Dance Dance Dance

whereas Yuki's beauty was without pur­pose, undirected, unsure. Appreciating an attractive middle-aged woman is one of the great luxuries in life.

«Why is it . . . ?» Ame wondered aloud, her words trail­ing off. I waited for her to continue.

«. . . why is it,» she picked up again, «I'm so depressed?»

«Someone close to you has died. It's only natural that you feel this way,» I said.

«I suppose,» she said weakly.

«Still—»

Ame looked me in the face, then shook her head. «You're not stupid. You know what I want to say.»

«That it shouldn't be such a shock to you? Is that it?»

«Yes, well, something like that.»

That even if he wasn't such a great man. Even if he wasn't so talented. Still he was true. He fulfilled his duties nobly, excellently. He forfeited what he treasured and

worked hard to attain, then he died. It was only after his death that his worth became apparent. I wanted to say that—but didn't. Some things I can't bring myself to utter.

«Why is it?» she addressed a point in space. «Why is it all my men end up like this? Why do they all go in strange ways? Why do they always leave me? Why can't I get things right?»

I stared at the lace collar of her blouse. It looked like pristinely scrubbed folds of tissue, the bleached entrails of a rare organism. A subtle shaft of smoke rose from her Salem in the ashtray, merging into a dust of silence.

Yuki reappeared, her clothes changed, and indicated that she wanted to leave. I got up and told Ame we were going out for a bit.

Ame wasn't listening. Yuki shouted, «Mother, we're going out now,» but Ame scarcely nodded as she lit another cigarette.

We left Ame sitting on the sofa motionless. The house was still haunted by Dick North's presence. Dick North was still inside me as well. I remembered his smile, his surprised look when I asked if he used his feet to slice bread.

Interesting man. He'd come more alive since his death.

37

I went up to see Yuki a few more times. Three times, to be exact. Staying in the mountains of Hakone with her mother didn't seem to hold any particular attraction for her. She wasn't happy there, but she didn't hate it either. Nor did she feel compelled to look after her mother. Yuki let herself be blown along by the prevailing winds. She simply existed, without enthusiasm for all aspects of living.

Taking her out seemed to bring back her spirits. My bad jokes slowly began to elicit responses, her voice regained its cool edge. Yet, no sooner would she return to the house than she became a wooden figure again. Her voice went slack, the light left her eyes. To conserve energy, her little planet stopped spinning.

«Wouldn't it be better for you to be back on your own in Tokyo for a while?» I asked her as we sat on the beach. «Just for a change of pace. Three or four days. A different environment can do wonders. Staying here in Hakone's only going to bring you down. You're not the same person you were in Hawaii.»

«No way around it,» said Yuki. «But it's like a phase I have to go through. Wouldn't matter where I was, I'd still be like this.»

«Because Dick North died and your mother's like that?»

«Maybe. But it's not the whole thing. Just getting away from Mama isn't going to solve everything. I can't do any­thing on my own. I don't know, it's just the way I feel. Like my head and body aren't really together. My signs aren't so good right now.»

I turned and looked out to sea. The sky was overcast. A warm breeze rustled through the clumps of grasses on the

sand.

«Your signs?» I asked.

«My star signs,» Yuki smiled. «It's true, you know. The signs are getting worse. Both for Mama and me. We're on the same wavelength. We're connected that way, even if I'm away from her.»

«Connected?»

«Yeah, mentally connected,» Yuki said. «Sometimes I can't stand it and I try to fight it. Sometimes I'm just too tired and I give in, and I don't care. It's like I'm not really in control of myself. Like I'm being moved around by some force. I can't stand it. I want to throw everything out the window. I want to scream 'I'm only a kid!' and go hide in a corner.»

Before it got too late I drove Yuki home and headed back to Tokyo. Ame asked me to stay for dinner, as she invariably did, but I always declined. A very unappetizing prospect, the idea of sitting down to a meal with mother dreary and her disinterested daughter, both on the same wavelength, there in the lingering presence of the deceased. The dead-weighted air. The silence. The night so quiet you could hear any sound. The thought of it sank a stone in my stomach. The Mad Hatter's tea party might have been just as absurd, but at least it was more animated.

I played loud rock 'n' roll on the car stereo all the way home, had a beer while cooking supper, and ate alone in peace.

Yuki and I never did much. We listened to music as we drove, lolled around gazing at clouds, ate ice cream at the Fujiya Hotel, rented a boat on Lake Ashinoko. Mostly we just talked and spent the whole afternoon watching the day pass. The pensioners' life.

Once, upon Yuki's suggestion that we see a movie, we drove all the way down to Odawara. We checked the listings and found nothing of interest. Gotanda's Unrequited Love was playing at a second-run theater, and when I mentioned that Gotanda was a classmate from junior high school, whom I got together with occasionally, Yuki got curious.

«Did you see it?»

«Yeah,» I admitted, «I saw it.» I didn't say how many times.

«Was it good?» asked Yuki.

«No, it was dumb. A waste of film, to put it mildly.»

«What does your friend say about the movie?»

«He said it was a dumb movie and a waste of film,» I laughed. «And if the performer himself says so, you can be sure it's bad.»

«But I want to see it anyway.»

«As you wish.»

«You don't mind?»

«It's okay. One more time's not going to hurt me,» I said.

On a weekday afternoon, the theater was practically empty. The seats were hard and the place smelled like a closet. I bought Yuki a chocolate bar from the snack bar as we waited for the movie to start. She broke off a piece for me. When I told her it'd been a year since I'd last eaten chocolate, she couldn't believe it.

«Don't you like chocolate?»

«It's not a matter of like or dislike,» I said. «I guess I'm just not interested in it.»

«Interested? You are weird. Whoever heard of not liking chocolate? That's abnormal.»

«No, it's not. Some things are like that. Do you like the Dalai Lama?»

«What's that?»

«It's not a 'what,' it's a 'who.' He's the top priest of Tibet.»

«How would I know?»

«Well, then, do you like the Panama Canal?»

«Yes, no, I don't care.»