stopped whistling for a second, extracted something stuck between his teeth with a fingernail, popped it in his mouth and carefully tasted it, then smacked his lips, satisfied, and gulped it down. Next he opened the black plastic bag and casually tossed in the dead cat's body like some useless shell.
'One down,' Johnnie Walker said, spreading his bloody hands in front of Nakata. 'A bit of work, don't you think? You can enjoy a nice fresh heart, but look how bloody you get. No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red. A line from Macbeth. This isn't as bad as Macbeth, but you wouldn't believe the dry-cleaning bills. This is a special outfit, after all. I should wear a surgical gown and gloves, but I can't. Another rule, I'm afraid.'
Nakata didn't say a word, though something was beginning to stir in his mind. The room smelled of blood, and strains of 'Heigh-Ho' rang in his ears.
Johnnie Walker pulled out the next cat from his bag, a white female, not so young, with the tip of her tail bent a little. As before, he stroked the cat's head for a while, then leisurely traced an invisible line down her stomach. He picked up a scalpel and again made a quick cut to open up the chest. The rest was the same as before. The silent scream, the convulsing body, guts spilling out. Pulling out the bloody heart, showing it to Nakata, popping it in his mouth, chewing it slowly. The satisfied smile. Wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. All with 'Heigh-Ho' as background music.
Nakata sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. He held his head in his hands, the fingertips digging into his temples. Something was definitely rising up within him, a horrible confusion transforming his very being. He was breathing rapidly, and a sharp pain throbbed in his neck. His vision was changing drastically.
'Mr. Nakata,' Johnnie Walker said brightly, 'don't poop out on me yet. We're just getting to the main event. That was just the opening act, a mere warm-up. Now we're getting to the lineup you know. So open your eyes wide and take a good long look. This is the best part! I hope you'll appreciate how hard I've tried to make this entertaining for you.'
Whistling his tune, he took out the next cat. Sunk in his chair, Nakata opened his eyes and looked at the next victim. His mind was a complete blank, and he couldn't even stand up.
'I believe you already know each other,' Johnnie Walker said, 'but I'll do the honors anyway. Mr. Nakata, this is Mr. Kawamura. Mr. Kawamura, Mr. Nakata.' Johnnie Walker tipped his hat in a theatrical gesture, greeting first Nakata, then the paralyzed cat.
'Now that you've said hello, I'm afraid we move right into farewells. Hello, good-bye. Like flowers scattered in a storm, man's life is one long farewell, as they say.' He gave Kawamura's soft stomach a gentle caress. 'Now's the time to stop me if you're going to, Mr. Nakata. Time's ticking away, and I won't hesitate. In the dictionary of the infamous cat-killer Johnnie Walker, hesitate is one word you won't find.'
And indeed without any hesitation at all he slit open Kawamura's belly. This time the scream was audible. Maybe the cat's tongue hadn't been fully paralyzed, or perhaps it was a special kind of scream that only Nakata could hear. An awful, bloodcurdling scream. Nakata closed his eyes and held his trembling head in his hands.
'You have to look!' Johnnie Walker commanded. 'That's another one of our rules. Closing your eyes isn't going to change anything. Nothing's going to disappear just because you can't see what's going on. In fact, things will be even worse the next time you open your eyes. That's the kind of world we live in, Mr. Nakata. Keep your eyes wide open. Only a coward closes his eyes. Closing your eyes and plugging up your ears won't make time stand still.'
Nakata did as he was told and opened his eyes.
Once he was sure they were open, Johnnie Walker made a show of devouring Kawamura's heart, taking more time than before to savor it. 'It's soft and warm. Just like fresh eel liver,' Johnnie Walker commented. He then lifted a bloody index finger to his mouth and sucked it. 'Once you've acquired a taste for this, you get hooked. Especially the sticky blood.'
He wiped the blood off the scalpel, whistling cheerily as always, and sawed off Kawamura's head. The fine teeth of the blade cut through the bone and blood spurted out everywhere.
'Please, Mr. Walker, Nakata can't stand it anymore!'
Johnnie Walker stopped whistling. He halted his work and scratched an earlobe. 'That won't fly, Mr. Nakata. I'm sorry you feel bad, I really am, but I can't just say, Okay, will do, and call this off. I told you. This is war. It's hard to stop a war once it starts. Once the sword is drawn, blood's going to be spilled. This doesn't have anything to do with theory or logic, or even my ego. It's just a rule, pure and simple. If you don't want any more cats to be killed, you've got to kill me. Stand up, focus your hatred, and strike me down. And you've got to do it now. Do that and it's all over. End of story.'
