The Mystery Clock

“Cleanliness is filthiness. Filthiness is cleanliness.[i]”

As Mori Reiko raised a large glass of wine in front of her and passed the alluring ruby-colored wine around, she muttered. It has been 30 years since she marked her spectacular debut as a mystery writer for girls during her enrollment at a prestigious women’s college, yet even now in her fifties, her beauty exhibited no sign of diminishing. She was truly a middle-aged woman who possessed the qualities of a beauty, mused Aoto Junko as she gazed at the woman’s profile.

“That’s a quote from the witch in ‘Macbeth,’ right?”

“Yes. That line is extremely important to me. Beyond being the essence of mystery, can it be passed on to a real person?”

Even Mori Reiko will respond with her signature smile, the kind that she only reveals to those whom she truly cares about. Come to think of it, about 20 years ago, a double affair between Motojima and Mori Reiko made headlines in a weekly magazine.

Should they have indeed been meeting secretly with other parties, it would have garnered a substantial amount of attention, owing to their striking aesthetics. Despite their firm denial of the allegations, the pair later divorced. It may be possible that the false news drove a rift between the married couple, but it may also be true that both parties were engaged in infidelity. As they exchanged glances, it seemed as though that might have been the case.

“If I recall correctly, it was a long time ago that I was on stage at the Imperial Theater. And I played the role of Macbeth. Although I found the special make-up of the three witches quite macabre and compelling, I couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of the lines.”

It was actor Kawai Masahito who said this. He was the only son of Mori Reiko’s deceased sister and was now her sole blood relative. His tall stature and beautiful features had drawn attention in his younger days, but in recent years he has been appearing less and less in movies and TV shows. When viewed up close, it was difficult to distinguish his dark circles and poor complexion under the eyes, but perhaps it was Mori Reiko’s thoughtfulness that they were still keeping in touch.

“The meaning of that quote is, you have to assess the essence of things, right? Even if the appearance looks good, it doesn’t imply that what’s inside is beautiful as well.”

Kumakura Shogo glanced at Motojima while saying in a persistent tone. Junko wondered why he was invited here. While he had no children, he was the former husband of Mori Reiko, and he must have harbored unpleasant feelings towards Motojima. She vacillated if this was the result of a conflict between his sense of pride as an internist who owned a large hospital and his sense of inferiority due to his appearance, reminiscent of a sleazy mole, or perhaps he was subtly moving back and forth between arrogance and condescension.

“…I had assumed it was Shakespeare’s astonishment about baseball,” Enomoto Kei uttered a bizarre remark.

Junko furrowed her brow. Even by just sitting here, she felt out of place, yet she had no idea what he was talking about. It was Junko who had brought Enomoto to the mountain villa at the request of Mori Reiko, who hoped to be introduced to an expert in crime prevention due to the priceless art collection in the villa.

“What do you mean by baseball? Roughly speaking, in Shakespeare’s era, baseball hasn’t existed yet,” Kawai asked with a vacant look on his face.

“Fair is foul, and foul is fair.”

The one who answered in a low, clear baritone was Tokizane Genki. He was Mori Reiko’s current husband, a mystery writer who had gained popularity in some circles. With his brown corduroy jacket with elbow pads, he possessed the presence of a proper writer, but his eyes behind Wellington glasses scarcely blinked, creating him a peculiar, unsettling vibe when he glanced back.

“I didn’t expect you to know the original text, Enomoto. Indeed, if you translate ‘fair’ and ‘foul’ in katakana as they are, it sounds like baseball. By nature, Shakespeare’s a cynical person.”

When Junko interrupted, Mori Reiko let out a laugh.

“Isn’t everyone that gathered here tonight the same? It’s an evening party for twisted people. But there’s no baseball here, no matter how much you want to play. Cleanliness is filthiness. It’s a wise saying that applies to everything in the world.”

“That’s right. Clean is beautiful,” Junko responded.

Hikijii Saburo, who was seated in a wheelchair, erupted as if he could no longer stand it.

“Wahaha! If that’s the case, does that mean all the women here are beautiful!”

Nobody could form a second word, and only Hikijii’s ludicrous laughter resounded through the spacious dining room.

Junko was taken aback. That wasn’t even a joke; it was just downright disrespectful. To put it bluntly, there were only three women here: Mori Rinko, her secretary Sasaki Natsumi, and herself. Not to mention Mori Reiko, an attractive middle-aged woman, and herself, who can proudly claim to be one of the most striking women in the legal profession, there was Natsumi, who had a figure that would have been good enough to be a model. And then there was Yamanaka Ayaka, the servant… at least, the old dirty geezer had no right to call her dirty.

