Mind and Error (3)
Fermi had a read on Gitaruman, but he didn't rush to form a fixed image.
"I heard he lost his daughter."
"Stupid thing to do. He really loved his daughter. There was no malice. He just… didn't know. He'd never lived in the world properly, so he didn't know what to do."
Panier sighed.
"After that, my wife ran off with Ranstin's ten-year buddy. What kind of sane reaction do you expect? People like Ranstin are mostly like that—always causing trouble because of that pathetic artist's spirit. I can't exactly blame the slick friend, but honestly, is that something a person should do? Well, maybe because they're human. My friend had some kind of inferiority complex toward Ranstin. I didn't really like him."
Unlike how he'd behaved in front of Maya, Panier didn't hide his feelings.
"On the other hand, Ranstin liked him, then." Panier fell silent for a moment, pulled out a cigarette, and looked at Fermi.
"If it's all right…"
"Yeah. Give me one, too."
Lighting his cigarette, Panier seemed more at ease than before.
"I used to go around calling myself an artist. That doesn't mean I was glamorous or successful. Popularity and honor—those are just illusions of show business."
Recalling those days, he smiled faintly.
"I shut myself in a garret, drank cheap liquor, and sketched scores on staff paper all day. I wanted to make one timeless masterpiece, haha. Still, it felt free. People ask what you can do without money, but it's the opposite. When you own nothing, your soul is free. You do whatever you want. Back then I churned out a lot of really bizarre pieces. Of course nobody listened. But still… how to put it."
Smoke curled toward the ceiling.
"It was the life that suited me best."
"Do you hate it now?"
"It's a fine life even now. Didn't you see how those so-called artists couldn't touch me?" Panier's expression was bitter.
"But just because the result is good doesn't mean you accept the cause. I started trying to live my life as art just once. I wanted to shock the world. It wasn't easy. I'm divorced now, but I worked for over ten years to look after the two kids. While Ranstin was doing his art, I was the one working."
He spread his arms.
"Who was better? Obviously me. I worked hard and kept the family. Still, it's undeniable that I was the more cowardly one—that I compromised with life."
Panier wouldn't call himself an artist.
"…It might have turned out well. If I'd compromised a little, mixed a little falsehood into the truth, people would have applauded. But he didn't. He'd beg for money if he had to, but he never begged for applause."
"I see."
Fermi fell into thought.
'Caden's escape, Maya's best effort, and Gitaruman… no compromise.'
The picture of the future was becoming clear.
Panier asked, "By the way, what is that man doing these days? I don't think he's released an album." Fermi couldn't tell Panier that the Gitaruman listed among the world's 100 most dangerous was Robe Ranstin.
"I don't know either. That's why I came to you. Do you have any idea where he might be?"
"Hmm. A few places. There are spots that inspire. If he's still holding a guitar…" Panier drew on his cigarette again. "Wherever he is, he's living artistically."
He didn't know the city's name.
Since leaving his hometown, everywhere had been a foreign world to Gitaruman.
In a nameless inn room, he heard the breathing of a man and a woman through the walls.
One of those voices was his exclusive singer, Taira Lin.
The people listed among the world's hundred most dangerous weren't prostituting themselves because they couldn't pay the inn fee.
They simply had no reason not to.
'Do as you please.'
As if to prove with every fiber that they didn't belong to this world.
Lin, however, was a little annoyed.
"Hurry up and dress."
She had an ageless face and a slight frame, but she was nearly in her thirties.
The man who'd just finished asked, "You okay? Is this your crew?"
"No." Lin buttoned her shirt. "No crew. After the show tomorrow I'm leaving this city. So don't ask anything."
"A show? What show?"
She handed him a ticket with the time and place written on it.
"If you want to come, come." He stared blankly, then tucked the ticket into his clothes and asked again, "You were a singer? But why this kind of work…? Is it okay if I come?"
Lin snorted. "You can come and go as you please. I'm just the one who sings there."
She picked up her tip box and slipped into the next room without saying goodbye.
"I'm back."
Robe Ranstin—Gitaruman—didn't ask anything.
"I've written a new song."
Lin flopped onto the bed after putting the tip box on the table and flipped through the score.
"It's good."
Gitaruman played again.
They'd had four years of silence over musical differences, and even after reconciling Ranstin remained taciturn.
If Emotion Sickness hadn't flared up, Gitaruman would likely have kept his mouth shut.
