My name is Igo, but if you keep up with the newspapers, you might know me by other names. Smuggler. Kidnapper. Murderer. Despite being acquitted of all charges, I know now that I will never be able to reintegrate into society. And so, before I leave this place for good, I want to provide an account of what actually happened between 30 June and 31 July, 2014, and the fate of the girl known only as Raigo.
As I said, I was officially acquitted of all charges levied against me. Even so, I do not consider myself a man entirely without guilt. I have inflicted great pain on the ones that I loved the most. I was not a good husband to my wife, nor a proper father to my daughter. Though I do not wish to rationalize the trail of poor decisions that I have left in the wake of my life, I do find it necessary to provide some details into how I got here, and why I now must go.
I live in the city of Kaga, just two short kilometers from the Katano coast. It’s a small town, mostly full of old folk who could never be bothered to leave. You can find it on a map if you try hard enough, tucked in the southwest corner of Ishikawa Prefecture facing the Sea of Japan.
For ten years I have owned and operated a barbershop on the eastern edge of town. The location wasn’t my choice. It was provided to me by my benefactor, a local boss by the name of Owl. The title transfer was done through a charitable organization dedicated to helping poor debtors like myself get back on their feet. It also had a second function, serving as a legitimate business front for the organization to mask their more unscrupulous activities.
That was the deal. A debt of servitude to replace a debt of money. And though my long tenure has given me a reputation for quiet reliability, I am not nor have I ever been a willing accomplice to their efforts. This was partially by design, to protect all parties involved should one become compromised. But mostly this discretion was maintained because I held no desire to know anymore than what was necessary.
Buyers, sellers, mules, muscle. Never met a single one. My only contact within the organization until that very last month was a runner called Sparrow who arranged drop-offs and pickups. It was rough at first. I found myself looking over my shoulder wherever I went. Every time I heard a siren, my heart would skip a beat.
But the knock on my door never came. No squad cars ever pulled up outside my window. It all came and went like clockwork, without a single hiccup in ten whole years. That’s the kind of operation Owl ran. Nevertheless, I often found myself looking back on simpler times. At night I would lie awake, listening to the sound of wind in the trees, trying desperately to hang onto the man I used to be.
Despite living near the coast, I have no love of the water. From the time I was a boy, I always felt a certain unease when looking at the sea. As I grew older, that unease widened like a cavernous maw, and by the time I was eighteen even the sound of distant waves was enough to fill my small heart with dread. It is for that reason that as soon as I was able, I packed my bags and moved to the city of Matsumoto, smack dab in the middle of Nagano Prefecture.
That was in 1989. Emperor Hirohito had just died, ending the Showa era. George H. W. Bush had become the new U.S. President. China had decided that tanks were the answer to student protests, and Voyager 2 had just started taking pictures of Neptune. Amidst it all, a younger, slimmer, better looking me began his first job at one of the many resorts in Matsumoto city.
The pay was steady, and the hours reasonable. I got married to the first good-looking girl who glanced my way, and by the time the Soviet Union fell we had become proud parents of our daughter, Anna. Our joy was short-lived. The economic bubble burst in early ‘92, just after we had bought our first home, leaving me and many like me struggling to stay above water.
That was when I met Owl.
It started off as a small loan. Extra money to make up for the bonuses I was no longer receiving. He didn’t charge much interest, just asked that I make the payments on time. “Do that,” he said, “And we’ll have no problems at all.”
No one ever plans for something like this. You take a bit of money, thinking it’s a one time deal. In fact, you’re happy that there is someone out there willing to throw you a rope. To help you over that next hill. But beyond that hill is another, then another and another. And before you know it, you’ve run out of steam. Above you is an unscalable wall. Below you is an unfathomable pit. And that rope that you once used to tether yourself has become a noose around your neck.
My wife had already left me when I came crawling back to Owl, begging for forgiveness. Took our daughter and went to live with her parents down in Kyushu. I can’t blame her. I would’ve done the same.
Owl must’ve known I was coming. The arrangements had already been made, I’m sure. You might think that defaulting on a loan to a shark like him would get you killed, but believe me when I say that the value of a clean man is worth more to the organization than his weight in gold. Stable employment history, no criminal record to speak of. I was the perfect patsy for his operation and he knew it.
