12

Discovered When Shaving

* Discovered When Waking The reason I am calling you so late at night, Mr. Okada, is that I felt I should reach you at the earliest possible opportunity, said Malta Kano. Listening to her speak, I had the impression that she was choosing and arranging each word into well-ordered sentences according to strict principles of logic-which was what she always did. If you have no objec- tion, there are several questions that I wish to be permitted to ask you, Mr. Okada. May I proceed?

Receiver in hand, I lowered myself onto the sofa, Go right ahead, ask me anything youd like, I said.

Have you by any chance been away these past two days, Mr. Okada? I tried telephoning you any number of times, but you seemed always to be out.

Well, yes, I was out. I wanted to get away from the house for a while. I needed to be alone to do some thinking. Ive got lots of things I need to think about.

Yes, Mr. Okada, I am very much aware of that. I understand how you feel. A change of scene can be a very good thing when one wishes to think clearly and carefully about something. In this case, however, Mr. Okada- and I know this will sound as if I am prying- were you not somewhere very far away?

Well, not so very far away, I said, with deliberate ambiguity. I switched the receiver from my left hand to my right. How can I put this? I was in a somewhat cut-off place. I really cant go into it, though, in great detail. I have my reasons. And I just got back a little while ago. Im too tired for long explanations.

Of course, Mr. Okada. I understand. All people have their reasons. I will not press you to explain. You must be very tired indeed: I can tell from the sound of your voice. Please do not concern yourself about me. I should not be bothering you with a lot of questions at a time like this. I am terribly sorry. We can always discuss this matter at a more appropriate time. I know it was terribly rude of me to ask such a personal question, but I did so only because I was worried that something very bad had happened to you over the past several days.

I tried to make an appropriate response, but the little noise that came out of my throat sounded less like a response than like the gasp of an aquatic animal that had breathed the wrong way. Something very bad, I thought. Of all the things that were happening to me, which were bad and which were not bad? Which were all right and which were not all right?

Thank you for being so concerned about me, I said, after getting my voice to work properly, but Im fine at the moment. I cant say that something good happened to me, but theres been nothing especially bad, either.

I am glad to hear that. Im just tired, thats all, I added. Malta Kano made a dainty little sound of clearing her throat. By the way, Mr. Okada, I wonder if you might have noticed some kind of major physical change during the past few days?

A physical change? In me? Yes, Mr. Okada. Some kind of change in your body. I raised my face and looked at my reflection in the glass patio door, but I couldnt make out anything that could be called a physical change. I had scrubbed every part of my body in the shower but had noticed nothing then, either. What kind of change did you have in mind? I asked.

I have no idea what it might be, but it should be very obvious to anyone who looks at you.

I stretched my left hand open atop the table and stared at the palm, but it was just my usual palm. It had not changed in any way that I could perceive. It had not become covered in gold foil, nor had it developed webs between the fingers. It was neither beautiful nor ugly. When you say that it should be very obvious to anyone who looks at me, what do you mean? Something like wings sprouting on my back?

It could be something like that, said Malta Kano, in her usual even tone. Of course, I mean that as one possibility.

Of course, I said. So, then, have you noticed some such change? Not really. Not so far, at least. I mean, if wings had sprouted on my back, I probably couldnt help but notice, dont you think? Probably not, said Malta Kano. But do be careful, Mr. Okada. To know ones own state is not a simple matter. One cannot look directly at ones own face with ones own eyes, for example. One has no choice but to look at ones reflection in the mirror. Through experience, we come to believe that the image is correct, but that is all.

Ill be careful, I said. I do have one more thing I would like to ask you about, Mr. Okada. For some time now, I have been unable to establish contact with my sister -just as I lost contact with you. It may be a coincidence, but I find it very strange. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might have some knowledge of the circumstances behind this.

Creta Kano?! Yes, said Malta Kano. Does anything come to mind in that regard? No, nothing came to mind, I replied. I had no clear basis for thinking so, but I felt that for the time being, it would be better if I said nothing to Malta Kano about the fact that I had recently spoken with Creta Kano in person and that, immediately afterward, she had disappeared. It was just a feeling.

I was worried about having lost contact with you, Mr. Okada. She went out last night, saying that she planned to visit your home and see what she could find there, but even at this late hour she has not returned. And for some reason, I can no longer sense her presence.

