"But if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow, everything would suddenly become special and precious, wouldn't it?" -Haruki Murakami
…
ARE YOU NOW OR HAVE YOU EVER BEEN APART OF A TERRORIST ORGANIZATION?
No.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CONVICTED OF A FELONY OR OTHER CRIME?
No.
ARE YOU NOW OR HAVE YOU EVER BEEN UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF AN ILLEGAL SUBSTANCE?
Who would even admit to th—no.
In the glow of midday, the lobby of the Edogawa Police Headquarters really didn't seem too bad, but as I took a seat in the laundromat-style chairs along the windows that overlooked the main street I began to notice the decay. Occasional wood paneling against a linoleum floor. The array of yellow-brown puddles of rat pee stained in the ceiling tiles. One of the ceiling lights flickered now and then behind its plastic cover. There were a variety of people in the lobby. I saw a mom rocking and cooing at her babbling baby daughter swabbed in a blanket against her knee, a few seats down from a sour-faced elderly man holding a thick stack of manilla folders in his crinkled hands. A water cooler bubbled every so often to the tune of the air conditioning units humming against the wall, their vents sucking in air from outside. The space was tenable, but when was the last time it ever saw a renovation? 1993?
Which was surprising because when I looked beyond the receptionist's area towards the actual police floor, it seemed like something out of a sci-fi movie. Through the wide glass-wall partition I could see a terminal of flatscreen television monitors playing all the local news channels, and towards the very back a massive wall with maps of the various local Tokyo-region prefectures: Chiba, Saitama, Kanagawa among others. A sea of thumb tacks and yarn strings and photographs and newspaper clippings all around, holding some kind of significance I'm sure of the many investigations ongoing across our beautiful city. There was a range of open-air cubicles where officers in their neatly pressed blue uniforms, their black ties and silver clips and leather caps running around pointing at their computer screens and talking with terse expression, but their words were a mystery. I could see at least one of them, a silver-haired hawk whose uniform was slightly different from the others had his eye trained on me but looked away. Others were indifferent and seemed at total ease, just another day at the office slurping coffee mugs and munching on bakery goods as they laughed in a huddle around their desks.
I huffed through my nose. Taxpayer dollar at work.
I impatiently shook my foot as I had my leg folded across my knee, the clipboard resting on my lap as I began to angrily scribble the answers to the paper. Three whole pages of what? Bullshit mostly. A security screening, asking who was I and what did I want…and then a second packet to fill out about the meeting. What was my relationship to the suspect? What did I plan to discuss with the suspect? What was my knowledge of why the suspect was in custody? So invasive, I thought. As if it's any of their business, and there would be a guard standing in the room taking notes anyway. Gather all your blackmail against us then.
I flipped to the very back and found a guideline page of what we could and could not do in the half hour (at the most) we were expected to have together. You may not physically touch each other. You may not make gestures to indicate some sort of message to each other. You cannot provide information concerning the case pending against the suspect. I felt my eyes boil into the page as it went on and on…in those years after the war, was cruelty always the intended feature in redesigning the justice system of our country? We were responsible for so much debauchery and evil in those days against our neighbors and distant foes, and here we are again decades later doing the same to our own peoples. Maybe we never learned anything from those days if the powers that be feel this is the way to treat another countryman or woman. My eyes landed towards the bottom of the page.
Failure to abide by these rules will end the meeting.
A half hour…to give her the world. Maybe our last half hour together.
The most horrifying anecdote I had learned of in the past few days of research was that, in the nightmare event that I refused to accept as a possibility, if Natsuki were be found guilty of whatever messed up charge and sent to a prison–I bit down on my lip to suppress the gag reflex–I would never be able to talk to her again. Once in the legit prison system, a prisoner could only correspond with blood relatives. Persons without living relatives simply do not receive correspondence. I could stand outside the walls of her cell every single day until my body gave out and I would never be allowed to even hear her voice on the phone. If she passed on in custody, I wouldn't even receive a letter in the mail.
I stopped writing the packet and closed my eyes.
A half hour…to tell her that I love her. Thirty minutes to tell her that she is my everything, the light of my life, the reason my world still spins. That life without her simply isn't one worth living. That I was scared of what my fingers might do to me if I knew they could never be entwined with hers again.
I looked down at my suit and saw my hands were trembling, so I laid the pen on the clipboard and clasped them together tightly. I drew a slow breath through my lips and blew through my nose, counting backwards menially from ten. Nine…eight…seven. I felt the blood ripple in my temple, my red tie drooping.
How could any God be so cruel to us? Where is our mercy?
My eyes fluttered open again and landed on a particular line on the guideline page: You are allowed to bring one reading item to the suspect for their keepsake and two meal items.