It was winter of 2004 when I made the move to Kaga. All the proceeds from the sale of my home and possessions went to Owl, of course. I was too ashamed to contact my then ex-wife about what had happened, so I didn’t. Tail between my legs, I packed a bag with the essentials and boarded the first train I could for my new home.
Owl was waiting for me when I arrived. He took me to a cramped business hotel near the station where I was to remain for the first two nights. After leaving my luggage with the concierge, we proceeded to a private office where Owl explained to me in some detail the game he was playing, and what my part in it would be.
He set two items on the table between us; an opaque vial, and a map.
“Do you believe in Buddha?” Owl asked me. I shook my head. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d visited a temple, let alone said a prayer.
“Not many do these days,” he continued. “My grandfather was a devout Buddhist. Something he passed down to my father, who in turn passed the gift of faith down to me. He served an organization called the Society for Light and Peace, who sent him along with five hundred volunteers to convert the Koreans.”
Owl pushed the map toward me and pointed at a port city north of the 38th parallel. “They went by ship, setting up in the Hodo peninsula. This was in the 1920’s, mind you. Well after the annexation. Hundreds of thousands of Japanese had already emigrated, paving the way for us to do two things: Spread the faith, and cultivate poppies.”
“Poppies?” I asked.
Owl tapped his finger on the table. “Korea wasn’t just annexed for its strategic value. It also provided Japan with much needed arable land. Land which was put to immediate use. By the outset of the second war, Korea had become one of the largest opium exporters in the world. And it was all thanks to us.”
“Most of it came from the north. Even after the war was lost and we were forced to give up our lands, production never ceased. Of course, the post-war government installed by the Americans strictly policed the import and consumption of most drugs you can think of. This combined with souring relationships between North Korea and Japan made the continued import of opium untenable.”
Owl picked up the vial and held it between us. “It’s funny,” he said. “It used to be that faith was something you had. Now it’s something you consume. The Buddha of our grandfathers transformed into the Buddha you see here. A potent mix of opium and cannabis, brought in bi-weekly by ship, and—”
I slammed my hands on the table and stood to protest. It was all too much. I wanted no part in Owl’s schemes, but one icy glare from his wrinkled face was all it took to sap me of my courage.
“I don’t want to know,” I said. “Just tell me what I have to do, no more than that, please.”
I felt so pathetic. So weak for choosing ignorance over facing the truth. But Owl didn’t object. In fact, he seemed more than willing to accommodate my demand for willful blindness.
In truth, almost nothing was asked of me. Twice a month a shipment would be brought to my barbershop for storage and the previous shipment would be moved out. This would occur under the guise of a cosmetics salesman making his rounds, a job filled by Owl’s own nephew, Sparrow.
For ten years, this is how it went. I never touched the product, never even so much as opened a box to get a look at it. Sparrow and I never made small talk about it either. He had his job and I had mine. The shop and most of my belongings were bought and paid for by the organization. I was given a stipend, of course, and allowed to keep the money I made from cutting hair.
The shock of it all wore off after the first year. Everything after that became just background noise. I buried myself in my work, so much so that in no time at all my days were filled with customers, and my nights busy with running errands and cleaning the shop. I wore that life like a second skin, until it all came crumbling down.
30 June, 2014. The night we lost the crew.
It was a pounding on the front door that stirred me. I had already retired for the night, and the clock upon my bedside table read 1:30 a.m. I was slow to rise, thinking that it must be a knocking at someone else’s door. But after a minute of incessant thumping, I gave in and headed downstairs.
I opened the door to a boy I didn’t recognize. He looked no more than eighteen, with bronze colored skin and a gap between his two front teeth. In an instant, my heart sank into my stomach. Something was wrong. Something had happened.
“Mister Igo, sir?” he asked.
I grunted at him, wary of his next words.
“My name is—”
“Don’t tell me your name,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to know who you are, where you’re from, or what you do.”
“B-but,” he stuttered. “Mr. Sparrow told us to come get you. It’s an emergency.”
“Not my problem. I’m not involved,” I said.
I tried to close the door in his face, but the boy wedged himself in, desperate to speak.
“Please, Mr. Igo,” he begged. “Mr. Sparrow and the others are all out of town at some big meeting. He said you’re the only one we can count on here. Told me not to take no for an answer. Said that if you didn’t come with us then he’d have to bring it up with Mr. Owl.”
