“Yes. Saying you were the one who thought all this up. That I had nothing to do with it! To give to the hotel manager.”
“Huh?” The Woman in the Purple Skirt raised her voice a notch louder. “I’m telling you, I didn’t do it!”
“You’re lying.”
“I am telling you the truth!”
“You are not! Stop lying to me! You used to give out cookies and chocolates from the hotel to the kids from that elementary school, didn’t you? What were those, if not hotel property? Well, actually, they belong to the guests. So, in effect, you were stealing things from the guests and passing them along to schoolkids. The same kids who were selling the hotel towels and dishware at the bazaar! Did you know about that? And guess what, those kids claim they were told to do it—by a woman! Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it—of course you did.”
“I didn’t! I didn’t know anything!”
“You made use of your position as a member of the staff and sold things that belonged to the hotel.”
“Stop! Shut up! What do you mean, ‘member of the staff’? Don’t you dare take that superior tone with me. What gives you the right? Don’t think I don’t know what you get up to. Taking naps every day in the nonbookable guest rooms. Locking the door from the inside. Treating yourself to a nice cup of coffee after taking forty winks. And just leaving the dirty cup there when you’ve finished with it. . . .”
“So what? That’s nothing. There’s nothing terrible about that.”
“Oh? Well, actually, that’s not all. That time, when was it, that Reina Igarashi was a guest at the hotel? I have a sneaking suspicion that you stole some of her underwear, didn’t you?”
“Eh . . . ?!”
“Aha, so you did! I wondered what you were doing when I saw you hunched over in front of the door to her room, looking so secretive, rummaging around. You were going through the laundry bag on her doorknob, and looking for what you could find, weren’t you? I saw you pull out some red frilly garment, and then stuff it in your pants pocket. I bet it was her panties, wasn’t it! Disgusting. Unbelievable. Despicable. Pervert! You pervert!”
“Knock it off!” he ordered.
“You’re a pervert! A creep! A disgusting pervert!”
“Cut it out! I’m telling you . . . !”
“Ow! You’re hurting me! Let me go! All right, you just wait: I’m going to tell everyone all about it! I’ll tell your wife, I’ll tell the head office, I’ll tell the hotel manager . . . !”
“Enough!” The director grabbed the Woman in the Purple Skirt by the shoulders. “I’m telling you, just knock it off! If you tell them, you’re not going to get away with it!!”
And then he began to shake her, backward and forward, so vigorously that I heard a cracking sound from her neck. But the Woman in the Purple Skirt was giving just as good as she got. At the first opportunity, she wriggled out of his grip, bent down slightly, and started punching him in the belly. He groaned and staggered back, and then she kneed him in the groin and slapped him across the face. Taking hold of the railing in both hands, he tried to right himself. But the balustrade on the stairs was so rusted away that it couldn’t support the heavy weight of his body. With a loud snapping sound, the balusters broke off from the base rail, and the director fell headfirst to the ground.
He lay there on the brown earth, completely still.
The Woman in the Purple Skirt descended the stairs, shaking.
“Tomo, Tomo dear . . .” She crouched down beside the prone body and extended her hand.
“Tomo dear . . . Tomo dear . . . ,” she called, and shook his shoulder and back.
“Tomo dear . . . Tomo dear . . . Tomo dear . . . Answer me, Tomo dear. Wake up. Answer me. Tomo dear! Tomo dear! Tomo dear! Tomo dear! Hey, Tomo dear! Answer me!”
“Shush. Stop screaming like that,” I said.
The Woman in the Purple Skirt turned to look at me. Her face was white, and covered in tears and snot.
“Let me take a look.” I squatted down, easing myself between them.
First I lifted his right wrist. Then I lifted his left one. I put two fingers against his neck, and brought my ear down close to his mouth. The Woman in the Purple Skirt was quiet, observing me, waiting. There was a moment of silence. Then I looked up at her and said: “Well, that’s it. He’s croaked.”
The Woman in the Purple Skirt said something in a hushed voice. It was so faint I couldn’t hear it. It might have been “I can’t believe it. . . .”
“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” she was now saying a bit louder.
“It must have been the way he fell. His heart has stopped.”
“Oh God . . . Oh God . . . Oh God . . . It’s not true. Tell me it’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true.”
I shook my head. “I’m very sorry. I can’t do that.”
“Oh God . . . Oh God! Please! Open your eyes, darling! Wake up, Tomo dear!”
The Woman in the Purple Skirt began shaking the director’s body again, desperately. I grabbed her by the wrists. “It’s no use. Don’t you see? He’s dead. He’s not coming back to life.
“Get ahold of yourself. Face the facts. He’s dead. You shouldn’t be trying to bring him back. You should be trying to get away from here, immediately. Run away.”
“Run away . . . ?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “There’s no time to lose. The police are going to arrive any minute now.”
“The police?”
“Somebody called them and reported you. When they heard you screaming. You’ve got to get away. Before the police arrive.”
“Wh-what . . .”
“Get up. Quickly.”
“Bu-but . . .”
“No buts. Listen. You’ve got to make a run for it. Head straight for the bus stop. There’s a bus bound for Komori bus terminus due at 8:02. Get on it. You’ve got four minutes to get there, but you have to hurry—you should be able to make it, with your background as a runner. The bus should arrive at the train station at 8:34. Get off and board a train. Look for
