Dark Water Page 13

  There it was, where he could touch it. In the faint glow of the night-lights, it looked black, probably from being waterlogged. Enoyoshi brought his face closer to it. The tip was wedged tight into the gap and the whole shoe had probably come off the owner for that reason. The wearer must have been playing atop the tetrapods and tripped. The upper canvas bore a Mickey Mouse motif, and a closer look revealed that it was a right shoe. The name written on the heel in black felt pen was legible even in the dim light. Kazuhiro. There could be no mistake. This shoe and the other they’d found on the yacht’s propeller formed a pair.

  Enoyoshi looked up. It amazed him how calm he was. Calmly, he observed to himself, With the right shoe here, no wonder the boy’s barefoot.’

  Glancing out, he saw the yacht rocking violently on the perfectly placid surface. Enoyoshi thought he glimpsed the figure of a child with bare feet hugging the keel, playing.

  V – ADRIFT

  1

  Like a white cascade, the squall swept over the Wakashio VII, a deep-sea fishing boat with a hold full of tuna. Once having passed, the squall swept over the sea in a southerly direction. The rainbow that formed in its wake appeared to be a triumphal arch welcoming the boat back to its home port. A few hours earlier, they had passed through the sea off the Ogasawara Islands, and a short journey further north would bring into sight the profile of Torishima Island. Heading further north, they would reach the island of Hachiojima. Kazuo Shiraishi had a growing sense of relief, as if they were already back in Japan.

  As Kazuo stood on bridge watch, it gradually sank into him that the yearlong voyage was finally drawing to a close. This was his third such voyage. Yet his heart felt fuller than it had upon returning from his first. This was no doubt due to the period of extended idleness that awaited him before the next voyage.

  Upon returning from his second voyage seven years ago, Kazuo took up work in a fisheries warehouse as a cargo superintendent in charge of grading tuna fish. His memories of that second voyage were not pleasant; he had become particularly annoyed by the ugly mood that prevailed among the crew. He consequently applied, though not in so many words, for a job on land.

  Despite being qualified as an engineer, he continued to cling to his land-based job at Wakashio Fisheries for the next five years, persistently rejecting any possibility of returning to sea.

  Then two years ago, while driving the firm’s van to Tokyo, he became stuck in heavy traffic. He was overcome by the claustrophobia of being surrounded on all sides by trucks. In that instant he realized that he really didn’t belong on land after all. He belonged at sea with its unimpeded vistas. To describe how the sun set at sea, Kazuo would often form a circle with his arms, although such a gesture could never truly capture the actual grandeur of a sunset at sea. Whenever, stuck in congested traffic, he happened to recall a seascape, the beauty of the scene felt all the more poignant. How deep was the calm silence at sea compared to the deafening din of traffic! Thus awakened to the lure of the sea as if for the first time, Kazuo resolved that it was time to set out on a third voyage, and promptly contacted the company to this end.

  As the ship’s assistant engineer, Kazuo had been satisfied with this voyage. With a respectable career under his belt, he was regarded by everyone aboard as a full-fledged seaman. No one treated him like some green cabin boy as they had on his last trip, and there had been no feuding factions aboard the boat this time. Having successfully completed its mission in the South Pacific, the Wakashio VII now had its refrigerated hold full to the brim with large southern blue fin tuna. Moreover, they’d encountered no conditions during the voyage severe enough to be considered life threatening. All in all, the voyage had gone off as planned. The entire mission would have been perfect had it not been for an incident in which two crewmembers were swept overboard off the coast of New Zealand. Miraculously, one of these men was rescued, a feat that caught the attention of the newspapers. Sadly, the reporters focused exclusively on the dramatic sea rescue, totally ignoring the fact that another man had lost his life in the incident. While saddened by the death of a crewmate, the ship hands were also overjoyed that another, earlier given up for dead, had been returned to them. What should have been seen as a tragic event strangely gave rise to the jolly mood of a carnival. Perhaps this was because the lost crewmember hadn’t been very popular.

