Dance Dance Dance

the table. When my reality strayed out of contact, they looked like fine craftwork.

Then he smiled, ever so peaceably. «Did I kill Kiki?» he enunciated slowly.

«Only joking,» I hedged.

Gotanda's eyes fell to the table, to his fingers. «No, this isn't a joke. This is very important. I really have to think about it. Did I kill Kiki? I have to give this very serious thought.»

I stared at him. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes weren't.

«Could there be a reason for you to kill Kiki?» I asked.

«Could there be a reason for me to kill Kiki? I don't even know myself. Did I kill Kiki? Why?»

«Hey, how would I know?» I tried to laugh. «Did you kill Kiki, or didn't you kill Kiki?»

«I said, I'm thinking about it. Did I kill Kiki, or didn't I?»

Gotanda took another sip of beer, set down his glass, and propped his head up on his hand. «I can't be sure. Sounds stupid, doesn't it? But I mean it. I'm not sure. I think, maybe, I tried to strangle Kiki. At my place, I think. «Why would I have killed Kiki there? I didn't even want to be alone with her. No good, I can't remember. But anyway, Kiki and I were at my place—I put her body in the car and took her someplace and I buried her. Somewhere in the moun­tains. I can't be sure if I really did it. I can't believe I'd do a thing like that. I just feel as if I might have done it. I can't prove it. I give up. The most critical part's a blank. I'm. try­ing to think if there's any physical evidence. Like a shovel. I'd have to have used a shovel. If I found a shovel, I'd know I did it. Let me try again. I buy a shovel at a garden supply. I use the shovel to dig a hole and bury Kiki. Then I toss the shovel. Okay, where?

«The whole thing's in pieces, like a dream. The story goes this way and that way. It's going nowhere. I have memories of something. But are the memories for real? Or are they something I made up later to fit? Something's wrong with me. It's gotten worse since my wife and I split up. I'm tired. I'm really . . . lost.»

I said nothing.

After a pause, Gotanda went on. «Well, what's real anyway? From what point is it all phobia? Or acting? I thought if I hung around you, I'd get a better grip on things. I thought so from the first time you asked me about Kiki. Like maybe you'd clear away this muddle. Open a window and let some fresh air in.» He folded his hands again and peered down at them. «Let's say I did kill Kiki—what would be the reason? I liked her. I liked sleeping with her. When I was down, she and Mei were my only release. So why kill her?»

«Did you kill Mei?»

Gotanda stared at his hands for an aeon, then shook his head. «No, I don't believe I killed Mei. Thank god, I have an alibi for that night. The day she was killed, I was at the stu­dio until midnight, then I drove with my manager to Mito. What a relief. If no one could swear I was at the studio that night, I'd worry that I killed Mei too. But I still feel responsi­ble for Mei's death. I don't know why. I wasn't there, but it's like I killed her with my own hands. I have this feeling that she died on account of me.»

Another aeon passed while he stared at his fingers.

«Gotanda, you're beat,» I said. «That's all. You probably didn't kill anyone. Kiki just vanished somewhere. When we were together, she used to disappear like that. It wouldn't be the first time. You're riding yourself too hard. Don't do it.»

«No, it's not like that. Not that simple. I probably did kill Kiki. I don't think I killed Mei, but, yes, I think I killed Kiki. The sensation of the air going out of her throat is still in my fingers. I can still feel the weight of the dirt in the shovel. In effect, I killed her.»

«But why would you kill Kiki? It doesn't make sense.»

«No idea,» he said. «Maybe an urge to self-destruct. It's happened before. I get this gap between me Gotanda and me the actor, and I stand back and actually observe myself doing shit. I'm on one side of this very deep, dark fault, and then unconsciously, on the other side, I have this urge to destroy something. Smash it to bits. A glass. A pencil. A plastic model. Never happens when other people are around, though. Only when I'm alone.

