“Puppet Master, by Miyuki Miyabe, is a translation of Mohohan and is her absolute masterpiece.” —Ginny Tapley Takemori
Note: This book is sold only as an ebook and only in Japan.
Excerpt, from Chapter 1
September 12, 1996
Even after it was all over, Shinichi Tsukuda could remember in precise detail everything he’d done that morning: what he’d been thinking, how he’d been feeling when he woke up, what he’d seen on his regular morning walk, who he’d passed, the flowers in bloom in the park.
Over the last year he’d gotten into the habit of committing the minutest detail to memory. He would memorize every moment of every day as if taking photographs, storing away every word of every conversation, every particular of every scene around him—things so fragile they could easily be destroyed or taken from him at anytime, so it was necessary to have a good grasp of them.
That was why that morning he remembered hearing the clatter of the mailbox — a bit later than usual, he’d thought — as he was coming down stairs from his room. Looking out of the window at the turn in the staircase, he caught sight of the chubby newspaper delivery man in a gray T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up passing by on his scooter. Printed on the back of his shirt was the Urawa Reds team logo and mascot.
As Shinichi unlocked the front door and went outside, Rocky started barking in the front yard, his chain jingling in his excitement. The dog strained on the chain as far as it would let him, the joy showing in every part of his body as he jumped up in greeting. Shinichi noticed a bare patch on Rocky’s belly where the skin was showing through the fur, and he wondered if he’d hurt himself. He tried to hold him to get a better look, but Rocky was jumping around in his eagerness to go for a walk, making it impossible. Shinichi gave up and unclipped Rocky’s chain from the post in the corner of the yard, thinking that when they got back from the walk he’d show it to Unclie Yoshiyuki and maybe take Rocky to the vet. He clearly remembered that the chain was still wet from the rain during the night, and had felt cold and heavy in his hand.
Rocky had come to live in the Ishii household some six months before Shinichi and was a bundle of energy, always getting up to mischief and wanting to play. He was a cuddly bear of a dog — a handsome collie, although apparently not a purebred. Upon closer inspection, Shinichi could see that his nose was indeed slightly shorter than a regular collie’s, and he was on the small side, but that just made him all the more lovable.
It was almost 10 months since Shinichi had come to live with the Ishiis, and now it was his job to take Rocky out for a walk every morning and evening. It turned out that on that Aunt Yoshie and Uncle Yoshiyuki had never really been all that keen on dogs, and taking him for walks had been a chore. Shinichi even sometimes had the feeling that Aunt Yoshie was a little afraid of big dogs like Rocky. So when Rocky had taken a liking to Shinichi and Shinichi in turn had enjoyed looking after the dog, they had told him what a big help that was.
So why had they taken Rocky on in the first place? If it was so much trouble to look after a dog, why had they taken one in? Shinichi has been on the verge of asking this question many times, but had always stopped himself. They would probably tell him, but he could easily imagine it making things awkward between them. Well, you see, we felt sorry for that poor dog so… they would say. It was true; they were incapable of ignoring anything or anyone in a pitiful situation. And Shinichi would nod and say, I see, poor Rocky had had nowhere else to go. And would think to himself, Same as me. And he would be able to tell from their faces that they knew that was what he was thinking. And that he knew that they knew. And they would all be pretending they didn’t know.
Shinichi unclipped the chain from Rocky’s collar and replaced it with the leather leash used for going on walks. Rocky pulled excitedly as they went out onto the street. Even though they had a regular route, the dog always seemed to want to go off in different directions. He liked going off the asphalt, too—the earth must’ve felt good under his paws. Shinichi would often let him choose which way to go, but not that morning. After last night’s rain there were puddles everywhere, so he decided to stick to the paved roads along the usual route.
They went down a narrow alley and came out on Meiji Dori. It was still early so there were wasn’t much traffic, but that meant the cars were going faster. Rocky barked in protest at a taxi that drove past too close. They headed west along Meiji Dori and crossed over at the Shirahige-bashi East crossing, and continued along to Okawa Park. The full days were getting shorter, and the morning sun was only just now rising behind them, it’s reflection glittering in the windows of the high-rise condos on their right.
