Now alone, I puffed on a cigarette and booted up my computer. I brought the evening’s photographs up on the monitor, flicking through them until I was staring at the man who had slandered me. He stared back, mouth half agape in a witless stupor, a ratty patch of whiskers sprouting at his chin.
Who in the blazes was he? How had the world begot such a meddlesome boor? His base attempt at a threat still rang in my ears like the yapping of a tiny dog. He was a taiyaki pastry stuffed from head to tail with disgusting, exasperating bean paste. I could not understand why a person of Mizuo’s fine standing had chosen to associate with the likes of him.
Truth be told, I’d believed her still single. It was shortsighted of me, and I was willing to own up to my naïveté. But for her to run from my arms to throw herself at a disgusting brute like him… It was hard for me to bear the revelation calmly. A year ago, when she dumped me, I’d despaired for her sake, knowing it was an ineluctable blunder stemming from her poor judge of character. But my despair on discovering this new beau was far deeper, for it meant that, in her mind, both he and I were of equal stature. It was a clear affront to a rare genius such as myself. And to add further insult, she had dispatched him to criticize my behavior in her stead.
I do not write these things to garner my readers’ sympathy—though, I feel assured anyone could sympathize with such a situation. I simply mean to clarify beyond any doubt that Mizuo and her sycophantic suitor were the ones lacking basic human decorum, not I. Quite frankly, this turn of events had caused my opinion of Mizuo to plummet like stocks in the autumn of ’29.
I sat there, huffing and puffing on my cigarette, trembling with rage, when my thoughts were interrupted by a sudden inquiry.
“Who’s that?”
Shikama had pulled himself to his feet and was now staring over my shoulder.
I related in great detail the inhumane slander I’d endured from the man on the monitor.
To Shikama, newly stripped of his dreams for adulthood, my story struck a nerve. It seemed to arouse a great storm of pity. His eyes gleamed—and this was a man who very rarely displayed any hint of emotion.
“Absolutely inexcusable,” he announced. “By insulting you, this rake has insulted me as well.”
I reflected that, in truth, that wasn’t necessarily the case. But I wasn’t about to turn away a willing hand in my upcoming venture. So I nodded vigorously and explained to Shikama that I had yet to ascertain the identity of the individual on-screen.
“Well, he’s probably a law student,” Shikama concluded. “Sit tight. I’ll look into it.”
The stranger’s attack on me had been most foul. It called for divine retribution, and we would be the gods’ hands. I should emphasize here that I only sought justice. We were acting as the agents of karma, and our plans were in no way related to some warped romantic longing or personal grudge on my part. My primary desire was to save these two from their own arrogance. I longed to lead them to enlightenment so they could thereafter resume life as moral, conscientious human beings.
I related as much to Shikama, who agreed wholeheartedly.
“Naturally,” he said. “The two of them are fundamentally mistaken. There’s obviously no way that we could be in the wrong.”
“And it is our duty in life,” he continued, “to right any wrong we encounter.”
In the piercing cold of my lodgings, we exchanged a fiery handshake.
✦ ✦ ✦
Shikama headed home at about three in the morning.
I spread my futon out on the floor and extinguished the outer rings of the fluorescent ceiling light, leaving only the faint orange glow of the tiny bulb at its center. The monstrous maneki-neko still loomed in the center of the room, dashing any hopes I had for peaceful slumber.
When my mind did at last find sleep, I dreamed of her.
In the dream, I’d just handed her a gift: a high-tech, solar-powered maneki-neko with an automatic waving arm. I realized I was reliving that nightmare of a Christmas Eve again. My body hung limp, worn by rage. I felt defeated. To one side stood Shikama, his eyes downcast as he was compelled to slice and serve pieces of Christmas cake. All the while, she stared at me coldly, her face like a rusted steel girder.