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It was dark by the time Shinohara arrived home from the high school where he worked. He had stepped into the house and was headed for the living room when he noticed something was wrong: the window had been broken, and glass was scattered across the floor. The window itself was open as well, and cool night air was pouring into the room. Someone had broken in.
The first thing Shinohara thought of was the hands in the refrigerator. He went directly to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door—and couldn’t believe his eyes. All of the hands that had been keeping cool in there that morning were now gone. Human hands, dog and cat hands, even the doll’s hands—they were all gone, and the refrigerator was almost completely empty. The only thing left was the small quantity of food Shinohara had kept in there with the hands.
Something was nagging at his mind, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. He knew he needed to clean up the glass in the living room, but his mind was full of the missing hands, so he couldn’t think straight.
He went upstairs, turned on his computer, and sat down in front of it.
Someone had broken in and stolen his hands, taking all the hands away.
A clear drop of liquid fell to the surface of the computer desk. It had fallen from his cheek … Shinohara suddenly realized that he was crying.
His entire life, he had never exchanged words with any human as intimate as the contact he had felt with those severed hands. If anyone else had seen him with them, they would have thought he was simply sitting there in silence—but Shinohara knew he had been communicating with those cold, silent hands—through the bumps and grooves, the elasticity.
Anger washed over him in waves so intense that he couldn’t breathe. He was too afraid to call the police, but his desire to get revenge on whoever had taken the hands from him was much stronger than his fear.
The thief who had taken his hands must be punished. He had never killed anyone, but he’d make this thief the first exception. He would catch this thief, Shinohara swore it. He would cut off the hands to save them, and then he would strangle the thief—or stab the thief through the heart until death came.
But how would he find the thief? Shinohara rested his elbows on the desk, thinking.
The keyboard was dirty. He reached for the can of compressed air he always kept next to it. Then he froze—his eyes had found something on the keyboard.
No doubt about it—the thief had dropped it. No other explanation made sense. It was very small and easy to overlook, so it was something of a miracle that Shinohara had even noticed it.
It was then that Shinohara remembered the inside of the refrigerator. Something had been bothering him, and he understood it now. The hand thief had made a mistake, a very careless mistake—one that had foolishly revealed the thief’s identity …
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iv
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The next morning, Shinohara went to work with a meat cleaver, the same one he always used when cutting off hands. It fit neatly inside his bag. As he greeted the other teachers in the office, none of them guessed what was in his bag.
It was always hectic in the mornings. Outside the teachers’ room, students hurried past. First semester midterms were coming up quickly, and tests were being constructed on a number of different desks.
One of the other teachers asked how Shinohara’s test was coming along. He smiled back and answered. Shinohara often believed his life consisted entirely of these feigned smiles. They annoyed him immensely.
Hands. Hands. Hands were more important than the other teachers. First, there were hands, and then the human followed. There was no point in talking with the human.
He had morning classes, so he couldn’t yet go to see the thief who had stolen his hands. But he knew who it was. He had to catch the thief and demand to know where his hands had been hidden.
Only one night had passed—he desperately wanted to believe the hands were somewhere safe. When he knew where they were, then he would have to cut off the thief’s hands with his meat cleaver. It would never do to let the hands die with the rest of the body, so he’d have to make them his.
The last session he taught that morning was his homeroom class. All those hands copying what he wrote on the blackboard … There were forty-two students in his class—and eighty-four hands.
Shinohara explained what the midterm would cover, but his thoughts dealt only with the stolen hands. The thief had left his food, taking only the hands. Shinohara hadn’t noticed it right away, and it didn’t make any sense.
At last, the bell rang and class ended. All morning classes were over, and it was time for lunch.
Shinohara left the room. The bag with the meat cleaver was in the teacher’s office, and he was going to get it. The halls were at their noisiest and most crowded—but to Shinohara, it was all a dim roar.
He waited in the teachers’ room for a few minutes, and then he headed for the chemistry lecture hall.
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†
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I headed for the chemistry lecture hall as soon as lunch started. When I opened the door and checked inside, I found it empty, so I went in, closing the door behind me. Instantly, the noise outside was cut off; the air inside was completely still, as if time had stopped.
I measured my pulse: it was beating like I’d just been running as fast as I could. My skin felt taut. I was very tense.
What had Mr. Shinohara done last night after he had arrived home? What had he thought when he noticed the hands were gone? Had he been too angry to think? I could only guess.
I hadn’t seen him that morning—and if I had, I would’ve pretended to know nothing. He couldn’t notice me; if I did anything strange, there was a strong risk it would ruin everything. I was pretty sure he didn’t know I had stolen the hands, but that might’ve been nothing more than wishful thinking.
It was possible that I had made some terrible mistake without realizing it—but there was no way for me to know. If I had, and Mr. Shinohara came after me looking for revenge, then there was a strong possibility that my life would be in danger.
As I stood in the dark, deserted lecture hall thinking, I heard someone standing outside the door.
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†