A Pale View of Hills

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I asked.

She remained silent for a moment. Then she said: “I don’t 2oto school”

“Bu tall children must go to school. Don’t you like to go?”

“1 don’t go to school.’

“But hasn’t your mother sent you to a school here?”

Mariko did not reply. Instead, she took a step away from me.

“Careful,” I said. “You’ll fall into the water. It’s very slippery.”

She continued to stare up at me from the bottom of the slope. I could see her small shoes lying in the mud beside her. Her bare feet, like her shoes, were covered in mud.

“I was just speaking with your mother.” I said, smiling at her reassuringly. “She said it would be perfectly all right if you came and waited for her at my house. It’s just over there, that building there. You could come and try some cakes I made yesterday. Would you like that, Mariko-San? And you could tell me all about yourself.’

Mariko continued to watch me carefully. Then, without taking her eyes off me, she crouched down and picked up her shoes. At first, I took this as a sign that she was about to follow me. But then as she continued to stare up at me, I realized she was holding her shoes in readiness to run away.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, with a nervous laugh. “I’m a friend of your mother’s.’

As far as I remember, that was all that took place between us that morning. I had no wish to alarm the child further, and before long I turned and made my way back across the wasteground. The child’s response had, it is true, upset me somewhat; for in those days, such small things were capable of arousing in me every kind of misgiving about motherhood. I told myself the episode was insignificant, and that in any case, further opportunities to make friends with the little girl were bound to present themselves over the coming days. As it was, I did not speak to Mariko again until one afternoon a fortnight or so later.

I had never been inside the cottage prior to that afternoon, and I had been rather surprised when Sachiko had asked me in. In fact, I had sensed immediately that she had done so with something in mind, and as it turned out, I was not mistaken.

The cottage was tidy, but I remember a kind of stark shabbiness about the place; the wooden beams that crossed the ceiling looked old and insecure, and a faint odour of dampness lingered everywhere. At the front of the cottage, the main partitions had been left wide open to allow the sunlight in across the veranda. For all that, much—of the place remained in shadow.

Mariko was lying in the corner furthest from the sunlight. I could see something moving beside her in the shade, and when I came closer, saw a large cat curled up on the tatami.

“Hello, Mariko-San,” I said. “Don’t you remember me?”

She stopped stroking the cat and looked up.

“We met the other day,” I went on. “Don’t you remember? You were by the river.’

The little girl showed no signs of recognition. She looked at me fora while, then began to stroke her cat again. Behind me. I could hear Sachiko preparing the tea on the open stove at the centre of the mom. I was about to go over to her, when Mariko said suddenly: “She’s going to have kittens.’

“Oh really? How nice.”

“Do you want a kitten?’

“That’s very kind of you, Mariko-San. We’ll see. But I’m sure they’ll all find nice homes.”

“Why don’t you take a kitten?” the child said. “The other woman said she’d take one.’

“We’ll see, Mariko-San. Which other lady was this?”

“The other woman. The woman from across the river. She said she’d take one.”

“But I don’t think anyone lives over there, Mariko-San. It’s just trees and forest over there.”

“She said she’d take me to her house. She lives across the river. I didn’t go with her.”

I looked at the child for a second. Then a thought struck me and I laughed.

“But that was me, Mariko-San. Don’t you remember? I asked you to come to my house while your mother was away in the town.”

Mariko looked up at me again. “Not you,” she said. “The other woman. The woman from across the river. She was here last night. While Mother was away.” - I

“Last night? While your mother was away?’ -

“She said she’d take me to her house, but i didn’t go with her. Because it was dark. She said we could take the lantern with us” — she gestured towards a lantern hung on the

wall — “but I didn’t go with her. Because it was dark.’

Behind me, Sachiko had got to her feet and was looking at her daughter. Mariko became silent, then turned away and began once more to stroke her cat.

“Let’s go out on the veranda,’ Sachiko said to me. She was holding the tea things on a tray. “It’s cooler out there.”

We did as she suggested, leaving Mariko in her corner. From the veranda, the river itself was hidden from view, but I could see where the ground sloped down and the mud became wetter as it approached the water. Sachiko seated herself on a cushion and began to pour the tea.

‘The place is alive with stray cats,” she said. “I’m not so optimistic about these kittens.