"You'd better believe that when Patron talks about this in his sermon at the summer conference, it is going to turn off those who followed him from before the Somersault. There'll be a lot of people coming from the outside, the media included, and I'll bet there'll be some reporters who'll mock him just as they did at the Somersault, calling it all antichrist syncretism or some- thing. Still, I find a reality in him as a religious figure, a reality that includes the feeling that-before much longer-he's going to find himself in a bind all over again. He's an extraordinary person. And basically I think that the Quiet Women and Technicians sense the same thing. At the summer confer- ence it'll be those people who really believe that the new church will produce New Men who will get the ball rolling. Isn't this exactly what Patron's hop- ing for?"
After Ikuo finished his deliberate explanation, Kizu felt a rush of pride.
Dr. Koga turned his deep set, darkly shaded eyes, with a glint of the impish in them, toward Kizu and said, "Your painting predicts this new relation- ship between Patron and Ikuo. I can't think of anything better to have hang- ing in our chapel!"
3
After the "miracle" of his cancer disappearing, and after having com- pleted the triptych, Kizu became aware of a harsh reality: He had a massive amount of time left to live. He still remembered how, after he was told his cancer was back, he had felt the richness of each and every moment. But what he felt now was something else again, a complete powerlessness in the face of all this newfound time. He'd felt the same thing on sleepless nights, but this was much more overwhelming. The sense of confusion hit him most in the early morning and late at night.
In the mornings, the sound of birds chirping from behind the house was enough to wake him. And at night he felt oppressed even more when he'd awake soon after going to bed. Though he knew it was a strange reaction, he found that at times like these the most appropriate attitude was to pretend he was already dead.
In the early morning all he had to do was stay in bed, half propped up, for two or three hours and wait for the first stirrings of activity in the monas- tery across the lake. The retired diplomat who'd designed his bed might have spent the early hours of each day in much the same way, he mused. When there were still four or five hours left till dawn, though, Kizu fell into a space where he couldn't just leave everything up to the passage of time.
He started going to bed early, as the church members in the Hollow were wont to do, except when he'd sat awake until late reading a critical work on Dante, donated to the junior high by the later Brother Gii, which he'd bor- rowed from Asa-san.
For times like these, when he went to bed late and woke up after sleep- ing only a short while, he kept the shutters open, of course, but also a space between the curtains so he might gaze out at the lake right after awakening.
When he woke up he'd take the conductor's baton the former diplomat had used to practice with, spread the curtains wider apart, and spend his time gazing at the chapel and monastery on the far shore.
Ever since the night when he and Ikuo had talked for hours, Kizu had a special affection for moonlit scenery, but even on moonless nights the chapel and monastery floated up faintly in the lamplight, and he found it enjoyable to drink in this scene with the eyes of an artist.
This particular evening, Kizu woke up in the middle of the night, check- ing the long, narrow fluorescent clock face sunken in the headboard of the bed, itself another leftover of the late owner. He propped himself on one elbow and pushed the curtains aside to get the widest possible view of the dark scene outside.
A light was on in the chapel across the lake, and something was moving inside. Kizu peered intently through the two oblong windows with their glass slightly out of alignment. He saw shadows of a person moving up and down.
Kizu remembered that stepladders had been placed there; the shadows seemed to climb up, then down, then move the ladder, then climb up again. The shad- ows were of two people merging together, only to break apart.
Kizu's heart beat violently. Was it two people about to hang themselves?
One of them helping the other get to the proper height to do the job, then once the first person was dangling from the rope the second person follows suit? Is that what was going on? The movements seemed furtive yet bold.
Kizu had been holding his breath; and now he let out a ragged stream and pondered the situation. If he got Ms. Asuka up, she could call the office on her cell phone. But the office beside the chapel was dark, the monastery a pitch-black mass rising up in the lamplight.
Kizu adjusted the shade on his lamp so the light would shine straight down and switched it on. He got up from bed, but in the small circle of light he couldn't locate his underwear. Flustered, he pulled on his trousers right over his pajamas. If he raced over to the chapel, yelled out to wake up some- body, they'd be able to get the person down from where he was hanging by the neck. If only he was in time to revive him!
Even if there wasn't any emergency, they couldn't blame him for hurry- ing over to the chapel simply out of fear that his newly displayed painting was about to be stolen.
Kizu shone his flashlight before him as he cautiously walked down the hard dirt and gravel path; then, as he came to the newly paved road from the dam to the north shore, he went faster in the lamplight. He was filled with a sense of gratification that he'd regained his strength so quickly.
He took the walkway behind to the back of the bleachers, ascended a short staircase, walked through the hushed monastery courtyard, and found the door of the chapel half open, light spilling out onto the base of the big cylindrical building. If there really were thieves inside about to make off with his painting, they'd make short work of an old man showing up out of the blue like this, but this didn't deter Kizu.
Still, he trembled as he leaned forward in the open space and peered inside. Two beings were there, like big and little stuffed bears, one crouched at the top of the stepladder, the other clinging to the ladder supporting it. A moment later, Patron, who was standing on the floor, turned to face Kizu, while Morio, on top of the ladder, very carefully turned to gaze down. The two of them were dressed in identical thick yellow and dark green striped pajamas.
"It's dangerous to turn around like that when you're on a ladder, so face the wall again and climb down," Patron said, his voice echoing in the cham- ber, and Morio, ever faithful to instructions, did exactly that. Then Patron spoke to Kizu for the first time.
"You're up very late, aren't you? Were you worried about your painting?"
Kizu waited until his heart stopped pounding before he replied. "From where I sleep I could see people moving around in here… So you were examining the painting up close, you and Morio?"
"Yes, both of us have bad eyesight, you see. We were discussing the painting as we were getting ready for bed and decided to take another look.
So, Morio, what do you think?"
"Ikuo in the painting looks just like the painting in the book."
Kizu couldn't understand what Morio's slow, confident words meant.
As Patron held on to the ladder and Morio climbed down, he thrust out his firm jaw and pointed to a faded old book on top of the piano. Kizu walked over and picked it up. It was Wolynski's Das Buch vom Grossen Zorn, trans- lated by Haniya Yutaka: an edition put out during the war, apparently, with a crudely done cover.