Book 3 The Sins of The Scarlet Letter “—Didn’t he… Didn’t Emon Koumoto die because of me?” Tamogami hung his head, face warped with anguish and at his wit’s end. He sounded extremely distressed. “Just let me die, please. I can’t take it anymore.” Kouichi Tamogami first met Emon when the latter had just become the third owner of Koumoto Books. Kanesada, the second owner, had died of a sudden illness. That was before Tamogami had debuted as an author. Back then, he was working at city hall, in an intolerably irritating job where he had to listen carefully to every little trivial matter (or so they seemed to him) that the residents brought before him. He had always gotten good grades, and in middle and high school, he had never fallen below fifth place in the class rankings posted in the hallways. Despite his grades, his economic situation meant that his only option for continuing his education was commuting to the local community college while living at home with his parents. He was quite dissatisfied with this arrangement. I really should have gone to one of the top universities in Tokyo, gotten hired by some distinguished corporation, and landed some glamorous international job, and yet… What am I doing in this tiny town hall, listening to the ramblings of the elderly, bobbing my head like some peon? He would vent this frustration through his writing. In those days, he spent all his time writing novels to submit to contests. I’ll get prize money if I win. Then I’ll go to Tokyo. If my book sells, I’ll be rich and famous. Then I’ll be able to gloat over all those losers who went to good schools in Tokyo despite being dumber than me. While he was working in town hall, he wrote his manuscripts using a special fountain pen meant for just that task at a pace of one book every four months. However, they never took higher than third place in any competition. What can I do to improve? If I’ve got the skills to make it to third place, the rest is just luck. So how can I nudge my luck in the right direction? Tamogami would get stressed out whenever the results of a “new writer” award were announced. One time, on the eve of an announcement, he found himself striking up a conversation with the shopkeeper at Koumoto Books, where he often had books on layaway. The shopkeeper with the glasses and the kind face was one year younger than him and had a gentle personality. He understood how to talk to people without making them uncomfortable and was very supportive of Tamogami, who always felt better after chatting with the younger man. That was Emon, who had lost his mother early in life and had spent his time reading books in the shop for as long as he could remember. He had a deep enough knowledge of every genre to astonish even Tamogami, who normally took great pride in being well-read. And yet, Emon never used this unstudied, superior knowledge as a tool to make others look foolish or to make himself look better. He was always modest and relaxed when he spoke. In those days, when the internet was not as developed as it is now, having someone in this small Tohoku town with whom he could have a meaningful discussion was precious to Tamogami. He visited Koumoto Books even on days when he had no plans to purchase anything, just so that he could enjoy talking about literature and creative writing with Emon. There was an office in the back, past the children’s reading corner on the second floor, and the two of them often conversed through the night there. Sometimes Emon’s wife, Yaeko, would peek her head in and bring them something to eat. “It’s a relief you’re caught up discussing literature with Tamogami rather than drinking yourself unconscious in a pub somewhere. But everything’s best in moderation, you know.” There was a bookshelf lined with many different volumes in the small, concrete room. All of them were Emon’s private property. He said they were his favorites. Besides those, the blue trunk alongside the wall was where he stored books that were damaged or old but were still important enough that he wanted to keep them. Above the trunk hung a peculiar painting. It depicted a blue ocean and a gray sandy beach littered with the bones of some huge bird. The bones were a bright, almost sublime white, and they stood out against the sea and sand. The image was stark and desolate, but it nevertheless captivated everyone who looked at it. “My father painted that.” Kanesada, the second-generation owner, was a true Renaissance man, friendly and handsome and popular—apparently, he would have actually preferred to have been an actor or a painter rather a bookseller. “That’s why I took over for him so early. I always wanted to see my dad get to do what he loved in life. I would run the store so he could become a painter. When I was a kid, I pinkie promised that if we did that, he could sell collections of his paintings in the shop…” Emon smiled softly, his voice somewhat bittersweet because Kanesada had met his end before he could fulfill his promise. A chill shot down Tamogami’s spine when he heard that the title of the painting was Extinction. I guess Emon’s father died with regrets, never becoming the man he wanted to be? He imagined himself facing the same fate and suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Tamogami had been keeping his manuscripts a secret. Emon was the one and only person in whom he had confided the ambitions roiling in his heart. In response, Emon had smiled gently and given Tamogami a gratifying answer. “Your novels are clever and very interesting, Kouichi, so I’m sure you’ll win someday. When you do, please hold a book signing here at Koumoto Books.” Tamogami boasted to his friend. “Sure, I will. I’ll make the line wrap around the block.” Emon narrowed his eyes in a smile, as if he couldn’t wait for that day to come. “I’m looking forward to it.” But even after that, Tamogami’s novels still couldn’t seem to do better than third place. His days of frustration continued. It was especially irritating