She stood up. And as she did, a bit of her long hair brushed lightly across my hand. It was an amazingly swishy, ticklish feeling.
I focused on the sensation to make sure it was real.
It was then that she yanked the door open.
I stiffened, readying myself.
Even if she invites you to leave, you can't step outside.
Haru giggled, gently brushing aside my ungenerous impulses. “Boy, are you suspicious! It's okay, I'm just showing you. Here, watch this, I'll put my head out. Okay?”
Haru thrust her head back into that ash-gray world. And the instant she did so her hair began to flap and tangle with awesome energy, but without making any sound at all. She kept her head thrust back as she spoke.
“You remember that day when there was a huge storm like this and you and I were in his house alone? It felt just like it does here. You know, I made my way through this storm with my eyes shut, that's how I got here. I did that because I wanted to see you. I mean, I wouldn't have come for that man we were both so crazy about, you know, seriously. Because it's rough getting here, it really is rough.”
“Same for me,” I said. “It seemed like I should see you.”
“Because I was calling you, kiddo. I'd been hanging around for a while, you know, down where you were,” Haru said.
She seemed much more grown up than the Haru I'd known.
“Why did you call me?” I asked.
“I don't really know. Maybe because I never felt lonely when we were together. I mean I wasn't ever truly lonely, but whenever I think about you I get this feeling that I was least lonely when I was with you. And I get the feeling that on the day of that storm, you know, I wanted to kiss you.”
There was no expression on Haru's face.
“I'm happy to hear that,” I said.
But I felt unbearably sad. The ashy gray outside was so heavy that I felt how great a distance separates us from the past when I looked at Haru's tangled hair whipping in the wind. It was a distance greater than that between life and death, wider than the unfillable chasm that separates us all from one another.
I called her name. “Haru!”
Haru gave a little smile and fixed her hair, took hold of the door with a movement that seemed perfectly natural, said good-bye and touched my hand, then vanished into the space beyond the door. I was thinking: Yeah, come to think of it, I guess the only time we ever talked to each other like this was that day, that was the only time. . . .
The bang of the door and the coldness of her hand lingered on.
“Welcome back!” shouted Tanaka.
Glancing quickly around, I realized that I was back in the shop.
“Wow! That was awesome! What's the trick?” I said.
I was trying to hide my confusion, but I was also genuinely impressed.
“That's a nice thing to say! It's the real thing, kid.” Tanaka sounded slightly pissed off.
“Basically, Tanaka here is like that animal the Chinese thought up that eats people's bad dreams, see? Think of it that way,” Mizuo said.
“Right, that's a good way to put it,” Tanaka said.
“Yeah, I guess so. It made me really happy to see her. I don't know, it's like some poison has been sucked out of my chest,” I said.
I felt myself gradually returning to reality—I checked to make sure that my mind and body were still as they should be. My breath, and everything I saw, was so sharp and clear it seemed like some mist dissolving.
“You feel like you do after you get a lot of exercise, right?” Tanaka said, plonking a glass of ice water down on the counter in front of me. “That's because you've just been someplace very far away.”
Yes—that stormy day.
Early autumn and a typhoon had blown up.
The situation between Haru and me had been steadily getting more and more dangerous, and we'd been quarreling the entire week. Our love for the man was starting to wear thin, and there was nothing we could do to turn things around, so we were constantly irritated and always anxious. The man almost never came by the house anymore, but neither of us cared much about that.
“It's thundering like crazy outside,” I said.
I wanted to go home but I couldn't go home, so I had no choice but to say something to Haru; I'd unthinkingly made the mistake of speaking. But she responded in a surprisingly ordinary tone.
“I wish it would stop. I hate thunder.”
She drew her eyebrows together. It was an extremely erotic, sorrowful expression, and every time I saw it I felt charmed—if only for an instant.
“Fumi! Help me, I'm scared!”
There'd been a bright flash of lightning, and then almost immediately a growl of thunder so fierce it was like getting hit on the head. It was the first time Haru had ever said anything like that to me, and so I looked over at her, stunned, and found that she was sitting facing me, grinning like a little girl. Suddenly I understood. Haru knows too. This love affair is moving through its final stage, and after that the two of us will never see each other again. She knows it as well as I do.
“It's pretty close,” I said.
“I really wish it'd stop,” Haru repeated.
She moved away from the window and circled around behind my back, pretending that she was trying to hide.
No doubt the coming of the storm had made her feel lonely.
“Don't give me that. You're not scared,” I said, my voice incredulous. I turned around to look at her.
“Actually, I am a little scared.”
Haru laughed. I smiled back.
And then her face filled with surprise.
“Hey, aren't we kind of getting along? Just a bit?”
I nodded. “You know, I think maybe we are.”
The room was shut off from the rest of the world, and the thunder kept crashing over us, again and again, coming from ever so far away. The air that filled the room had turned thick and hard, and it felt as if even our silenced breathing was disturbing that small perfection. Nothing but a certain sense of preciousness glittered there, steeped in stillness and quiet. Soon it would all be over. All of this would wither away, it would all disappear. We'd go our separate ways. Again and again this conviction crashed over us.