Among the invited guests this evening, Hikijii was the one who was the most complicated to understand. From the standards of Mori Reiko and Tokizane, he might be regarded as a senior mystery writer, but it had been a long time since he stopped writing, and in the first place, his career achievements were not that remarkable.

“I just noticed that this grandfather clock has a functioning pendulum. The last time I came here, it was broken and didn’t move, right?”

Perhaps in an effort to mend the strange atmosphere, Kawai pointed to a vintage hall clock on the wall in the dining room. It showed 7:29 p.m.

“I had it repaired. There were no more replacement parts, so I had to have it fixed, and the cost was outrageously high.”

Mori Reiko put on a reluctant face.

“But I think it was well worth it. It was made by Gustav Becker and was custom-made 120 years ago. Although the time signal is turned off as it is too loud,” Tokizane added boastfully. Apparently, a hall clock over two meters high would be called a grandfather clock, but in an apartment, such a clock would probably be stuck to the ceiling.

Considering the exquisite carvings, ivory inlays, and other luxurious decorations, the original client must have been either an aristocrat or a wealthy man.

“But why do you need another clock next to it?” Enomoto inquired, having noticed the clock.

On the shelf next to the grandfather clock was an old-fashioned yellow plastic flap clock. Its power plug was inserted into the socket on the wall, and like the grandfather clock, the clock was running at 7:29.

Junko was reminded of how she used to have an alarm clock like this when she was in elementary school.

Two flapping plates moved and it became 7:30. Junko casually checked her watch, but there was only a difference of four or five seconds.

“They use another clock to check if the grandfather clock is running in the right way.”

Mori Reiko gave Tokizane a disgusted look.

“There is no sense in being so particular about accuracy, and since this person has a large collection of clocks, shouldn’t they choose one that is more presentable?”

“Showa-era retro clocks are quite appealing too. Well, all the clocks I have collected are cheap ones like this. Since Reiko’s collection is of museum quality, please take a look at it later on.”

Junko glanced at Enomoto in disbelief. It couldn’t be that that was what he was after, could it?

“But if we’re going to use the correct time as a reference, shouldn’t we use the latest clock? Something like the radio clock that hangs in the hall.”

When Motojima said this, Mori Reiko raised a frown.

“I don’t like it. Do you have to say that too? I hate that sort of thing.”

Even Junko concurred. The design was inorganic and plain, causing her to wonder why it was hanging here at the moment she laid eyes on it. No matter how she viewed it, it was incompatible with Mori Reiko’s style.

“The hall is facing the garden terrace on the south side, and I can receive the standard radio wave perfectly, yet it doesn’t reach here. I have the same radio clock in my study as in the hall, but the sensitivity of this clock is not as strong as the one in the hall, perhaps due to the window on the north side… I’m considering hanging a more aesthetic clock in the hall at some point.”

Tokizane scratched his head as he tried to justify himself.

“I am not only talking about the design. Why do you even need a radio clock in a mountainous area like this? Even quartz clocks are superfluous. You’re not a prisoner of an obsessive-compulsive urge to constantly have to correct the time to an accurate time.”

“Oh dear. Although I knew that electronic clocks didn’t suit your nature, I didn’t think you disliked them that much… I understand.” 

“There’s an Anton Schneider clock in the place, I’ll hang it up tomorrow.”

“This is lame. Mori is right.”

Once more, Hikijii intervened.

“Since you are living in such a secluded Shangri-La, why do you want to be bound by time? Do you want to feel as though every second is a countdown to death?”

Mori Reiko’s mountain residence was located on top of a mountain in the suburbs of Morioka, Iwate Prefecture, where there were no power, water, gas, or telephone lines. It was a rare occasion for Hikijii to give a positive response.

“…But I like to see the clock ticking.”

With quick discretion, Sasaki Natsumi interrupted.

“The second hand of a clock moving is kind of like a living creature’s heart beating, isn’t it? I was happy when the grandfather clock sprang back into action too.”

“Hmph, don’t you know the famous phrase, ‘This thumping in the chest is the sound of footsteps of the death god’?”

Hikijii started to say something odd.

“No, this is the first time I have ever heard of it.”

“You’re uninformed, isn’t that a line from my masterpiece, ‘Seikilos Epitaph’?”

How would we possibly know, Junko murmured in her mind.

“I had written that line in my novel in 1965. But when I read ‘The Time of the Elephant, the Time of the Rat’ in recent years, I found that most living creatures, whether elephants or rats, pulsate about the same number of times during their lives.”

“I read that too. I immediately thought of ‘Seikilos Epitaph,’ and I was reminded once again of Hikijii’s foresight,” Tokizane said.

