmates used to have fights.”

  “Who had fights there? Was it this Takao?”

  “Yes. Takao had fights there too.”

  “And did you?”

  “No. I never had fights.” Beads of sweat appeared on Noda’s brow.

  11

  “It must be painful for you,” said Paprika. She was being careful not to push him too hard; if she did, his defense mechanisms might overreact and the treatment would then be delayed.

  The vacant lot behind the old tobacco store had evoked a strong sense of anxiety in Noda. If Paprika hadn’t been there with him, Noda would have woken and suppressed it, thereby wiping the scene from his memory.

  “Look, your face is covered in sweat.”

  “It’s not just my face,” Noda said in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, but your sheets are soaking.”

  “Never mind. Want to have a shower?”

  “Yes, maybe I will.” Noda started to get up, then hesitated. After all, this was a young woman’s apartment, not a hospital. “But no, it wouldn’t be right …”

  “Not that again!” Paprika said with a sardonic smile. “Always so considerate. A proper gentleman.”

  Paprika changed the sheets, then threw some breakfast together while Noda took his shower. Bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. She would have made a salad, but had run out of vegetables. So she opened a can of asparagus instead. Paprika was quite looking forward to having breakfast with Noda; she even started singing to herself. The song was “P.S. I Love You.” She’d started to like Noda’s personality. She would probably get to like him even more as the treatment progressed.

  “Let’s eat here while we continue,” Paprika said as Noda re-emerged in a bathrobe.

  Gazing through the window of Paprika’s living room, Noda gasped at the sight of the metropolis bathed in early morning sunlight. “Look at that. How utterly beautiful.” He wondered again whether this was really where Paprika lived, but kept his question to himself.

  “We’re facing west,” said Paprika. “Means the living room doesn’t get any sun in the morning. Too bad.”

  Noda buttoned his shirt and sat opposite Paprika. This was just what he would have for breakfast at home, he commented. So his wife doesn’t make salad either, thought Paprika.

  “Do you remember our battle?” Paprika said with a little giggle.

  “You mean the Bond film? Yes, I remember.” Noda shifted bashfully in his seat. “It was a scene from Dr. No. The very first Bond film.”

  “When did you see it?”

  “Well … That would have been when I was at junior high. I went to town to see it on my own. Liked it so much I saw it twice. Nearly missed the bus home.”

  Noda spoke at some length about his childhood home. He’d been brought up in a farming village near the mountains in Yamanashi Prefecture. He came from a respected family; his father was a doctor.

  Paprika changed the subject back to the Bond film. “Namba was in it too, wasn’t he.”

  “Yes, he was the enemy. Ha! Just a ‘residue of my day,’ I suppose.”
/>   Paprika smiled wryly. Perhaps she shouldn’t have taught him that phrase. She wouldn’t be able to analyze anything if he was going to laugh it all off as a “residue of his day.”

  “But before that, Mari appeared, didn’t she. Was that you as well?” asked Noda.

  “Yep. Remember the red bicycle?”

  “Vividly. The color was so vivid.”

  “Maybe we should make the reflector show colors after all. If I’d just been watching the monitor, I wouldn’t have known it was red at all.”

  “That’s right. Mind if I have some more coffee?”

  “Help yourself. Sukenobu was on the bike, wasn’t he. Do you remember anyone at your school who rode a red bike?”

  Noda straightened his back and stared out at the Shinjuku skyscrapers. “Yes! I remember now. There was a kid who never took the bus but always rode to school on a red bicycle. He was in my class. Now, what was his name. Akishige. That’s right, it was Akishige.”

  “Were you friends?”

  “Certainly not! He was the class bully. Leader of the pack. A nasty piece of work.”

  “That must be why you identify him with Sukenobu. You remember the previous dream, when he was your teacher? You said he ‘had it in for you,’ didn’t you.”

  Noda looked hard at Paprika. “Ah, I see. So that’s how you analyze dreams.”

  “Well spotted.”

  “And just now you said Segawa was Takao.”

  “Correct.”

  “And therefore Namba isn’t Namba, but someone else.”

  “Got to be.”

  Noda thought hard. “But who?”

  “Was Takao bullied by this Akishige?”

  “No. He was too clever for that. He was good at math, which would normally have made him a prime target for Akishige. But he did a deal with Akishige and became his crony instead.”

  “Were you bullied?”

  “Yes. But not that badly, not that I remember. Or was I? …” Noda looked distinctly uneasy. Beads of perspiration again began to glisten on his brow.

  “When I analyzed your last dream, I asked if Sukenobu also ‘had it in for you.’ You said ‘itching for a fight’ might be a better phrase. Did you have fights with this Akishige?”

  “No. I don’t remember that either. But wait … Maybe I did …” Noda’s voice was starting to sound gravelly.

  “Well, don’t force yourself. You’ll only invent a false memory. But never mind, I reckon we’re getting closer now. More toast? This Fauchon jam’s good, isn’t it.”

  “No thanks. That’s enough for me.”

  “I wonder when you’ll be able to stay over again?”

  Disarmed by the bluntness of the question, Noda couldn’t help but show his delight. “What? Well, whenever you like. Tonight, say.”

  “Won’t your wife mind?”

  “I’ll call her from work. After all, it’s my treatment. How could she mind?”

  “Cool. Come again tonight,” Paprika said with some enthusiasm. “I think you’re about to remember something, some old trauma. A mental scar, what we call a psychological trauma. But you’re suppressing it very strongly. There’s a battle going on inside your head. So then your anxiety builds up, and that could cause another attack. I think you’re on the verge of remembering. Once you remember what it was, the attacks will stop. And anyway, you’re used to seeing me as a dream detective now. If I enter your dreams again soon, say tonight, you won’t be surprised to see me anymore.”