whenever the winner was younger than him. His eyes would be nearly burning as he glared at the pen name of the winner published in the magazine. His throat would dry out, and his hands would shake. Why not me? Why is it this guy?! He’s three years younger than me! That’s bullshit! He couldn’t help but curse everything. I’d rather go extinct than live in a world where I can never win. Staring intensely at the painting titled Extinction and imagining a world in which all living things had died out and turned into piles of bones only intensified his anger. Even at times like that, Emon would look at Tamogami with clear eyes and carefully encourage him, selecting words that wouldn’t damage his pride. “Kouichi, you’ve got plenty of talent to make a strong debut, so I think all that’s left is to choose a good subject. Maybe the themes in the works you’ve submitted so far were a little too complicated.” Emon’s words calmed Tamogami’s heart, as if he were listening to the peaceful murmurings of a river. But later, when he was alone in his room at home facing his pad of paper, all the frustration and impatience and jealousy welled up again. He tore up the sheets of his unfinished draft, balled up the paper, and threw it violently to the floor. You say my themes are too esoteric, so tell me what I should write instead! One day, he told Emon he no longer knew what to write about. “How about some tea?” Emon invited Tamogami to his office on the second floor where they always talked after the store was closed. But that day, they convened during business hours. Tamogami must have looked as if he was at the end of his rope if the bookseller was inviting him up so much earlier in the day. Emon was great at making tea. When Tamogami took a sip of the slightly sweet Chinese blend that Emon had slowly poured from a small teapot into the prewarmed teacup, his dry throat was moistened, and his stomach gradually warmed up. “Relax in here; read a book.” Emon said that and left. After he was gone, Tamogami pondered what topics would appeal to the masses as he gazed vacantly at the shelf full of assorted books. Then, on the edge of the shelf, he spotted a handmade pamphlet. The slim volume was sandwiched between two sheets of cardboard, with holes punched through and bound together with string—it looked just like something a child would make during an arts and crafts class. When he pulled it off the shelf, he saw there was a title written on the front cover in light-blue crayon. The Last Bookstore. Something about it captured his interest, and he opened the cover. Inside was a picture of a building that looked like a bookstore, drawn in crayon. “There was only one bookstore in the town. “Once there had been three, but one by one, they closed, until finally the last one was all alone.” The childish writing explained that the owner of the bookstore was very old, and one day when he was behind the counter, sitting in a chair, he passed away in his sleep. The old man had no family, so it was decided that the bookstore would close. “On the day of the funeral, the people of the town gathered at the bookstore. “Everyone brought a book that held special memories for them. “And they told one another about their favorites. “Each person made a sign about their title. “The signs were many colors—pink, red, blue, yellow, purple—and all together, they looked like a field of flowers.” Before Tamogami knew it, he was utterly fixated, almost forgetting to breathe. The writing and illustrations were crude, like a child’s. But this— His heart was pounding hard. His chest was painfully hot. Yes, this is it— “Tamogami is a Kostya pretending to be a Trigorin! He’s going to try to kill himself!” A woman clutching to her chest two copies of The Seagull—one old and worn and the other brand-new—was insisting upon this with a desperate expression. Stunned, Minami begged to know what the woman was talking about so abruptly. Trigorin and Kostya are both characters in The Seagull. The heroine Nina is in love with Trigorin, a writer and a much older man of about her father’s age who comes to visit from the capital. Ultimately, Trigorin leaves Nina behind. Kostya is the pet name for a man named Konstantin Treplev, a youth about Nina’s age. He and Nina used to be in love before her affections shifted to Trigorin. Though Kostya becomes a writer, too, he despairs of the profession and feels hopeless about himself. Unable to see a way forward, he commits suicide after reuniting with Nina. Koumoto Books was right in the middle of its grand closing sale, which meant that lots of customers had come to visit the shop, and Minami and the other staff were incredibly busy. Despite all that, the boy with glasses, the temporary part-timer who had barged in without an invitation, had willfully left his post and wandered off somewhere. He’s probably planning to give some nonsensical excuse again, like The books were calling to me or whatever. A sour look painted on her face, Minami went searching for him and found him deep in a serious-looking discussion with a beautiful and neatly appointed woman in the literature section on the first floor. The woman seemed to be in her late twenties. Her attire was plain, but her makeup and nails were flashy and eye-catching. “—Ah, Ms. Tsuburaya, we’ve got trouble!” His eyes were round with panic. According to both the uninvited employee Enoki and the beautiful lady holding two copies of The Seagull, the author Kouichi Tamogami was going to commit suicide, so they wanted to keep an eye on him. Tamogami was a novelist who grew up in the area and was a friend of the store’s late owner. Long ago, he had also held a book signing at Koumoto Books. Minami had used the store computer to send an e-mail notice of the owner’s passing to the address for a Mr. Tamogami. She had ended the message by asking him to come to the store’s grand closing sale if he was able. But at that point, he had been declining requests relating to his hometown for many years