Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

The Pinnacle

It's an odd sight. I wonder why they have chosen to broadcast a photograph of real people onto the screen, next to a computer fabricated image. The juxtaposition is far too great and jars me out of reality. Though from the distance, they are merely approximate impressions made with a thick and crude paintbrush, it carries a message I fail to understand. Like a beacon in the night that prints its message onto the clouds overhead. Yet, because of shifting skies and unrelenting precipitation the message is lost. The longer I contemplate the visual we are seeing, the more discordant it becomes, and the less I understand. To the Systemic audience, what effect would it have? Shock? Awe? Hatred? Anger? Likely nothing positive.

Of course, Shizuka isn't talking about its implications. She is talking about the content of the photograph: two faces, pressed together, lips touching, so small and distant, I can't relate. It's simply a photograph on a screen, a block or two away. But there's also no doubt that it's us; the red parkas give it away.

So I spin around and I look and I search the gondola. My heart pounds. We've become a spectacle in a cage, an interesting object of study. The old man at the gate had spoken about a camera. He must be in conspiracy with the System-sanctioned event. Either he had expected us in his cage, or he had contacted his cohorts when we had shown up. In either case, it would mean he had known who we were. And similarly, despite his friendly courtesy, he's one with the System.

It takes a while. The entire ceiling over us and the corners are hardly visible in the darkness. They're clear, and clear for a reason it seems. All I can see is the mixture between plastic, glass and the darkness beyond. We are floating in midair, exposed to the world in 360-degree panoramic views.

I first consider the angle of the shot. It had been almost sideways; we are presented like a photo from a zoom lens, witnessing wild lions at play. Neither high nor low. So it can't be above us. It would likely be across from us. Head height. Something someone had installed, prior to our ascent. It surely couldn't be something every gondola had. It must have been deliberately and meticulously planned. They knew which car we would ride - which meant they knew when we would show up.

When I finally find it - a pinhole camera, approximately the diameter of my fingernail - a good five minutes after, I stand up suddenly, step forward and press my thumb against it. Right against the slight discolouration in the side of the Landmark Tower where its trunk meets glowing edges at the top. But doing so, the entire passenger pod pitches, and Shizuka struggles between a gasp or a loud cry.

"Sorry," I say.

Her cheeks are red, not from any direct light source.

"You okay?" I ask again.

She takes a deep breath. She's regaining her composure. We have been shaken, left and right, literally and metaphorically, and she's no longer in control of our game. She had always seemed on top of things. She trusted her Collective. "Yeah."

"Do you have a band-aid?" I say after a while. "Women always come prepared right?"

She searches her bag and sure enough, there's a small click in the silence. A special tin band-aid holder. From the darkness, I can make out the obvious designs of Domo-kun.

"Domo-kun," she laughs. "I have condoms too."

"No thank you." I rip the wrapping and place the band-aid right over what should be the camera lens.

"Not even the Hello Kitty ones?" she jokes.

"Especially not those ones." I look at my handiwork and admire the Domo adhered onto the side of the Landmark Tower.

"I think we're famous now," I say. "They knew about us."

"Now they all know about us."

"I think we're in trouble," I say.

As if in reply, my phone rings. It's on vibration and it trembles through my pocket. It has an ominous frequency like that one night. Though nothing concrete sets it apart, I can tell from the way it vibrated, once, twice, three times, slow and long, like the growl of a dog.

I slip out my phone. Its screen is a hot blaze. It bleeds into the darkness all around. On the screen is a number I am not familiar with. No caller ID. Her eyes are shadows but I feel her gaze. She knows something is wrong.

I pick up but don't say a word. There is no sound on the other end. No hello, no name. No apologetic voice announcing they've gotten the wrong number.

I remain silent. Just like the caller does. For a long time, no one speaks. No one dares to breathe. The darkness is total. It bends in to listen. Shizuka bends in to listen too. I press the receiver against my ear tighter, like it might provide an answer.

Then, I hear something. Quiet at first, then it grows louder and louder. It sounds like wind, a soft stream of air. It tells me something I don't understand. When I can't take it any longer, I end the call and exhale.

"They're waiting for us below," she says. Even though I haven't looked down yet, something tells me they are too. I realize my knuckles are clenched white around my phone. She slides her fingers between mine. Her hand is cold, but soothing. "We're in this together."

"Yes," I agree.

"I wish I was of more use. I can't tell who was on the other end like they jammed the signal."

"You don't have to. It doesn't matter either way. They didn't say anything."

We stop speaking. The temperature in the gondola is dropping. We're both shivering and every now and then, the car shivers with us. The city lights below seem dimmer than before. They too, are dying and withering away, like candles. She presses closer to me and shudders. I try to accommodate her body with mine.

I feel my patience ebbing away. Though I'm concerned for when the ferris wheel will begin moving, and when solid ground is once again beneath our feet, or when we can escape our plastic cell, I'm just as equally concerned with what waits for us below, what might be waiting for us tomorrow. If we could, it might be better to embrace one another at the top of Cosmo Clock 21, isolated from the rest of the world, watching the city wake and sleep, day after day, until we die and rot.

"This is what Cosmo Clock 21 meant."

"Did you expect this?"

"I had a feeling it wasn't a good thing, but I wasn't sure to what degree of bad news it would be. The Images and Sounds will make their move soon. They'll come and corner us until there's no way out and then they'll strike and strike again."

Our photo has disappeared, it is now replaced with an image of a pile of books; they're burning.

"We have to be doubly diligent," she says. She says we've gotten their attention and that we have to stay a step ahead and we have to wait for the right time, that the right time will come when we're cornered. That we'll be able to outrun them.

"We'll work together as one," she says.

"My perception and your receptivity."

*

When our gondola finally came to a dilapidated halt at the bottom of the wheel with a great clank at six p.m., the old man at the gate was apologizing profusely, bowing at a sincere ninety degree angle so that it was difficult not to say"it's okay" and "don't worry about it." But as soon as I had reminded him that we hadn't wanted a photograph taken, he tilted his head as if in confusion. Then I asked if Shizuka wanted a copy of the photo. She declined and asked for it to be deleted in a rush.

But nevertheless, they had been waiting for us, the swarm of black suits, black ties, white dress shirts. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a wall of them. They jostled back and forth. Their angry fists were raised and sneers filled their faces. Ahn Mi Hyun was there. She didn't seem to recognize us at all. We were only faces in a photograph.

"Sinners! Sinners! Sinners!" they chanted.

"Destroy the old, forge the new!"