I froze in my tracks. In truth, I hadn’t felt Owl’s noose around my neck for years. But with just a few words, the boy reminded me who it was in my life that was calling the shots. With a sigh, I eased off the door and let the boy step inside.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s the boat, sir,” he said. “She was scheduled to come in last night, but we lost contact. Just an hour ago we spotted her about a kilometer out, adrift and abandoned.”
“So?”
“Well, we brought her in, thinking that there was nobody on it, but, well. . .” he stammered.
“Well, what?” I asked.
“It’s the cabin, sir. Locked from the inside. We can’t get it open.”
My mind turned to the sea, and the old fear that had followed me since childhood began bubbling up beneath the surface. I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure.
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“Tethered to the portable dock we brought out, sir. Sparrow told me to have you help us get inside and find out what happened.”
I paced back and forth, grasping for any excuse I could not to go. But there was no time. The longer I tarried, the greater the likelihood of the ship drawing unwanted attention. Cornered, I gave in, and minutes later the boy and I were driving through the woods toward Katano beach.
“What do they call you?” I asked the boy, attempting to take my mind off the sound of distant waves.
“Kakapo, sir.”
“Kakapo,” I repeated. “Is it just you?”
“No, sir. Me and one other. Kiwi, we call him. It’s a four man job. The two crewmembers help unload the stuff from their 25-footer, and we take it from there to—”
“Stop,” I said. “I don’t want to know, do you understand? I’m not like the rest of you.”
“What do you mean, Mr. Igo? If you’re not one of us then why did Mr. Sparrow send you to help?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. After another minute of driving, we emerged from the woods and started down the coast. From here I could make out the lights of the boat and the makeshift platform that they had tethered her to. Beyond the vessel was a black sea, the sight of which sent my heart into thunderous anxiety.
By the time we pulled up next to the boat I could barely see straight. Such was my fear that my legs collapsed from under me as I exited the car, and I began to vomit violently. Kakapo was quick to come to my aid, but I pushed him away. In my mind, a wall of water had closed in around me, and it was all I could do not to scream out in terror.
“Mr. Igo,” Kakapo said. “We have to hurry!”
I closed my eyes and swallowed my fear down in giant, rock-filled gulps. Just get to the boat, I told myself.
“Get to the boat. Secure the cabin. Get back to the car. Three steps. You can do it,” I repeated out loud.
Kakapo rushed ahead as I lifted myself up. “Mr. Igo!” he shouted once he’d reached the boat, “I can’t find Kiwi, he’s not here!”
Get to the boat. Secure the cabin. Get back to the car.
My sense of time started to twist and turn. In one moment I was on the sand. In the next, I had made it to the dock.
“Mr. Igo!” Kakapo yelled from just outside the cabin door. “I can hear someone. Someone’s inside.”
Get to the boat. Secure the cabin. Get back to the car.
I blinked and there I was, standing at the edge of the swaying vessel.
“It sounds like someone playing the flute,” Kakapo said. “Hello? Kiwi? Are you inside? Are you—”
His voice disappeared in the wind, and when I looked up, he was gone.
“Kakapo?” I whispered, hanging onto the rail as I climbed aboard. “Kakapo? What’s wrong?”
I was alone.
Terrified, I fell to my knees and started to crawl toward the cabin door. I called out to Kakapo again and again, but my only answer was the soft rocking of the mast.
A wiser man may have taken off then and there, but what choice did I have? Even if I could have forced myself up from that pitiful position, there was no escaping what would happen to me should the ship be seized. The only way forward was through that door, and with as much courage as I could muster, I gave it a push.
To my surprise, there was no resistance. The door floated effortlessly inward, as if it had been waiting for me to open it. A faint light from within illuminated a set of three stairs that led to the interior. I could hear a quiet rustling from within, but its source eluded me.
I tried to call out to Kakapo once more, but my voice was no more than a dry crack. With great hesitance, I took the last step and emerged in the cabin.
A miasma not dissimilar to spoiled milk filled the interior. Though the crew was absent, there was no sign of struggle. Perhaps they had abandoned the boat willingly, or perhaps they had been forced off by some external circumstance. I could not surmise what had happened, for at that moment, I locked eyes with another person sitting at the end of the cabin.