“I wonder how he's doing in all this.”
Haru's profile looked small and beautiful in the flashes of light.
“It certainly is stormy out.”
I wanted us to be still now. Together, quiet and still.
“Do you think he's got an umbrella?”
“It wouldn't help in this weather. You'd get hit by lightning.”
“It'd suit him, wouldn't it? A death like that.”
“I wish he'd hurry up and come home.”
“Yeah.”
We sat alongside each other, leaning up against the wall, hugging our knees and talking. This was the only time I ever spoke with Haru like that—it had never happened before and it would never happen again. The flowing roar of the rain never stopped getting in the way of our thoughts. It felt like the whole time we'd been in this room we'd been friends, as close to each other as we were right now. Like all along we'd just been pretending not to like each other.
“It sounds like a flash flood.”
“Yeah. It hasn't rained like this in a while.”
“I wonder where he could be.”
“Anywhere's okay as long as he's safe.”
“Don't worry, he's fine.”
“Yeah, he's probably fine.”
Haru was hugging her knees, resting her narrow chin on her kneecaps.
She nodded elegantly and strongly.
* * *
It was close to dawn when Mizuo and I left Tanaka's shop.
I questioned him as we walked. “So how long was I actually unconscious?”
“About two hours. We drank as we waited—and boy, am I drunk!”
Mizuo's voice echoed loudly in the deserted alley.
“Really? Was it that long?”
I'd only been with Haru for a
few moments, so I was surprised to hear this. All the same, I was feeling cool and relaxed. The light of the moon and stars was incredibly vivid, so brilliant it seemed as if they'd been washed, and it felt like I hadn't seen them so bright in years. It made me feel happy just to walk, and my pace sped up all on its own. Haru, an angel's song, the midget medium, Haru. . . .
“But that's fine. As long as you feel better,” Mizuo said suddenly, and then put his arm around my shoulder. “For now, don't think.”
I nodded without saying anything.
Did I just happen to get drunk every night?
Was Haru always somewhere close by?
Was that beautiful song Haru trying to call me?
Where did I go just now at the shop?
Who was that midget? Why is he able to do that?
Was that really Haru? Even though she's dead?
Or was it just a one-person play acted out inside me?
And then Haru made her exit, and I was left alone.
Greater than all the mysteries, a calm evening breeze slid through me, cleansing me.
“I kind of feel like, starting tomorrow, I won't be drinking that much. I wonder if I've been doing it on purpose,” I said. “But I don't know . . . it really seems like I'll be able to stop.”
“I'm sure you've just reached that stage.” Mizuo smiled.
Is everything just a “stage” for Mizuo? All these things inside me, and his being with me?
Isn't he excessively gentle because he's excessively cold?
I have no idea what's coming, and if I love him any more than I do now, I'll probably become completely transparent.
What will happen to us as we begin our new life together?
And yet . . .
Mizuo's smile still seemed to pierce straight through to my heart, and I had the feeling that this smile was the spitting image of the cold and beautiful night. Even if this night we were spending together and everything else was just going to disappear into the past, that was all right—and it seemed to me that I held this allrightness preciously in my hands, and that it was glittering there. Just like the time I'd spent with Haru.
At any rate, I'd probably never hear that singing voice again, that voice so lovely it made you shudder: suddenly I understood this. And that alone made me feel terribly sad.
That feeling of security, that sweetness, that pain, that gentleness. I felt sure that every time I saw the green of the trees in my garden awash in light from the street, I'd be struck by a sudden flicker of remembrance—the tail of that soft melody—and I'd chase along behind it, as if sniffing my way forward in pursuit of a pleasant scent.
And then I'd stop wanting to remember, and I'd forget.
Walking with Mizuo's hand on my shoulder, I realized this.
Asleep
* * *
When did I start sleeping so much whenever I was alone?
Sleep would rush over me like an incoming tide. There was nothing I could do to resist it. And this sleep was infinitely deep, so deep that neither the ringing of the phone nor the rumble of the cars driving by outside found their way to my ears. I didn't feel any sort of pain; I wasn't even particularly lonely. Nothing existed but the free-falling world of sleep.
I'd feel a little lonely when I woke, but only for a moment. I'd look up at the overcast sky and realize just how much time had passed since I'd fallen asleep. I wasn't even planning to sleep, I'd think vaguely to myself, and now I've gone and wasted the entire day. Suddenly the heavy regret I felt, a regret that was almost shame, would be pierced by a cold blade of fear.
When exactly did I give myself over to sleep? When did I stop resisting . . . ? I used to be so lively, I was always wide awake—but when was that? So long ago it felt like ancient times. Like scenes out of the most distant past, panoramas of ferns and dinosaurs that spring roughly to the eye, vividly colored, my memories of that time always appeared to me as images shrouded in mist.
* * *
But even while I slept, even then I could tell when my boyfriend called.
