‘See what,’ he asks. ‘See what?’
I grip him by his slimy, bony shoulders, stare into his red and tiny eyes and ask, ‘Really? Didn’t you see? See what I saw …?’
‘See what,’ he asks again. ‘What did you see?’
‘That woman,’ I shout. ‘That woman!’
‘I only caught a glimpse of her face, but I didn’t feel there was anything particularly strange about her …’
‘It was a ghost!’
‘Who?’
‘Her,’ I tell him, shuddering again. ‘I saw her full face, her whole body when she stood up …’
But he just shakes his stupid wounded head and tries hard not to laugh. Yet I know what he’s thinking: if anyone in this hellhole resembles a ghost, it’s me and only me; a miracle the poor woman did not scream out in terror at the horror of my face, my own face –
‘Let’s just go home,’ he says.
In the taxicab, the rain running down the windows, neither of us speak until he asks the driver to pull up beside the Shinobazu Pond in Ueno. He gets out with a sigh, but then, just as he’s about to turn to say goodnight, I reach across to grab his cold and scaly arm and ask, ‘Please tell me honestly, you really didn’t see anything strange at all back there?’
‘Nothing at all,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I wish you’ d gone back to look.’
He smiles. ‘I’m glad I didn’t.’
The lights from the street and the rain on the glass throw strange black characters across us both as I smile back and say, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’ ll see you soon, back in the valley,’ says Tock, closing the cab door, the taxi driving off as I turn to look for him, to wave goodbye to him, to see him standing by the pond, one hand still trying to stem and stop the blood streaming and spurting from the concave saucer on the top of his head, the other hand waving goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye …
6. The House of Sleep
‘Hello,’ said Hyakken Uchida, ‘hello … hello … hello?’
But Akutagawa did not move, he did not stir; his chin on his chest, his hair over his face, his body sunk in the rattan chair, in front of the tokonoma, in his upstairs study, in his house in Tabata.
It was almost evening, twilight now, in the middle of July, the hottest July on record. Even here in this dimly lit study, the heat was unbearable. Hyakken wiped his face again, he wiped his neck again, sitting on a cushion among the papers and the books, three different editions of the Bible open among the boxes of Golden Bat cigarettes scattered here and there, Hyakken just staring up at his friend; even in this heat, even in such a state, Akutagawa looked so elegant, he looked so refined, occasionally opening his eyes, raising his face towards Hyakken, half smiling as he said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What’s wrong with you,’ asked Hyakken.
‘My stomach has been hurting,’ said Akutagawa, his tongue struggling to move in his mouth, his words slurred. ‘I’ve not been able to sleep, so I had to take something, and then I got up before I was really awake …’
‘You shouldn’t take so much medicine, you know.’
His heavy lids had closed again, his thin body slack in the chair again, yet still Akutagawa mumbled, ‘And you shouldn’t drink so much, you know …’
Hyakken had no idea what to say to him, what to do for him, just sitting there, watching him drifting in and out of sleep, his own eyes closing in the gloom now, opening then closing again, his neck hanging in the heat …
‘About the money,’ said Akutagawa, suddenly.
Hyakken sat up and said, ‘Yes, I’m sorry …’
Akutagawa stood up slowly, unsteady on his feet, tottering towards the doors. His eyes still half closed, he reached up to a picture hanging above the door. He put his hand behind the frame. He took out a crisp new two-hundred-yen banknote. He handed it to Hyakken and said, ‘Here you are, and I can arrange to give you more …’
‘Thank you,’ said Hyakken, embarrassed. ‘But this is more than enough. I’m just sorry to be such a burden …’
‘Excuse me,’ said Akutagawa, slumping back into the chair.
Hyakken felt he should go, let his friend rest. But now he realised he didn’t even have change for the train. Hyakken cursed himself; he’d meant to make sure he had some prepared …
‘Don’t worry,’ said Akutagawa, standing up again, again looking so dizzy. ‘Just wait a moment, please …’
Akutagawa stumbled through the door, down the corridor towards the steep ladder staircase. Hyakken followed him out into the corridor, worried he might fall down the stairs. He felt dizzy himself, but Akutagawa seemed to manage, disappearing down the steps, and so Hyakken just stood there, waiting for him to return, staring out at the garden, quivering in the heat.
From the moment they had first met, Akutagawa had always been so kind to him, and even now, still now, Hyakken could not imagine why. They had first become properly acquainted when Akutagawa had started to visit Sōseki-sensei, and joined the Mokuyō-kai. But even after the death of Sōseki-sensei, even when so many others had already begun to shun Hyakken, Akutagawa had always remained a good and loyal friend; when Hyakken had been complaining about his low salary from the Imperial Military Academy in Ichigaya, how his paltry wage and big family meant he could not cover his monthly expenditures, Akutagawa had recommended him for a second job at the Naval Engineers Academy in Yokosuka, even though they hardly knew each other. And when Hyakken had asked him why, Akutagawa had simply smiled and said, ‘Because our grandmother will be pleased.’
Akutagawa seemed to have been gone for an age but, just as he was wondering whether he should have followed him down the stairs, Hyakken heard him coming up the other ladder, at the opposite end of the corridor, Akutagawa swaying as he walked towards him now, the hem