  “Do you think so?” Noda’s eyes were gleaming. “I’d certainly enjoy that.”

  “You’ll enjoy it even more when you know you’re dreaming. Like I do when I get into your dreams.”

  “So we’ll be together again? In our dreams?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t wait!” Noda said, stirring in anticipation, then repeated: “Can’t wait. Is it always like this, when your patients get used to your methods?”

  “Yes, the strong-willed ones, when the condition is only mild. Then again, my patients were always strong-willed, and their condition was always mild …”

  “You know, I was expecting the treatment to be a lot more taxing,” Noda said, staring at Paprika. “Shima must be green with envy. I bet none of your patients can ever forget you.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. I have a policy of not seeing them after the treatment’s over.”

  Noda looked seriously disappointed. “What, because they’re all so-called celebrities?”

  “Well, they don’t want it known they’ve been seeing a shrink, anyway.”

  “But we can meet just once, can’t we, to celebrate my recovery? After all, you promised. When we were in Radio Club, you promised you’d let me treat you.”

  “Did I?”

  “You did,” Noda said most earnestly.

  Resisting the urge to laugh, Paprika got up and went over to the medicine cabinet. “You’ve run out, haven’t you? I’ll just give you enough for today.” One more day should do it, she thought. She had confidence in the next night’s session.

  “By the way, what about that girl Mari? Were you friends?” Paprika said as Noda was preparing to leave. She’d remembered that she hadn’t asked anything about the girl.

  “Mari?” Noda looked off into the distance with a wistful eye. “She lived in the next village. She was really pretty, you know. I adored her from afar. She was so pretty that I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her. That was the first time we spoke, in that dream this morning.” He turned to look at Paprika with a smile. “But it was you, wasn’t it.”

  When Noda had left, Paprika took off her makeup and had a nap. She’d developed the knack of falling asleep instantly; she’d got it down to a fine art.

  She woke at ten and made herself up as Atsuko Chiba. That was no trouble at all – disguising herself as Paprika took five times longer. She slipped into an apricot-colored suit, the one she usually wore, then went down to the garage and got into her car. Atsuko’s car was a moss-green Marginal.

  On arriving at the Institute, she pulled into the covered parking lot. The figure of a man stood by the glass door at the entrance to the building, hiding his face in the shadows. It was the young reporter who’d asked such awkward questions at the press conference. As soon as he saw Atsuko, he forced a smile and bowed apologetically. “I’m really sorry for my rudeness the other day.”

  “Oh! Were you waiting for me?” Atsuko said with a smile that would have charmed the hardest of hearts. “Was there something you wanted to ask?”

  “Er, well, no, something I wanted to tell you actually,” he said, glancing around. “Well, you could see it as my way of apologizing …”

  Atsuko knew instinctively that the young man’s feelings toward her had changed, for whatever reason. Either that, or he was an exceptionally good actor for one so young.

  “What is it then? You won’t be allowed in. You’ll have to tell me here. Sorry.”

  “You’ll hear me out then?” The reporter had obviously expected to be treated more dismissively. He now produced his business card with a look of relief and gratitude. “Thank you so much. My name’s Matsukane. I’m with the Morning News. Well, anyway, it’s about this ‘Paprika’, you see …” Atsuko showed no reaction at all, but the young journalist added hurriedly: “No, I won’t ask anything about her real identity, as I said before. But now journalists from certain newspapers, not just my own, have heard a rumor that Paprika was seen just recently in Roppongi. So then, well, I wanted to say you might like to be careful about that …”

  “Well!” Atsuko said with a little laugh. “Why would I possibly be concerned with that?”

  “Yes. Exactly. Absolutely. Why would you?” The young reporter smiled ambiguously and looked up at the roof of the parking garage. “But what I meant to say is that, well, if you did know Paprika, you might like to warn her to be more careful, that’s all.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of you. And why do you tell me this behind your colleagues’ backs?”


  The man suddenly looked serious. “To apologize for the other day, as I said just now. But also … Well, you know …” He trailed off into silence.

  “No. I don’t know. What?” Still smiling, Atsuko invited him to continue. “Are you going to say who told you all that nonsense?”

  “Well, it’s about that, yes.” Matsukane looked down at his shoes, as if he were desperate to reveal the truth but couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. “But I think we should talk about it some other time. After I’ve discovered more of the details. Anyway …” The young reporter was clearly driven by a strong sense of justice. He straightened his posture and looked Atsuko directly in the eye. “Please be careful.”

  “Careful of what?”

  “Look … I’ll be back. OK? I’ll be back.” Suddenly spotting another car, he crouched down and crept along the wall toward the exit.

  What had the reporter discovered that would urge him to warn her? So many questions went through Atsuko’s mind as she pushed the glass door open.

  12

  Atsuko went straight to her laboratory. There she found a swarthy young therapist called Hashimoto, a contemporary of both Osanai and Tsumura, sitting deep in conversation with Nobue Kakimoto. So much so that their knees were almost touching. The conversation obviously involved Atsuko, for no sooner had she entered than Hashimoto rose hurriedly – though, being a therapist, he was of course able to cloak his surprise behind a façade of nonchalance.

  “Sorry. I’m in the way,” he said disingenuously.

  “Same as always, isn’t it?” countered Atsuko. “No need to stand on ceremony, as they say.”

  “No, I’d better be on my rounds.” Hashimoto even managed a glance at his watch as he left the room.

  Nobue cast an unusually critical eye at Atsuko as she donned her lab coat. “Apparently Tsumura wasn’t only looking at the reflector,” Nobue said. “He was also using the collector. Wasn’t he?”

  “So it seems.”

  “So they’re all using the collector for treatment in the other labs? In that case, why am I the only one who’s not allowed to use it?”