Paprika (17 page)

This was no time for mere wonderment, nevertheless. Noda had a duty to perform, one that might not be all that pleasant. Remembering Paprika’s instruction to “
solve his problems with human relations
,” Noda had his secretary call Namba.

However contentious, however stubborn Namba may have been, he would never have been appointed Manager of the Development Office without a basic grasp of business etiquette. He arrived neatly dressed, quite in contrast to his usual slipshod appearance; he’d even combed his hair.

“You wanted me?”

“Yes. Some staff transfers were decided at this morning’s Board Meeting. You’re the new Manager of the Third Sales Division. Take a seat.”

Noda spoke quickly, casually. He avoided looking Namba in the eye until he’d shown him toward the lounge and sat facing him across the low table. When he finally glanced at him, he noticed that Namba’s eyes were glistening and darting about madly. He appeared not quite sure how he should react to the news.

“Did you recommend the move?” Namba said in a stony voice.

“Well – somewhat against my better inclinations …” Noda fended off the question; he hated passing the buck.

“Thank you very much!” Namba lowered his head slightly as an eerie smile spread over his features. He was unusually calm, but it was quite unlike him to use sarcasm. Noda gazed steadily at Namba’s angular face.

“That’s exactly what I was hoping for! I asked you sometime ago, in passing, and I was sure you’d forgotten all about it.” Suddenly, Namba started to sound excited. “If anything, I thought it would be better to transfer to sales straight after the vehicle was completed. But never mind. I’ll be promoted anyway, to compensate for the time it took. Or perhaps it just took time to get promoted. In any case, I could wish for nothing better. Though of course, I understand it’s all thanks to your kind consideration. But I really am so sorry. I thought you’d forgotten all about me asking you for this so long ago. I’ve been making a nuisance of myself lately, partly to get you to remember it. This is something that will affect my whole future, you see. But then I thought I couldn’t keep bothering you about the same thing all the time. So that’s why it all came out in that rather unfortunate way.” Namba spoke with the fast delivery of a skilled tactician, yes, the loquacity of the self-satisfied.

Noda could no longer hold back a snigger. He’d remembered that when the zero-emissions vehicle was first being developed, Namba had let it slip that he had a plan for marketing the vehicle. He said he wanted to be transferred to sales as soon as the vehicle was commercialized. At the time, Noda had thought it nonsense, assuming it to be nothing more than a momentary whim, and had proceeded to forget all about it. The fact that Namba now challenged virtually everything, and kept sticking his oar into the sales program at every opportunity, obviously came from his dissatisfaction at not getting his own way.

“What’s so funny?” Namba reacted to Noda’s snigger with a laugh of his own. “You’re imagining what kind of blunders I’ll make as a Manager of Sales? Well, you may be right. To an experienced campaigner like yourself, it must seem dangerous to put me in that position.”

“No, no. That’s not true …”

“Yes, it is. I’m well aware of my own weaknesses. But even a fool like me will consider his future, won’t he.”

Not only was he a maverick, but he also had a sharper mind than Noda had previously given him credit for. He had ambition to get ahead in life. He must have realized that if he’d stayed on as Manager of the Development Office, he would never have made it to Senior Director. If a man like him were made Manager of Sales, he would learn the principles and techniques of sales with the same enthusiasm that he’d applied to research and development. He would convince himself that he was now a “sales professional.” Using his loquacity, he would quickly learn the skills of personal relations and other things required of the Manager of Sales. As Namba continued to speak, his eyes glistening with joy and relief and hope, he started to resemble Toratake. He began to look like someone who was very dear to Noda.

“And will Kinichi be my successor?”

“You mean you’d already thought of that?”

“I’m not a complete idiot, you know.” Namba grinned again. It seemed he’d long since foreseen that he would eventually lose his status as Manager of the Development Office to the President’s nephew, and had mentally prepared himself for his new position.

Noda’s dream had been trying to make him remember. It had been trying to remind him that Namba had expressed a wish to sell the zero-emissions vehicle (“vegetable”) that he’d developed (“grown”). After Namba had left the room, Noda gasped in astonishment on realizing the true meaning of the dream for the first time. In the dream, everything had been resolved. Released from his sense of guilt, Noda felt his spirits lifted.