I see. Well, if she should happen to come here, Ill tell her to contact you right away, I said.

Malta Kano remained silent for some time at her end of the line. To tell you the truth, Mr. Okada, I am worried about her. As you know, the work that she and I do is far from ordinary. But she is not as well versed in matters of that world as I am. I do not mean to imply that she is not gifted. In fact, she is very gifted. But she is not yet fully acclimated to her gift.

I see.

Malta Kano fell silent once again. This silence was longer than the last one. I sensed a certain indecision on her part.

Hello. Are you still there? I asked. Yes, Mr. Okada, I am still here, she replied. If I see her, Ill be sure to tell her to get in touch with you, I said again. Thank you very much, said Malta Kano. Then, after apologizing for the late-night call, she hung up. I hung up, too, and looked at my reflection in the glass one more time. Then the thought struck me: I might never speak with Malta Kano again. This could be the last contact I would ever have with her. She could disappear from my life forever. I had no special reason for thinking this: it was just a feeling that came to me.

Suddenly I thought about the rope ladder. I had left it hanging down in the well. Probably, the sooner I retrieved it, the better. Problems could arise if someone found it there. And then there was the sudden disappearance of Creta Kano. I had last seen her at the well.

I shoved my flashlight into my pocket, put on my shoes, stepped down into the garden, and climbed over the wall again. Then I passed down the alley to the vacant house. May Kasaharas house was pitch dark. The hands of my watch were nearing 3:00 a.m. I entered the yard of the vacant house and went straight for the well. The rope ladder was still anchored to the base of the tree and hanging down into the well, which was still just half open.

Something prompted me to peer down into the well and call Creta Kanos name in a kind of whispered shout. There was no answer. I pulled out my flashlight and aimed it down the well. The beam did not reach bottom, but I heard a tiny moaning sort of sound. I tried calling the name again.

Its all right. Im here, said Creta Kano. What are you doing in a place like this? I asked, in a low voice. What am I doing? Im doing the same thing you were doing, Mr. Okada, she replied, with obvious puzzlement. Im thinking. This really is a perfect place for thinking, isnt it? Well, yes, I guess it is, I said. But your sister called me at home a little while ago. Shes very worried about your disappearance. Its the middle of the night and youre still not home, and she says she cant feel your presence. She wanted me to tell you to get in touch with her right away if I heard from you.

I see. Well, thank you for taking the trouble.

Never mind about that, Creta Kano. Will you do me a favor and come out of there? I have to talk to you. She did not reply.

I switched off my flashlight and returned it to my pocket. Why dont you come down here, Mr. Okada? The two of us could sit here and talk.

It might not be a bad idea, I thought, to climb down into the well again and talk with Creta Kano, but then I thought about the moldy darkness at the bottom of the well and got a heavy feeling in my stomach.

No, sorry, but Im not going down there again. And you ought to come out, too. Somebody might pull the ladder up again. And the air is stale.

I know that. But I want to stay down here a little longer. Dont worry yourself about me.

There was nothing I could do as long as Creta Kano had no intention of coming out of the well.

When I talked to your sister on the phone, I didnt tell her I saw you here. I hope that was the right thing to do. I just sort of had this feeling that itd be better to say nothing.

You were right, said Creta Kano. Please dont tell my sister I am here. A moment later, she added, I dont want to worry her, but I need a chance to think sometimes too. I will come out as soon as I am done. I would like to be alone now, if you would be so kind. I will not cause you any trouble.

I decided to leave her and go back to the house for the time being. I could come in the morning and check up on her. If May Kasahara should pull the ladder up again during the night, I could deal with the situation then and manage to help Creta Kano climb out of the well one way or another. I went home, undressed, and stretched out in bed. Picking up the book I had been reading, I opened it to my place. I felt I was too much on edge to get to sleep right away, but before I had read two full pages, I realized I was dozing off. I closed the book, turned out the light, and in the next moment was sound asleep.

