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Lost in Manhattan – Part 04

“Oh, so he was a famous mayor,” Kazuya replied.

“Damn right! He was a serious man with high ideals. Well, being a descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers, he’s deeply religious and tenacious. A true pioneer. Everyone respects him.”

The old man puffed up his chest. “As you can see, the residents of Manhattan can now walk to and from Brooklyn, and transporting goods has become easier. New York has developed, Brooklyn has prospered. It’s one good thing after another. Brooklyn was absorbed into New York City, and the old mayor stepped down. Well, hello there!”

A plump old woman waddled over. A regular customer, it seemed.

She joined the conversation while buying ice cream. “Talking about Mr. Trayton again? He is indeed a good man.”

“Absolutely. He cherishes this country from the bottom of his heart. ‘Unlike the Old World bound by traditions, this will be a true home of human freedom. Long live the United States!’ he used to say.”

“His late wife was also a wonderful person.”

“She was,” the old man nodded solemnly, before turning to Kazuya. “She cared about us too. Before the Brooklyn Bridge was built, there used to be ferries, and my father and grandfather ran the ferry business for generations. But with no need for the ferries anymore, she worried about us and spoke to her husband. The mayor then gave our family this little plot. That’s how we’re able to do business for the people crossing the bridge.”

“Oh, speak of the devil, there’s Mr. Trayton.” The old woman pointed.

A thin old man with a stooped back walked slowly toward them. He had a long white beard like a hermit. Though his clothes were old and simple, there was an air of dignity about him. He sat on a bench in the corner, leaned on his cane, and looked around.

The old woman bowed politely.

“Mr. Trayton lives across the river in Brooklyn. It’s rare for him to come over here. I’ll go have a chat with him.” She left eagerly.

Kazuya, noticing that the old man resembled the Pilgrim Fathers doll he saw at Ruri’s house, studied him more closely. Mr. Trayton was watching the passing ships and gazing up at the Statue of Liberty with a hint of sadness on his face. When the old woman came to sit beside him, he began to speak happily.

“He rarely comes here these days,” the ice cream vendor said. “I told him, ‘You’ve built such a magnificent bridge. You should use it more yourself,’ and he replied, ‘I’m satisfied just having completed it. Besides, I’m too old now.'”

Kazuya suddenly remembered. “Speaking of which, Mayor Trayton’s son is the national boxing champion, isn’t he? He’s defending his title on the Brooklyn Bridge today.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” The old man shook his head.

The old woman returned and took over the cart, while the old man approached the bench where the former mayor sat and started talking to him cheerfully.

“Boxing, you say?” the old woman said. “Old folks like us aren’t really up to date with such things. But it makes sense now. He lamented that his only son went off to war and never came home, even after it ended. I heard he lives in a luxurious hotel on Manhattan Island.” She nodded and pointed. “That explains why they’ve been setting up something since this morning.”

A truck was parked at the foot of the bridge, and people had begun unloading equipment. A man who looked to be the supervisor was busily giving instructions, pointing towards the middle of the bridge. They were preparing for the evening’s event.

Former Mayor Trayton stood up and began walking. Step by step, he crossed the bridge towards Brooklyn. The ice cream vendor also returned to his cart.

The two old men slowly separated, one heading towards Brooklyn and the other staying behind.

Kazuya squinted to look across the bridge. He saw a pinkish area shimmering in the distance.

Why is it pink? Anyway, Victorique wanted to go there. I need to find her quickly.

Kazuya bade farewell to the elderly folks and left the Brooklyn Bridge running.

In the darkness, Victorique had her eyes closed. Water was dripping somewhere.

“Hmm?” She inclined her head.

A distant woman’s voice spoke to Victorique.

“My…”

“Hmm?”

“Born into this world by a mysterious fate.”

Victorique closed her eyes even tighter.

“My daughter…”

“M-Maman?”

Drip, drip.

Kazuya left the bridge and returned to the huge avenue in southeastern Manhattan.

He found himself in a business district lined with tall, austere buildings. The structures were brown and gray, with Roman-style décor carved into columns and old-fashioned window frames. The townscape was stiffly functional and futuristic, bustling with men in suits walking briskly.

“Where am I?” he wondered, consulting his map.

It depicted a business district made of paper. There was Wall Street, lined with buildings resembling the design on a one-dollar bill, and Newspaper Row, where all the buildings were made of newspaper. It was a major business district in the southeastern tip of the island. The cold, dark brown buildings, made of iron and glass, looked like giant plants in a dense forest, gleaming dully in the summer sun.