  The triumphal arc of the rainbow appeared just two or three days before they were to reach the Japanese mainland. As Kazuo stood at watch on the bridge, a smile came unnoticed to his face. The voyage had garnered a huge catch. He stood to make a pretty penny. Thinking how he’d spend this money, he couldn’t help but grin.

  Just one of the ways he could spend the money was to cover the costs of his wedding. Kazuo had turned twenty-seven during the voyage and was seriously considering marrying a girl back home. During the voyage he had finally decided to formally propose to this girl upon his return. As for any future deep-sea fishing voyages, the two of them would have to discuss it first and decide if that was what they both wanted. If she opposed any future trips, he’d listen. As Kazuo thought things through, he realized that this could be his last voyage. That this might be his last homecoming made the moment on the bridge all the more emotional for him.

  As the clouds that fuelled a squall fell behind in the distance, shafts of summer sunlight began streaming down through the clouds ahead, forming patches of light and dark on the face of the sea like so many spotlights. It was three in the afternoon. Ahead to port could be seen the profile of a boat that resembled a yacht as it slid from a dark area into a patch of light. After straining his eyes in that direction, Kazuo used his pair of binoculars to make sure. It was in fact a small oceangoing cruiser. Although the vessel seemed to have emerged from a gap in the clouds themselves, it was heading directly toward them on the portside as though to cross paths with the Wakashio VII, which was running on autopilot. Kazuo gave five consecutive blasts of the steam whistle. In addition to indicating alarm about the cruiser’s direction, they were meant as a warning. After sounding the whistle, Kazuo peered through the binoculars again. The cruiser was travelling with its sails down. There was no sign of anyone onboard. There should have been someone standing watch on a boat of that kind, no matter what the circumstances. Without someone to keep watch, there was always the risk of a collision.

  Kazuo sounded the whistle again, while observing the cruiser through his binoculars. Nobody appeared on deck.

  He wondered if their whole crew was fast asleep in the cabin. He certainly couldn’t think of any other way to explain the total absence of anyone on deck. Looking suspiciously like a phantom ship, the cruiser bore down on a collision course with the Wakashio VII.

  Kazuo lost no time in calling Captain Takagi and informing him of the situation. The captain silently scrutinized the cruiser with unaided eyes as Kazuo waited.

  ‘Odd, very odd,’ muttered Captain Takagi at last before putting the ship’s engine in neutral. With the engine idling, the boat continued to drift forward for a while under its own momentum, before it finally came to rest. The hull of the cruiser was by now right below the deck of Wakashio VII. Closer inspection revealed that what they had taken for a small cruiser was actually a luxury yacht about forty feet in length. Its deck was white and the rest of the hull a regal maroon, with double lines running along the side. They could see a diving platform mounted on the beautifully curved stern. It was obvious at a glance that the yacht’s owner was extremely wealthy.

  Seamen assembled on deck in twos and threes along the portside. From there they called down to the yacht.

  ‘Anyone down there?’

  The repeated shouts of the men brought no response from the yacht. Not a single face emerged from the cabin below. A forty footer of this type would normally be manned by four or five crewmembers at the very least.

  ‘What should we do?’

  Boatswain Shibasaki turned to the captain for instructions, a scowl on his face. It was clear he just wanted to forget th
is matter and head on full-speed ahead toward their home port of Misaki.

  ‘Well, we can’t pretend we haven’t seen it.’

  Captain Takagi then unfolded his arms and ordered the junior seamen to lower a boat. The yacht could have been in an accident, and he couldn’t just ignore her and forge ahead. It was the duty of all seamen worthy of the name to come to the aid of ships in distress.

  A rope from the Wakashio VII was tied firmly to the bow cleat of the yacht. Once they’d prevented the vessel from drifting away, a seaman boarded the yacht. He quickly surveyed the cabin quarters before shouting back.

  There’s no one here!’

  ‘Double-check the berths and bunks!’

  With this command from the captain, the scout went back down into the cabin, before returning a minute or so later.

