Intersea Prefecture, Limón City.
She had heard that the year's Limón Carnival had begun, and she wanted to go to the City Hall Plaza to take a look.
Last year at this time, on account of the war, the carnival had not been held, which had disappointed Jasmine deeply; afterwards she suffered the greatest trauma of her life, and had hidden in the house ever since, neither daring nor wishing to go outdoors.
Perhaps because she had shut herself in for too long, and had been confined for so long to such a narrow domestic space, of late Jasmine was always wanting to walk the streets, to go about as she once had.
Turning her eyes, she caught sight of her present self in the great glass shop-window beside the street: All in black, without a speck of other colour; a long dress reaching to the ankles; the netted veil of her hat covering most of her face; her neck to just below the eyes wrapped round and round with a scarf; on each hand a knitted woollen glove.
It was utterly unlike the bright, lively self that Jasmine remembered.
In the war just past, a shell had destroyed the home where Jasmine and her parents had once lived, and had brought with it a fire that scorched her face and left her body covered with injuries.
Had she not been lucky enough, Jasmine would have died long ago of those grave wounds; even so, she felt that her life had been brought to an end in that very moment.
Now her nose was burned away, leaving only two blackened holes; on her face, neck and hands were many marks left by the flames. Walking by night, she could have passed for a demon.
One thing Jasmine remembered very clearly was that, on the first night after moving into that apartment block, having tidied herself up in the communal washroom before bed, she had just stepped out of the door when she saw a youth approaching — and the youth saw her too.
Under the crimson moonlight, that youth wore an expression of utter terror, as if he might at any moment leap up, turn round and tear away in flight.
In the end he mastered himself, only stepping a few paces aside, no longer daring to look at Jasmine's face.
That pierced Jasmine's fragile heart, and from that day she ceased going out; even to wash herself, she would wait until the dead of night when no one was about.
On that score she was, in her heart, extremely grateful to her parents, for they said nothing of it and worked hard to keep daily life going, sustaining the household with their original savings and the work they later found, so that Jasmine did not need to go out and earn a wage.
After walking some distance, Jasmine saw the main venue of the carnival — Limón City Hall Plaza.
The press of heads there, the venting of all manner of emotions, the fervent atmosphere — they made Jasmine, without thinking, halt her steps.
She dared not approach, fearing that someone would notice her strange dress, fearing that, with one careless gesture, her scarf might slip down.
After a few seconds of hesitation, she stopped completely; she found a clean spot at the roadside, sat down, and stared, intent, at the City Hall Plaza.
She did not know how long had passed when she became aware that someone else was now beside her.
It was a young man in a long black robe and a tall top hat, like a magician straight from a circus.
The City Hall Plaza is over there… — Jasmine had meant to point this out, but after her lips moved a few times she did not open her mouth.
She did not dare nor wish to speak to anyone.
But the young man came over of his own accord, removed his top hat, and bent slightly: "Miss, do you know what this machine is for?"
Machine? Reflexively Jasmine raised her head, and somewhat blankly followed the young man's gaze to one side.
Under the gas streetlamp, at some unknown moment, a machine like a narrow wardrobe had been set up there.
Its surface was the colour of brass, set with several panes of glass that had no transparency at all; gears, bearings, rivets, metal pipes and other parts were exposed openly, giving it a very rough-hewn appearance.
Jasmine drew back her gaze and shook her head, signifying that she did not know what the machine was for.
At the same time, this expressed her intention to refuse conversation.
"It is called the 'Fully Automatic Wish-Granting Machine.'" The young man, smiling, made the introduction. "It is my own invention; it can automate the realisation of the operator's wishes. Ah — I had forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Merlin
"Fully Automatic Wish-Granting Machine"… Jasmine found that she could understand every word, yet could not put them together.
"You can try it; as the first to experience it, it is free of charge," said Klein, in the guise of Merlin Hermes, with a smile.
Jasmine shook her head, refusing to converse.
Klein was not in the least discouraged. He glanced at her and said: "For example — you can make a wish to go back to your former appearance."
That sentence was as a sharp arrow shot into Jasmine's heart; startled, she stood up, hastily withdrew, and tried to leave.
She suspected he had already seen her present face.
"If you do not try, how can you know that the wish will not be granted? And you need not pay anything," Klein said, watching her receding back, his words neither hurried nor slow.
Jasmine's pace gradually slackened and at last she stopped.
If she could go back to her former appearance, even at the cost of a great deal of money, she would willingly pursue it.
But she knew that the wish in her heart could not be granted with money.
No need to pay… a free trial… what if it really worked… Jasmine's thoughts surged up and down, and, as though tempted by a devil, she slowly turned her body round.
"Really?" she asked, her voice raspy.
Klein gestured to the machine: "I can stand ten metres away; all you need do is turn the lever on that machine.
"You do not have to take off your hat or your scarf."
That last sentence moved Jasmine. She nodded quickly: "All right."