'Single-minded. Fool.' Robe Ranstin was more stubborn about his artistic convictions than anyone Lin knew.
"I like it."
That was exactly why she followed him.
"I'll play it."
Ranstin played the score he'd just finished on the objet d'art called Gitaru.
The instrument named Gitaru—probably meaning guitar—produced the sound of every instrument at once.
Lin hummed and sang along.
If an audience had been listening, they would have frowned; her lyrics rode a heartrending melody.
The next afternoon, Ranstin and Lin arrived at the square, paid the rental, and booked the small theater for about an hour.
No session was needed, so setup was quick, and a fair number of people gathered.
Most had been in contact with Lin over the past two weeks.
"Eh?"
The only person who really recognized her was Kimsler, a composer who'd once attended art college with her.
"Taira Lin?"
Maybe a first love.
Back then, students who liked Lin didn't care about gender.
Though she looked unusually young for her age, her singing made every artist's heart race.
'She sang so well.'
He'd heard rumors about why she dropped out, but even knowing them it was hard to believe.
'It was a barbaric place.'
A school that gathered the world's odd people inevitably gathered its share of incidents.
"Hello. I'll sing now."
Lin greeted simply, took the mic, and Ranstin launched into a dazzling performance.
"Whoo!"
Men whistled and cheered ecstatically; Kimsler licked his lips.
As the degenerate, suggestive lyrics flowed, the cheers grew louder.
No one knew that with one voice from her and one gesture from Ranstin, the whole square could be killed.
"Is that her?"
"It is. Yesterday I—"
During the interlude, the audience murmured; Kimsler's face flushed.
'What are you saying?'
When the lewd talk stretched on, he couldn't hold his temper and shouted, "Hey, watch your slander! Does disparaging a singer like that do you any good?"
"Who are you?"
"Do you know who that woman is? Keep that up and you could get sued."
"Ha! Who is she? Me and her…"
Lin sang.
"I'll kiss the woman walking down 73rd Street. Would that make this shitty feeling go away? I don't care anymore. It's not my fault I ruined things." Hearing the story, Kimsler went numb.
'It can't be.'
Why would someone with such a dazzling performance and voice ruin her life?
When the show ended, the crowd closed in.
Most stayed with bad intentions, but Lin was polite to everyone.
'Don't ruin my memories.'
Back in school she couldn't even meet people's eyes; to see her treated with such lewdness stung.
"Thank you! Thank you!"
After a few crude jokes and a few unwanted touches, Lin cheerfully packed her gear.
"We had a good turnout today, right?"
Ranstin said nothing.
"What's up? Why so glum? It wasn't bad today. You didn't mess up."
"No, it was good."
Only old pain had resurfaced.
"You have great talent. If you go out into the world, everyone will recognize you."
Lin scoffed. "What are you talking about, idiot… I left because that world was so disgusting, so nauseatingly hateful."
"Lin."
Kimsler approached. "You're Taira Lin, right? It's me."
"Who are you?"
Of course she didn't remember him.
"Oh, uh, we were classmates. I studied composition at Merius Art School. I greeted you at your show…"
Merius Art School was a painful name for her, but she was already outside that world.
"Ah, long time no see. Nice to see you. How've you been?"
Kimsler's choked, jealous words came out twisted. Lin, however, sincerely congratulated her classmate on his success.
"Wow, that's great. Impressive."
"What about you? Don't perform here. Come with me; I can introduce you."
"Huh?"
When Lin looked at him as if to ask what he meant, Kimsler opened his mouth triumphantly. "I'll help you. It's much better than living like this, isn't it?"
"Oh, so you've heard?"
Lin only wanted freedom.
She had nothing but freedom, yet people still tried to take even that away.
"Sorry. From today I'm done performing in this city. If you come to another city, tell me. I'll deal with you then."
"W-what are you saying? I didn't mean it like that, I was genuinely worried about you—"
"Hoho!"
She knew the mockery and contempt hidden behind the word "worry" and the relief people felt from it.
Lin stuck out her tongue. "You're worse than the crowd that treats us like clowns."
They had no courage to stake their lives.
"Goodbye!"
Leaving a flushed Kimsler behind, Lin linked arms with Ranstin and walked away.
They lived like that.
Even if everyone pointed at them in contempt, hid it under pity, or scorned them.
This was their world.
'Because it was free.'
Standing as far from the world as possible, they lived mocking it—clowns of that distant world.