"No kidding," the driver said. "Which war was that?"

Found in Study, Floor a Sea of Blood

The world-renowned sculptor Koichi Tamura was found dead on the afternoon of the 30th in the study in his home in Nogata, Nakano Ward. The body was discovered by a female housekeeper. Mr. Tamura was found facedown, nude, covered in blood. There were signs of a struggle and the death is being treated as a homicide. The weapon used was a knife from the kitchen discovered beside the body.

The police estimate the time of death as the evening of the 28th, and since Mr. Tamura lived alone the body was only discovered two days later. Mr. Tamura suffered several deep stab wounds to the chest from the sharp steak knife, and it is believed he died almost instantly from massive loss of blood from injuries to the heart and lungs. Several ribs were also broken from what appears to be massive blunt force. The police have not announced having found any fingerprints or anything left behind at the scene. It also appears that there were no witnesses to the crime.

Since the house was undisturbed, and valuables and a wallet near the scene were not taken, police view the crime as a personal vendetta. Mr. Tamura's home is in a quiet residential neighborhood, but no one heard anything at the time of the murder, and neighbors were shocked at the news. Mr. Tamura had little to do with his neighbors and lived quietly, and no one noticed anything out of the ordinary around the time of the incident.

Mr. Tamura lived with his son (15), but according to the housekeeper the son hasn't been seen in some ten days. The son has also been absent from his junior high and police are tracing his whereabouts.

In addition to his residence, Mr. Tamura had an office and studio in Musashino City, and according to his secretary, until the day before the murder he was working on a new piece of sculpture as usual. On the day of the incident, there was a matter she had to contact him about, but every time she phoned his residence she got his message machine.

Mr. Tamura was born in Kokubunji, Tokyo. He entered the Dept. of Sculpture at Tokyo Arts Institute, and while still a student completed many innovative pieces that became the talk of the art world. His chief theme was the human subconscious, and his sculptures, which were in a unique style that challenged the conventional, were internationally acclaimed. His best known work was his major "Labyrinth" series, which explored, through an uninhibited expression of the imagination, the beauty and inspiration found in the meandering contours of labyrinths. He was at present a visiting professor at an art institute, and two years ago, at the exhibition of his work at the Museum of Modern Art in New York…

I stop reading at this point. There's a photo of our front gate, and one of my father in younger days, and they give the newspaper an ominous feeling. I fold it twice and put it on top of the table. Still sitting on the bed, I don't say anything, just press my fingertips against my eyes. A dull sound, at a constant frequency, pounds in my ears. I try shaking my head to get rid of it, but it won't go away.

I'm in my room in the library. It's seven p. m. Oshima and I have just shut the place up for the night, and a while ago Miss Saeki drove off in her Volkswagen Golf. It's just me and Oshima in the library now. And that irritating pounding in my ears.

"This paper's from two days ago. The article came out while you were up in the mountains. When I saw it I thought maybe this Koichi Tamura might be your father. A lot of the details fit. I should've shown it to you yesterday, but I wanted to wait until you got settled in."

I nod, still pressing my eyes. Oshima doesn't say anything more.

"I didn't kill him, you know."

"I know that," Oshima says. "On the day of the murder you were here at the library, reading until evening. You wouldn't have had enough time to go back to Tokyo, murder your father, and then get back to Takamatsu. It's impossible."

But I wasn't so sure. I did the math and figured out he was murdered the same night I woke up with my shirt covered in blood.

"But the paper does say the police are trying to locate you. As an important witness."

I nod.

"If you go to the police and prove to them you have a firm alibi, it'd make things a lot easier than trying to run around avoiding them. Of course I'll back you up."

"But if I do that, they'll take me back to Tokyo."

"I would think so. I mean, you still have to finish junior high-that's the law. You can't just go anywhere you want to at your age. The law says you still need a guardian."

I shake my head. "I don't want to explain anything to anybody. And I don't want to go back home to Tokyo, or back to school."

Quiet for a time, Oshima looks at me intently. "That's something you'll have to decide for yourself," he finally says in a calm tone. "I think you have a right to live however you want. Whether you're fifteen or fifty-one, what does it matter? But unfortunately society doesn't agree. So let's say you don't explain anything to anybody. You'll be constantly on the run from the police and society. Your life will be pretty harsh. You're only fifteen, with your whole life ahead of you. You're okay with that?"

I don't say anything.

Oshima picks up the paper and scans the article again. "According to this you're your father's only relative."

"I have a mother and an older sister," I explain, "but they left a long time ago, and I don't know where they are. Even if I did, I seriously doubt they'd come to the funeral."

"Well, if you're not there, I wonder who's going to take care of everything. The funeral, his business affairs."

"Like it said in the paper, he has a secretary at his office who's in charge of everything. She knows about his business, so I'm sure she can handle it. I don't want anything of his handed down to me. The house, his estate, whatever-they can get rid of it however they want." The only thing he's handed down to me, I think, are my genes.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Oshima says, "but you don't seem too sad your father was murdered."

"No, I do feel sad. He's my father, after all. But what I really regret is that he didn't die sooner. I know that's a terrible thing to say…"

Oshima shakes his head. "No problem. Now more than ever you have the right to be honest."

"Well, I think…" My voice seems weak, lacking in authority. Unsure of where they're headed, my words are sucked into the void. Oshima comes over and sits down next to me.

"All kinds of things are happening to me," I begin. "Some I chose, some I didn't. I don't know how to tell one from the other anymore. What I mean is, it feels like everything's been decided in advance-that I'm following a path somebody else has already mapped out for me. It doesn't matter how much I think things over, how much effort I put into it. In fact, the harder I try, the more I lose my sense of who I am. It's like my identity's an orbit that I've strayed far away from, and that really hurts. But more than that, it scares me. Just thinking about it makes me flinch."

Oshima reaches out to touch my shoulder. I can feel the warmth of his hand. "For the sake of argument, let's say all your choices and all your effort are destined to be a waste. You're still very much yourself and nobody else. And you're forging ahead, as yourself. So relax."

I raise my head and look at him. He sounds so convincing. "Why do you think that?"

"Because there's irony involved."

"Irony?"

Oshima gazes deep into my eyes. "Listen, Kafka. What you're experiencing now is the motif of many Greek tragedies. Man doesn't choose fate. Fate chooses man. That's the basic worldview of Greek drama. And the sense of tragedy-according to Aristotle-comes, ironically enough, not from the protagonist's weak points but from his good qualities. Do you know what I'm getting at? People are drawn deeper into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues. Sophocles' Oedipus Rex being a great example. Oedipus is drawn into tragedy not because of laziness or stupidity, but because of his courage and honesty. So an inevitable irony results."