chapter twenty two

He waits not exactly next to the phone, but he keeps his ear tuned for its ring. Checks to see that his cell is fully charged in case he needs to run out. To distract himself he gets back to work on the French document, laboriously pulling archaic Latin from the din of dirt and interstitial Medieval French. Apparently the side comments on the page are having a little fun at the expense of one Honore Gibert, but who that is he doesn't know yet. Apparently Monsieur Gilbert was best known for facial pustules and flatulence. Seemed to own one hell of a lot of sheep, though. No doubt that will come up in another page. The hours pass as one letter becomes two, then three. Three become a word, then a sentence arrives. Paragraphs have not yet been invented, along with punctuation. The work is fascinating, however. The nature of the parchments is such that each sheet needs its own calibrated scan. An artist with a brush and many paints rather than a scientist with sparse formulae, he tasks himself to completing three-fifths of the first sheet. Artist, he thinks. Paint. Gesso. Hey, no pain! Well, it still hurts, but in that background way that means some healing has taken place.

Break for lunch and the phone rings. Restraint fights with impulse and wins. He answers on the fourth ring.

"Ah, Ben. I'm so sorry about last night," says Kitsune. "I apologize that work intruded so abruptly"

"That's okay," Ben says, "I understand, really I do. No apology necessary, really. But thank you, it's a very nice thing for you to do."

[Thank you very much, Ben. Truly.] He almost replies [it's nothing,] but for some reason keeps not bringing up his knowledge of Japanese. Kitsune continues in English. "Since we did not have a chance to have any coffee after dinner, I was wondering if you would like to have some, perhaps now, even?"

"You know, that sounds like a great idea," says Ben. "But let's not go to Starbucks again. If it's okay with you, and if you trust that I'm not, um, you know, after anything, if you get my meaning, I'm about to brew up some Dunkin' Donuts coffee, which I think you'll wind up agreeing is the best damn, I mean darn, coffee in the world."

She laughs, "You have not had coffee at Anna Miller's. That cup you would not forget, I think. I would love to have coffee with you at your "geeked out" apartment."

"Oh, it's not that bad. I cleaned it up pretty good last night, so I guess I can have company over. Where are you now?"

"Oh, well, to tell you the truth, I'm standing outside the Starbucks, putting two venti coffees into the trash. Now, how do I find your 'bachelor pad?'"

She arrives in about three minutes, probably drove. The apartment is first off of Trapelo, a brown three-decker that was built in 1918 and has been modified by every other generation, apparently. But it seems clean and comfortable, and she knocks on the left-side front door. Ben opens it and welcomes her in.

"Don't worry about taking off your shoes," he tells her, "it's not that big of a deal to me." But she takes hers off from habit and takes in his home. There's a hallway, bathroom off it to the right, bedroom straight ahead and left into the dining room which branches left and right. Kitchen right, living room left. Living room windows overlook the street, so it's through to the kitchen and then there's another room, his office to the right. Back door along the rear wall paired with pantry door to the left.

"I have never been in such a home," says Kitsune. "Is this typical? I thought all American apartments were... bigger?"

Ben explains about the history of the three-decker in Boston, the working folks and immigrants who built fast and for maximum housing. How over the years so many had fallen into disrepair, and how lately so many were being 'reclaimed' because of their natural tendency to foment neighborliness and friendships. History lesson over, she looks in at his office, to see the wonderful computers he uses each day. On the big monitor is a typical close-up of one of the Chevigny-Saint-Sauveur parchments. [Wow,] she says. "This is what you do? You take these raw images and make them look so different?"

"Well, yeah, actually. It's how I get the information from them. I mean, it's not finding the cure for cancer or anything, but I like it. It helps pay my rent."

"I would like very much to see you do this work,  Ben," she says, "I think it is fascinating, the way you can peel back the layers of history, see through the camouflage."

"Hey, that reminds me," he says, "I wanted you to see this thing, if it's okay." He leaves the office for a moment, then comes back. "Only where are my manners? You came for some coffee. I have a pot brewing. How do you like it?"