Rocky wanted to press on, but Shinichi make him stop, turning around to watch the rising sun. Those who had known him in the old days would be astonished to hear that he now reverently watched the sun rise every morning. Like most other high-school students, he’d always been more of a night owl and had been hopeless at getting up at a set time every morning. He always grumbled that morning classes shouldn’t start until at least ten o’clock or so.
That had all changed now. After the Ishiis had taken him in, he’d started getting up early and watching the sunrise every morning of his own accord. He’d asked himself why that was, but he still hadn’t found a clear answer — a coherent, logical one, anyway. It was just a gut feeling. He wanted to be sure — sure that another day had started; that every day, every morning, he was alive. Or rather, that he had survived yesterday, and was here to greet the new day, too. That his life hadn’t ended yet. He had no idea what each day had in store for him, but for the moment yesterday had passed, and he had come through it intact.
If he didn’t follow this morning ritual, the feeling of being alive didn’t well up in him. It was like an explorer walking through the unchanging landscape of a huge desert — other then turning around to check his own footprints, there was no way to gauge his progress. Even so, there were times when Shinichi welcomed the morning sun only to wonder whether he hadn’t in fact already died, and the sun was simply coming and going over his dead body. At these times he caved into a feeling of emptiness.
As he stood there looking at the sun through narrowed her eyes, at his side Rocky let out a bark. Shinichi turned around to see a woman in jogging wear running toward them from the park. “Good morning!” she called out. Shinichi give only a slight nod in return; depending on how you looked at it, it might or might not be taken as a greeting. “Hi, Rocky!” Rocky wagged his tail and jumped up at her. The woman smiled. “Glad the rain stopped,” she said as she ran past, her ponytail swinging in rhythm with her step.
Shinichi saw her most mornings. He didn’t know her name or where she was from or what sort of person she was. She must’ve been in her thirties, he guessed. She probably lived in this neighborhood, but she looked like a pretty good runner so she might have come from farther away. She didn’t know Shinichi’s name either, and he never told her Rocky’s name, so she must have overheard it. However friendly she was to him, Shinichi never did more then nod in response. But still she always said hello. And so it was, every morning.
“Rocky, let’s go!” Immediately Rocky jumped up joyfully and set off at a run, his feet steadily pounding the street, his ears laid flat and his nose stretched up before him. Shinichi held onto the taut leash and ran after him.
At the gate to the park he stopped briefly and made Rocky ease up his pace before going in. The long narrow space beside the river had been planted with trees and flowerbeds, and had a paved promenade running through it. It was perfect for strolling and you could always see plenty of people with dogs here. Some he saw every day, but he didn’t have the least desire to talk with them, and they perhaps sensed this, for nobody except the jogger ever called out a friendly greeting to him, to his relief.
The promenade formed a large S, and the western side of the park bordered the Sumida River. Climbing the steps to the top of the embankment you could look out across the blue-black water of the river to the Asakusa District on the opposite side. Line 6 of the Metropolitan Expressway running directly overhead felt somewhat oppressive, but even so Shinichi liked the view from here. He had never lived by a river before coming to the Ishiis, so the experience was still new for him.
He and Rocky ran along the embankment, the river on their right. He could feel the chill of autumn in the breeze that brushed his cheeks, fluttered the sleeves of his faded shirt, and ruffled the long hair on Rocky’s back. The sound of an engine came from upstream, and as a dredger drew level with him Rocky stood stock-still and wagged his tail barking. When the water-buses passed, people standing on the deck would wave at Rocky, who seemed to enjoy the attention. But there were no friendly waving passengers aboard the dredger, only a faint whiff of sludge that lingered and its wake as it plowed on downstream.
“There aren’t any people on that boat, Rocky!” Shinichi laughed, and stroked the dog’s head. Rocky licked his hand, his tongue rough and warm.