Johnnie Walker started whistling again. He finished cutting off Kawamura's head and tossed the headless body into the garbage bag. Now there were three heads lined up on the metal tray. They'd suffered such agony, yet their faces were as strangely vacant as those of the cats lined up in the freezer.
'Next comes the Siamese.' Johnnie Walker said this and then extracted a limp Siamese from his bag-which of course turned out to be Mimi. 'So now we come to little 'Mi Chiamano Mimi.' The Puccini opera. This little cat really does have that elegant coquetry, doesn't she? I'm a big Puccini fan, myself. Puccini's music is kind of-what should I call it?-eternally antagonistic to the times. Mere popular entertainment, you might argue, but it never gets old. Quite an artistic accomplishment.'
He whistled a bar from 'Mi Chiamano Mimi.'
'But I have to tell you, Mr. Nakata, it took some doing to catch Mimi. She's clever and cautious, very quick on the draw. Not the type to get suckered into anything. One tough customer. But the cat that can elude Johnnie Walker, the matchless cat-killer, has yet to be born. Not that I'm bragging or anything, I'm just trying to convey how hard it was to nab her… At any rate, voila! Your friend Mimi! Siamese are my absolute favorites. You're not aware of this, but a Siamese cat's heart is a real gem. Sort of like truffles. It's okay, Mimi. Never fear-Johnnie Walker's here! Ready to enjoy your warm, cute little heart. Ah-you're trembling!'
'Johnnie Walker.' From deep inside himself Nakata managed to force out the words in a low voice. 'Please, stop it. If you don't, Nakata's going to go crazy. I don't feel like myself anymore.'
Johnnie Walker laid Mimi down on the desk and as always let his fingers slowly crawl along her belly. 'So you're no longer yourself,' he said carefully and quietly. 'That's very important, Mr. Nakata. A person not being himself anymore.' He picked up a scapel he hadn't used yet and tested its sharpness with the tip of his finger. Then, as if doing a trial cut, he ran the blade along the back of his hand. A moment later blood oozed up, dripping onto the desk and Mimi's body. Johnnie Walker chuckled. 'A person's not being himself anymore,' he repeated. 'You're no longer yourself. That's the ticket, Mr. Nakata. Wonderful! The most important thing of all. O, full of scorpions is my mind! Macbeth again.'
Without a word, Nakata stood up. No one, not even Nakata himself, could stop him. With long strides he walked over to the desk and grabbed what looked like a steak knife. Grasping the wooden handle firmly, he plunged the blade into Johnnie Walker's stomach, piercing the black vest, then stabbed again in another spot. He could hear something, a loud sound, and at first didn't know what it was. But then he understood. Johnnie Walker was laughing. Stabbed in the stomach and chest, his blood spouting out, he continued to laugh.
'That's the stuff!' he yelled. 'You didn't hesitate. Well done!' Laughing like it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard. Soon though, his laughter turned into a sob. The blood gurgling in his throat sounded like a drain coming unplugged. A terrible convulsion wracked his body, and blood gushed out of his mouth along with dark, slimy lumps-the hearts of the cats he'd eaten. The blood spewed over the desk, onto Nakata's golf shirt. Both men were drenched in blood. Mimi, too, lying on the desk, was soaked with it.
Johnnie Walker collapsed at Nakata's feet. He was on his side, curled up like a child on a cold night, and was unmistakably dead. His left hand was pressed against his throat, his right thrust straight out as though reaching for something. The convulsions had ceased and, of course, the laughter. A faint sneer still showed on his lips. Blood puddled on the wooden floor, and the silk hat had rolled off into a corner. The hair on the back of Johnnie Walker's head was thin, the skin visible beneath. Without the hat he looked much older and more feeble.
Nakata dropped the knife and it clattered on the floor as loudly as the gear of some large machine clanking away in the distance. Nakata stood next to the body for a long time. Everything in the room had come to a standstill. Only the blood continued, silently, to flow, the puddle slowly spreading across the floor.
Finally, Nakata pulled himself together and gathered Mimi up from the desk. Warm and limp in his hands, she was covered in blood but apparently unharmed. Mimi looked up as if trying to tell him something, but the drug kept her mouth from moving.