and hadn’t even returned for the reconstruction of the area after the earthquake, so Minami hadn’t expected anything. She’d also heard from the old part-timer who had quit the previous year that Tamogami had turned down invitations from Emon as well. The owner would get depressed over it and complain that Tamogami was heartless… And yet, about an hour earlier, a handsome middle-aged man wearing a trench coat and carrying a designer business bag had entered the shop, presented a business card at the register, and introduced himself. “I once had the privilege of holding a book signing here. I received your kind e-mail. Please accept my condolences for your loss.” Even without looking at the card, Minami knew this was the author Kouichi Tamogami. There was a photo hanging up from when he held his signing in the shop. The photo was nearly twenty years old and Tamogami had aged since then, but even now, his handsome build hadn’t changed that much. It’s really him! There was no one in this town who wouldn’t recognize him, and the fact that the bestselling author was in their shop had all the other employees excited. Minami showed him through to the office and left the room to go prepare tea. When she came back with a cup of tea on a tray, the business bag with the brand logo on it was sitting on the side table, and he was still standing, staring at the painting on the wall. A blue ocean, gray sand, huge bird bones—it was the picture Kanesada, the store’s second owner, had painted and titled Extinction. Tamogami was frowning, looking very sad and tormented, and Minami hesitated to say anything. As she stood there, Tamogami noticed her instead, and his mouth curved awkwardly, as if he was trying to smile and failing. He mumbled— “So this painting is still here, huh?” “Yes. It’s a memento of the owner’s father.” “That’s right. Kanesada painted it before he died.” Once Tamogami had finished his tea, he stood up from the sofa and picked up his bag, not seeming to want to stay too long. “It’s been a long time since I was here, so I’d like to take a good, long look around and think fondly of the departed.” That’s what he’d said. And he’d added that she needn’t fuss over him any further. He had seemed as if he didn’t want any to-do over the fact that someone famous had shown up, so Minami reassured him. “I understand. If you need anything, please let me know.” She saw Tamogami off outside the office. Then she returned to the first floor and cautioned the other part-timers not to pester him for signatures or anything. But Musubu, the person she was most concerned about, hadn’t been around at the time, so she had told herself she would have to give him a warning later. But what he was saying when she found him talking to the beautiful lady, away from his post, was unthinkable—that Tamogami had come to the shop to commit suicide. The attractive woman, who had a very cosmopolitan air about her, said she and Tamogami used to live together. That might have been true, but Minami was skeptical. Maybe she was a passionate fan of his, or possibly even a stalker. She thought Musubu was out of his mind for believing something so dubious. Well, he has said from the beginning that he can hear the words of books, and he did introduce me to a slim book with a blue cover and told me it was his “girlfriend.” He’s been awfully, undeniably strange this whole time, but… In short, Minami concluded she did not have the time to listen seriously to the silly talk of this suspicious customer and strange employee when things were so busy. But— “What Asuka is saying is true. The books in this area are also making a commotion. They say Mr. Tamogami was acting strangely, like he might be in danger or something.” More weirdness from Musubu. Of course, she couldn’t hear any such commotion in the least. But the big eyes staring at her from behind his glasses were the very definition of earnest— Besides that, when she thought back on the things she’d witnessed over these past few days since Musubu had come to Koumoto Books—she couldn’t deny she had thought several times that maybe he could hear something after all… Asuka Kanno, the woman standing next to Musubu wearing a strained expression and who was Tamogami’s supposed former live-in partner, chimed in. “Look at this.” She thrust a paper sign toward Minami. It had Tamogami’s signature on it and a photo of the man holding a book. “The Scarlet Letter”…? It was a work of American literature about an incident of adultery that takes place in Puritan society in seventeenth-century Boston. This is what he picked? She recalled their exchange in the office. “We borrowed the idea of having customers write pop signs at our closing sale from A Funeral for Kanoyama Books. Please write one of your own if you’d like, Mr. Tamogami. Of course, a sign about your own novel would be very warmly received. I know that the owner also loved your book. He always said that A Funeral for Kanoyama Books was special.” For just a moment, Tamogami’s eyes went dark again. Then he smiled. “I see… Well, I wonder what I should write.” Minami had been certain he had written his display about his signature work, A Funeral for Kanoyama Books. But The Scarlet Letter? If I remember correctly, it’s about a woman who conceives and bears a child after an illicit affair while her husband is missing. She’s put in the stocks and has a large, red letter A sewn to her clothing, marking her as an “adulteress,” and has to live with the judgment of her community… Despite all that, the woman absolutely refuses to name her partner in the affair. On the other hand, the child’s father, a minister named Dimmesdale, weakens day by day from guilt, until finally he confesses his crime on the same stocks where they made the woman stand and dies on the spot. Why did Tamogami choose that book, of all things? The hasty handwriting on his display read: Dimmesdale died because he couldn’t bear the pressure of the crime he’d kept secret for so long. The guilt killed