A Pale View of Hills

Jiro nodded, but said nothing. Ogata-San laughed again, then for several moments we continued to eat in silence.

“Do you drink sake these days, Father?” Jiro asked eventually.

“Sake? I take a drop sometimes. Not often.”

Since this is your last evening with us, perhaps we should take some sake.”

Ogata-San seemed to consider this for a moment. Finally, he said with a smile: ‘There’s no need to make a fuss about an old man like me. But I’ll join you in a cup to celebrate your splendid future”

Pro nodded to me. I went to the cupboard and brought out a bottle and two cups.

“1 always thought you’d go far,” Ogata-San was saying.

“You always showed promise.’

‘Just because of what happened today, that’s no guarantee they’ll give me the promotion,” my husband said. ‘But I suppose my efforts today will have done no harm.”

“No, indeed,” said Ogata-San. “I doubt if you did yourself much harm today”

They both watched in silence as I poured out the sake. Then Ogata-San laid down his chopsticks and raised his cup.

‘Here’s to your future, Jiro,” he said.

My husband, some food still in his mouth, also raised his cup.

“And to yours, Father,” he said.

Memory, I realize, can be an unreliable thing; often it is heavily coloured by the circumstances in which one remembers, and no doubt this applies to certain of the recollections I have gathered here. For instance, I find it tempting to persuade myself it was a premonition I experienced that afternoon, that the unpleasant image which entered my thoughts that day was something altogether different — something much more intense and vivid — than the numerous day-dreams which drift through one’s imagination during such long and empty hours.

In all possibility, it was nothing so remarkable. The tragedy of the little girl found hanging from a tree — much more so than the earlier child murders — had made a shocked impression on the neighbourhood, and I could not have been alone that summer in being disturbed by such images.

It was the latter part of the afternoon, a day or two after our outing to Inasa, and I was occupying myself with some small chores around the apartment when I happened to glance out of the window. The wasteground outside must have hardened significantly since the first occasion I had• watched that large American car, for now I saw it coming across the uneven surface without undue difficulty. It continued to come nearer, then bumped upon to the concrete beneath my window. The glare on the windscreen prevented me from seeing clearly, but I received a distinct impression the driverwas not alone. The car moved around the apartment block and out of my vision.

It must have been just then that it happened, just as I was gazing towards the cottage in a somewhat confused state of mind. With no apparent provocation, that chilling image intruded into my thoughts, and I came away from the window with a troubled feeling. I returned to my housework, trying to put the picture out of my mind, but it was some minutes before I felt sufficiently rid of it to give consideration to the reappearance of the large white car, It was an hour or so later I saw the figure walking across the wasteground towards the cottage. I shaded my eyes to see more clearly; it was a woman — a thin figure — and she walked with a slow deliberate step. The figure paused outside the cottage for some time, then disappeared behind the sloping roof. I continued to watch, but she did not re-emerge; to all appearances, the woman had gone inside.

For several moments, I remained at the window, unsure what to do. Then finally, I put on some sandals and left the apartment. Outside, the day was at its hottest, and the

F journey across those few dried acres seemed to take an eternity. Indeed, the walk to the cottage tired me so much that when I arrived I had almost forgotten my original purpose. It was with a kind of shock, then, that I heard I voices from within the cottage. One of the voices was Mariko’s; the other I did not recognize. I stepped closer to the entrance, but could make out no words. For several moments I remained there, not sure what I should do. Then 1 slid open the entrance and called out. The voices stopped.

I waited another moment, then stepped inside.

Chapter Ten

After the brightness of the day outside, the interior of the cottage seemed cool and dark. Here and there, the sun came in sharply through narrow gaps, lighting up small patches on the tatami. The odour of damp wood seemed as strong as ever.