Baccano! - Volume 1 - Chapter Ep

EPILOGUE…2

“All right… The tale ends here.”

I’d been listening, riveted, but he clapped his hands lightly in front of me, and then I remembered I was a person from 2002.

“This story has no planet-destroying monsters, no princesses in towers, no fortunes large enough to purchase the world. Even so, as far as we’re concerned, it’s a fine legend.”

He’d pulled me right in. Whether it was true or not, it had been an interesting yarn. …But was a string of coincidences like that really possible?

“Ha-ha-ha. In this world, is there any notable piece of history in which coincidences were not involved?”

I didn’t know, but it sounded convincing.

“…So, did you believe that preposterous tale?”

Were you lying?

“No.”

Then, why not? What problem could there be with that?

Maybe my answer had satisfied him: The man said he’d treat me, and ordered dessert.

“You really are an unusual person. It makes me glad I confided in you. When talking of the past, there can’t be many listeners as exemplary as you.”

I don’t remember doing anything that would warrant a compliment. …And in any case, that might have been roundabout sarcasm.

But… What part of what he’d related had been “the lonely tale of a miserable man”?

“Szilard was a lonely, pitiful man, wasn’t he?”

…Him, huh?

Still, what had happened to the people in the story afterward? The thieving couple, for example.

“Right over there.”

He glanced at a rather dim-looking couple farther back in the restaurant. They were both wrapped in chains from head to toe, and—I’m not sure what about this was festive—lots of bells hung from the chains. Talk about a pop culture overload.

In that case, the fat guy and the skinny guy sitting in that corner are…

“Pezzo and Randy, yes. Lately, Pezzo keeps complaining that because his body’s like this, even if he wants to lose weight, the fat regenerates right away, but he’s still eating five meals a day.”

…Okay, then what happened to Firo?

“Huh?”

He gave me a strange look.

“I’m right here. …Oh, I was speaking as a storyteller, so I talked about myself in the third person as well, but… Ah… That’s right, I hadn’t told you my name yet. Generally, when I do business with someone, we get all the way to the end and part ways without my ever introducing myself.”

…Good lord. I’d just assumed this guy was Maiza…

“Oh, Maiza’s… He taught me the ABCs of being contaiuolo, then left on a journey about thirty years ago. He said he was going to look for fellow alchemists who’d scattered around the world. …If he keeps his promise, he should be returning soon.”

Was that how things were…? Still, he wasn’t at all the way I’d pictured him. I told him so, straight-out.

“Well, it’s been more than seventy years since then. Even I’ve learned how to carry myself. The glasses are a fashion item, just for show. What do you think?”

With that, Firo Prochainezo smiled cheerfully. He looked happy. I was a little jealous.

Come to think of it, what was Ennis up to now?

“Oh, she’s my wife.”

…There, see, now I’m jealous.

“Well… Only… In a romance novel or picture book, we probably would have fallen in love with each other right then…but…”

Firo went on, looking a little embarrassed:

“You know. Ennis started without a sense for love or any such emotion, so…erm… Apparently it was just me, getting carried away on my own, and… Well, and I was the only one who’d fallen in love at first sight, after all…”

Giving a slightly dejected smile, he confessed a certain truth:

“The upshot was that it took us quite a long time to get married. Just about…fifty years.”

That’s pretty awful. …Talk about being a late bloomer.

I was surprised they hadn’t gotten sick of each other, after having been together for more than half a century. On the other hand, you could say it showed just how well they hit it off.

No, wait… In a way, Ennis is part of Firo’s body, so…isn’t that narcissism? The thought was too meaningless to mention.

“Anyway, all sorts of things have happened since then, but we’re doing pretty well. …Although things were tough when Prohibition was repealed and our revenue dropped…”

After that, he grumbled a bit about securing new revenue and their troubles with turf wars. …Even so, it was clear to me that they were all enjoying life. It was someone else’s business, but I was as happy about it as if it had been my own.

“Did you know? They say that Eliot Ness, the Prohibition agent and hero of the Untouchables, was destroyed by alcoholism in his later years. …Ironic, isn’t it.”

As we were entertaining ourselves with stories like that one, the young guy from earlier returned. In his hands, he held a gleaming silver camera bag! Welcome home, my camera.

“Ah, Ronny… Thanks for going to all that trouble.”

“No, my hands were free. There’s no problem. Still, Bobby’s group is pretty dim, aren’t they? Pulling a stunt like that on our turf…”

Ronny… Oh, the guy who was the syndicate’s secretary.

“Well, never mind. I did work them over a bit, like you told me to.”

…So they weren’t in cahoots? And actually, why is even Ronny speaking Japanese? Not only speaking it, but using jargon like “work over”…

“All right, I’ll go reckon the value of the contents. Wait just a minute.”

No sooner had he spoken than he disappeared into the back of the establishment, through a door that had a “staff only” look to it. Good-bye, my camera. That’s right: I’d promised to pay them 10 percent.