“Right!” he murmured quietly. This was the perfect time to call Shinohara. In spite of Paprika’s advice, he’d hesitated to make the call, partly out of self-consciousness, partly because he was afraid to learn the awful truth about Toratake.

He’d copied Shinohara’s telephone number into his diary from a list of junior-high-school alumni. He hadn’t spoken to him for six months. That was when Shinohara had called to tell him about a reunion to be held in a restaurant in their old village, which had since been upgraded to a town.

Shinohara had inherited his father’s hardware store. He appeared quite taken aback to actually hear from Noda. “What a surprise!” he said, his voice leaping with surprise. “How have you been? Everyone wants to see you again!”

“Yes, I’m sorry I can never make it.” Noda had forgotten his preoccupation with Shinohara’s role in the gang of bullies. “It’s just, well, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Oh yes? What is it?”

“How long is it since Toratake died?”

“Since Toratake
what
?”

Noda raised his voice. “You must know he was my best friend at school? I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently. So I wondered when—”

“Hold on, hold on! What are you talking about? Toratake isn’t dead! He’s as alive as you or I! He runs an inn now.”

“What? …” Noda was stunned.

Shinohara laughed. “Who on earth told you he was dead? Someone’s been winding you up!”

“What do you mean?! You called to tell me about it!”

“And why would I do that? Yes, I called while you were at university, to tell you about a class reunion. That’s when I told you that Takao had died.”

Noda was at a loss for words. He’d completely forgotten that Toratake’s given name was “Takao.” Noda and Toratake had been on first name terms. Yet it was not Takao Toratake but Akishige’s crony Takao who had died. Noda had been laboring under a delusion for thirty years.

“I think you must have made some mistake,” said Shinohara.

Noda moved the receiver from his mouth and sighed quietly.

“Yes. I must have.”

“Toratake would go mad if he heard that. He’s always saying how much he wants to see you.”

If that was so, Toratake must no longer have felt any resentment about Noda’s betrayal. As the only one to leave the old village, Noda had continued to harbor bad feelings that had long been forgotten among those who’d stayed. Those old complexes had all been dissolved and resolved as people forged new relationships in the new town.

“What did Takao die of?”

“Tetanus, poor bloke.”

The idea that it was suicide must also have been a trick of Noda’s memory. He probably hadn’t even asked Shinohara what had caused Takao’s death in the first place.

After promising to attend the next reunion without fail, Noda hung up. His dreams had been trying to tell him all along: Toratake’s death had been nothing but an illusion. That was why Toratake had appeared in the old inn, disguised as a tiger. That was why he’d entered Noda’s room, disguised as the boy Torao.

He would see Toratake again at that year’s class reunion. For a moment, Noda smiled as memories of their boyhood friendship came flooding back. He wanted to share this joy with someone. The only possible candidate was Paprika. Ever since they’d parted, he’d longed to see her again, speak to her again. Though he felt a little ashamed of that sentiment, he convinced himself that he would, after all, merely be reporting something to her. He called her apartment. But of course. It was the middle of the day. She wasn’t there.

18

This man’s goody-goody nature is the source of all evil
, thought Morio Osanai as he looked down at Shima’s face, bathed in the yellow light of the standing lamp. He had crept into the room at the back of the Administrator’s Office, knowing Shima to be sleeping there. Having a trusting disposition, Shima never locked the doors to his office or back room, even when he was taking a nap. Osanai had slipped in with ease.

To Osanai, there was nothing more despicable, no one less worthy of his service than a leader who had no policy. He hated this Administrator, this man whose only wish in life was to maintain the status quo and prevent anything untoward from happening. Osanai began to shake with rage at the sight of this man, snoozing there with that expression of utter complacency, so full of false assurance, surrounded by the sickly-sweet, lukewarm smell of his own breath, a smell that filled the room. What profound dullness of instinct! Was he really a psychiatrist?!

