It was eleven-thirty when the jeep pulled up in front of the station. The town was dead still. Except for an old man shoveling away the snow from the rotary and a gangly dog sitting nearby wagging its tail.
“Thanks,” I told the chauffeur.
“Don’t mention it,” he said. “By the way, have you tried God’s telephone number?”
“No, I haven’t had time.”
“Since the Boss died, I can’t get through. What do you suppose happened?”
“Probably just busy,” I suggested.
“Maybe so,” said the chauffeur. “Well now, take care.”
“Goodbye,” I said.
There was a train leaving at twelve o’clock sharp. Not a soul on the platform. On board only four passengers, including myself. Even so, it was a relief to see people after so long. One way or another, I’d made it back to the land of the living. No matter how boring or mediocre it might be, this was my world.
The departure bell sounded as I chewed on my chocolate bar. Then, as the ringing stopped and the train clanked into readiness, there came the sound of a distant explosion. I lifted the window all the way open and stuck my head out. Ten seconds later there was a second explosion. The train started moving. After three minutes, in the direction of the conical peak, a column of black smoke was slowly rising.
I stared at it until the train cut a curve to the right and the smoke was out of sight.
Epilogue
“It’s all over,” said the Sheep Professor, “all over.”
“Over and done.”
“I suppose I should thank you.”
“Now that I’ve lost practically everything.”
“No, you haven’t,” the Sheep Professor shook his head. “You’ve got your life.”
“As you say,” I said.
The Sheep Professor threw himself facedown on his desk, sobbing, as I left the room. I had robbed him of his obsession, woeful though it had been, and whether I was right to have done it, I was never more unsure.
“She departed for somewhere,” said the proprietor of the Dolphin Hotel. “She made no mention of any destination. She seemed kind of sick.”
“Never mind,” I said.
I picked up the bags and checked into the same room as before. With the same view of the same unfathomable company. The woman with the big breasts was nowhere to be seen. Two young male employees worked at their desks, smoking. One was reading lists of figures, one was drawing a broken-line graph with a ruler on a huge sheet of paper. Maybe it was because the big-breasted woman wasn’t there, but the office seemed like a wholly different place. Only the fact that I couldn’t figure out what kind of company it was remained the same. At six o’clock, all employees exited, and the building grew dark.
I turned on the television and watched the news. There was no report of any explosion on any mountain. But wait, did that explosion happen yesterday? What on earth had I done for one whole day? Where had I been? My brain throbbed.
Well, one day had passed in any case.
In just this way, one day at a time, I learned to distance myself from “memory.” Until that day in the uncertain future when a distant voice calls from out of the lacquer blackness.
I switched off the television and toppled over onto the bed with my shoes still on. All alone, I stared up at the stain-blotched ceiling. Reminders of persons long dead and forgotten.
The room changed colors to the pulse of neon lights. My watch ticked away by my ear. I undid the band and tossed it onto the floor. Traffic sounds came in soft chorus, layer upon layer. I tried to sleep, but without success. Who can sleep with such inexpressibleness?
I donned a sweater and headed out to town, stepping into the first discotheque I happened upon. I had three whiskeys-on-the-rocks while taking in the non-stop soul music. That helped give me a sense of the normal. And getting back to normal was everything. Everybody was counting on me to be normal.
Returning to the Dolphin Hotel, I found the three-fingered proprietor sitting on the chaise longue, watching the late night news.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning at nine,” I said.
“Back to Tokyo, is it?”
“No,” I said. “I have one place to stop off before that. Wake me at eight, please.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Thanks for everything.”
“Don’t mention it.” Then the proprietor let out a sigh. “Father refuses to eat. At this rate, he’ll die.”
“He took a great blow.”
“I know,” said the proprietor sadly. “Not that my father ever tells me anything.”
“Give it time.”
The following day I took a plane to Tokyo-Haneda, then flew off again. The sea was shining when I arrived at my destination.
J was peeling potatoes the same as ever. A young female part-timer was filling flower vases and wiping off the tables. Hokkaido had lost its autumn, but autumn still held on here. Through the windows of J’s Bar, the hills were in beautiful color.
I sat at the counter and had a beer before the bar opened. Cracking peanuts with one hand.
“It’s hard to come by peanuts that crack so nice and crisp,” said J.
“Oh?” I said, nibbling away.
“So tell me, no vacation still?”
“I quit.”
“Quit?”
“It’s a long story.”
J finished peeling the potatoes, then dumped them into a large colander to rinse. “What will you do from here on?”
“Don’t know. I’ve got some severance money coming, plus my half of the sale of the business. Not much really. And then there’s this.”
I pulled the check out of my pocket and passed it over to J, amount unseen. J looked at it and shook his head.
“This is unbelievable money, unbelievable.”
“You said it.”
“But it’s a long story, right?”
I laughed. “Let me leave it with you. Put it in the shop safe.”
“Where would I have a safe here?”
“How about the cash register?”
“I’ll put it in my safe-deposit box at the bank,” said J worriedly. “But what do you plan to do with it?”
“Say, J, it took a lot of money to move to this new location, didn’t it?”
“That it did.”
“Loans?”
“Real big ones.”
“Will that check pay off those loans?”
“With change to spare. But …”