It was nine-thirty in the morning by the time I awoke. Concerned about Creta Kano, I dressed without bothering to wash my face and hurried down the alley to the vacant house. The clouds hung low in the sky, and the humid morning air seemed to threaten rain at any moment. The rope ladder was gone from the well. Someone must have untied it from the base of the tree and carried it off somewhere. Both halves of the well cover were set tightly in place, with a stone atop each half. Opening one side and peering down into the well, I called Creta Kanos name. There was no answer. I tried a few more times, waiting after each call. Thinking she might be asleep, I tossed a few pebbles inside, but there no longer seemed to be anybody in the bottom of the well. Creta Kano had probably climbed out of the well when morning came, untied the ladder, and taken it off with her. I set the cover in place and moved away from the well.

In the alley again, I leaned against the fence of the vacant house, watching May Kasaharas house for a time. I thought she might notice me there, as she usually did, and come out, but there was no sign of her. The surroundings were absolutely hushed-no people, no noises of any kind, not even the cry of a cicada. I passed the time digging at the surface of the ground with the toe of my shoe. Something felt different about the neighborhood, unfamiliar-as if, in the days I was down in the well, the old reality of this place had been shoved away by a new reality, which had settled in and taken over. I had been feeling this, somewhere deep down, ever since I had emerged from the well and gone home.

Walking back down the alley to my house, I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Several days worth of black stubble covered my face. I looked like a newly rescued shipwreck victim. This was the first time in my life I had ever let my beard grow so long. I toyed with the idea of really letting it grow out but after a few moments thought decided to shave it. For some reason, it just seemed better to keep the face I had had when Kumiko left.

I softened up my beard with a hot towel and covered my face with a thick layer of shaving cream. I then proceeded to shave, slowly and carefully, so as-to avoid cutting myself: first the chin, then the left cheek, then the right cheek. As I was finishing the right cheek, what I saw in the mirror made me catch my breath. It was a blue-black stain of some kind. At first I thought I might accidentally have smeared myself with something. I wiped off the remaining traces of shaving cream, gave my face a good washing with soap and water, and scrubbed at the stained area with a washcloth. But still the stain would not come off. It seemed to have penetrated deep into the skin. I stroked it with a finger. That one patch of skin felt just slightly warmer than the rest of my face, but otherwise it had no special feeling. It was a mark. I had a mark on my cheek in the exact location where, in the well, I had had the sensation of heat.

I brought my face up to the mirror and examined the mark with the utmost care. Located just beyond the right cheekbone, it was about the size of an infants palm. Its bluish color was close to black, like the blue-black Mont Blanc ink that Kumiko always used.

One possible explanation was that this was an allergic reaction. I might have come in contact with something in the well that caused an eruption of the skin, the way lacquer can do. But what could there have been down there, in the bottom of the well, to give rise to such a thing? I had examined every nook and cranny of the place with my flashlight, finding nothing there but the dirt bottom and the concrete wall. Besides, did allergies or eruptions ever leave such clearly outlined marks?

A mild panic overtook me. For a few moments, I lost all sense of direction, as when a huge wave crashes over you at the beach, dragging you in. The washcloth fell from my hand. I knocked over the wastebasket and stubbed my foot against something, mumbling meaningless syllables all the while. Then I managed to regain my composure and, leaning against the sink, began thinking calmly about how to deal with this fact.

The best thing I could do for now was to wait and see. I could always go to a doctor afterward. It might be a temporary condition, something that would heal itself, like a lacquer eruption. It had formed in a few short days, so it might disappear just as easily. I went to the kitchen and made myself some coffee. I was hungry, but whenever I actually tried to eat any- thing, my appetite would vanish like water in a mirage.

I stretched out on the sofa and watched the rain that had begun to fall. Every now and then I would go to the bathroom and look in the mirror, but I could see no change in the mark. It had dyed that area of my cheek a deep, dark-almost handsome-blue.

I could think of only one thing that might have caused this, and that Was my having passed through the wall in my predawn dreamlike illusion in the well, the telephone woman leading me by the hand. She had pulled me through the wall so that we could escape from the dangerous someone who had opened the door and was coming into the room. The moment I passed through the wall, I had had the clear sensation of heat on my cheek-in the exact spot where I now had this mark. Of course, whatever causal connection there might be between my passing through the wall and the forming of a mark on my face remained unexplained.

The man without a face had spoken to me in the hotel lobby. This is the wrong time, he had warned me. You dont belong here now. But I had ignored his warning and continued on. I was angry at Noboru Wataya, angry at my own confusion. And as a result, perhaps, I had received this mark.

