At first, you helped with the family business, but after about a year, you got involved in military operations. Working on a US military base, you brought up three children. The concerns of everyday life kept your mind occupied, and you tried to forget about the island. When the island was mentioned in newspapers or on television, you couldn’t even bother to look. After the children grew up and moved away, and you and Nae were living on your own, you never even talked about the island, to say nothing of going there. You lived alone with Nae for over ten years, and she didn’t want to have anything to do with the island either. She was probably angrier about the violence inflicted on the children than you were.
Recalling Nae, you glance over at the family’s Buddhist altar. You’re not wearing your glasses, so the writing on the mortuary tablet appears blurry. But in your mind, you can see Nae’s name clearly, for you wrote it yourself.
—After that, you never returned to the island?
—No, I never did. We’re not originally from there.
—Haven’t you ever thought of visiting?
—No, I haven’t. Not at my age.
—Is that so?
The tone of her voice suddenly makes you feel uneasy. You stop watching the tape recorder and lift your head.
—Are you planning to go to the island to check on everything I’ve said?
—Huh?
—Because if you are, you should forget it. Some people don’t want to remember the past.
After staring at you for a while, she mutters that you’re probably right, and stops the tape. She thanks you repeatedly as you accompany her to the front door. After she’s gone, you recall that her name was Megumi Makiya. But you immediately lose your confidence and wonder if you remembered correctly.
You return to the room and put away the cushion she was sitting on. Glancing down at the table, you picture the tape that was turning inside the transparent plastic window. Even if I die, you think, my voice will remain, and my memories will be passed down to the next generation. This thought causes you to feel overwhelmed with the sensation that you’re no longer in this world. At the same time, a mutter slips from your lips:
—I couldn’t communicate anything, and my memories will die with me.
Loneliness suddenly creeps upon you. You light an incense stick and place it upright in the burner before the altar. You face the mortuary tablet, fold your hands, and bow deeply.
You raise your head and look at the mortuary tablet. The apparition appears again! Drawing back in terror, you lose your footing and fall backward onto the table. You tumble off the mahogany tabletop and stagger toward the veranda. As you try to crawl away, your right hand goes numb. Unable to support yourself, you fall forward and hit your chin. You want to call out for help, but you can’t speak. Saliva dribbles from the corners of your mouth, like the apparition of Seiji you just saw. A foul odor makes you notice that you’ve wet your pants. After you lift yourself up with your left hand and lower yourself onto the paralyzed right side of your body, you hear a woman shrieking. Is it Hatsu? The screams come closer and closer. Over the hedge outside the window, you see a young woman with long disheveled hair running past. The name of this woman, screaming as if fleeing from some unspeakable horror, is on the tip of your tongue. But you just can’t remember it.
Nae! Nae!
The name you try to call gets caught in your throat. The shrill buzzing of the cicadas echoes in your head, and an intense pain cuts into your back. You try to turn around but fall down again. Pummeled by the stones that fly at you one after another, you scream. But both your screams and groans are drowned out by the intense droning of the swarm of cicadas.
HISAKO [2005]
She could hear footsteps running toward her in the dark. Then the woman’s feet and calves appeared, dashing across the village road covered with white sand. Blood dripped down, forming a speckled pattern on the woman’s sand-covered feet. Her disheveled black hair repelled the sunlight, and her exposed breasts swayed, while sweat and tears splashed onto the road from her transparent skin, through which the veins were visible. The woman’s screams cut through the sounds of the crashing waves and buzzing cicadas, and pierced the hearts of all who heard them. As the woman ran past, a group of spectators stared at her glazed eyes and gaping mouth. Even after she’d disappeared into the woods, her final scream lingered in their ears as their eyes filled with tears.
—Are you okay?
Hisako awoke to someone shaking her, the tears flowing from her eyes. The pillow under her head was wet.
—You have the same dream again?
Her husband’s voice was husky but soft and gentle. Consoled by his voice, she reached up and touched the hand resting on her shoulder. Just as when they were young, he entwined his fingers in hers and caressed her palm with his thumb. Behind the white lace curtains drawn across the window, the day was dawning.
—It’s still early, so you can sleep in late.
In the dim light, the outline of her husband’s shadow was indistinct, and she knew he’d fade away soon. Refusing to let go, she tightly squeezed his hand. The sensation passed away like gentle