She takes her coffee light, with plenty of half and half. "Dunkin' Donuts," she says. "You may be right. This is very much better than Starbucks. Not as bitter."

"You see? Right again," Ben says. They move into the living room, where he takes the box from its shelf and hands it to her. "Here. This is something that my father left me when he died. Any idea what it is?"

She looks at it closely. This looks to her like a puzzle box, perhaps a little small but they've been made in all sizes. The wood is dark from age and handling, and there are strips of paper on all six sides. Five of the strips are blank, and the other carries a message in an antique hand.

Keep the mountain spectre within. Do not remove the spells. This is your only warning.

"This box," she asks calmly, "Where did your father get it?" She should take it and leave, head back for Japan on the next available flight. She knows with clear certainty that this is the source of the signals, the very thing she's been tasked to retrieve.

"I'm not exactly sure," Ben says, "He collected things from all over. I think, though, that this was a very new addition to his collection. We haven't been able to find any documentation on it, no provenance. Why? Do you know what it is? What it says?"

"It's a puzzle box," Kitsune says, "A kind of present that holds something special inside, but you have to figure out how to open the box to get to the present. Very traditional Japanese present."

"What does that writing say?"

"Oh, it says 'A secret from the mountains is inside. Don't take away the magic, I warn you.' It's sort of a warning, like... 'do not open until Christmas,' I think." There. She hasn't really lied, again.

"Wow," says Ben. "I mean, it's like seeing something through time, like being able to be a fly on the wall at someone's birthday party or something. It feels... well, I know why Dad did this. Being able to see the past."

"Yes," says Kitsune. She should take the box. Pay him for it, perhaps? Disable Ben, go to the airport? She can't get attached to the man, she has a mission to accomplish. He's gaijin, she thinks, he's never going to be able to understand what I do, understand about Oni and the history and what she needs to do.

"Hey," says Ben. "Can I tell you something? I mean, are you like, all weirded out by stuff? Weird stuff?" He's looking at her straight in the eye, but he looks uncomfortable. She hasn't seen him look uncomfortable yet. It's odd.

"How do you mean, 'weird?'" she says.

"The box. Now I got it from my father's collection what, about a week ago? Since I got it, some things have happened. Strange things."

"Strange things?" she says, "Strange things like what?" She's curious. Every bit of data that she can collect might help in with this mystery.

"Well, first, there's the matter of the paper strips. When I got the box, every strip had writing on it, faintly but there. Now look. Only the one has writing and the rest are blank. Also, all of the strips were whole. Unbroken. Now look. Four of them have been cut.

"How does that happen? How does writing disappear and paper get cut?"

Kitsune looks at him, remembering that his whole adult life has been spent asking and answering questions, difficult puzzles that are foreign in origin to him. He's been working on her problem independently, without even being aware of the importance of it. She may not have to disable him, after all. He may settle for some manner of payment. And he's so cute and sweet, she'd hate to have to hurt him. Professionally, of course, she'd do it without a problem. But she'd feel pretty bad later.

"Exposure to air, perhaps? Can't new environments affect things like paper, cause them to disintegrate? Cause the fading of inks?"

Ben shakes his head. "I thought of that, but not in a few days. Besides, the paper itself is in great shape. No, it's not exposure," he says, "it's something else. I can show you why I think it's so weird." He gets up, leads her to his office. She's still holding the box, clutching it tightly. She should be going, she thinks.

"I wanted to have a closer look at it, so the other day I brought it to a friend of mine and he got some good source shots of the box, all angles and a bunch of different wavelengths." He brings up the files. "See here, this is a nice close shot in white light. See the paper? It's good, strong rice paper. I'd say it's a great specimen from the period, you know? No dirt, fungus, nothing eating away at it. And you can see here and here that there's plenty of legible writing on it. Barely visible, but it's there. And you can also see in these other files that the paper is in great shape, and each strip has writing on it, always the same writing, the same message."

"You know it's the same message?"

"Well, all the symbols are the same. I may not be able to read Japanese like you can, but I can see when one thing looks the same as another thing. And here's something else that's weird. This one strip, the strip that right now has writing on it? Look here under this lens. See how it has pretty good writing on it, clear to see? A few days ago, it was hard to read, like the rest. And now, under that writing you can just barely see four other versions of the writing."