She thought he was lying. She can’t help but wonder why people revere Hikijii so much.

“Mmm. In other words, the heart is nothing but a clock that ticks away the rest of an individual’s life. The heart serves the truly ironic role of simultaneously sustaining people’s life and counting their remaining life expectancy.”

The fact that he can be so cynical was, after all, the reason he was a writer, and on the contrary, she was impressed.

“My heart is now equipped with a real clock, thanks to the latest technology.”

“If my memory serves me right, they put a pacemaker in you, didn’t they?” Mori Reiko remarked sympathetically.

“That’s right. When the pendulum of Grandpa’s heart was about to stop, the electric clock would come to life with a twitch. However, I would soon be confronted by a grave threat… Hey there, miss.”

Hikijii suddenly turned to Junko.

“Eh? What is it?”

It had been a long time since she had been called “miss,” but it didn’t make her feel bad.

“Don’t look like a pigeon hit by a peashooter. I call everyone indiscriminately, from young girls to young women, middle-aged women, and even old women.”

“…I see.”

As for where she was classified, the woman in question was not going to ask.

“I caught a glimpse of it earlier, you were carrying a cell phone or a smart phone of some kind. Would you mind if I take a look at it?”

“Sure.”

Junko drew her iPhone out of her handbag.

“Of course, I assume you have it turned off?”

“Eh? No, it’s still on.”

“What? So you were utterly oblivious to the danger of radio waves emitted by such devices causing pacemakers to malfunction?”

“No, I am aware of that but.”

In the first place, she had never heard of such incidents, and because mobile phone radio waves had been attenuated in recent years, there should be no danger as long as the device was kept no closer than three centimeters from the patient’s body.

“…Well, when I looked at it earlier, it was out of range, so I thought it was okay.”

Inadvertently, she made a poor excuse.

“Because it’s out of range? Huh. So you think it’s okay? What the hell!” Hikijii cast a penetrating glance. “The cell phone is always trying to establish contact with the base station, therefore the signal is at its strongest when it is out of range. Didn’t you know that?”

Junko braced herself.

“Excuse me. I’ll disconnect now.”

Junko turned off her phone in a rush. While Hikijii’s gaze swept over everyone, all the invited guests pulled out their cell phones or smartphones and pressed the power button while looking down.

“To begin with, cell phones are the irreconcilable enemy of us mystery writers. With the advent of cell phones, mystery tricks have become constrained. I had to discard three ideas that would have been great masterpieces without a doubt! On top of that, readers are so deprived by expensive phone and data charges that they seldom purchase books anymore!”

Hikijii’s voice rose in volume.

“Even if they have an urgent need to make a call, those fiddling with their cell phones in public areas are no better than monkeys cutting Chinese onion. The worst of all is the smart phones. What’s so smart about it? Aside from the machine, the idiocy of the people who are controlled by it is unbelievable. Smartphones should immediately be renamed ‘bare stupidity’!”

Junko was stunned. Why was this eccentric old man invited to the party?

“People obsessed with smart phones, or rather stupid phones, are squandering valuable time on apps designed only to kill time! What is most intolerable are the insolent people who are immersed in stupid phones, while looking down in the presence of others! What could be a more major insult? It’s tantamount to declaring to my face that you are a bore and unworthy of even a cursory glance!”

Hikijii’s lion’s roar lasted for a full ten minutes, and all of them could do nothing but listen with their heads hanging down. Even Yamanaka Ayaka, who had brought in the desserts from the kitchen on a wagon, stood still as if overwhelmed by Hikijii’s fiery attitude. However, it was fortunate that the apple pie made with Ezashi apples seemed to have struck a chord with Hikijii, and he suddenly became docile.

“Well then, everyone, let’s move to the hall.”

When the supper was over and Mori Reiko said so, Junko was relieved. When she carefully assessed Hikijii’s position as she entered the hall from the dining room with the intention of sitting as far away from him as possible, she was called out by the Tokizane, the last person to come out.

“Aoto. I am truly sorry about that. Regarding Hikijii’s allergy to cell phones, I should have mentioned it earlier. It was an oversight on my part.”

“That’s fine, but… have the two of you always been close to Hikijii?”

“Close? With Hikijii?”

Tokizane as usual did not blink.

“That would be a redundancy.”

Upon entering the hall, she turned and observed the radio clock that had been the subject of conversation. The time had just turned 8:00 p.m.

T/N:

[i]  “Cleanliness is filthiness. Filthiness is cleanliness” is the Japanese saying of “Fair is foul, and foul is fair” from Shakespeare’s work, “The Tragedie of Macbeth”