«But once, when I was in elementary school, I knocked into this friend of mine, and he fell off a small bluff. I don't know why I did it. But the next thing I knew, he was down there. It wasn't a big fall, so he wasn't hurt too bad. It was supposed to be an accident. I mean, why would I push this friend of mine over the edge on purpose? That's what every­one thought. I wasn't so sure. Then high school, I set fire to these mailboxes. I'd put a burning rag down the slot. Not just once, not even as a prank. It was like I was compelled to do it. Like it was the only thing that'd bring me to my senses. Unconsciously, that was what I thought. But after­wards I would remember the feel of things. I could still feel it in my hands. And I wouldn't be able to wash it off. God, what a horrible life. I don't know how I can stand it.» Gotanda shook his head.

«How do I check if I killed Kiki?» Gotanda went on. «There's no evidence. No corpse. No shovel. No dirt on my trousers. No blisters on my hands. Not that digging a hole is going to give you blisters. I don't even remember where I buried her. Say I went to the police and confessed, who'd believe me? If there's no body, it's not a homicide. She disap­peared. That's all I know for sure. There've been times I wanted to tell you, but I just couldn't. I thought it'd wipe out whatever closeness we had. Whenever I'm with you, I feel so relaxed. I never feel the gap. You don't know how precious that is. I don't want to lose a friendship like ours. So I kept putting off telling you, until you asked, like this. I really ought to have come clean.»

«Come clean? When there's no evidence you did any­thing?»

«Evidence isn't the issue. I ought to have told you first. But I concealed it. That's the problem.»

«C'mon, even if it were true, even if you did kill Kiki, you didn't mean to kill her.»

He held out his palms, as if he were going to read them. «No. I didn't mean to. I didn't have a reason. I liked her, and in a small way we were friends. We could talk. I could tell

her about my wife, and she'd listen, honestly. Why would I want to kill her? But I did, I think, with these hands. Maybe I didn't do it willfully. But I did. I strangled her. But I wasn't strangling her, I was strangling my shadow. I remember thinking, if only I could choke my shadow off, I'd get some health. Except it wasn't my shadow. It was Kiki.

«It all took place in that dark world. You know what I'm talking about? Not here in this one. And it was Kiki who led me there. Choke me, Kiki told me. Go ahead and kill me, it's okay. She invited me to, allowed me to. I swear, honestly, it happened like that. Without me knowing. Can that happen? It was like a dream. The more I think about it, the more it doesn't feel real. Why would Kiki ask me to kill her?»

I downed the last of my lukewarm beer. A dense layer of cigarette smoke hovered like an ectoplasmic phenomenon.

«Feel like another beer?» I asked him.

«Yeah, I could use one.»

I went to the bar and came back with two mugs, which we drank in silence. The turnover at the place was as busy as Akihabara Station at rush hour, customers coming and going constantly. Nobody bothered listening in to our conversa­tion. Nobody even looked at Gotanda.

«What'd I tell you?» Gotanda summoned up a smile as he spoke. «Not a star in sight.» Gotanda swished his two-thirds empty glass around like a test tube.

«Let's forget it,» I said quietly. «I can forget it. You forget it too.»

«You think I can forget it? Easy to say, but you didn't kill her with your own hands.»

«Hey, you hear me? There's no evidence you killed Kiki. Stop blaming yourself for something that might not have even happened. Your unconscious is using Kiki's vanishing act as a convenient way to lay a guilt trip on you. Isn't that a possibility?»

«Okay, let's talk possibilities,» said Gotanda, laying his palms flat on the table. «I've been doing nothing but consid­ering possibilities lately. All sorts of possibilities. Like the

possibility that I'll kill my wife. Am I right? Maybe I'd stran­gle her if she allowed me to, like Kiki did. Possibilities are like cancer. The more I think about them, the more they multiply, and there's no way to stop them. I'm out of con­trol. I didn't just burn mailboxes. I killed four cats. I used a slingshot and busted the neighbors' window. I couldn't stop doing shit like this. And I never told anyone about it, until this minute. God,» he sighed