  ‘There’s not a soul aboard, Captain!’ Then he added in a lower voice, with less confidence, ‘There’s something weird about this

  But this was drowned out by the captain’s roar: ‘Give me her registration number!’

  The man read off the number that appeared on either side of the yacht: ‘KN2 – 1785, sir!’ The KN indicated that the boat was registered in Kanagawa Prefecture.

  ‘Got that. Stand by and await further instructions!’

  Returning to the bridge, the captain placed a call via the Inmarsat phone to the Third Maritime Safety Division headquartered in Yokohama to report a deserted ship adrift at 29 degrees north by 141 degrees east. Asked for a detailed description of the boat as it was discovered, Captain Takagi gave a frank account of what he’d just seen.

  ‘Any persons adrift in the sea around the vessel?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Any objects adrift near the boat?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Any suspicious cluster of fish or fowl?’

  ‘Negative.’

  Every question could only be met with the same answer, ‘Negative’. The yacht simply lay afloat on calm waters with its sails down.

  The Third Maritime Safety Division contacted its air rescue team at Haneda, where arrangements were made to immediately dispatch an aircraft to that stretch of sea. During the two to three hours it would take the plane to reach the ship, the Wakashio VII was obliged to remain on location and to keep an eye on the deserted yacht.

  The nineteen crewmembers of the Wakashio VII reacted in one of two ways to this turn of events: some groaned about being held back when they were so close to Japan; others wondered about this intriguing yacht that had appeared out of nowhere. Kazuo belonged to the latter group. He’d always dreamed of sailing the ocean someday aboard a luxury yacht just like this one. The sudden appearance of the yacht somehow presaged the fulfilment of his dream. He felt a strong urge to board her.

  They waited two and a half hours before they heard the roar of an approaching aircraft, the one dispatched by the Maritime Safety Agency.

  The aircraft circled high above the Wakashio VII several times, searching for any evidence of people set adrift. The plane scoured the area no more than thirty minutes and headed back to its home base.

  What course of action to take next was discussed in a second telephone conversation between the Wakashio VII and the Third Maritime Safety Division. Any obligation the fishing vessel may have had toward the abandoned ship was fulfilled by notifying the Maritime Safety Agency. Although the agency had dispatched an aircraft to confirm the report, the Wakashio VII had kept the yacht under surveillance the whole time. There could be no justification for compelling them to do any more than they’d already done.

  Still, as a practical matter, they couldn’t just leave the yacht and go. Who knew where it might drift unattended? A patrol boat from the Maritime Safety Agency would have a difficult time relocating the deserted boat. Naturally, the agency requested that the Wakashio VII stay put and keep an eye on the yacht until a patrol boat arrived.

  Captain Takagi thought for a moment before responding to the agency’s mildly worded request. It would be all too easy to refuse. They did not want to tarry any longer. If, by any chance, they ended up being detained for a few days with the home port so close, the crewmembers would turn rebellious. Takagi’s prime concern as captain was precisely how best to keep his men’s irritation and discontent under control.

  On the other hand, there was that blot in his copybook about the two men who’d been swept overboard off the coast of New Zealand. Although one had been rescued, the other had lost his life. That had been an accident pure and simple, but the captain knew that the Maritime Safety Agency would launch an inquiry immediately upon their return. Volunteering to aid the agency with the present case was surely the wise thing to do; it would buy the kind of goodwill that might stand them in good stead later.

  Captain Takagi came up with a compromise. ‘How about if we towed the yacht part of the way back?’

  The compromise would permit the Wakashio VII to continue her northward journey, with the yacht in tow, while maintaining contact with the patrol boat heading down south from Shimoda. The vessels would rendezvous at a point where the Wakashio VII could relinquish its load. With a yacht in tow, they would be forced to reduce speed to around five or six knots, but that was far preferable to waiting idly for the patrol boat to arrive.

  The Maritime Safety Agency accepted Captain Takagi’s proposal, whereupon it fell to the Wakashio VII to tow the yacht.