Ronny looked at me and grinned.

Come to think of it… In Firo’s story, at the very end, this guy was depicted as the demon. …Did that mean the demon had disguised himself as a member of the syndicate in order to see how the immortals ended up? If he was a demon, I could see him knowing a term like “work over.” Sort of.

Casually, I thought, If you’re a demon, show me proof.

I have no memory of the next few minutes. However, I’d been instilled with an intense terror of Ronny. The feeling I’d forgotten, ever since being attacked by that brown bear. …What had I ever done to him, huh?

I was dazed. Quietly, Ronny murmured to me:

“Technically, I’m not a demon. …I’m just an alchemist who acquired too much knowledge in antiquity.”

After that, Firo came back, and I paid him three hundred dollars and reclaimed my bag.

Still…What if I’d run back then, when Firo stabbed himself in the hand with his knife? What would he have done?

“Huh? …Well, obviously, I’d just have been richer by the price of the camera. That’s why I didn’t introduce myself to you or ask your name: to give myself the greatest possible advantage in court, just in case.”

Listen to that. Here I’d been on the verge of thinking there were good gangsters, too, and he’d just stomped my illusions into the ground. …For the first time since I’d come to this town, I laughed out loud.

“Ah, you finally laughed. Most Japanese people smile for no reason at all, but your face was practically blank.”

Hey, easy, pal.

“Even so… The way you told me to ‘respect your elders’ back then… Edward…and Paul, actually, said that to me the first time I met them. Even if you used different words, to think you’d say exactly the same thing as that father and son… If it hadn’t been for that, I never would have thought of giving you a scare. And if you hadn’t been someone who didn’t feel fear, I probably wouldn’t have told you that story…”

Was that really all? The only reason he’d told me about the past?

When I asked him, he hesitated, and his gaze swam a bit. Then, laughing, he told me:

“…To be honest… Lately, my connection to the world has begun to feel tenuous. Even though I’ve lived this life longer than anyone. And so…I may have wanted to make some sort of connection with someone from the outside world. Particularly with a straight-and-narrow type such as yourself. It’s enough if you’re aware that beings like us exist… Possibly I wanted that sort of self-satisfaction. That may be why I was so talkative today…”

“When Maiza comes back, I think I’d like to visit Japan. When I do, could I ask you to show me around?”

Nothing could be easier. I handed him a piece of paper with my address and telephone number written on it. If someone Japanese had said this to me in Japan, I doubt I’d ever have given them my phone number… As I thought this, I finally succeeded in reclaiming my bag. …Although all I’d done was shell out money.

“I’ll be sure to send a letter before I come.”

Saying a simple good-bye, I left the shop. It was a very brief farewell.

I could see Manhattan Bridge. When I’d walked down the street for a bit, I saw a sign in the shape of a big hat. Was this where Firo and Maiza had made their purchase?

When I wandered into the shop, I found it filled with a wide variety of the latest popular styles, and more than half the space was taken up by accessories like bandanas and buckles. Japanese helmets…were nowhere to be seen.

The clerk was a young woman. Come to think of it, the silent old man hadn’t been immortal. That was only natural, but for some reason, it seemed terribly sad.

Beside me, a tall man picked up a bandana. It was a vivid pearl green, and the man who’d chosen it seemed a bit like Firo, only about ten years older.

Maiza Avaro.

Involuntarily, I cried out.

The man looked my way and said something. …But unfortunately, I know zero English.

I said “Sorry” several times, and he left, looking puzzled.

…Maiza. He’d come back. As I thought this, there was no doubt in my mind: I was sure that had been Maiza.

I’d won a special prize I hadn’t even wanted in a lottery, then just happened to get mugged on the Martillos’ turf. Out of the thirty thousand members of the New York police force, by sheer chance, I’d run into Paul Noah. Then I’d said the same thing as both Noahs fils and père, and I was a guy who didn’t scare easily… What were the odds?

At first, I’d cursed my lousy luck, but… I might actually have been really lucky today.

The prison of eternity. The prison of the spiral. In getting involved with these people and experiencing that final coincidence of running into Maiza, had I been trapped in those prisons as well?

With such thoughts still on my mind, I returned to Narita Airport.

2002 Summer Ikebukuro

A sauna-like, three tatami mat–sized room… In a sense, this was a prison, too.

Growing sticky with sweat, I checked my souvenirs for family and friends…and my camera case.

Inside the film case, which I’d ended up never using, was…

THANKS FOR LISTENING TO MY STORY ALL THE WAY TO THE END.

…a note written in clumsy, childish hiragana characters and three hundred-dollar bills.

The amount I’d paid Firo had been put right back in there.

He said he was coming to Japan for a visit. I bet he’s going to have trouble with Customs over the age on his passport.

I’m already looking forward to seeing it.

As I think about dumb stuff like that today, I’m waiting for that airmail letter to arrive.