him, but it saved him at the same time. Even Minami felt a little jolt race up her spine. “Death saved him.” The other customers wrote about either their favorite part of the book they brought or a section that influenced their life, or they included some reminiscence about Koumoto Books. Almost all the content on the signs is positive, but this… Still holding the display out toward Minami with an intense look in her eye, Asuka spoke in a frantic voice. “Tamogami felt very guilty about something to do with Emon. I don’t know why exactly, but when we were living together, whenever there was some communication from Emon, he always looked very upset. And I also heard him address Emon in his sleep. He would say things like ‘Please forgive me… Please help me…’ When he was sleep-talking, Tamogami would get drenched in sweat, and his face would twist up; he would choke himself with his own hands and groan. I would shake him awake desperately, afraid that he was going to actually stop breathing. No matter how I asked, he never talked to me about what had happened between him and Emon. But for nearly twenty years—maybe even longer—Tamogami has wanted to die.” Asuka’s words, like surging waves, frightened Minami. She could feel her pulse quicken. Mr. Tamogami wanted to die? He felt guilty toward the boss? Tried to choke himself with his own hands? The lines scribbled on the pop sign did indeed have an ominous air to them. They kept flashing through her mind. The guilt killed him, but it saved him at the same time. Death saved him. “Tamogami—he wanted to be saved! Then Emon passed away, and the only person he could ask for forgiveness was gone. Because of that, he fixated on the thought that he had no way out but to die as well, and he probably chose Koumoto Books as the place to do it!” Asuka’s words struck Minami’s ears and sent her head spinning. There’s no way! Asuka’s worrying too much. But it’s true that until today, Mr. Tamogami had never once visited Koumoto Books after his book signing and that he and the boss were estranged— When Minami had once proposed getting Mr. Tamogami to hold another book signing, Emon had looked a little sad as he replied. “Kouichi is a busy man. I wonder if he would.” There had been something dark in his eyes. Minami had wondered if something had happened between them. “Mr. Tamogami is a Tokyo person now, so he wants to cut ties with the people from his hometown. He was such good friends with Emon; it’s a real shame. The only time he’s called was to give his condolences when Emon lost his wife and child.” An elderly part-timer had complained to Minami about how utterly heartless the author had been. After that, she’d avoided the topic of Kouichi Tamogami in the store. As she recalled those things now, Minami found it hard to breathe. “…I don’t know whether he’s trying to kill himself, but let’s find him and hear what he has to say for the time being. Is that all right?” Minami asked this in a steady voice, and Asuka nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’ll help look for him, too.” “All right, we’d better hurry. I have a feeling this is a very dangerous situation, based on what the books have to say.” Asuka paled at Musubu’s words, and Minami glared at him. “Enoki, that’s uncalled for. Also, if you find Mr. Tamogami, don’t blurt out Did you come here to kill yourself? or something stupid like that. Tell him We’d like to speak with you and show him into the office.” “Okay, roger!” he answered and instantly took off running. “Hey—don’t run!” By the time she shouted after him, his small back and gently bouncing black hair were already quite far away. Good grief! Scowl on her face, Minami also set out to search for Tamogami. It looked as if Musubu had run up to the second floor, so Minami entrusted the third floor to Asuka and looked around the first floor herself. She asked the other part-timers if any of them had seen Tamogami, but she only got information she already knew. “I saw him writing on a display sign earlier. Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter is a pretty grim choice, don’t you think?” “I noticed him talking with a beautiful female customer. The woman seemed to be crying a little bit. It sure looked like a lovers’ quarrel. Maybe they were old sweethearts reunited or something. Just what you would expect from a handsome bestselling author, huh?” Minami made a circuit around the sales floor and concluded that he probably wasn’t on the first floor… Then, just as she was thinking that, her cell phone started vibrating in her pocket. It was a call from Musubu. “Ms. Tsuburaya, I found Mr. Tamogami. He’s in the second-floor toilets. Please come quickly!” His voice was panicked, and he was speaking faster than usual. Minami broke into an anxious run, taking the stairs to the second floor two at a time and heading for the bathrooms. They were located beside the office and split off into men’s and women’s rooms on the inside. A triangular CLEANING IN PROGRESS sign stood at the entrance. Musubu must have put this here. The door with the men’s symbol on it was propped open, and Minami was startled to find a person slumped over the toilet. Red blood was trickling from his wrists, forming a pool of crimson on the floor. It was Tamogami! Someone was crouched over him, but it wasn’t Musubu. For some reason, the veterinarian Michijirou was there, holding Tamogami’s other hand and checking his pulse. Then Musubu came bursting in, carrying a first aid kit. “Mr. Michijirou, please help!” He opened the kit and handed it to him. “You asked for a doctor, but I’m a vet, you know…” He grumbled as he tended to Tamogami. Minami squeezed her own left wrist, which had begun throbbing with pain, with her right hand—and trembled as she watched. Though the blood loss was considerable, the wound was shallow, so it turned out that Tamogami’s life was not seriously at risk. He’d probably lost consciousness due to lack of sleep and fatigue, Michijirou told them once he had