Wh, two? I felt my brain reel back again. I could've sworn the government website said only one…in my fluffy gift bag I had brought a copy of our particular favorite Parfait Girls volume and had spent the morning creating a bento box stuffed as much as it would allow with rice, meat and nourishment…but being able to offer her two items would be even better. Who could say what she was being fed in here?
I felt my knees pop as I reared up from my seat and walked to the receptionist desk again, where a fairly-polite young lady with auburn hair ticked and tacked away at her computer console and helped me with checking in for the meeting. I cleared my throat.
"Uh, ma'am?"
The young lady in her brown business suit and matching long skirt glanced up at me. "Yes?"
"Is there…", my mind froze. "Would there be a, uh, vending machine, here?"
She smiled and pointed down the long hallway, turning away from the lobby. "Down that way, past the fountains." And almost robotically returned to typing her novel on the keyboard. I stood for a moment and began to walk down the hallway. From the corner of my eye, that silver-haired older officer had his eye on me yet again through the glass partition.
Down the hallway were massive framed photographs of Japan's points of interest in polished wood frames; the Tokyo Tower under construction, the sprawling paddy fields of Osaka, the active volcano complex of Mount Asama. At the very end of the hall was the fire exit leading back to the street, with a ray of light coming through the window pane. A triple set of vending machines next to a twin set of water fountains sat just before it, across from the bathrooms. I slowed my speed as I approached the glass, peering into the inventory.
My eyes scanned the rows. Maybe a protein bar? Or a tin of cookies, or maybe some licorice…hm. So many choices, but what would she really–
Ah! I felt my spirits lift slightly as I focused on a row of plastic cups. They have them!
Parfaits! Chocolate and cheesecake and banana cream! I immediately reached for my billfold and punched the keys for the strawberry flavor, knowing that was her particular favorite. The cup, complete with a spoon and napkin, dropped unceremoniously to the bottom. I carefully retrieved it and walked back to the lobby.
It was strange. The very fact that the vending machine even had parfaits, something I usually find in convenience stores or supermarkets…ridiculous as it sounds, it gave me a calming feeling. At least my gag reflex seemed to abate. My nerves were soothed even for a moment, a sign that the meeting would go well. That somewhere within this building, my love was waiting for me and all would be well again. As I returned to my seat, I filled out the packet with more enthusiasm and quickly returned it back to the receptionist. "Your name will be called shortly," she told me again with a smile.
And shortly, that moment came.
…
"It'll be just a moment."
The meeting room was a perfect square, of cinder block construction with no windows and ugly fluorescent lights hanging above. A stainless steel table with two chairs facing each other tucked in. At the corner facing the table closest to the door was a wood podium where a laptop sat, adorned with the National Police Agency logo. Drilled above it was a tiny white camera, hooked up to the wall. Next to that in the center of the wall a rectangular LED clock sat, the timer set to thirty minutes exactly.
"Just have a seat, sir. And we will be right with you." The baby-faced police officer with his neatly-combed hair told me, gesturing to the seat against the back wall. I just nodded and sat down, taking it all in.
And then the door closed.
I turned in my seat to look up at the camera, with a red light blinking behind the clamshell. My eyes boiled at the intrusive little device, but broke away. There was no noise in this room, not even the hum of the air vents. It was like sitting in a car with the engine off; only the white noise of your own conscious mind persisted.
And when left to its own devices, your mind begins to talk ugly.
What if they take her away from us…what if they win?
I bit down on my lip again, but the train of thought continued. She is the only girl that I want. It doesn't matter. I can't abandon her.
But she would be gone forever! Before you even shared a bed together!
What kind of man runs away from a fight? There are petitions, there are requests for a retrial, there are protests. The show is not over until the curtain falls.
You've seen the headlines. They're talking about the death penalty. They're drafting the ending.
I won't listen to you. That's not going to happen.
If they put her down like a dog, how long would it take you to forget her?
Shut the fuck up.
A year? A couple of months? You're a pig like that, you know? Looking for it's next meal.
I SAI̶̩͒Ḏ̵̢̾͑ ̶̮͙͋͝S̴͔͋H̵̹͐U̸̾ͅT̸͍̾͒ ̷̝̊̕T̴̩̉Ȟ̸͍̫̏E̸̗͔̖͕̔ ̸̲̤͉̪̙͍̿̃̇F̷̳̌̂̒͑̑͠Ủ̶͙͋̐̍̾͛͘C̸͍̠̲̺̝̠͍͆̉̇Ķ̴̨̼̝̇͘͘ ̶̤̠̻͉̇̇͐U̵̢̡̲͔͉̺̗̳̍̐̏̿́̂̚͜͝P̶̡͙̝̣̓̌̒̍̽!̸͕͌̋̽̃̀!̸͓̜̭̲̙̻̈͌͗͛͋̈́̈͠!̶̡̢̢͍̺̞̘̖̣͒
You might as well g̶̠͘ē̷̳ṭ̴̏ ̴̻̏u̴̙̍p̶̲͑ ̶̥̉f̵͇̆r̶̰̎ō̵̪m̴̖̓ ̷̘͐y̸̩͒o̶͖͗ṷ̸̕r̵̢̾ ̸̡͝c̵͖̈́h̸̛͈a̵̪̎i̵̝͒r̴͋͜ ̵̞̒and walk right out.
