Paprika (9 page)

As Atsuko spoke, Tokita continued to moan feebly as if he were about to cry. Now, at last, he slowly turned to face her. “I know. But it’s the first time you’ve said it.”

Atsuko grasped his cheeks with both hands and brought her face close to his. Tokita timidly put his hands around her waist. And they kissed. Those thick lips of his, always glistening, always moist with dribble like those of a small child, yielded so softly to hers.

Tokita pulled himself away and turned to look out of the window once more, almost apologetically this time. “It’s only because it’s dark, isn’t it. You could never have kissed me otherwise.”

9

Tatsuo Noda managed to extricate himself from the party and find the toilet, where he splashed his face with cold water from the tap. That made him feel slightly better, but did nothing to improve the pallor of his face in the mirror.

The party was meant to mark the appointment of a new CEO by one of the company’s parts manufacturers. Though held in a top-class hotel in the center of Tokyo, it was not a particularly important event; Noda, together with his President and Sukenobu, the Managing Director for Sales, had planned to make a brief appearance and then leave. But many of their counterparts from the industry were also present, and the President had been pulled this way and that by people needing a moment of his time. As a result, neither Noda nor Sukenobu had been able to get away as planned. There were people they hadn’t met in a while; there were even some that Noda needed to talk to.

It was just at this time that Noda had started to feel anxious. He’d started to imagine what would happen if he had an attack at the party, a gathering of all the main players in his trade. Suddenly a chill had gone down his spine and he’d broken out in a sweat. If he’d stayed where he was, he would definitely have had an attack. And with that certain knowledge in mind, he’d managed to pull himself away.

He hadn’t suffered any further attacks since the session with Paprika. But a single treatment was never going to cure anxiety neurosis altogether. The awful knowledge that an attack could occur at any time – naturally, choosing the most inopportune time and place, like tonight – remained the same as ever. He’d already finished the anxiolytics Paprika had given him.

Noda decided not to return to the party venue. Instead, he made his way to the lobby. There, he announced his imminent departure to the reception desk staff, and graciously accepted his paper bag containing the customary party gift. Then he went to sit on a black leather sofa offering a view of the entrance to the party venue. There he rested while waiting for the President and Sukenobu to emerge. The lobby was well ventilated. Noda was feeling better already.

The President appeared, released at last by his petitioners. “Where’s Sukenobu?” he asked.

“I saw him just now … He was nabbed by the President of Aoyama Seiki … Getting an earful of something or other …”

The President sat in the armchair opposite Noda. He was the second President in the company’s history, and fifteen years older than Noda. But his healthy complexion gave him a rather youthful look.

“Now, what was his name? That Managing Director of Teisan.”

“Segawa?”

“That’s it. Segawa.” The President smiled. “He was here, wasn’t he.”

“Yes. He was here.”

The President seemed only too aware that Segawa was the chief opponent of the zero-emissions vehicle.

Segawa, fat and bull-necked, emerged from the party in conversation with Sukenobu. Sukenobu took his party gift. Segawa did not; that meant he was staying. Noda had heard that he was always one of the last to leave any party.

Sukenobu looked a little flustered when he saw Noda. The President didn’t notice the pair, as he sat with his back to them. Not realizing who was sitting opposite Noda, Segawa moved toward him with a leer, fully intent on making his customary snide remark.

“Well hello there, Noda. Haven’t seen you at the usual place recently? Kurokawa misses you so badly!” Kurokawa was a Ministry official.

The President turned to look. Segawa was taken aback. “Oh! Hello, Mr. President. Leaving so soon? Really. Well, well.”

Smiling inscrutably, the President watched Segawa walk off toward the toilet.

Sukenobu’s head glistened with perspiration as he eased himself into an armchair. “Er, sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said to Noda. “That man just now, what was his name, yes, Segawa, you seem to know him quite well?”

Noda gave a wry smile.
That’s rich, when you’ve only just been talking to him yourself!
Sukenobu seemed unduly concerned that the President might have noticed him coming out of the party venue with the senior executive of a rival company. A petty concern, really, but typical of Sukenobu. The President also smiled wryly.

The three eventually agreed to have one last drink in one of the hotel’s quieter bars before going home. They went down to an exclusive bar in the basement; Sukenobu was a member.

Noda, Sukenobu, and the President sat and talked in the far corner of the bar, which was otherwise empty. First they discussed the plans for marketing the zero-emissions vehicle. Even Sukenobu was working on that now.

Suddenly, Sukenobu started to complain about Namba. He’d been subjected to another of Namba’s selfish rants that afternoon, he said. But while he complained about Namba’s infantile behavior, it was also a roundabout dig at Noda for doing nothing about it. Noda just let Sukenobu have his say. He made no attempt at all to defend either Namba or himself. If he had done, he would certainly have fallen into Sukenobu’s trap. Inwardly, Noda was laughing. This was the very situation where his skill would come to the fore – his skill in taking his opponent by surprise.

The President didn’t exactly spring to Namba’s defense either, but merely punctuated Sukenobu’s complaints with the occasional “That’s too bad.” Of course, Sukenobu’s strategy was based on the knowledge that even the President had started to dislike Namba.

Noda himself had had yet another argument with Namba that very day. Noda had suggested a minor compromise as a way of avoiding a larger one. Namba had rejected it, though well aware of the reasoning. The only possible explanation was that Namba had deliberately wanted to pick a quarrel. In the end, Noda felt utterly exasperated, as they just seemed to be arguing for argument’s sake. He realized he’d been indulging Namba too much. In fact, Namba now seemed to be testing him, to see how far his insubordination would be tolerated.

Despite all this, Noda still refrained from adding his weight to the attack on Namba. In his view, a superior who criticized a subordinate behind his back was a man of questionable integrity. In any case, a superior had the power to make or break a subordinate’s career; if there were accusations to be made, they should be made to the man’s face.