finished his emergency measures. “I went to use the bathroom, but there was someone in there before me, so I waited outside. I was just thinking that he was taking a long time, when Enoki here came running up all red in the face and started busting open the lock with a crowbar. My, was I surprised!” Musubu smiled and said what he had been saying all along. “The books told me. I’m glad I got here in time.” Musubu and Michijirou, along with Asuka, whom Musubu had called down to help, carried Tamogami from the bathroom into the adjacent office and laid him down on the sofa. Minami just stood there trembling. There wasn’t anything she could do. Most people who knew her thought of her as a stable, grounded sort of person, and that was how she saw herself as well. Yet her own left wrist had started pulsing with stabbing pain the instant she saw the blood streaming from Tamogami’s limp wrist, and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from shivering and shaking. Pathetic. But she was still shuddering, remembering the scene. When she thought about what would have happened if Tamogami died, she was helpless to prevent the trembling from creeping in. “Ms. Tsuburaya, I’ll lock up the shop, so please go home and get some rest. After all, tomorrow will be another busy day. We’ll be in trouble if we lose our leader,” Musubu suggested, apparently out of concern for Minami. Then, as if the “girlfriend” in his pocket had said something to him, he made an excuse: “No, it’s not cheating! I’m just worried about a coworker, that’s all.” “…I’m fine. The store manager can’t possibly go home after something like this has happened.” There were four people in the office at the moment: Minami, Musubu, Asuka, and Tamogami. The store was getting ready to close for the night, and the shutters had been pulled down. All the other part-timers had gone home. Minami hadn’t told any of them about Tamogami. She had said she was staying out of a sense of responsibility as their leader and for her own pride. But she also really wanted to know what had transpired between Tamogami and Emon. What has been tormenting Tamogami so? And for that matter, what happened twenty years ago? Tamogami wrote that “the guilt killed him.” Just what kind of crime did this guy commit against the boss? Still unconsciously gripping her aching left wrist with her right hand while listening to the clock on the wall tick away the minutes, Minami thought back to when she had been an easily frightened coward. She had been afraid, so afraid, of everything around her—she had been terrified of nightfall. She was thin, skin and bones really, and her face was covered in acne. She couldn’t look people in the eye and always hung her head—that was the Minami for whom Emon had poured the sweet roasted green tea, here in this place. Just like now, back then the painting of the discarded bird bones by the seashore hung on the wall, with the blue storage box below. On the shelf were miscellaneous books of all sizes and genres. Classics, contemporary literature, mysteries, poetry anthologies, art books, books about mountaineering and fishing, soccer, law, politics, cookbooks… All of them belonged to the owner. But Emon, who had stood in front of the shelf with his eyes narrowed in a gentle smile, was no more. Minami would never again see the man who had helped her that day, could no longer hear his voice or ask him to pour her sweet tea again. He’s gone. The air that filled the small gray room felt different than it had back then. It was heavy and sad, and it smelled like death. How can I get this shaking to stop? I wonder if we can clear out the anxiety and dreariness hanging over this room. Even the memory of Emon’s face smiling at her from across a steaming cup of tea seemed to grow steadily more sorrowful and lonesome. He had never said anything about being lonely or having a hard time. Minami realized she had never known how he was truly feeling. I knew—nothing. “…Enoki, you can hear the voices of books, right? In that case, tell me something. How did the boss spend his time in this room when he was alone? He was all by himself for quite a while after losing his wife and child. Wasn’t he lonely?” She had been adamant this whole time that there was no way Musubu could speak with books. Minami also envied the boy, to whom Emon had entrusted the store’s inventory. Geez, the stress must be getting to me… There were too many things happening at once, and her mental processing power wasn’t able to keep up. She didn’t know what she should do. That’s why she asked Musubu this very silly question. “…I think he was lonely,” he answered in a kind voice. “Both of his parents passed away when he was young, and then he suddenly lost his wife and child at once in a natural disaster, so there’s no way he wasn’t lonely. But he wasn’t alone. He had lots of books and all the part-time workers and the customers who came to see him… When taken as a whole, everything that made up Koumoto Books was Emon’s family—I’m sure of it.” Baby-faced Musubu was younger than Minami, and his figure hadn’t filled out yet—he was still in high school. So why was he able to speak in this gentle voice that seemed to speak straight to her heart? She felt on the verge of tears just listening to him… But it would be embarrassing if she cried now, so she resisted with all her might. Asuka, who was attending to Tamogami next to the sofa, also looked as if she was tearing up a little as he spoke. Then she muttered, “Ah!” Tamogami had opened his eyes. Minami and Musubu turned toward the sofa eagerly. He cracked open his eyes slightly, staring vacantly for a moment at Asuka peering down at him. But eventually, he winced, mumbling hopelessly, “…So I couldn’t even manage to die, huh? Even though Emon…he died because of me…” Minami was taken aback. Asuka pressed him for more. “What do you mean, Emon died because of you?” “Because I…committed a crime… I succumbed to temptation… I never thought I would suffer so much