EDGE (46 page)

Hashiba took a deep breath, readying himself for the answer. “Tell us, Isogai. What’s going on?”

Isogai was about to answer Hashiba’s question but suddenly leant over the keyboard and tapped a few keys. “Hang on, a new email just came in … It’s from Cyril Burt in the U.S.” Isogai enlarged the window to fill the screen. The email contained just a line of text, simple and to the point, an instruction to everyone in the room:

“Turn on the TV right now.”

Handily deciphering this one, Hashiba asked Hosokawa to do so. The cameraman leaned across and clicked the TV on. It was just after 8 o’clock, prime time. A young comedian appeared on the screen, presenting some kind of variety show, and the studio audience was in stitches at his routine. The sound of laughter flowing into the room seemed disconnected and echoed in stark contrast to the tense atmosphere of the hotel room. If anything, the laughter only served to worsen the tension. Hashiba reflected on his earlier conviction that numbers had no tangible effect on the real world. If anything the jokes on the TV seemed worse than ever—maybe that was the effect.

Hosokawa picked up the remote and started flicking through channels, hoping to find the broadcast that Cyril wanted them to see. He flicked onto a news channel, and the room fell silent. The sound of helicopters blared into the room through the speakers. A female Japanese reporter shouted excitedly over the noise. The image on the screen was of darkening twilight, and it was almost impossible to make out any detail.
The reporter’s voice outlined the source of the commotion:

It’s past 3 a.m. local time here in California. I don’t know if you can see this … this gigantic tear in the earth … It seems to stretch all the way from Bakersfield in the northwest close to just south of San Francisco. The chasm appeared here in what was just desert until yesterday. The absolute quiet with which it appeared suggests the workings of a power beyond human knowledge
.

Aerial searchlights flicked back and forth across the screen, conveying images of the scene through the TV set. A number of media-chartered helicopters seemed to be converging around the space, pitching a kinetic aura of artificial light against the almost vertical wall of the chasm. The reporter continued to convey details over the noise:

The chasm is thought to be 300 meters wide and 2,000 meters deep. Its length stretches for almost 450 kilometers. This is not the result of tectonic activity. I repeat, there were no reports of tectonic activity around the Los Angeles area at the time the chasm is believed to have appeared
.

I don’t know how to describe it. It looks as though the earth has just disappeared, leaving nothing but an empty V-shaped chasm
.

We have word that the chasm is continuing to grow in length. If it continues to grow in its current direction it is likely to cut directly through San Francisco …

Hashiba was completely absorbed in the images on the screen. Something on this scale would be on every station, news or otherwise, as soon as word got out. Just like after 9/11, the footage would be played over and over, all night through until the next morning. This was no everyday news. A chasm stretching 450 kilometers had just appeared overnight in California. And it was growing in size.

As the helicopters circled northwards their searchlights picked out a tributary of the Salinas River. It had been torn in half and water gushed downwards where the river wall met the chasm. As soon as the water touched the face of the chasm it was sucked into nothingness; the sheer walls were as dry as bone. The water at the edge of the river reflected the light from the helicopters, flashing like diamonds in the darkness. All along the rim on either side, miniature avalanches of loose earth tumbled down. The sight reminded Hashiba of the crater at the herb gardens.
The only difference was the shape—the crater had been circular, like an inverted anthill.

The reporter seemed to have come across the perfect word to describe the chasm:

It’s as though a sharp blade has cut into the earth itself, leaving nothing but this … edge. An edge cut into the earth
.

One of the spotlights landed on a car speeding towards the threshold of the edge. The screeching of brakes sounded but the car failed to stop. Everyone watched, completely dumbstruck as the car flew over the edge and plummeted into the dark void. The reporter’s scream carried over the commotion as one of the cameras hung over the spot where the vehicle had fallen. The news of the chasm’s appearance had obviously not reached everyone. As they watched, car after car went over the edge, accompanied by more screaming. One of the helicopters circled over to where the road met the chasm and directed its powerful lights to warn approaching drivers of the danger ahead.