“By the way, Mr. President, how about young Kinichi as Manager of the Development Office?” Noda said, taking Sukenobu completely by surprise. Kinichi was the President’s nephew. He’d graduated from the engineering faculty of a state university, but had worked in General Affairs since joining the company.

The President could barely conceal his delight. His nephew had been eyeing the post of Development Office Manager for some time, but Namba’s presence had made it impossible.

“Oh, yes! That’s right!” Sukenobu exclaimed loudly. Though momentarily thrown by Noda’s suggestion, he now cast daggers at Noda, as if to accuse him of currying favor. “I’d forgotten about Kinichi.” He suddenly seemed to realize how contrived his statement had sounded, and now tried to justify himself: “Of course, that doesn’t mean I hadn’t been thinking about Kinichi …”

In reality, of course, the President’s nephew had been the furthest thing from his mind; he had never for a moment imagined that Noda would suggest him for the post.

“Nevertheless, Namba has really done very well, hasn’t he,” the President said in apparent modesty. Since the two directors had finally managed to agree on something, he seemed happy just to let them think it out from now on. He looked quite satisfied.

“Well, anyway, we’ll talk about it some other day,” Sukenobu said with a meaningful nod toward Noda.

Noda thought about Namba on his way home in the chauffeured limousine. Namba certainly had talent, but in the final analysis he was not suited to management. Was the man aware of that himself? Probably not. After all, he probably thought he could one day become President.

Noda realized that he had absolutely no wish to protect Namba, in contrast to his own analysis of the dream in Paprika’s apartment. It had been bound to happen sooner or later, but he’d inadvertently used Namba to curry favor. It was now certain that he would ask him to step down as Manager of the Development Office. He didn’t feel even slightly guilty about that, as he could happily explain that Namba’s downfall was his own doing. After all, Noda had frequently made far more cold-hearted decisions during his time.

Namba was a proud man, not the kind to start yelling and screaming when transferred to another post. Nor should he become too despondent, if his ego really was that strong. Noda turned his thoughts to Sukenobu. Naturally,
his
take on things was that he’d been robbed of a trophy, the kudos of being first to recommend the President’s nephew as Manager of the Development Office. So what would he do next? Noda remembered the meaningful look Sukenobu had given him at the end. Perhaps he was already planning something. He probably was, knowing him.

But what was this? Noda had just acknowledged that he felt no guilt toward Namba. So why the sudden feeling of anxiety? He’d been thinking about Sukenobu, admittedly, but he wouldn’t normally feel anything like anxiety about his machinations. He’d never attached much significance to them before. As if to prove the point, Noda had never once felt the slightest concern about suffering an attack while he was talking to Sukenobu. So why this attack, now?

Noda started to perspire. His heartbeat quickened. He desperately tried to allay his fears, persuade, convince himself that it was just another panic attack. It would surely pass, in time. But reasoning had no effect. Above all, he felt a searing pain that made him think he was dying. That was enough to destroy all reason. He didn’t exactly feel confident about the state of his heart. He might even suffer a stroke. He might die here in the company’s hired limousine. The very thought struck Noda with intense fear. The scenery along the route home and the lights in the office buildings had become such a familiar sight that they normally filled him with ennui. But now they suddenly seemed like an old friend, dear and irreplaceable; after all, he might be seeing them for the last time. At the same time, it galled him to think that those sights would continue to exist as if nothing had happened, even after his death. He started to wax philosophical about the unfairness, the senselessness of death. It was then that he really began to panic. He couldn’t breathe. It was too late to go to Paprika’s apartment. The limousine was pulling up in front of his house.

With the greatest difficulty, Noda summoned up the energy to speak to the driver. “I don’t … feel … so well,” he managed to say. “Would you … call … one of … my family?”

“Certainly sir,” the driver replied, tensing as he noted the tone of panic in Noda’s voice.

“You must … tell … no one …” Noda felt that if he kept talking, he might be able to distract his mind from his anxiety. “Please … tell no one …”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

Until about ten years earlier, the part of Tokyo where Noda lived had been a high-class residential area. Now, his house was hemmed in by apartment buildings; now, ironically, a detached house of only modest proportions was seen as a sign of great social prestige in this area. The chauffeur got out and alerted Noda’s family via the front-door intercom. Noda’s wife, Ito, and his son Torao immediately came rushing out, ashen-faced.

“What on earth’s the matter?” shrieked his wife. Slinging a shoulder under each of Noda’s arms, Torao and the chauffeur helped him into the reception room next to the front hallway. Noda was unable to speak; the most he could manage was to keep breathing. Still his wife continued to question him.

“Can’t you speak? What is it? Can’t you breathe? You can’t breathe, is that it?”

Torao loosened Noda’s necktie as he lay sprawled on the sofa.

“I’ll call Doctor Kuroi right away,” said Noda’s wife.

Noda simply had to speak out now. Not only was Kuroi openly envious of Noda’s material opulence, but he was also a prattler. The truth would be sure to leak out.

“No … not Kuroi …”

“What?! But look at you!”

“I’m not … ill … It’s … something else …”

“What then?”

“Neuro … neurosis …”

“You mean … you mean mental illness?!” Noda’s wife had been bending over him, wiping the sweat off his brow, but now she stiffened and took a step back. “Why haven’t you told us before?!”

Noda’s son Tarao had been trying to persuade the chauffeur to stay behind a little longer. He turned to his father. “What do you want us to do then?”

Noda took a card out of his breast pocket. He’d put it there in readiness for this very eventuality. The card gave an “Emergency Contact Number”; it was Paprika’s.

“You’ve even got an emergency contact number!” wailed the wife, now in tears.