Читать книгу The Complete Ring Trilogy: Ring, Spiral, Loop - Koji Suzuki - Страница 26

The wind was stronger here on the pier at Oshima than it had been on the wharf at Atami. Overhead the clouds were scurrying from west to east, while underfoot the concrete jetty shook with the force of waves breaking against it. The rain wasn’t falling that hard, but the raindrops, borne by the wind, were hitting Asakawa’s face head-on. Neither of them had umbrellas. They jammed their hands into their pockets and hunched forward as they walked quickly along the pier over the ocean.

Islanders holding placards for car-rental companies or banners for inns were there to greet the tourists. Asakawa lifted his head and looked for the person who was supposed to meet them. Before getting on the boat at the harbor in Atami, Asakawa had contacted his office and asked for the phone number of the Oshima office, ultimately enlisting the help of a correspondent named Hayatsu. None of the national news organizations had full-fledged bureaus on Oshima; instead they hired locals as stringers. These correspondents kept an eye on island doings, watching for any noteworthy incidents or interesting episodes and reporting them to the main office; they were also responsible for assisting any reporters dispatched to the island on stories. Hayatsu had worked for the Daily News before retiring here to Oshima. His territory included not just Oshima itself but all seven islands in the Izu chain, and when anything happened he didn’t have to wait for a reporter to arrive from headquarters, but could file his own articles. Hayatsu had a network of contacts on the island, so his cooperation promised to speed up Asakawa’s investigation.

On the phone, Hayatsu himself had responded positively to Asakawa’s request, promising to meet him at the jetty. Since they’d never met, Asakawa had described himself and said he was traveling with a friend.

Now he heard a voice from behind. “Excuse me, are you Mr Asakawa?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Hayatsu, the Oshima correspondent.” He held out umbrellas and smiled good-naturedly.

“Sorry to impose on you so suddenly like this. We really appreciate your help.”

As they hurried to Hayatsu’s car, Asakawa introduced Ryuji. The wind was so loud they could hardly speak over it until they’d climbed inside the vehicle. It was a compact, but surprisingly spacious inside. Asakawa rode in front, Ryuji in the back.

“Shall we go straight to Takashi Yamamura’s house?” asked Hayatsu, both hands on the steering wheel. He was over sixty, and had a full head of hair, though much of it was gray.

“So, you’ve already found Sadako Yamamura’s family?” Asakawa had already told Hayatsu on the phone that they were coming to investigate someone by that name.

“It’s a small town. Once you said it was a Yamamura from Sashikiji, I knew right away who it was. There’s only one family by that name here. Yamamura’s a fisherman who runs his house as a bed-and-breakfast in the summertime. What do you think? We could have him put you up there tonight. Of course you’re welcome at my place, too, but it’s a little small and rundown. I’m sure having you stay there would be an imposition on you.” Hayatsu laughed. He and his wife lived alone, but he wasn’t exaggerating: they really didn’t have room to sleep two guests.

Asakawa looked back at Ryuji.

“I’m fine with that.”

Hayatsu’s little car sped toward the Sashikiji district, on the southern tip of the island. Sped as much as it could, that is: the Oshima Ring Road circling the island was too narrow and winding to go very fast on. The vast majority of the cars they passed were also compacts. At times their field of vision opened up to their right, to reveal the ocean, and when it did the sound of the wind would change. The sea was dark, reflecting the deep leaden color of the sky, and it heaved violently, throwing up whitecaps. If it hadn’t been for those brief flashes of white, it would have been difficult to tell where the sky stopped and the sea began, or where the sea stopped and the land began. The longer they gazed at it the more depressing it seemed. The radio blared a typhoon alert, and their surroundings became even darker. They veered right at a fork in the road and immediately entered a tunnel of camellias. They could see bare roots beneath the camellias, tangled and wizened; long years of exposure to wind and rain had eroded some of the plants’ soil. Now they were wet and slick with rain—it looked to Asakawa like they were speeding through the intestines of a huge monster.

“Sashikiji is dead ahead,” said Hayatsu. “But I don’t think this Sadako Yamamura woman is here anymore. You can get the details from Takashi Yamamura. From what I hear he’s a cousin of her mother’s.”

“How old would this Sadako be now?” asked Asakawa. For some time now Ryuji had been scrunched down in the back seat, uttering not a word.

“Hmm. I’ve never actually met her, you know. But if she’s still alive, she must be forty-two, forty-three, maybe?”

If she’s still alive? Asakawa wondered why Hayatsu had used that expression. Maybe she was missing? Suddenly he was filled with misgivings. What if they’d come all this way to Oshima only to find no one knew if she was dead or alive? What if this was a dead end?

Finally the car pulled up in front of a two-story house bearing the sign Yamamura Manor. It stood on a gentle slope with a commanding view of the ocean. No doubt in good weather the scenery was splendid. In the offing they could make out the triangular shape of an island. That was Toshima.

“When the weather is nice, you can see Nijima, Shikinejima and even Kozushima from here,” said Hayatsu proudly, pointing south over the sea.