The telephone sounded completely different when it was Mr. Iwanaga. For some reason I could just tell it was him. Every other sound came to me from far away, but when he called, the ringing of the phone reverberated deliciously inside my head, the way music does when you listen to it through headphones. So I'd go and pick up the receiver, and that voice of his—a voice so deep it always startled me—would say my name.
“Terako?”
Yes, I'd reply in a tone so empty he'd chuckle.
And he'd say what he always said.
“Perhaps you were sleeping?”
He generally spoke more casually, so I loved to hear him say that, really loved it, those polite words coming out of the blue. Every time he said them I'd feel like the world had snapped shut. I went blind, as if some curtain had dropped. I savored the echoes of his voice for what seemed like an eternity.
Then at last I'd be completely awake.
“Yes, I was asleep.”
Last time he called it was evening, and it was raining. The roar of the downpour and the leaden tone of that heavy sky had put a pall over the entire town. Just then, in the midst of all that, it occurred to me how extremely important his phone call was. I realized that nothing but that single line connected me to the outside world.
Then he'd start going on about when and where we should meet, and suddenly I'd be irritated. Look, skip this stuff. Just say it again, that line I like so much: “Perhaps you were sleeping?” Encore! I'd pretend to pound my feet on the floor as I scribbled out a note to myself. Yes, that's fine. Yes, I'll be there.
If someone could give me some sort of evidence that what we're doing here is really love, I'd be so tremendously relieved that I'd probably kneel down at that person's feet. And if it isn't love, if it's eventually going to end, I want to go on sleeping like this; I want to stop hearing the phone when he calls. Let me be alone again.
I spent the summer feeling like that, exhausted by my anxiety.
A year and a half had passed since we'd met.
“A friend of mine has died.”
Two months had gone by and I still hadn't managed to say this. I knew he'd listen if I told him, really listen, so why did I keep holding back? Why? I didn't know.
Every night the thought plagued me.
Should I tell him? Should I start telling him right now?
I tried to find the words as we walked.
A friend of mine has died. I don't think you ever met her.
Her name was Shiori, and she was the girl I got along with best. She started doing this bizarre work after she graduated from college. I guess it was sort of like restrained prostitution, you know, a kind of service. But she was such a wonderful person. . . . We lived together when we were in college, in the same apartment I'm in now. And it was terrific. It was so much fun I could hardly believe it. We were never afraid of anything, we just spent every day talking about things, all kinds of things, and then sometimes we'd stay up all night, sometimes we'd get unbelievably drunk. Even if something really unpleasant happened while we were out, we'd come back home to the apartment and go crazy making jokes about it until finally we'd forgotten the whole thing. God, it was fun! We used to discuss my relationship with you a lot, you know. Except when I say “discuss” I mean things like, you know, maybe we'd talk about what a jerk you were, or else I'd go on and on about how happy you made me, it was just that kind of stuff, and she'd do the same. You know what I mean, right? Men and women can't be friends, right, that just can't happen. And by the time you start feeling totally comfortable together you're not really in love anymore, are you? But with Shiori that problem didn't exist, we just got along really well together. I don't know how to explain it, but when I was with her it was like, you know, like those times when life starts weighing down on you so much, it felt like that weight had been reduced by half. I just started feeling better, it wasn't like she did anything special or anything, I guess it was just that however relaxed
we got, however much she and I let down our guards, things never got at all mushy, you know, she was gentle and kind just the right amount, that's what she was like. Women friends are the best, they really are. Back then I had you, and then I had Shiori, and to tell the truth that period was really hard for me. Though when I think back on all that now, it was really all just fun and games, it was like a big party. Every day I'd just laugh and cry and laugh and cry. Yeah, Shiori was a wonderful person, really great, she'd listen to you and she'd keep nodding and saying yeah, yeah, and there was always a bit of a smile hovering around her lips. And then she'd get these dimples. But she killed herself. She'd left my apartment a long time before that, she was living all by herself in this gorgeous place, and then she took a whole lot of sleeping pills and lay down in this tiny little single bed that she had there and just died. . . . She had a gigantic bed in the room she used for her work, this huge soft bed like you'd expect to find some medieval aristocrat falling asleep in, you know, a canopy over it and everything, and I really wonder why she didn't decide to die in that one. I guess there are some things even friends can't understand. You know I can even imagine her saying something about that, about how you'd probably have a better chance of going to heaven if you died in the big bed, it's just the sort of thing she might say. Her mother flew in from the country, and she called me up, and that's how I found out that Shiori had died. It was the first time I'd met her mother. She looked so much like Shiori I could hardly stand it. She asked me what sort of work Shiori had been doing, but in the end I couldn't even answer.
* * *
No, I just wouldn't be able to explain. The harder I would try to make him understand the more my words would turn to dust, the more they'd get caught up in their own momentum, a wind that would blow them out of existence—this much was clear to me, and so I said nothing. All those words I'd thought up wouldn't communicate a thing. Ultimately the only part that was true was the beginning. A friend of mine has died. How else was I supposed to express the loneliness I felt? How else could I make him see?
I stayed lost in thought as we walked along under the near-summer night sky. Then, as we crossed the large pedestrian bridge in front of the train station, he spoke.