for it…” He kept on grumbling bitterly without getting to the point at all. Even this late in the game, he seemed hesitant to make his crime public. But then— “Mr. Tamogami, you wrote that Reverend Dimmesdale in The Scarlet Letter died because he couldn’t stand the stress of keeping his crime a secret, right? The guilt killed him, and it saved him at the same time, you said. That may have been true. But your salvation is not in death. Yours lies in confessing that which you feel is a crime.” Tamogami turned to look at Musubu, and his eyes went wide. “…Emon?” His lips moved slightly as he mumbled his old friend’s name, looking as if he had seen a ghost. It must have been because of the glasses. When he looked at Musubu, Tamogami must have seen his deceased friend. He sat up and strained his eyes. But soon an expression rose on his face that was a mixture of disappointment and self-deprecation. “Ah, that’s right… Emon is dead…” Covering his face with one hand, he shook his head back and forth. Still, Musubu appealed to him. “Please talk to us, Mr. Tamogami. Tell us what you found in this room and what you did with it.” “!” Shock spread over his face again. Asuka and Minami also gasped and turned to Musubu. Does Enoki know what Tamogami did? Tamogami’s voice trembled. “Emon…did he tell you? No, he wouldn’t. There’s no way he would tell…” In a heartfelt tone, Musubu continued speaking to him. “No, he never told anyone. But the books in this room saw what you did. All the books in here are witnesses to your crime.” Tamogami gave a low laugh. “Ha-ha…the books are witnesses? Are the books taking their revenge on me?” Minami was sure there was no way he was taking Musubu at his word, but he also must have understood that someone other than Emon was now aware of what he had done, and he figured he could no longer keep it a secret. “…That’s right—in this very room, Emon and his book…I betrayed them both.” Tamogami relayed his story in an anguished voice. “At the time, I was working as a public servant here in town while submitting my novels to literature contests. No matter how diligently I toiled away, I could never make it past third place—Emon suggested changing the theme of my writing, but I couldn’t come up with a good idea for something that would have a broad appeal.” With a faint smile, he recalled how he had discovered a handmade picture book on the shelf of this office. “The picture book was titled The Last Bookstore.” Minami’s heart skipped a beat. The Last Bookstore?! No way! Asuka seemed as if she must have had a hunch. Her face was frozen in an unhappy grimace. “In the story, the owner of the one and only bookstore in a small town passes away, and all the townspeople bring their favorite books to the store to hold a funeral.” The plot was practically identical to Tamogami’s debut work, A Funeral for Kanoyama Books. “The drawings and prose were simple, but I thought, ‘This is it! If I write a story using this plot and setting, it’ll definitely captivate the sentimental masses.’” When he asked Emon about the picture book, the bookseller had admitted bashfully that he’d written the story. “I wrote it to the best of my ability, but I never planned to show it to anyone. Apparently, I got neither my father’s artistic talent nor my grandfather’s skill with words.” “His face flushed red, and he seemed truly embarrassed. He wasn’t aware of the value of his creation…” Tamogami looked ashamed. “At that point, I should have asked Emon to let me use his idea for a book. But I didn’t do that. Instead, I used the plot and setting he’d thought up to write my own novel without his permission and submitted it to a contest.” That was the tale of Tamogami’s crime and subsequent suffering. A Funeral for Kanoyama Books, a stolen story, placed first in a literary prize, was published, and became a bestseller. When he received notice that he had won, Tamogami was horrified. For the first time, he felt the ugliness and the weight of the crime he had committed, and he panicked. If they published it, Emon would surely read it. When he did, he would know that Tamogami had plagiarized his story. Emon was sure to hate him for it. Just imagining Emon’s gentle smile stiffening and his kind eyes filling with disappointment and contempt was enough to make Tamogami drop to his knees and tear out his hair. I just can’t stand it! Besides, what if Emon tells everyone I won the prize with a story I stole from someone else? That would mean utter ruin! He imagined the stares, the finger pointing, the sneers. He felt no joy in his victory, only a swell of anxiety. Do I confide in Emon? No, I can’t tell him. Do I keep quiet about winning the prize? If I use a pen name, he won’t know it was me who wrote it, right? No, once he sees the title and the plot, he’ll suspect I cribbed it from the story he wrote. Emon runs a bookstore and is always checking the books that win the new-writer prizes from the major publishers. Even more damning, he knows I’ve been submitting manuscripts for a while. No matter how he tried to escape, Emon would inevitably find out. He would have to confess before the prize winner was announced and apologize. “But—I couldn’t do it.” With his arms crossed tightly across his chest, Tamogami hung his head. His voice was hoarse and shaky. “Whenever I tried to talk to Emon, my body would stiffen and my throat would ache and start closing up on me, so I couldn’t get a word out.” While Tamogami was suffering, the contest results were finally published. Grand prize goes to Kouichi Tamogami. The title of his work is A Funeral for Kanoyama Books— In the commentary, they praised the quality of the setting and the story. He felt an increasing weight in the pit of his stomach. At last, the time had come when his ugliness would be exposed. He feared Emon’s denunciation. “But Emon didn’t say anything about the fact that I had stolen his story. He simply said, ‘Congratulations, I always knew you would become a great writer one day, Kouichi. I told you ahead of time that I knew you would win, didn’t I?’ I’m sure I was quiet and standoffish, but I was so shocked… He was smiling gently like always.” Far from reassuring Tamogami, Emon’s behavior only increased his suffering. He must have noticed. So why doesn’t he say anything? Why doesn’t he condemn me? He’s not cursing me for being a thief. Or maybe, behind that smiling face, he’s holding me in contempt? Maybe he’s telling everyone that my prizewinning story is filthy stolen goods? “It got to the point that I couldn’t stand to see Emon’s face, so I ran away to a place where I never would. “I used the prize money to move to Tokyo and started my life there. “A Funeral for Kanoyama Books was published as planned and immediately got a second edition and a movie deal. Everything was going my way. “But it was all a sham. In my heart, I was always afraid that one day he would out me as a thief and tell everyone that my book was a sordid piece of plagiarism. The image of Emon’s gentle smile never left the back of my mind.” “Congratulations, Tamogami.” “Emon’s face from that day surfaced in my mind again and again and again, and I could hear his voice ringing in my ears telling me I had stolen his book. It drove me crazy.” The more A Funeral for Kanoyama Books sold, the more Tamogami felt that the evidence of his crime was spreading through the world. He felt as if a huge bird were constantly tearing the flesh off his chest with its enormous beak. “I tried to contact Emon as little as possible. But when I got the phone call saying he wanted me to come back to hold a book signing at Koumoto Books, he asked me if I remembered our promise, so I couldn’t refuse.” “Thank you so much. I’m sure everyone will be thrilled.” Emon had thanked him happily. Why hasn’t he said I stole his book? Well, maybe he couldn’t say anything since I escaped to Tokyo. In that case, is he calling me back to hold a book signing so that he can accuse me now? Do you suppose he’s planning to shame me for my crime in the showiest place possible? “I was afraid to see him, but there was no avoiding it. On the surface, I was acting like a famous author who had found success in the big city, but underneath all that, I was sure my crime would come to light. I felt dead inside.” Tall stacks of Tamogami’s book were piled high in the space that had been set up for the signing on the second floor and in the fiction corner on the first floor. A Funeral for Kanoyama Books had been used in the design for the promotional materials as well, so the book’s cover met the eye no matter where you looked in the shop. Beneath his suit, Tamogami had broken into a cold sweat. The hand that held his signing pen was cold, and his neck was stiff the whole time. When is Emon going to say it? When is that peacefully smiling face going to heap scorn on me? When will he announce to everyone that the man sitting here is a disgraceful imposter? “But Emon didn’t say a thing.” The whole time the book signing was going on, Emon had attended to Tamogami with a smile on his face, listening to people’s compliments for Tamogami as happily as if they were his own. “That was just—too much to bear!” He shouted in a sudden outburst. His eyes were bloodshot, his throat was dry, and he was shaking. Reverend Dimmesdale in The Scarlet Letter is a devout Puritan. His community respects him for being a chaste and honest person. And yet, he has an affair with another man’s wife, who births a child. The community punishes his partner, forcing her to stand in the stocks and to wear the letter A as a symbol of the repugnant crime she had committed. But even as the scarlet A is being sewn onto her clothes, she refuses to say a word about the identity of the child’s father, and she labors away despite constant humiliation to raise her daughter. The minister, Dimmesdale, who had initially gotten away unpunished, grows weaker day by day. He hasn’t been judged for his crime. But Dimmesdale’s sentence is in fact even more severe. Whenever he is alone, he whips his own body. He flogs himself over and over again. Yet even that isn’t enough to alleviate his guilt. In Dimmesdale’s eyes, the bright scarlet A isn’t there to mark the woman who had committed the crime, but to remind him of his own transgressions. You have sinned. Yet you wear the robes of a clergyman without shame and continue basking in the reverent gazes of everyone in town. You filthy villain. It’s as if the crimson letter itself is accusing him. Seeing the woman accompanied by his growing child is like being in hell. His suffering continues for seven years. Finally, on the verge of dying of guilt, he climbs up on the stocks and reveals before the public the letter A he had carved into his own chest. Dimmesdale breathes his last and finds salvation in death. His eyes would never again see the scarlet A. He would fear it no longer. But Tamogami had lived much longer after committing his crime. For more than twenty years, he had suffered and feared—and despaired. Even after leaving his hometown and cutting off all communication with his old friend, Emon’s gentle smile haunted his mind. To Tamogami, that clear smile was worse than any amount of anger or contempt. It was his punishment. So he ran away. As far as he could— He ran and ran and kept running. He didn’t take Emon’s calls and wrote short, businesslike replies to his e-mails, trying to keep as much distance as possible. Even when Emon reached out to tell him that he and Yaeko had had a child, Tamogami couldn’t feel happy for them. All he could think was Do I have to send them a present? Emon will probably thank me for it, but maybe I can get away with handling that by e-mail? “You’re welcome to come and see us if you’d like.” Emon had said that on the phone, but Tamogami had been noncommittal. “Sure…someday.” When he’d hung up the phone, his hands and face had been cold and stiff, and he had gotten angry when Asuka had innocently mentioned that she wanted to see the baby. He had