Chapter 10
2. The God of the Dream of Immortality
When we stepped down onto the beach, the sea shimmered even more brightly, almost burning our eyes.
"You're making quite a face, Katagishi-san."
Miyaki took off her pumps, turned them upside down, and shook out the sand from the soles.
"I'm bad with bright light."
"It really is intense sunlight. Feels like my eyeballs are going to fry—like, sizzle."
"Yeah, right. Filing for worker's comp is a pain when you're a public servant."
I turned my gaze back to the sea.
"Miyaki, what happened to that amazake?"
"I threw it out, of course."
"There were scales in it, right?"
"Well, they did sell dried fish and stuff at that shop. Maybe it got mixed in during processing..."
I shook my head.
In this village, they apparently call scenes like this—white sand against skin, sparkling waves like fish scales—something like 'a mermaid's belly.'
Remembering the glittering scales in the amazake that had spread across the uneven asphalt, the grotesque image of rice malt melting into maggot-like white shapes in my imagination made me shake my head involuntarily.
"Father-in-law, don't go too far that way."
A woman's voice overlapped with the sound of crashing waves.
A middle-aged woman holding a black parasol walked slowly along the shoreline, and for a moment, it felt like the height of summer.
The woman smiled, squinting against the brightness, and gave us a nod. She was unmistakably one of the villagers—bright, overly familiar, and unreserved.
An old man stood where her gaze landed.
The elderly man, with unkempt white hair and beard, stood motionless where the waves nearly splashed him.
Water soaked his cloth shoes, turning the brown fabric almost black.
Looking down at his feet, he slightly bent his knees and made a motion as if to step forward.
Rather than stepping, it was a strange movement, like a shogi piece hesitating to move a single square.
It was like rewinding a video by one second with a remote.
The old man repeated the motion while getting his legs wet with seawater. As I stared, the sunspots and wrinkles on his sunburned face twisted into a blissful smile. A droplet of saliva dripped from his cracked, dry lips and fell onto his sweater.
"Father-in-law, you'll catch a chill. Let's go back."
The woman with the parasol grabbed his elbow. The old man turned to her with a smile and nodded.
The woman took his hand and began walking toward us.
Miyaki and I stood still, watching the two of them draw closer.
As they passed by, the woman whispered to the old man.
"Were you dreaming of the mermaid again?"
I glanced at Miyaki, silently asking, "Did you hear that?" Miyaki gave a vague nod.
A seagull flew overhead.
When I looked up at the screeching cry, I saw a woman in a down jacket standing at the top of the steps leading to the beach.
Her frizzy hair fluttered in the wind as she stared intently at me.
Led by the woman, we walked along the coastal road, feeling the villagers' gazes stabbing into our backs.
From behind counters and benches beside standing ashtrays outside souvenir shops, villagers peeked out, all wearing unnaturally compressed smiles, their narrow eyes tracking us.
"Earlier..."
I didn't know what to say.
"Don't thank me. Someone might hear."
Her voice was hoarse, roughened by alcohol.
"Um, is there something you want to talk to us about?"
Glancing at Miyaki's forced smile, the woman shoved her hand into her pocket.
"Not here."
"Then maybe a café? Or your home, if you'd prefer."
The woman stopped walking. Beyond her swaying fur-trimmed hood was a rundown motel.
It looked more like a flat building where only the first floor of an old apartment remained.
"Just say I'm a guest. That's the least suspicious option."
I looked at Miyaki.
"It's okay, Katagishi-san. This is work. Go and listen properly."
Miyaki gave me an irresponsible thumbs-up, then added, "Ah."
"Just listen, okay?"
I didn't even feel like replying. Like a dog, I followed the woman into the motel.
While being glared at by an old man in glasses at the front desk, we passed through a dark hallway and opened the door to the room matching the number on the key the woman had received.
The room, decorated with cheap blue and white wallpaper covered in seashells and starfish, was dimly lit.
Even here, the painting on the wall showed a mermaid lying on a muddy beach. The oily brushstrokes that carved out the navel's hollow and the collarbone's line gave it a vaguely obscene vibe.
The woman sat on the bed, introduced herself as Susaki, and said she was a part-timer from the neighboring village.
I pulled out the chair shoved under the desk and sat at a distance.
"You're from Tokyo, right? I can kind of tell. And you're not in the tourism industry either."
Susaki placed the table ashtray on the bed and lit a cigarette.
"Did you read the letter?"
I considered the situation. Even if this village was strange, could I really say this woman wasn't one of them?
While I remained silent, Susaki swung her scarred legs. Unable to gather my thoughts, I eventually nodded.
"So, you came here because you heard this village is messed up."
"Well, I just heard..."
"But now you get it, right?"
I scratched my head. Susaki gave a mocking laugh.
"Is there a connection between the village being strange and the mermaid legend?"
Susaki pressed the filter to her lips and exhaled smoke.
