A short silence followed. Malta Kano looked at me as if to say, Please think about what I have told you. And so I did. About Noboru Wataya's having raped Malta Kano's sister. About the relationship between that and the elements of the body. And about the relationship between those and the disappearance of our cat.
Do I understand you to be saying, I ventured, that neither you nor your sister intends to bring a formal complaint on this matter ... to go to the police ... ?
No, of course we will do no such thing, said Malta Kano, her face expressionless. Properly speaking, we do not hold anyone responsible. We would simply like to have a more precise idea of what caused such a thing to happen. Until we solve this question, there is a real possibility that something even worse could occur.
I felt a degree of relief on hearing this. Not that it would have bothered me in the least if Noboru Wataya had been convicted of rape and sent to prison. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy. But Kumiko's brother was a rather well-known figure. His arrest and trial would be certain to make the headlines, and that would be a terrible shock for Kumiko. If only for my own mental health, I preferred the whole thing to go away.
Rest assured, said Malta Kano, I asked to see you today purely about the missing cat. That was the matter about which Mr. Wataya sought my advice. Mrs. Okada had consulted him on the matter, and he in turn consulted me.
That explained a lot. Malta Kano was some kind of clairvoyant or channeler or something, and they had consulted her on the whereabouts of the cat. The Wataya family was into this kind of stuff-divination and house physiognomy and such. That was fine with me: people were free to believe anything they liked. But why did he have to go and rape the younger sister of his spiritual counselor? Why stir up a lot of pointless trouble?
Is that your area of expertise? I asked. Helping people find things?
She stared at me with those depthless eyes of hers, eyes that looked as if they were staring into the window of a vacant house. Judging from their expression, she had failed to grasp the meaning of my question.
Without answering the question, she said, You live in a very strange place, don't you, Mr. Okada?
I do? I said. Strange in what way?
Instead of replying, she pushed her nearly untouched glass of tonic water another six or eight inches away from herself. Cats are very sensitive creatures, you know.
Another silence descended on the two of us.
So our place is strange, and cats are sensitive animals, I said. OK. But we've lived there a long time-the two of us and the cat. Why now, all of a sudden, did it decide to leave us? Why didn't it leave before now?
That I cannot tell you. Perhaps the flow has changed. Perhaps something has obstructed the flow.
The flow.
I do not know yet whether your cat is still alive, but I can be certain of one thing: it is no longer in the vicinity of your house. You will never find the cat in that neighborhood.
I lifted my cup and took a sip of my now lukewarm coffee. Beyond the tearoom windows, a misty rain was falling. The sky was closed over with dark, low-hanging clouds. A sad procession of people and umbrellas climbed up and down the footbridge outside.
Give me your hand, she said.
I placed my right hand on the table, palm up, assuming she was planning to read my palm.
Instead, she stretched her hand out and put her palm against mine. Then she closed her eyes, remaining utterly still, as if silently rebuking a faithless lover. The waitress came and refilled my cup, pretending not to notice what Malta Kano and I were doing. People at nearby tables stole glances in our direction. I kept hoping all the while that there were no acquaintances of mine in the vicinity.
I want you to picture to yourself one thing you saw before you came here today, said Malta Kano.
One thing? I asked.
Just one thing.
I thought of the flowered minidress that I had seen in Kumiko's clothes storage box. Why that of all things happened to pop into my mind I have no idea. It just did.
We kept our hands together like that for another five minutes- five minutes that felt very long to me, not so much because I was being stared at by people as that the touch of Malta Kano's hand had something unsettling about it. It was a small hand, neither hot nor cold. It had neither the intimate touch of a lovers hand nor the functional touch of a doctors. It had the same effect on me as her eyes had, turning me into a vacant house. I felt empty: no furniture, no curtains, no rugs. Just an empty container. Eventually, Malta Kano withdrew her hand from mine and took several deep breaths. Then she nodded several times.
Mr. Okada, she said, I believe that you are entering a. phase of your life in which many different things will occur. The disappearance of your cat is only the beginning.
Different things, I said. Good things or bad things?
She tilted her head in thought. Good things and bad things. Bad things that seem good at first, and good things that seem bad at first.
To me, that sounds very general, I said. Don't you have any more concrete information?
Yes, I suppose what I am saying does sound very general, said Malta Kano. But after all, Mr. Okada, when one is speaking of the essence of things, it often happens that one can only speak in generalities. Concrete things certainly do command attention, but they are often little more than trivia. Side trips. The more one tries to see into the distance, the more generalized things become.
I nodded silently-without the slightest inkling of what she was talking about.
Do I have your permission to call you again? she asked.
Sure, I said, though in fact I had no wish to be called by anyone. Sure was about the only answer I could give.
She snatched her red vinyl hat from the table, took the handbag that had been hidden beneath it, and stood up. Uncertain as to how I should respond to this, I remained seated.
I do have one small bit of information that I can share with you Malta Kano said, looking down at me, after she had put on her red hat. You will find your polka-dot tie, but not in your house.
4 High Towers and Deep Wells (Or, Far from Nomonhan)
Back home, I found Kumiko in a good mood. A very good mood. It was almost six o'clock by the time I arrived home after seeing Malta Kano, which meant I had no time to fix a proper dinner. Instead, I prepared a simple meal from what I found in the freezer, and we each had a beer. She talked about work, as she always did when she was in a good mood: whom she had seen at the office, what she had done, which of her colleagues had talent and which did not. That kind of thing.
I listened, making suitable responses. I heard no more than half of what she was saying. Not that I disliked listening to her talk about these things. Contents of the conversation aside, I loved watching her at the dinner table as she talked with enthusiasm about her work. This, I told myself, was home. We were doing a proper job of carrying out the responsibilities that we had been assigned to perform at home. She was talking about her work, and I, after having prepared dinner, was listening to her talk. This was very different from the image of home that I had imagined vaguely for myself before marriage. But this was the home I had chosen. I had had a home, of course, when I was a child. But it was not one I had chosen for myself. I had been born into it, presented with it as an established fact. Now, however, I lived in a world that I had chosen through an act of will. It was my home. It might not be perfect, but the fundamental stance I adopted with regard to my home was to accept it, problems and all, because it was something I myself had chosen. If it had problems, these were almost certainly problems that had originated within me.