The Thief (15 page)

He peered at my face. His eyes were mere slits behind his sunglasses.

“Even that bores me.” He laughed out loud. “It’s all hell. But right now I’m trembling, just a little. I’m about to witness the end of a human life, totally arbitrarily, exactly as I decided, in the place I decided. There’s nothing else like it. Tomorrow I’m leaving the country for a while. There’s still a lot to do. I’ve got to keep expanding.”

I knew that he was right beside me but somehow his voice seemed a long way off.

“Now you’re going to die wondering what happened to your life, just like the nobleman’s boy. Cheerless, wretched. No one ever comes into this alley. It’s over for you.”

He moved slightly.

“I bet you don’t even know why you’re being killed, why this is happening. Life is a mystery. But listen. Why did
I turn up in your life in the first place? Do you believe in fate? Was your fate controlled by me, or was being controlled by me your fate? But in the end, aren’t they just two sides of the same coin?”

And with that Kizaki left, stepping on me as he passed. I was aware of the bustle and the stifling atmosphere of the crowded street nearby. I sensed a shadow passing, and soon I could no longer hear his footsteps.

Slumped with my back against the wall, I used my hands to stem the slow trickle of blood. As my vision blurred and the pain increased, I thought about how I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want it to end like this. Images of the boy, of Ishikawa and Saeko, flashed through my mind.

It was like I could see myself still working a crowd. Roaming here and there, stealing people’s wallets—maybe I could even go abroad. London, for example, is still supposed to have a culture of artful pickpockets. Perhaps I could pit my skills against theirs. The world is full of stupid rich people and it would be fun to keep taking their money. Outside the alley, in a misty place far beyond, I could see the tower. It was still standing there, high and remote. I could steal from the rich all over the world and give the money to street kids. I imagined the warm tingling in my
fingertips. To press forward as a pickpocket, to become a true pickpocket, I would continue until I dissolved and crumbled into the crowd like sparks.

Yes, that’s it
, I thought to myself.

And then I heard footsteps far in the distance. Someone was crossing the street outside the alley. I heard young women’s voices, chatting busily, complaining about work and customers. It was quite a long way to the entrance to the passage, but if I could hit them with something they would notice me. There were no stones around me, my coat had been taken and I didn’t have the strength to take off my shoes. In my trouser pocket, however, I found a coin.

It was a 500 yen piece. I must have taken it from someone’s pocket without realizing. I had no idea when. I grinned weakly. If my hands searched for money spontaneously, I must be a proper pickpocket. If I could hit someone with this blood-stained coin they’d be bound to look in my direction.

That bastard took pickpockets too lightly
, I thought, listening to the footsteps coming closer. I was damned if I was going to die here. Surely my life hadn’t been so pointless I deserved a death like this. With all my strength I
squeezed the coin in my fingers. Far off, standing tall, was the hazy tower.

When I spied the figure of a person I hurled the coin, grimacing with pain. The bloody disc blotted out the sun’s rays, glistening darkly in the air, as though hoping for some kind of deviation.