"Forget the polite speech. Yeah. How should I put it? This village has always been crap, but it got really bad after the whole mermaid thing."
"What do you mean, always been crap?"
"Didn't you think so? If you really believed your village was so great and full of good people, you wouldn't say that unless you were delusional."
I didn't respond, but she seemed to take my silence as an answer.
"You know the mermaid legend, right? Didn't anything about it strike you as odd?"
She didn't care that ash was falling on the futon as she tapped her cigarette on the ashtray's edge.
"It's a small detail, but..."
"Yeah?"
"The beginning is weird. Supposedly, people in this village always help those in trouble. So why did the fisherman hide the mermaid, not ask for help, not even show her to a doctor, and take care of her alone? If he was just a weirdo, that'd explain it, but..."
"You're right."
Susaki crossed her legs.
"The fisherman was a weirdo. But he knew the villagers were scum. He figured if he told them, they'd do something awful, so he took care of her by himself. Though they eventually found out."
The smell of smoke made me want a cigarette. I rubbed my lips and waited for her to continue.
"Did you know eating mermaid meat gives you immortality?"
"That's the legend of Yao Bikuni."
"I didn't know that. Huh, so that's a thing. Anyway, after they found the mermaid, the villagers killed her and ate her."
I looked at the mermaid in the oil painting. Her vacant smile resembled that of the old man on the beach.
"And they turned that into some fairytale. Seriously, these villagers are shameless, lying scumbags. The mermaid legend originally came from our village, you know."
"So that story about the fisherman rowing out to sea on his own wasn't true either."
The woman grinned. It wasn't blissful—it was a sick, twisted smile.
"Most likely, the fisherman was killed before the mermaid. He resisted when they demanded he hand her over, so they got rid of him. Then they killed and ate the mermaid, and dumped the fisherman's body at dawn. Am I wrong?"
"Not exactly."
I shrugged.
"He was almost killed, yeah, but the fisherman survived. After being thrown into the sea with his wrecked boat, he used a wooden plank like a kickboard and swam to the next village. He escaped."
"How do you know that?"
Tilting her head in a childlike gesture, Susaki spoke as if it were nothing.
"Because that fisherman was my grandfather."
I probably looked like a fish washed ashore, mouth opening and closing. I started to stand, then thought better of it and sat back down.
"Well... I see..."
Susaki burst out laughing at my idiotic response.
"Grandpa washed up in our village and ended up remarrying the grandma who took care of him."
If the grandfather of this woman, who looks younger and more fragile than her age, was really that fisherman, then the entire village legend would be a lie.
In that case, what the eaten mermaid gave to the villagers couldn't possibly have been a blessing.
"He told the whole family never to get involved with the village he came from, but before he died, I heard this story and got curious about what kind of place it was. I checked it out thinking, 'Wow, this place really is awful,' but it turned out to be even worse—"
From beyond the window came the grating sound of a loose fan belt and tire friction, followed by an impact like an explosion.
Brushing aside the soot-stained lace curtain and looking outside, I saw a small car crashed into a leaning utility pole, crumpled like a bulldog. Not far away, a motorcycle lay on its side, smoking.
I looked for Miyaki, who had been left outside, but didn't see her.
"If you're going, then go."
Holding a shortened cigarette, Susaki didn't even try to look toward the window.
"I'm still staying. It's better if we leave at different times."
"Thanks for the help."
I pulled the room fee from my wallet, tossed it onto the table, and dashed out of the room.
Outside, a crowd of onlookers had already gathered, and I could hear an ambulance siren.
On the edge of the crowd, Miyaki, arms crossed, was observing the scene and noticed me.
"All done?"
"Yeah. Was it an accident?"
"Yes, both are villagers, it seems. The one in the car only has minor injuries, but the kid on the bike..."
In front of the car, a man who appeared to be the driver was pressing a blood-soaked towel to his forehead.
From the man's feet, black skid marks arced across the asphalt, stretching all the way to the motorcycle that had slammed into the wall.
"The ambulance is here, make way!"
One of the onlookers shouted, and the villagers stepped aside to clear a path.
Without thinking, I slipped into the newly opened space and approached the accident scene.
Pushing through the crowd, I could see the rear wheel of the motorcycle still spinning aimlessly.
The villagers' murmurs gradually became clearer.
"Well, thank goodness."
"For what?"
"Look—this kid..."
"Ah, you're right."
A young man, probably a college student in a rider's jacket, was lying on the ground. Dark red blood oozed across the pavement like it was biting into it. From the villagers' optimistic tone, I had imagined something less severe, but the injuries were serious. Blood flowed ceaselessly from his head, dyeing half his face crimson.
The moment I got close enough to see the young man's face, I heard the villagers' voices, and by the time I regretted it, it was already too late.
"He's properly dreaming of the mermaid."
With his head split open and blood pouring out, the young man had the same intense smile as the old man on the beach, his red-stained face twisted in ecstasy.