It would probably be some time before the police arrived to cordon off the area and close the road. Hashiba stood, unable to process the information. The chasm had appeared along the San Andreas Fault. Even now Saeko was headed towards Ina, right on top of the Itoikawa-Shizuoka Tectonic Line. Considering the hour, Hashiba realized that she actually might have already arrived at the Fujimura residence.

Hashiba did not care whether the giant chasm on the TV was the product of a shift in mathematical equations or not. The meaning of the words “phase transition” was tabled. Faced with such an overwhelming disaster, it was clear at last that the script for tomorrow’s filming was no longer relevant. Everyone in the room knew it. They could no longer take for granted that the world would still be here tomorrow.

1
Saeko parked the rental car at the bottom of the hill and began to walk up the gentle incline towards the Fujimura house. This was the third time she would set foot inside. The first time was back in July, when she’d spent an hour looking in the house for her own research. She’d been in the company of Seiji Fujimura. The second time was only a month ago, when she’d visited with Hashiba and the crew. They had filmed here for the whole afternoon.

Now she was here alone. The time was already after 8 p.m. and the neighborhood was submerged in darkness. It was the first time she had seen the place after dark; the atmosphere was completely different. The house stood halfway up a hill. Saeko reached the driveway and looked up at the building; perhaps it was just her imagination, but it looked slightly crooked.

The house was the last on the hill. Saeko looked down at the nearest house below, slightly off to the side. Slivers of light leaked through the curtains, forming faint white pools on the hillside, but there were no other visible signs of life. Still, she found that she could make her way without a flashlight. There was a strange quality to the darkness around the house, not like dawn or dusk—a faint light with a bluish tinge. Saeko craned her neck back to look up at the sky between a gap in the trees at the bottom of the driveway, trying to discern the source as she began making her way up to the house.

The glow seemed to be coming from two wispy bands in the sky, one white and reflecting off the clouds, the other greenish and coming from a different direction, crossing low in the sky. Unlike the aurora-like phenomenon at Atami, this green light was folded and flowed downwards in curtains. In the spaces between the clouds Saeko could make out a number of stars, and below them, the silhouettes of branches moving in the wind, hanging low enough to almost brush against her hair. Saeko could only see a narrow portion of the sky above, but she got the feeling that there were fewer stars than she remembered seeing in the past. She was sure the impression was not simply due to the bands of light in the sky.
Somehow, it really looked as though there were fewer stars.

She looked back down the hill, towards Lake Miwa beyond. The twinned reflections of the aurora and the stars flowed together, creating an image of a whole new, separate universe. She looked back at the house looming dark before her. In the past, Seiji had come to air the place every now and again; now, having lost its caretaker, it was all but abandoned.

Saeko pulled out the key that Seiji had given her and opened the front door lock. She stepped across the threshold and ran her hand across the left-side wall, feeling for the light switch. She was relieved to find it quickly, and when she flicked it, a dry, brittle sound reverberated through the corridor as the lights came on. Saeko scrunched her nose up against the smell of the place. It was unpleasant but different from the pungent odor that had greeted her the last time she visited. She guessed that the dryness of the season had helped clear the musty smell. Any food left would have long decomposed, too. The smell was less intense, whatever it was.

She closed the door behind her and sat down to take her boots off before stepping up from the entryway. Her fingers felt oddly numb, making the process take longer than usual. The whole time, Saeko couldn’t shake the feeling that something was there with her. Her spine tingled at the feeling, her senses heightened by the fact that she had her back turned to whatever it was she felt, out of sight.

Something was wrong. The smell that had been so distinct when she came in had changed. It seemed as if it originated in a certain place, weakening as it spread through the rest of the house. It was as though she could trace its path to its origin.