Long silence while Kitsune looks at the box under the magnifier, looks at the images on the computer screen. "I'm not sure what this could mean," she says, "but perhaps you're having fun at my expense, Ben-san. Is there going to be some punchline to this joke?"

"Oh, it's no joke," he says. "I got the box before I ever met you. I started looking at it because I wanted to finish up my father's work. He'd been out of the field for so long, and this was like... his last score, his last job. I wanted to see it finished. So I started looking at it, and I started finding a lot more questions than answers. Like, how did the paper get cut? I didn't do that. I wouldn't. It would be tainting, damaging the artifact. It's... and then there's..." He looks at her again like he's making a confession.

"There's more," he says. "Weirder stuff."

"I do not know that what you've shown me is all that 'weird,' " she says, "Nothing that can't be explained somehow."

"Then explain how this thing can suddenly go from weighing a few hundred grams to weighing fifteen kilos? And how can it change shape without actually changing shape? How can it make a boom like God's Own Drum, throw me into a wall, break a mirror, trash the apartment, and nobody else heard or felt a thing?" He's focused now. Looking at her like he's drowning and she's a life preserver.

"What... what do you mean?" she asks. Is it possible that he's been exposed to the signal? That he's been there when it called out across the curve of the world to a mountaintop in Hakodate? She thinks quickly. He's moved into new working territory now, from 'liability' to 'asset.' He has hard evidence of the changes that have occurred to the box, firsthand experience of its potential. She must know more. Pulls out her handheld, turns on the recorder function. "What I mean to say is, I need you to remember, to tell me everything that has happened to you since you came into possession of this box." Working now, open and professional.

Ben looks at the small computer, at the shift in her bearing from quiet pleasantness to focused, directed intensity. She's leaning forward, eyes clear and direct as she looks at him. "Okay, who are you," he says, "and why the interview?" He squints at her, thinking, putting pieces together. "Japanese government agent. Here in my neighborhood right after Little Box Guy here goes boom. That's no accident. All right, what's going on here?"

"My name is Yachida Kitsune, and I am a Second-Rank Field Agent, Japanese Renegade Demon Control Division. I am here because of an event that occurred not long ago, an event that should not have happened, yet did. A signal was sent from America, from here, to a location in Japan. I am here to determine how it happened, why it happened, and to make sure that no ill comes of it."

Ben looks at her. Just looks. She twists inside, afraid that he now hates her, that she's done nothing but use him. She shows nothing on the outside, keeps eye contact. If he's going to hate her, fine. She has a job to do. He stands.

"I think we're going to need some more coffee," he says. "Looks like we're going to be figuring this out for a while." Takes her cup into the kitchen. She follows, surprised at his reaction. Granted, she doesn't know all that much about the male American psyche, but she figured that he'd at least be upset.

"Figuring this out?" she asks, "We?"

"Yeah!" he says, excited, "I mean, you must have a whole bunch of information about this thing. Where it's from, what it does, who made it. All sorts of information."

"Ben, this is a piece of Japanese cultural heritage. I need to take it back to Japan so that my organization can study it and find out what it does."

"Kitsune, that is a part of my father's collection, and until we can determine its provenance, it stays here." He has that look about him, his bearing, the same look as when he faced the gang. "Can you establish, without any doubt, that it belongs with you? Do you have any articles published? Photographs? Evidence?" She shakes her head. "Then I suggest that instead of acting like we're spoiled children, we work together to figure this out. Let's see if we can find out about its history. Finish my father's work. Then you can take it to Japan."

Her field trainer would tell her to drop Ben, take the box and clear the scene. She's conflicted. He sees her struggle. "Look, I know that you could probably kick my butt and walk out of here. I like to think that I could stop that from happening, but hey. I'd rather not take the chance. What's the harm in trying to work together?" And she knows that she will be in trouble with her decision.

"All right, Ben-san. Let us work together." And this way, she thinks, there might yet be kissing.