beach in their wet suits, smoking. The white smoke trail from burning trash rose nearly straight up into the blue, and off to the left drifted the island of Enoshima, faint and miragelike. A large black dog trotted across the breakers from right to left. In the distance fishing boats dotted the deeper waters, while noiseless white clouds of sea gulls swirled above them. Spring had come even to the sea.
Yuki and I strolled the path along the shore, passing joggers and high school girls on bicycles going the other way. We ambled in the direction of Fujisawa, then we sat down on the sand and looked out to sea.
«Do you often have experiences like that?» I asked.
«Sometimes,» said Yuki. «Rarely, actually. I get these feelings from very few people. And I try to avoid them if I can. If I get a feeling, I try not to think about it, I try to close it off. That way I don't have to feel it so deep. It's like if you close your eyes, you don't have to see what's in front of you. You know something's there, like with a scary part in the movies, but you don't have to see it if you shut your eyes and keep them shut until the scary part is over.»
«But why should you close yourself up?»
«Because it's horrible to see it,» she said. «When I was small, I didn't close up. At school, if I felt something, I just came right out and told everybody about it. But then, it made everyone sick. If someone was going to get hurt, I'd say, so-and-so is going to get hurt, and sure enough, she would. That happened over and over again, until everyone started treating me like a weird spook. That's what they called me. 'Spook.' That was the kind of reputation I had. It was terrible. So ever since then, I decided not to say anything. And now if I feel like I'm going to feel anything, I just close myself up.»
«But with me you didn't close up.»
She shrugged. «It was an accident. There wasn't any warning. Really, suddenly, the image just popped up. The very first time I saw you. I was listening to music . . . Duran Duran or David Bowie or somebody . . . and I wasn't on guard. I was relaxed. That's why I like music.»
«Then you're kind of clairvoyant?» I asked. «Like when, say, you knew beforehand that a classmate was going to get hurt.»
«Maybe. But kind of different. When something's going to happen, there's this atmosphere that gives me the feeling it's going to happen. I know it sounds funny, for instance, with someone who's going to get injured on the high bar, there's this carelessness or this overconfidence that's in the air, almost like waves. People who are sensitive can pick up these waves. They're like pockets in the air, maybe even solid pockets in the air. You can tell that there's danger. That's when those empty dreams pop up. And when they do ... Well, that's what they are. They aren't like premonitions. They're more unfocused. But they appear and I can see them but I'm not talking about them anymore. I don't want people calling me a spook. I just keep my mouth shut. I might see that that person over there is maybe going to get burned. And maybe he does get burned. But he can't blame me. Isn't that horrible? I hate myself for it. That's why I close up. If I close myself, I don't hate myself.»
She scooped up sand and sifted it through her fingers.
«Is there really a Sheep Man?» she asked.
«Yes, there really is,» I said. «There's a place in that hotel where he lives. A whole other hotel in that hotel. You can't see it most of the time. But it's there. That's where the Sheep Man lives, and all sorts of things connect to me through there. The Sheep Man is kind of like my caretaker, kind of like a switchboard operator. If he weren't around, I wouldn't be able to connect anymore.»
«Huh? Connect?»
«Yeah, when I'm in search of something, when I want to connect, he's the one who does it.»
«I don't get it.»
I scooped up some sand and let it run through my fingers too.
«I still don't really understand it myself. But that's how the Sheep Man explained it to me.»
«You mean, the Sheep Man's been there from way back?»
«Uh-huh, for ages. Since I was a kid. But I didn't realize he had the form of the Sheep Man until not so long ago.
Why is he around? I don't know. Maybe I needed him. Maybe because as you get older, things fall apart, so something needs to help hold things together. Put the brakes a little on entropy, you know. But how do I know? The more I think about it, the stranger it seems. Stupid even.»
«You ever tell anybody else about it?»
«No. If I did, who would believe me? Who would understand what the hell I was talking about? And anyway, I can't explain it very well. You're the first person I've told.»
«I've never talked to anybody about this thing I have either. Mama and Papa know about it a little, but we never discussed it or anything. After what happened in school, I just clamped up about it.»
«Well, I guess I'm glad we had this talk,» I said.
«Welcome to the Spook Club,» said Yuki.
«I haven't gone to school since last summer vacation,» Yuki told me as we strolled back to the car. «It's not because I don't like to study. I just hate the place. I can't stand it. It makes me sick, physically sick. I was puking every day and every time I puked, they'd gang up on me some more. Even the teachers were picking on me.»
«Why would anyone want to pick on someone as pretty as you?»
«Kids just like to pick on other kids. And if your parents are famous, it can be even worse. Sometimes they treat you special, but with me, they treat me like trash. Anyway, I have trouble getting along with people to begin with. I'm always tense because I might have to close myself up any moment, you know. So I developed this nervous twitch, which makes me look like a duck, and they tease me about that. Kids can be really mean. You wouldn't believe how mean ...»
«It's all right,» I said, grabbing for Yuki's hand and holding it. «Forget about them. If you don't feel like going to school, don't. Don't force yourself. School can be a real nightmare. I know. You have these brown-nosing idiots for classmates and these teachers who act like they own the world. Eighty percent of them are deadbeats or sadists, or both. Plus all those ridiculous rules. The whole system's designed to crush you, and so the goodie- goodies with no imagination get good grades. I bet that hasn't changed a bit.»
«Was it like that for you too?»
«Of course. I could talk a blue streak about how idiotic school is.»
«But junior high school is compulsory.»
«That's for other people to worry about, not you. It's not compulsory to go someplace where you're miserable. Not at all. You have rights too, you know.»
«And then what do I do after that? Is it always going to be like this?»
«Things sure seemed that way when I was thirteen,» I said. «But that's not how it happens. Things can work out. And if they don't, well, you can deal with that when the time comes. Get a little older, you'll fall in love. You'll buy brassieres. The whole way you look at the world will change.»
«Boy, are you a dolt!» she turned to me and shook her head in disbelief. «For your information, thirteen- year-old girls already wear bras. You're half a century behind, I swear!»
«I'm only thirty-four,» I reminded her.
«Fifty years,» said Yuki. «Time flies when you're a dolt.»
And at that, she walked to the car ahead of me.
24
By the time we reached Yuki's father's house near the beach, it was dusk. The house was big and old, the property thick with trees. The area exuded the old charm of a Shonan resort villa. In the grace of the spring evening all was still. Cherry trees were beginning to fill out with buds, a prelude to the magnolias. A masterful orches tration of colors and scents whose change day to day reflected the sweep of the seasons. To think there were still places like this.
The Makimura villa was circumscribed by a high wooden fence, the gate surmounted by a small, traditional gabled roof. Only the nameplate was new. We rang the doorbell and soon a tall youth in his mid-twenties came to let us in. With short-cropped hair and a pleasant smile, he was clean-cut and amiable—not unlike Gotanda but