They ran along the embankment path for a while, then went back down the steps to the promenade. They had just passed a full bed of cosmos flowers bobbing on their slender stems and were heading for the exit when they heard a dog ahead of them barking frantically. It was hidden from their view by some shrubs, but it sounded fired up, as if in fight mode. Rocky pricked up his ears and stiffened, readying himself to join in. Shinichi took hold of his collar to keep him from bolting, and kept on walking.
As they passed shrubbery, a Siberian husky came into view at the entrance to the promenade. It was in a frenzy, its owner desperately trying to calm it. Shinichi had seen her before. She was about the same age as him, perhaps a little older, and was tall and slim, with long legs and well-defined muscles. She didn’t look the feeble type, but it was taking all her strength to control her dog.
“King, stop it. What’s up? King!” She scolded loudly, pulling hard on the dog’s heavy leather leash, all her weight on her heels. But King carried on barking, and lunged forward pulling her along.
The focus of his attention was a park garbage can, one of those big ones with BURNABLE TRASH marked on the side. As semitransparent trash bag protruded from under its hinged lid.
“King, what’s wrong with you?” She was clearly spent, her forehead covered in beads of sweat, and as she looked around in search of help her eyes locked with Shinichi’s. “My dog’s gone nuts.”
Shinichi flinched. He didn’t want to strike up a conversation with a girl, especially one he didn’t know. The last thing he needed in his life right now was to get involved with anyone new.
“King, what are you making such a fuss about?” She was beginning to sound a bit scared, but the dog grew more excited and jumped up at the trashcan with its front paws. The lid rattled.
Rocky started barking too, as if led on by King. Shinichi tapped him on the head and told him to sit. The dog growled, but Shinichi rapped his head again and he flattened his ears and sat down. Holding tightly onto his collar, Shinichi pulled him off the path and quickly tied the leash to the fence around the shrubs.
King was now straddling the trashcan and sticking his nose in the gap below the lid, intent on ferreting out something inside it. “King! Stop that. Bad boy!” shouted the girl, her voice cracking. Shinichi could see what was happening but just couldn’t bring himself to go to her aid. He didn’t know what he could do to help anyway. He really didn’t want to get involved. It was better not to get involved—
Rocky had stayed quietly by the fence, but now, infected by King’s frenzy, he started barking again. Shinichi turned around to scold him, and at just that moment King at last overturned the trash. As the dog fell with the can, his leash slipped from the girl’s grasp, leaving him free to pounce on the contents. He dragged out the trash bag and tore into it with his teeth and claws. Out spilled fast-food leftovers and crushed paper cups…the stench of garbage.
“Ew, that stinks!” Upon losing her grip of kings leash, the girl had abruptly sat down. She wrinkled her nose. “What the heck is in there?” she said, turning to look at Shinichi. “Whatever it is, King’s going crazy over it.”
But Shinichi didn’t answer. He was looking at King. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the object that the dog had just pulled out of the trash. It was a brown paper bag. King bit the edge of it, then bit it again. The fetid smell grew stronger as the bag split. Shinichi grimaced as he watched King’s strong jaws pull something out into full view.
It was a human arm, severed at the elbow. The fingers were facing Shinichi. Pointing at him, is if beckoning him. As if pleading with him.
King’s owner screamed, the sharp sound cutting through the early-morning air. Rooted to the spot, Shinichi reflexively raised his hands and put them over his ears. It had only been a year ago. It’s happening again. Screams, and blood, and me just standing here stunned.
Unconsciously he began inching his way backward, unable to tear his gaze away from the dead arm and beckoning hand. The fingernails were painted a pale purple, the same color as the cosmos blooms in the flowerbeds…..
About the Author: Miyuki Miyabe (宮部みゆき) was born in Tokyo in 1960 and writes genre fiction. She has won the Yoshikawa Eiji Prize for New Writers and for Literature, the Shiba Ryōtarō Prize, the Yamamoto Shugoro Prize, and the Naoki Prize. Her work has been translated into over a dozen languages and has been adapted for film, television, manga, and video games.