Perhaps the mark was a brand that had been impressed on me by that strange dream or illusion or whatever it was. That was no dream, they were telling me through the mark: It really happened. And every time you look in the mirror now, you will be forced to remember it.

I shook my head. Too many things were being left unexplained. The one thing I understood for sure was that I didnt understand a thing. A dull throbbing started in my head. I couldnt think anymore. I felt no urge to do anything. I took a sip of lukewarm coffee and went on watching the rain.

After noon, I called my uncle for some small talk. I needed to talk to someone- it didnt matter much who-to do something about this feeling I had that I was being ripped away from the world of reality.

When he asked how Kumiko was doing, I said fine and let it go at that. She was on a short business trip at the moment, I added. I could have told him honestly what had been happening, but to put the recent events into some kind of order that would make sense to a third party would have been impossible. They didnt make much sense to me, so how could I explain them to someone else? I decided to keep the truth from my uncle for the time being.

You used to live in this house, didnt you? I asked.

Sure did, he said. Six or seven years altogether. Wait a minute ... I bought the place when I was thirty-five and lived there till I was forty-two. Seven years. Moved into this condo when I got married. I lived there alone that whole time.

I was just wondering, did anything bad happen to you while you were here? Anything bad? Like what? Like you got sick or you split up with a woman or something. My uncle gave a hearty laugh on his end of the line. I split up with more than one woman, thats for sure. But not just while I was living there. Nah, I couldnt count that as something especially bad. Nobody I hated to lose, tell you the truth. As far as getting sick goes ... hmm. No, I dont think so. I had a little growth removed from the back of my neck, but thats about all I remember. The barber found it, said I ought to have it removed just to be safe. So I went to the doctor, but it turned out to be nothing much. That was the first time I went to see the doctor while I was living in that house-and the last. I ought to get a rebate on my health insurance!

No bad memories you associate with the place, then?

Nope, none, said my uncle, after he had thought about it for a moment. But whats this about, all of a sudden?

Nothing much, I said. Kumiko saw a fortune-teller the other day and came home with an earful about this house-that its unlucky, things like that, I lied. I think its nonsense, but I promised to ask you about it.

Hmm. What do they call it? House physiognomy? I dont know anything about that stuff. You couldnt tell by me. But Ive lived in the place, and my impression is that its OK, it doesnt have any problems. Miyawakis place is another matter, of course, but youre pretty far away from there.

What kind of people lived here after you moved out? I asked.

Lets see: after me a high school teacher and his family lived there for three years, and then a young couple for five years. He ran some kind of business, but I dont remember what it was. I cant swear that everybody lived a happy life in that house: I had a real estate agent managing the place for me. I never met the people, and I dont know why they moved out, but I never heard about anything bad that happened to any of them. I just assumed the place got a little small for them and they wanted to build their own houses, that kind of thing.

Somebody once told me that the flow of this place has been obstructed. Does that ring a bell?

The flow has been obstructed? I dont know what it means, either, I said. Its just what they told me. My uncle thought it over for a while. No, nothing comes to mind. But it might have been a bad idea to fence off both ends of the alley. A road without an entrance or exit is a strange thing, when you stop to think about it. The fundamental principle of things like roads and rivers is for them to flow. Block them and they stagnate.

I see what you mean, I said. Now, theres one more thing I need to ask you. Did you ever hear the cry of the wind-up bird in this neighborhood?

The wind-up bird, said my uncle. Whats that?

I explained simply about the wind-up bird, how it came to the tree out back once a day and made that spring-winding cry.

Thats news to me, he said. Ive never seen or heard one. I like birds, and Ive always made a point of listening to their cries, but this is the first time Ive ever heard of such a thing. You mean it has something to do with the house?

No, not really. I was just wondering if youd ever heard of it.

You know, if you really want the lowdown on things like this- the people who lived there after me and that kind of stuff-you ought to talk to old Mr. Ichikawa, the real estate agent across from the station. Thats Setagaya Dai-ichi Realtors. Tell him I sent you. He handled that house for me for years. Hes been living in the neighborhood forever, and he just might tell you everything youd ever want to know. Hes the one who told me about the Miyawaki house. Hes one of those old guys that love to talk. You ought to go see him.