  No sooner had the decision been made than Kazuo appealed to the captain, ‘Shouldn’t someone man the yacht just in case?’

  It would surely be of help if a seaman aboard the boat in tow handled any unforeseen problems, making fine adjustments as necessary, provided the yacht’s equipment functioned normally. It would eliminate the need to lower a boat every time a problem arose.

  ‘You like her, don’t you?’ Takagi had read his mind.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well go ahead then.’

  The captain gave him a walkie-talkie, which would easily work over the distance and was much handier than using the radio.

  It was decided that Kazuo should man the yacht all alone. Why no one else had even bothered to volunteer puzzled him. Excepting crew who had to go on watch, there was surely no work to be done on a ship on the final leg of its journey home. How comfortable it would be, he imagined, to sleep in the cabin of the cruiser, rather than on a bunk in a cabin shared with four men! He saw himself sprawling out in a double berth all to himself.

  As Kazuo boarded the yacht, the veteran seaman Ueda handed him a supply of food and water. The average age of the crew of Wakashio VII was thirty-seven, with Kazuo being the youngest at twenty-seven, and Ueda the oldest at fifty-seven. This survivor of many a crisis at sea wrinkled his creased face further and muttered, ‘Won’t see a ghost ship every day.’

  The words gave Kazuo pause. Ghost ship… Was that how the other crewmembers felt about the yacht?

  Kazuo finally understood why the other crewmembers were giving him curious looks. It explained why no one else wanted to board the yacht; they didn’t see it as a luxury yacht but as some hideous thing from hell.

  It was only as Ueda’s boat drew away that Kazuo experienced his first doubts.

  Come to think of it, what had happened to the crew of the cruiser?

  …Swept overboard.

  Kazuo had assumed that they’d fallen into the sea because of an accident. Perhaps some crew had been swept overboard by a huge broadside wave and the rest had plunged into the sea in a vain attempt to rescue their mates. Since the lifeboat was still in place and showed no signs of having been used, they couldn’t have taken it to escape some crisis aboard. Kazuo had been under the impression that his crewmates thought more or less the same, but now, it occurred to him that perhaps the yacht had been deserted for some other reason. It gave him the chills, rather too late.

  Ueda’s boat safely tucked back, Wakashio VII slowly began to pull away, causing the towrope connecting it to the yacht to snap tight. The luxury boat started to glide along in
the calm waters. With an air of regret, Kazuo stood for a while on deck and stared at the stern of the Wakashio VII. The ship wasn’t leaving him behind, it was just fifty yards or so ahead. The rope was tied to the bow cleat. If he felt in need of even a casual chat, he could always use the walkie-talkie. He had nothing to worry about.

  The evening sun was setting into the western horizon. Somehow, its scarlet hue that evening seemed to set it apart from all other sunsets he’d seen. He couldn’t put the difference in words, but he thought of the colour of blood.

  Kazuo was due to spend the night all alone in the cruiser’s cabin. He was far from excited, and two cold shivers ran through his body.

  2

  Once the sun had set, Kazuo went down into the cabin and sank back in a plush sofa adorned in Gobelin fabric, thrusting his feet out on the table before him. He felt for all the world as if he owned the yacht. The large sofa in the main cabin could easily accommodate ten people. It suddenly occurred to him to determine how many crewmembers could sleep aboard the cruiser. There were berths for six people: two in the fore, two in the main cabin, and two aft. There were extra pipe berths for another two people, thus revealing that the yacht was designed to comfortably accommodate up to eight people. He swiftly surveyed the surroundings to decide which berth to occupy that night. He chose the captain’s room in the aft of the boat. The room was spacious and equipped with a queen-sized bed, just the kind he could sprawl out in to his heart’s content. Although it was still too early to retire, he tried lying on the bed just to see how it felt. His back pressed tightly against the surface of the berth, Kazuo gazed up absently. Lying there, his skin felt the vibrations of the lower hull as it sliced through the waves.

  He was truly thankful for the calm weather. Rough seas would no doubt roll a boat like this, to his dismay.