It was a girl, ragged and filthy. Her eyes were an unnatural shade of violet, through which she stared at me unblinking. At her mouth she held a wooden flute that she seemed to play in tones I could not hear. She was elementary aged, ten or eleven, but her emaciated figure made it difficult to tell.
The girl continued to play her silent flute, her eyes fixated on me all the while. It wasn’t until I heard a loud splash from just outside that she lowered her instrument.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Where is the crew?”
A clamoring from above stole my attention away before she could answer. I looked up, suddenly afraid that the police had found the boat, but saw nothing. When I looked back down, the girl had appeared right in front of me.
“I am salvation, Igo,” she whispered. “And I have come for you.”
* * *
I remember nothing more of that night. The girl and I were found unconscious inside the cabin and brought back to my home just before dawn. At half past eight o’clock, I was woken up by a phone call and made to go directly to Owl.
It was a dour meeting, the situation far worse than I could have imagined. In addition to the crew, Kiwi had also gone missing, as well as the entirety of the shipment we were scheduled to receive. Worse still, Kakapo’s body had been discovered down the coast, having drowned by means unknown.
Accusations flew like arrows, most of which came down upon myself. I had colluded with Kiwi, they said. Betrayed the organization only to then in turn be betrayed myself. Left in the cabin of that cursed boat to whatever fate may come.
Owl would hear none of what I had to say. Despite ten years of quiet service, he swore that if answers were not soon found I would share the same fate as Kakapo.
To that end, the charge of caring for the mysterious girl fell into my hands. It almost didn’t happen that way. Many of the organization’s senior members voted that she be taken back to North Korea with the next shipment. Her fate was decided by the narrowest margin, as was my own.
I headed home that afternoon, finding the girl asleep in the small guest bedroom I kept on the second floor. She was still dressed in the rags she had worn when I saw her on the ship the previous night, and she smelled as if she had been at sea for months. Having no choice in the matter now, I decided first to head to the store and pick out for her a few outfits, as well as some fresh shampoo and soap.
She was awake by the time I returned, standing outside the bathroom as if she had known I was coming. The clothes I had bought were a size too big, but she seemed not to mind. I cooked a light meal of eggs and toast while she bathed, and once she emerged we sat together in the dining room and began to eat.
The girl had a ravenous appetite, asking for seconds before she was even halfway done. Not having much of a stomach myself, I offered her the rest of my plate and watched as she devoured every morsel.
“You got a name?” I asked once she’d finished.
“Raigo,” she said. “And you are Igo.”
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“I know all about you, Igo,” she said. “After all, you’re the one I’m here to see.”
I stifled a laugh. The whole ordeal was preposterous, but even so I felt compelled to listen.
“Why are you afraid of the water?” she asked abruptly.
“If you know everything about me, shouldn’t you know why it frightens me?”
Raigo nodded. “That is true, but sometimes knowing is not enough. One must say aloud their fears if they are to overcome them.”
I hummed, not knowing quite what to make of this violet-eyed girl.
“You must’ve heard about me from the crew, then,” I surmised. “They told you about who I am and where I live.”
Raigo shook her head. “No, they were dead by the time I got onboard.”
I narrowed my eyes and leaned in.
“Dead?” I asked. “Did someone kill them?”
“I can tell you,” Raigo said, “but I need you to do something for me first.”
“I’ve clothed you and fed you, isn’t that enough?” I chided.
“There’s a cliff near where the boat landed on the coast. Take me there tonight, and I promise to give you what you so deeply desire.”
“This isn’t a game, Raigo. People are dead. Not just the men on that boat, but the other man who was there with me that night. We ought to know what happened to them so that we can—”
“Tell their families?” Raigo asked, smiling through a row of small teeth. “Would they forgive you? Would your own family forgive you for all you’ve done?”
The needle of truth in her words proved too much for my own pride. Slamming a hand on the table, I spat some profanity and ordered her upstairs. At first I thought to call Owl and beg him to relieve me of this burden, but I knew he would refuse. The care of Raigo was to be my responsibility until he said otherwise, and I had no idea when that would be.
I took a walk to calm myself, stopping at the corner market to pick up coffee grounds and a hand of bananas. It was sunny, but not so hot as to make being outdoors unbearable. I remember clearly my thoughts from that afternoon. Not of Raigo or the crew, or even the sordid business to which I had so long been bound. No, I found myself thinking of my daughter, Anna.