The area immediately behind the door consisted of an open square of concrete in the traditional style, a place to take off your shoes before stepping up onto the flooring. A wooden shoebox lay to the side, under which sat a couple of pairs of identical sandals. Saeko had noticed that things tended to come in pairs in this house, although she wasn’t sure why that should be the case. She looked at the four sandals, lined up next to each other, and noticed another pair of sandals nestled up behind them, hidden away. It sat by itself, a couple of sizes larger than the rest. Saeko scrunched up her nose, realizing that it was the source of the smell that had been bothering her. The pungent smell hinted that they had been recently used. The smell of sweat was out of place in this house where all signs of life had dried up. It had been empty for almost a year now.

Saeko froze halfway through the process of taking her boots off. She felt her pores open, like sensors striving to search out any irregularities in
the air.

When she was a kid, Saeko had loved staying over at her grandparents’ old house in Atami. The one thing she’d hated about it, though, was the toilet, an outhouse built separately from the main building. She remembered the fear she’d felt in the middle of the night when she’d had to go out there by herself. The toilet itself was the traditional kind, a porcelain fixture in the floor that you squatted over. As she crouched to do her business, Saeko’s imagination would take over, blowing her fears out of all proportion until she became sure that she was surrounded by a motley crew of spirits and ghosts waiting outside for her to come out. The wind would blow in through cracks in the wood, brushing against her skin, further stimulating her imagination. Her mind would forge images for each of the spirits. Eventually, she would pluck up enough courage to open the door and peek out, knowing that she couldn’t just stay in the outhouse all night. Of course, there were never any ghosts awaiting her.

Seated at the threshold, her back to the corridor behind her, she focused on the dark shape of her shadow thrown against the front door, illuminated by the light behind her. It was only her shadow. There were no other flickers of movement.

Saeko had finished taking her boots off but sat rooted to the spot. Her heart beat violently in her chest. She had to take control before her imagination took over like at the hospital and completely paralyzed her; that was the last thing she needed. She turned slowly to face the corridor and stepped up to the wooden floor, taking loud, deliberate steps, flipping on every light switch that she passed. Almost running now, she stumbled into the living room and switched the lights on as quickly as she could. What a contrast to when they had filmed Shigeko Torii entering the house—the cameras had followed her slowly, purposefully playing up the atmosphere of suspense. Saeko came to a standstill and tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths. She scanned the room. The open-style kitchen space, the dining table, all the kitchen utensils, and other household items were stacked neatly, functionally, on the series of shelves lined against the wall. The small aquarium sat on the sideboard. Above it, the red bandana pinned to a corkboard.

It was all as she remembered, there was no doubt about it. But Saeko was still unable to shake the feeling that something was out of place. She thought back to when she had been knocked unconscious when the earthquake had hit—a month ago now. She saw the scene unfold in slow motion, the images having been carved into her memory. One of the
shelves had tipped sideways, spilling its contents down from above. It had all happened at once: the crack to her head, the crashing reverberations of sound as countless plates smashed against the floor.

The sound of crashing—that was it. Saeko remembered seeing the shattered remains of plates and cups on the floor, bits scattered everywhere. Looking around now, she saw no sign that it had ever happened. The shelves were all back in their original place, the crockery neatly stacked inside behind closed glass doors. She looked down at the floor. It was clean, probably cleaner than it had been before the earthquake.

Had Hashiba and crew cleaned up afterwards? Even if they had, everything looked just too neat, too perfect. Saeko picked up the TV remote control from the dining table and pushed the power button; she hardly realized what she was doing. She waited as the screen came on, rubbing her eyes. Her chest felt tight, her breathing labored.

Saeko stared at the images on the screen. Her eyes had gone blurry from the rubbing and the volume was too low to hear anything. It looked like something from a foreign drama—searchlights flashed up and down; a chase scene through the desert perhaps—but there didn’t seem to be any actors. She watched the searchlights drag across a barren-looking landscape. Then she saw the object of their focus: a black abyss, a huge rift in the ground. The chasm was so deep the searchlights were unable to penetrate its depths. Saeko turned up the volume on the old set and started to flick through the channels. Each and every channel was showing the same set of images. She held her breath; if all that was broadcast was news, something really huge had happened.