I WOULD RATHER DIE THAN LIVE MY LIFE WITHOUT HER.
Flexing my hand I smack myself hard across the cheek, again and again. The nails of my fingers dig into my eyebrows as I sputter and feel spittle run down my lips. The tears well up in my eyes but I manage to keep them down as I take deep breaths and wipe my face with my hands, bunching my fists up and pressing them to my cheeks. My body started to shudder. Looking all around, I can see a small shelf next to the police podium with bottles of water and baby wipes. Almost kicking the table away, I get up and yank some of the wipes and cleanse my face. The blood swells in my cheeks but the wipes cool them off. I guzzle half of a water bottle and swish it around in my mouth.
God, help me keep it together…just please keep it together for her…how embarrassing I must be, right now. A circus show for the camera.
Feeling a sense of calm again, I dig my fingers into my hair and sweep it back into order. I rub my hands clean and dispose of the wipes. Sitting back down, I take another long breath and begin to count backwards from ten…nine…eight…
The door opens and a different officer, a slightly older woman with sharp straight black hair and pursed lips, steps forward. "Kazuma Odaka?"
I glance up. "Yes?"
The officer steps forward and walks towards the podium, tapping the keyboard and beginning to take notes. The LED timer began to count down. The meeting had begun.
And then Natsuki Tamura stepped into the doorway.
A drab green jumpsuit with a single breast pocket is what she was given to wear, other than the metal chains connecting her wrists and ankles tightly. She has to shuffle while she walks, but when she takes a left step her body bends down with a limp. Her hair is unlike anything I had seen her before; combed down completely straight with a split in the middle of her hair parting her face. It was almost entirely brunette, and only the tips and ends had a trace of pink in them. Her cheeks were swollen red, and the bags under her eyes nearly black. She hunched forward, but I could see that she had shrunk almost an inch from the last time I saw her at Yamaku. Her fingernails had been bitten down almost to the nub, with the skin jagged and splintered. Her shoulders trembled as she kept her eyes down to the floor.
But despite everything, it was still her. My baby girl, just as beautiful as the day I met her.
When she stepped into the room her chin lifted up, and we locked eyes. Her eyebrows lifted and a wide grin spread across her face, but it was retracted by the bruising in her cheeks. She tried again to smile, but kept it restrained from the swelling. She sucked her lips in and formed a tight smile that way, but I could see a wince in her eyes that showed it was painful to do even that.
What on Earth are they doing to you in here, hun?
The young male officer was polite enough to pull the chair out for her and push her back in. When Natsuki set her hands on the table, he pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. Dropping to the table, she rubbed her wrists with relief and licked her lips over and over, popping her fingers one by one.
"You have thirty minutes to interact," the older female officer said coldly, standing between us like a waitress. "Remember the rules provided to you."
The rules provided to us? So she wasn't free to be honest?
"It's so good to see you, my love." Natsuki croaked, a strain in her voice. "How have you been?"
I huffed my chest and reached down for the gift bag. "Baby, I have something for you."
She looked at me curiously. "Oh?"
I set the bag on the table and unveiled the bento box, setting the utensil next to it. A certain energy flared up in her eyes, as the smell of the barbecue beef became apparent when I popped the lid off to show her the contents. She shuffled forward in her chair, the metal squeaking against the floor.
"Ohhh, ohh…baby. You didn't have to…do that. I'm being fed so well here."
Is she serious? She can't be serious. "It–it's the, the least I can do…", I looked at the female officer. "How do I give this to her without touching?"
She gave me an odd look. "Push it across the table. Or get up and set it in front of her. If you lay any finger on her, this meeting is over."
Fucking bitch.
Getting up from my seat, I walked to the shelf and grabbed another bottle of water. Natsuki's eyes never left me as I carefully strode up to her, almost a foot away from her side and set the plastic bento box in front of her. Ripping off the plastic wrap for the utensil and setting it on the rice. Opening the water bottle and placing it right beside her.
Our eyes never broke away from each other.
"And…and." I walked back to my chair and turned the bag around, slowly reaching in for dramatic effect. "A sweet treat for my sweet girl."
I lifted the parfait up from the wrapping of the gift bag and presented it to her. Natsuki squealed with delight, clapping her hands together once. "Ohh! Aw! Ah–Kazumaaah…", she began to choke and lifted a finger to wipe her eyelid. "Y-you know me so…so…"
She began to cry.