Had she graduated from college, I wondered. Had she been able to overcome the shame of being raised without a father. All the sins of my life had been piled upon her, and though I longed to shut my past away, the mere mention of the family I’d scorned sent me in a downward spiral from which I would not soon recover.
Despite my fears, I agreed to Raigo’s condition, and that night the two of us paid our first of many visits to the cliffs over Katano beach. After a few minutes of hunting for a good spot, she found a large rock upon which to sit and asked me to join her.
I paused, unwilling to look out over that pitch-black ocean.
“Suit yourself,” she said, pulling out her small wooden flute.
“What are we doing here?” I asked. I kept my eyes firmly planted on the earth beneath my feet, stealing glances up at her only in moments where my courage swelled.
“Fulfilling our purpose,” Raigo answered. She raised her flute up to her lips and began to play notes that I could barely hear.
At first, I thought the instrument may have been damaged in some way. It produced a peculiar whistling sound; distant, like something heard from the precipice of a long, dark tunnel. In a small way, it reminded me of a lullaby. A gentle tune fit for sending young children from the waking world into the realm of dreams.
Raigo carried on like this for a full fifteen minutes, her eyes never breaking from the coast. And though the song she played was gentle, I became increasingly aware of a change in the air. Something was happening. Someone was coming.
It began as a rustle in the distant sand, thirty or so meters away. Slowly, a figure emerged near a streetlight that marked the entrance to the beach. It appeared to be a man, seventy or eighty, though this is only a guess. It was much too dark to see his features, and the only thing that betrayed his age was the slow stiffness of his movement.
For a short while, the man stopped and stared out across the ocean. As Raigo played, I took a few curious steps forward until I arrived at the limit of what my fear would allow. When I looked back out toward the coast, the man had moved. He no longer sat staring at the water, but had begun to walk with heavy steps through the sand.
“Raigo, there’s someone down there,” I said. But her concentration was only on the notes she played and nothing else.
So focused was I on the man that I did not stop to think of what his intent could be. It was only when small waves began lapping his feet did I begin to comprehend his purpose.
I called out to him. Screamed until my voice was hoarse, but he never so much as looked in my direction. In a panic, I began a futile search for a way down, but it was already too late. By then he was almost completely submerged.
I wanted to help him. I wanted to save him. But there was no scaling those cliffs. Even at a full sprint, it would’ve taken me at least ten minutes to circle around to the shore. By then he would be long gone, and I could not swim after him.
I fell to my knees and screamed in a whisper that he would never hear. I could do nothing. Nothing but watch as his head sank beneath the waves, never to emerge again.
Raigo brought the flute from her lips and set it in her lap, then turned to me.
“We can go home now,” she said.
“What?” I asked, choking back tears.
“Our job is finished for tonight,” she said. “You fulfilled your promise to bring me here, now I must fulfill my promise to give you what you desire.”
I shook my head, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. “What are you?” I asked. “What do you want with me?”
“I am Raigo, the one who shepherds,” she said, holding her flute up. “You are Igo, the one who desires.”
“Desire?” I spat. “You don’t know anything about—”
“Anna still waits for you,” she interrupted. I froze at the mention of my daughter. Anna, my sweet girl. Just the sound of her name filled me with anguished regret.
“She stirs in her bed on sleepless nights, waiting for a knock upon her door. Her mother mocks her, tells her she is foolish for thinking of such a man as her father. But deep down, she remembers the man who held her when she cried. Who told her stories so she could fall asleep at night. The man she thought would always be there for her, until he wasn’t.”
I turned away, vainly trying to hide the shame that was written upon my face.
“Do you wish to see your daughter again?” Raigo asked. “Can you say aloud your heart’s deepest desire?”
The answer came in an instant.
“Yes,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I would do anything for that chance.”
Raigo nodded, satisfied with my response. “Thirty nights,” she said. “For thirty nights, you must bring me to this place. I will play, you will witness. Fulfill this promise, and you will hold your daughter in your arms once more.”
Did I have any doubts? A single private thought of hesitation at what I was about to do? No. In that moment, I cast off the last pretense of morality and swore myself to Raigo’s grim service.