answered her in a stern tone of voice. “It’s impossible. I’ve got deadlines to keep.” Even when Asuka asked him if something had happened between him and Emon, all he could do was respond stiffly. “Nothing happened.” He took in Asuka and made a life with her, the girl who dreamed of finding fame as an actress in the city, because in her he saw a reflection of his painfully arrogant former self. Tamogami hoped that by becoming her mentor, he might be able to somehow alleviate the guilt he harbored toward Emon. He believed they were kindred spirits, so he wanted Asuka to pursue her dreams without being tainted by sin. However, she never really blossomed. In time, she was beset by anxiety, until she only reminded Tamogami of the days he’d spent raging about his failure to make it past third place. In the end, he couldn’t help Asuka, and they had a falling out. Things became uncomfortable after the matter of Emon’s baby, and she left his apartment. As she walked out, she said something to him with a miserable look on her face. “When I’m with you, I feel unsettled, and it’s rapidly getting worse.” With Asuka gone, he started thinking about Emon more and more, and from there, his suffering only grew. As for his work, he was periodically completing commissions, but none of them were able to surpass the sales of this debut work, A Funeral for Kanoyama Books. Whenever he heard an editor or a reader ask, “Please write something like Kanoyama Books again,” it was as if his heart were being gouged out. Emon’s gentle smile would float up in the back of his mind, and Tamogami would hold his head in his hands in his frigid, lonely room, repeating his supplications for forgiveness. “By that point, it was clear Emon had no intention of telling anyone what I had done. For that very reason, I couldn’t stop ruminating about him, which was driving me mad. I was in hell.” Minami, Asuka, and Musubu all stared at Tamogami with stiff faces as he told his tale, sighing with distress as he spoke. “The afternoon before the day Emon died, he suddenly called me on the phone. My heart nearly stopped—we hadn’t had any contact in the nearly ten years since his child was born, so why was he calling me out of the blue?” “I was looking at a photo from back when you did your book signing, and it got me feeling nostalgic. I wondered how you were doing, Kouichi. “That was really something—the line went all the way out the building! Everybody had a copy of your book in their hands, and they were all smiling happily. “Are you sure you won’t be coming back here, Kouichi? I’d like to talk about books with you again.” “I’m sure Emon really did think that. I’m sure he felt nostalgic and wanted to meet up to talk—but that was impossible for me. When I heard his voice through the phone after more than ten years, it was like a storm began to rage inside my heart, and I—I blurted everything out.” “I don’t want to see you… “Why haven’t you told anyone that I’m a criminal who stole your story? “For over twenty years…you’ve been smiling, never condemning me, and it’s killing me. “As long as you’re alive, I’ll never find peace…! I’ll always be in hell!” On the other end of the phone, Emon had been silent. He had probably been shocked and couldn’t say anything. Just one single phrase got out. “I’m sorry.” He apologized. To Tamogami. In a voice filled with sorrow. Why?! Why are you apologizing?! I’m the one who did something cruel to you! His pitiful apology just gouged at Tamogami’s heart even more. He hung up the phone and threw it at the floor. The very next day, Emon had been arranging books in the shop alone in the middle of the night when he’d slipped off his stepladder. Books had fallen on his head, and he’d died. Then the day after that— —a package had come for Tamogami from Emon. Inside the A4-size envelope was the handmade picture book Tamogami had seen in the office of Koumoto Books all those years ago. The Last Bookstore. The moment he saw the title written in crayon, the blood rushed to his head and a sharp pain ran through his chest, as though his heart were being crushed. Just how much will the virtuous Emon Koumoto have to torment me before he’s satisfied? Did he think it would bring me peace of mind if he offered me the very work I stole? Preposterous! He’s only increased my suffering! Tamogami loathed seeing the evidence of his crime. He thought about throwing it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he shoved it into the back of his bookshelf and laughed, at his wit’s end. He wondered if he had finally lost his mind. In a way, that would probably have been easier. However, an even greater hell was awaiting Tamogami. News of Emon Koumoto’s death reached him. “As long as you’re alive, I’ll never find peace…” The day after Tamogami said those words, Emon had died in an unfortunate accident. “I’m sorry.” Emon’s pitiful voice reverberated through his mind. Tamogami’s whole world had come unmoored. Was it really an accident? That you died right after I told you I could never be at ease while you were alive? “—That man, Emon Koumoto, he died because of me, didn’t he?” With a twisted expression on his face, in a voice as if he were spitting up bitter blood, Tamogami begged Minami and the others. His shoulders slumped, and he hung his head deeply. “Please let me die. I can’t take anymore.” Asuka, who had once been his lover, made a pained face. Tears filled her eyes as she held his head to her breast in an embrace. But that wasn’t enough to save him. “Let me die. If I had died earlier, Emon wouldn’t have. I’m sure of it. I killed Emon.” He continued mumbling that they should let him die. In the gray room filled with the smell of death, Minami had been listening to Tamogami’s confession, squeezing her left wrist so hard with her right hand that it threatened to leave a bruise. That was when her lips trembled, and furious words surged out of her. “That’s enough! The boss would absolutely never have taken his own life!”
Chapter 18
44 min read