Every single fiber of my body, every muscle strung to my bones told me to grab her up and sprint down the hallway to freedom. Hail a taxi and race to the nearest airport. Get on the next immediate flight to America and change our names and hide out from the authorities forever, miserable and terrified but still together in our arms each and every night. Maybe we could never have children and maybe we could never own our own home and maybe we would never be free from the law, but our last breaths would be shared together at the very least.
But I had to stay in place. Or the meeting would be over.
"Nats, please. No. Don't–it's, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here," I tried to soothe her but I could feel my own voice begin to wobble. "I'm not going anywhere."
Hot tears streamed down her face. She howled with fear as her fingers dug into her chest, bunching up her jumpsuit. "I knoooow, IknowIknowIknoooow…" Her chest heaved hard as her fingers grabbed the utensil and tried to eat but she ended up dropping it. "I j…I just want…you…"
"I want you to go."
My heart shattered. I felt myself lean against the table and then somehow manage to sit back down at my chair. I searched for the energy to speak.
"Wh…why?"
"Kazuma, I'm…never gonna get out of here. I did what I did and that's that. They're never gonna let us be f–be free…", she looked up at me with puffy red eyes. "I can't condemn you to this life."
"I'm not condemn–"
Her fists pounded the table. "Please, Kazuma! PLEEEASE!", she began to wail, screeching at me with bared fangs. "I DON'T WANT YOU TO GET HURT ANYMOOORE!" Her fists shook on the table as she thudded her forehead to it, almost smacking the bento box. "Just leave me to die here like I deserve to!"
I was silent.
Her voice lowered. "I love you so much...but please. Leave me to die."
I stayed silent. The female officer had a bemused look on her face and ceased typing.
Ever since I met her, that fateful day at the Literature Club…my life changed nothing short for the greater. Natsuki gave me a purpose in life, a reason to fight to see tomorrow, the pure and single truth in the world knowing that there was someone out there who loved me as much as I love them. Baking cupcakes, reading poems, going to conventions, holding hands, dancing in the dark. She gave me strength where I had none, light where I had darkness. I made the choice to kiss her the night of the Festival. I made the choice to run to her aide the night of the party. I could live to be a hundred and never, not even for a second, regret those acts.
But what choice would I make now?
"Nats…"
Her eyes lifted to meet mine again, as mucus ran down her nose and the tears continued to flow.
"You…do you know how strong you've made me?"
She stared.
"You are a force of nature unlike any other in the world. You have the power in you to move mountains, to…to raise up storms and to raise up armies from their graves. You are the most sincere and sweetest and most kind-hearted person I have ever met…and…there is nothing more that I want to do in this life than to carry that beauty within you onward. To spread and share it to others, so that others may be inspired by you…just as you inspire me."
She wiped the mucus away with her sleeve. "What are you saying?"
"I could live a thousand lifetimes and each one I want to spend waiting outside of these doors for you, until the end of time my love. You are my angel, my sunflower, my rock. That it does not matter what may happen to us tomorrow, that I want to spend every moment here and now that we have left on this Earth with you…as my wife."
She looks at me with a fierce seriousness. I stand up from my chair, take a deep breath and extend my hand out to her.
"Natsuki Tamura…will you marry me?"
The female officer interrupts. "Okay, that's enough." She closes the laptop and begins to stride towards Natsuki, cuffs already in hand.
But with lightning speed Natsuki dives under the table and throws it up towards her, the food and water spraying in all directions and the table knocking her down to the floor and crashing the podium down with her, pinning her there for a moment. Natsuki springs down low to the ground and then leaps forward into my open arms, landing a kiss on my cheek before we lock lips again and again. We're crying and laughing and holding each other tight, kissing our bruises and caressing our faces before the female officer begins to shout outside the hallway for help, that she's being attacked, but that doesn't matter as were rolling around on the ground in the smushed barbecue beef and rice and water puddles holding onto each other for dear life. We're shouting I do I do into our ears and soon a squad of cops flood into the room and begin to strike us with their batons, tearing us apart from each other and were both screaming our names at the top of our lungs at each other as I watch them drag the unconscious Nats by her arms and legs out the room, striking her with open palms and they're punching me in the ribs and dragging me down the hallway to the fire exit past those vending machines again. I'm snapping my teeth at them writhing and kicking as they throw the door open and I can feel them throw me down the concrete stairs and onto the sidewalk, smacking my face against the ground and causing blood to flow from my head.
But just as I fade to black on that sticky hot sidewalk the silver-haired older officer, with his nametag reading HAMADA, emerges from the top of the stairs to glare me down and spit with disgust towards me.
"Don't come back."
And slam the door shut.
...
Author's Note: If nobody has told you today that they love you, let it be known that I love you and I thank you all so much for reading Love and Literature. Be well, be good and stay tuned for the next update.