Thanks. I will, I said. So anyway, hows the job hunt going? Nothing yet. To tell you the truth, I havent been looking very hard. Kumikos working, and Im taking care of the house, and were managing for now. My uncle seemed to be thinking about something for a few moments. Then he said, Let me know if it ever gets to the point where you just cant make it. I might be able to give you a hand.

Thanks, I said. I will. And so our conversation ended.

I thought about calling the old real estate broker and asking him about the background of this house and about the people who had lived here before me, but it seemed ridiculous even to be thinking about such nonsense. I decided to forget it.

The rain kept falling at the same gentle rate into the afternoon, wetting the roofs of the houses, wetting the trees in the yards, wetting the earth. I had toast and soup for lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon on the sofa. I wanted to do some shopping, but the thought of the mark on my face made me hesitate. I was sorry I hadnt let my beard grow. I still had some vegetables in the refrigerator, and there was canned stuff in the cupboard. I had rice and I had eggs. I could feed myself for another two or three days if I kept my expectations low.

Lying on the sofa, I did no thinking at all. I read a book, I listened to a classical music tape, I stared out at the rain falling in the garden. My cogitative powers seemed to have reached an all-time low, thanks perhaps to that long period of all-too-concentrated thinking in the dark well bottom. If I tried to think seriously about anything, I felt a dull ache in my head, as if it were being squeezed in the jaws of a padded vise. If I tried to recall anything, every muscle and nerve in my body seemed to creak with the effort. I felt I had turned into the tin man from The Wizard of Oz, my joints rusted and in need of oil.

Every now and then I would go to the lavatory and examine the condition of the mark on my face, but it remained unchanged. It neither spread nor shrank. The intensity of its color neither increased nor decreased. At one point, I noticed that I had left some hair unshaved on my upper lip. In my confusion at discovering the mark on my right cheek, I had forgotten to finish shaving. I washed my face again, spread on shaving cream, and took off what was left.

In the course of my occasional trips to the mirror, I thought of what Malta Kano had said on the phone: that I should be careful; that through experience, we come to believe that the image in the mirror is correct. To make certain, I went to the bedroom and looked at my face in the full-length mirror that Kumiko used whenever she got dressed. But the mark was still there. It was not just something in the other mirror.

I felt no physical abnormality aside from the mark. I took my temperature, but it was the same as always. Other than the fact that I felt little hunger, for someone who had not eaten in almost three days, and that I experienced a slight nausea every now and then (which was probably a continuation of what I had felt in the bottom of the well), my body was entirely normal.

The afternoon was a quiet one. The phone never rang. No letters arrived. No one came down the alley. No voices of neighbors disturbed the stillness. No cats crossed the garden, no birds came and called. Now and then a cicada would cry, but not with the usual intensity.

I began to feel some hunger just before seven oclock, so I fixed myself a dinner of canned food and vegetables. I listened to the evening news on the radio for the first time in ages, but nothing special had been happening in the world. Some teenagers had been killed in an accident on the expressway when the driver of their car had failed in his attempt to pass another car and crashed into a wall. The branch manager and staff of a major bank were under police investigation in connection with an illegal loan they had made. A thirty-six-year-old housewife from Machida had been beaten to death with a hammer by a young man on the street. But these were all events from some other, distant world. The only thing happening in my world was the rain falling in the yard. Soundlessly. Gently. When the clock showed nine, I moved from the sofa to bed, and after finishing a chapter of the book I had started, I turned out the light and went to sleep.

I awoke with a start in the middle of some kind of dream. I could not recall what had been happening in the dream, but it had obviously been one filled with tension, because my heart was pounding. The room was still pitch dark. For a time after I awoke, I could not remember where I was. A good deal of time had to go by before I realized that I was in my own house, in my own bed. The hands of the alarm clock showed it to be just after two in the morning.

My irregular sleeping habits in the well were probably responsible for these unpredictable cycles of sleep and wakefulness. Once my confusion died down, I felt the need to urinate. It was probably the beer Id drunk. I would have preferred to go back to sleep, but I had no choice in the matter. When I resigned myself to the fact and sat up in bed, my hand brushed against the skin of the person sleeping next to me. This came as no surprise. That was where Kumiko always slept. I was used to having someone sleeping by my side. But then I realized that Kumiko wasnt with me anymore. She had left the house. Some other person was sleeping next to me.

I held my breath and turned on the light by the bed. It was Creta Kano.