‘The girl in the entrance told me to ask for Shiyori.’
‘That’s me.’ She pours herself some oolong tea. ‘What do you want?’
‘I need to speak with Miriam.’
‘She isn’t working today.’
Another girl rearranges her chopsticks. ‘You were here last night. One of Yuzu Daimon’s guests.’
‘Yes.’
The vibes go from indifference to hostility. Shiyori washes out her mouth with tea. ‘So he sent you over to see how his little prank went down, did he?’ ‘I don’t understand,’ says another, ‘how he gets a kick out of the way he treats her.’ Another girl chews a chopstick blunt. ‘The way I see it, if you think Miriam is going to want to be in the same room as you, you are demented.’
‘I had no idea there was anything between them.’
‘Then you are blind as well as demented.’
‘Fine. I am blind as well as demented. But please, I have to speak to Miriam about something.’
‘What is so urgent exactly?’
‘I can’t talk about it. Something she said.’
The women fall quiet as the parrot woman puts down a tiny screwdriver. ‘If you wish to speak with Miriam, you need to become a member of this club.’ I realize she is the mama-san from last night. ‘Prospective members must collect nine nominations from existing members, excluding Yuzu Daimon, who is now barred. The application fee is three million yen – non-returnable. If the selection committee approves your application, the first annual payment is nine million yen. Upon receipt of this, you are free to ask Miriam anything you wish. In the meantime, tell Yuzu Daimon he would be wise to leave the city for a long time. Mr Morino is most displeased.’
‘Could I just leave a note for—’
‘No. You can just leave.’
I open my mouth—
‘I said, you can just leave.’
Now what?
‘Masanobu Suga?’ The receptionist at Imperial University looks blank. ‘A student? But it’s four in the afternoon on Sunday! He’ll probably be having breakfast.’
‘He’s a postgraduate. Computers.’
‘In that case he won’t have got out of bed yet.’
‘I think he has a room on the ninth floor.’
I see her colleague lean over and mouth, ‘Flaky.’
‘Oh! Him. Yeah. Go on up. Nine-eighteen.’
Another elevator. The doors open at the third floor, and some students get in. I feel as though I am an enemy intruder. They carry on their conversation. I imagined students only ever talked about philosophy, engineering and whether love is something sacred or merely sexual programming: they are discussing the best way of getting past the hydra on Zax Omega and Red Plague Moon. So this is where the top stream in my high school were bound. I summon the courage to tell the students to attack the hydra with the flamethrower, but the doors open for the ninth floor. I always thought universities were wide and flat. In Tokyo they are tall and thin. The corridor is deserted. I walk up and down a few times, trying to work out how the room numbers work. Perhaps this is a part of the entrance examination. Finally I see ‘Masanobu Suga. Abandon hope, all Microsofters who enter here.’ I knock. ‘Enter!’ I push the door open. The air pongs of armpit, and the Doraemon bedspread over the window keeps the room as dank and dark as one. Bongo drums, manuals, magazines, computer equipment, the boxes they came in, a Zizzi Hikaru poster, a pot containing a stump, a complete set of manga entitled ‘Vulvavaders from Cloud Nine’, a pile of dead cup ramen packs, and a mountain range of paper files. At Ueno lost property Suga was forever harping on about paperless offices. The man himself is in the corner, hunched over his keyboard. Tappety-tap-tap-tap-tappety-beepetybeep-beep-beep. ‘Shit!’ He swivels around and peers at his visitor. Then he tries to access my face and name, even though only nine days have passed since Suga quit Ueno. ‘Miyake!’
‘You said I could come and see you some time.’
Suga frowns. ‘But I never thought you actually would . . . How is the lost property business? Mrs Sasaki still freezing the ground beneath her feet? And did you see Aoyama’s final dive on TV? It was all over the news until that high-school kid busjacked the holiday coach. See that? Cut the passengers’ throats. Goes to show, if you’re going to perform a dramatic suicide like Aoyama, schedule it clear of any major news stories.’
‘Suga, I came to—’
‘You’re lucky I’m in. Pull up a chair. You might find one under . . . never mind, sit on that box. I got back