If Shima so openly flaunts his defenselessness
, thought Osanai,
he deserves all the harm that befalls him. Then maybe he’ll realize that he himself is the root of all evil
. Just because, by sheer coincidence, two of his pupils had turned out to be unnaturally clever, Shima had based his record as Institute Administrator solely on their achievements. Now that they were shortlisted for the Nobel Prize, he was bathing himself in the glory of being their mentor. He had happily given free rein to their impish willfulness and deviation from ethics. He was a disgrace to the profession, and so thickheaded with it! For he could never hope to understand the truth of this, never even try to understand, however directly it was said. No, there was nothing at all that Osanai could tolerate about this man, in soul or body. He deserved everything that came his way.

Osanai took the DC Mini out of his pocket. It was shaped rather like the seed of a loquat fruit. Shima himself should fall victim to this “seed of the Devil,” as Inui had dubbed it, this device whose development Shima had encouraged without the faintest awareness of its diabolical potential. Taking his lead from Inui, Osanai felt no trace of conscience as he planted the DC Mini on the sleeping Administrator’s head. Himuro had told him all there was to know about the device – how it worked, its functions, even the fact that it had no protective code. Everything, that is, except for its name. The DC Mini wobbled slightly, but still managed to attach itself to Shima’s thinning hair. Shima remained in deepest sleep.

Osanai returned to the Administrator’s Office, where he connected a portable collector to a PC that stood at one end of Shima’s desk. Now he could access Shima’s consciousness as he slept. If Shima had any history of neurosis, he would easily be affected by the delusions of a schizophrenic. But a lengthier strategy had to be planned, as with Tsumura and Kakimoto. Shima’s abnormality must be allowed to seep out gradually, so that no one would suspect a thing. Osanai inserted a disk that would intermittently project the dreams of a mildly schizophrenic patient. Himuro had prepared the program specifically for Torataro Shima. Then he stepped into the corridor and locked the door to the Office. He’d found the key, covered in dust at the back of a drawer in Shima’s desk. The Institute staff might think it odd that the door was locked when it was usually open, but no one would make a fuss about such a petty thing.

As he made his way back along the connecting passage toward the hospital, Osanai thought about Atsuko Chiba. He knew that she and Tokita were already searching for Himuro and the stolen DC Minis. Osanai felt a rising irritation every time he thought of the close spiritual bond between Chiba and Tokita. He remembered the passion he felt for her, a passion that had grown even stronger recently. He wanted her so much that it hurt, but he could never reveal it openly. For Atsuko, he was sure, regarded him merely as a coconspirator of the enemy, a trusted ally of the Vice President. She would only misinterpret his love as a ruse to help Inui win the Nobel Prize.

He spotted Tokita in the Medical Office, but passed it without stopping. To him, Tokita was nothing more than a jumbled mass of inferiority complexes—and Tokita’s development of devices was a direct result of these complexes. These distorted stimuli allowed his energy to run wild, with no concern for ethics or morality. That was why he could develop devices that were increasingly bereft of humanity.

Like his mentor Seijiro Inui, Osanai fervently believed that technology had no place in the field of psychoanalysis. Many mental illnesses in the modern era had arisen from the rampant excesses of science and technology in the first place; the very idea of using science and technology to treat them was fundamentally wrong. It violated the principles of nature.

Of course, even Osanai recognized the utility value of PT devices, and had applied them to his treatment in line with the Institute’s policy. But he felt that Atsuko’s practice of indiscriminately accessing patients’ dreams, violating their mental space for the sake of her treatment, ran counter to all accepted morality; it far exceeded the tolerable limits of psychotherapy. If such actions were to win her the Nobel Prize, it would mean that psychiatry for the sake of humanity had been reduced to science for the sake of technology. Patients would then start to be treated as objects. The warm, human psychoanalysis that Osanai and the others had expended so much effort to learn would become discarded as old-fashioned medicine, ungrounded in theory and no better than alchemy or witchcraft. Until PT devices could be properly evaluated and used correctly, Tokita and Chiba had to be prevented from winning the Nobel Prize, whatever it took. This was Osanai’s firm conviction.