Kazuya sighed. “Where did Victorique go?”

Not only did the busy businessmen in suits seem to ignore Kazuya, but even the wind blowing along the sidewalk seemed to avoid him as he stood there, scratching his head.

Suddenly, a small, mustachioed man on a silver unicycle whizzed past him. Their face looked familiar.

“Mr. Troll!” Kazuya called.

Troll, whose real name was Robert Wolf, was an immigrant from Eastern Europe who developed the curious Wolf Car and founded a huge automobile conglomerate. He was currently listed in the city’s Who’s Who.

The man looked over his shoulder. “Oh, if it isn’t Kujou!” He waved energetically, pedaling straight into a roadside tree.

“Watch out! Look ahead!”

“Too late! Ah, I’m doomed!”

Kazuya rushed to help but got entangled with the unicycle and fell onto the sidewalk with Troll.

Clang, clang, clang.

As Kazuya lay on the ground, he saw the clear blue sky above him. It was a peaceful summer morning. The sidewalk of Newspaper Row was bathed in sunlight, the weather was perfect, and the breeze was pleasant. Except for Victorique’s absence, it was a nice day.

Clang, clang. The unicycle’s wheel was still slowly spinning.

Troll sprang to his feet. “Kujou! Since you’re here, let’s go have trout sandwiches!”

“Well, I have some urgent business. What are you doing here, by the way?”

The traffic light changed, and many businessmen crossed the crosswalk.

Robert Wolf sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, while a young and mysterious East Asian man sat on his soles across from him. The silver unicycle continued to rattle. The businessmen passing by gave them puzzled looks, keeping their distance.

“I’m also the owner of a newspaper company now.”

Kazuya looked where Troll was pointing. Iron buildings clustered like a dark, overgrown forest, old brown walls looming ominously. Amidst the cold, imposing structures stood a small building shaped like a cardboard box. Built poorly, it leaned as if it had been crammed into the space. Its design was unusual, with a stained glass window above the main entrance depicting Galileo with the Earth on his head, sticking out his tongue. A statue of an angel with outstretched wings jutted out, posing a hazard to tall people who might bump their heads.

“That’s a peculiar-looking building,” Kazuya remarked.

“Thank you!” Troll replied.

“What?”

“That’s the building of the Daily Road, the newspaper I bought.”

Astonished, Kazuya looked at the building once more.

The Daily Road, a newly-established newspaper often derided as a B-grade publication. This morning, its front page featured the headline, “Wonder Girl Appears in Manhattan Night!” The paper had teetered on the brink of closure until Robert Wolf, who had risen to tycoon status through automobile development, swooped in to buy it.

“So what are you up to?” Troll asked, and Kazuya explained the situation. “What?!” the man exclaimed. “No one should miss such a conspicuous girl, unless she flew into the sky or burrowed underground. Maybe she fell into a manhole.”

“Victorique isn’t a squirrel,” Kazuya quipped, remembering the critter they saw earlier.

Wolf burst into laughter. “A squirrel, huh?”

As they lifted the unicycle upright, Kazuya recalled the contents of the Daily Road.

Right. They have news articles, job ads, vacancies, and even a missing persons column.

“What’s on your mind?” Wolf asked.

“I was thinking of placing an ad in the missing persons section to find Victorique. I have no clue where she vanished to.”

Wolf nodded sagely. “Good idea! If you write it now, it’ll make it into the evening edition. Leave it to this gentleman.” He clapped Kazuya on the shoulder.

Rolling up the sleeves of his fine shirt and jacket, Wolf inexplicably began jotting a note on his own left arm. “I’ll have a word with them to get your ad placed. The advertising department is on the fifth floor, next to editorial. Just show them this. Oh, wait!” He paused. “I guess you can’t take my arm to the fifth floor. It’s my arm after all. Phew!” Retrieving his notepad, he rewrote the note, tore it out, and handed it over. “All right then, see you later!” He dashed into the building.

“Um, okay. Thank you very mu… He’s gone already.” Kazuya blinked in surprise. “All right, let’s get that missing persons ad in the paper! Then I’ll head out and search again.” He nodded to himself.

Kazuya entered the dimly lit building and hurried to the elevator hall. The old hydraulic elevator had manually-operated iron doors. Young men who looked like reporters or photographers were jostling aggressively.

“E-Excuse me. I want to get on, too.”

Kazuya squeezed in among them.