>What you say is somewhat vague and difficult for me to grasp. You say you've gone bad, but what does that mean in concrete terms? I just don't understand. Tomatoes go bad. Umbrellas go bad. That I can understand. Tomatoes rot and umbrellas get bent out of shape. But what does it mean to say that you have gone bad? It doesn't give me any concrete image. You said in your letter that you had sex with somebody other than me, but could that make you go bad? Yes, of course it was a shock to me. But that is a little different from making a human being go bad, I would think.< A long pause follows. I begin to worry that Kumiko has disappeared somewhere. But then her letters begin to line up on the screen.
>You may be right, but there is more to it than that.
Another deep silence follows. She is choosing her words carefully, pulling them out of a drawer.
That is just one manifestation. Going bad is something that happens over a longer period of time. It was something decided in advance, without me, in a pitch-dark room somewhere, by someone else's hand. When I met and married you, it seemed to me that I had a whole new set of possibilities. I hoped that I might be able to escape through an opening somewhere. But I guess that was just an illusion. There are signs for everything, which is why I tried so hard to find our cat when he disappeared that time.
I keep staring at the message on the screen, but still no Send mark appears. My own machineisstillsettoReceive.Kumikoisthinkingaboutwhattowritenext.Going bad is something that happens over a longer period of time. Whatisshe trying to tell me? I concentrate my attention on the screen, but all I find there is a kind of invisible wall. Once more the letters begin to line up on the screen.
I want you to think about me this way if you can: that I am slowly dying of an incurable disease-one that causes my face and body gradually to disintegrate. This is just a metaphor, of course. My face and body are not actually disintegrating. But this is something very close to the truth. And that is why I don't want to show myself to you. I know that a vague metaphor like this is not going to help you understand everything about the situation in which I find myself. I don't expect it to convince you of the truth of what I am saying. I feel terrible about this, but there is simply nothing more I can say. All you can do is accept it.< An incurable disease. I check to be sure that I am in the Send mode and start typing. >If you say you want me to accept your metaphor, I don't mind accepting it. But there is one thing that I simply cannot understand. Even supposing that you have, as you say, gone bad and that you have an incurable disease, why of all people did you have to go to Noboru Wataya with it? Why didn't you stay here with me? Why aren't we together? Isn't that what we got married for?< Silence. I can almost feel its weight and hardness in my hands. I fold my hands on the desk and take several deep breaths. Then the answer comes.
>The reason I am here, like it or not, is because this is the proper place for me. This is where I have to be. I have no right to choose otherwise. Even if I wanted to see you, I couldn't do it. Do you think I DON'T want to see you?
There is a blank moment in which she seems to be holding her breath. Then her fingers start to move again.
So please, don't torture me about this any longer. If there is any one thing that you can do for me, it would be to forget about my existence as quickly as possible. Take those years that we Lived together and push them outside your memory as if they never existed. That, finally, is the best thing you can do for both of us. This is what I truly believe.< To this I reply: >You say you want me to forget everything. You say you want me to leave you alone. But still, at the same time, from somewhere in this world, you are begging for my help. That voice is faint and distant, but I can hear it distinctly on quiet nights. It IS your voice: I'm sure of that. I can accept the fact that one Kumiko is trying hard to get away from me, and she probably has her reasons for doing so. But there is another Kumiko, who is trying just as hard to get close to me. That is what I truly believe. No matter what you may say to me here, I have to believe in the Kumiko who wants my help and is trying to get close to me. No matter what you tell me, no matter how legitimate your reasons, I can never just forget about you, I can never push the years we spent together out of my mind. I cant do it because they really happened, they are part of my life, and there is no way I can just erase them. That would be the same as erasing my own self. I have to know what legitimate reason there could be for doing such a thing.< Another blank period goes by. I can feel her silence through the monitor. Like heavy smoke, it creeps in through a corner of the screen and drifts across the floor. I know about these silences of Kumiko's. I've seen them, experienced them any number of times in our life together. Shes holding her breath now, sitting in front of the computer screen with brows knit in total concentration. I reach out for my cup and take a sip of cold coffee. Then, with the empty cup between my hands, I hold my breath and stare at the screen the way Kumiko is doing. The two of us are linked together by the heavy bonds of silence that pass through the wall separating our two worlds. We need each other more than anything, I feel without a doubt.
>I don't know .< >Well, I DO know. I set my coffee cup down and type as quickly as I can, as if to catch the fleeting tail of time.
I know this. I know that I want to find my way to where you are - you, the Kumiko who wants me to rescue her. What I do not know yet, unfortunately, is how to get there and what it is thats waiting for me there. In this whole long time since you left, I've lived with a feeling as if I had been thrown into absolute darkness. Slowly but surely, though, I am get- ting closer to the core, to that place where the core of things is located. I wanted to let you know that. I'm getting closer to where you are, and I intend to get closer still.< I rest my hands on the keyboard and wait for her answer.
>I don't understand any of this.
Kumiko types this and ends our conversation: Goodbye.<<< The screen informs me that the other party has left the circuit. Our conversation is finished. Still, I go on staring at the screen, waiting for something to happen. Maybe Kumiko will change her mind and come back on-line. Maybe shell think of something she forgot to say. But she does not come back. I give up after twenty minutes. I save the file, then go to the kitchen for a drink of cold water. I empty my mind out for a while, breathing steadily by the refrigerator. A terrible quiet seems to have descended on everything. I feel as if the world is listening for my next thought. But I cant think of anything. Sorry, but I just cant think of anything.
I go back to the computer and sit there, carefully rereading our entire exchange on the glowing tube from beginning to end: what I said, what she said, what I said to that, what she said to that. The whole thing is still there on the screen, with a certain graphic intensity. As my eyes follow the rows of characters she has made, I can hear her voice. I can recognize the rise and fall of her voice, the subtle tones and pauses. The cursor on the last line keeps up its blinking with all the regularity of a heartbeat, waiting with bated breath for the next word to be sent. But there is no next word.
After engraving the entire conversation in my mind (having decided I had better not print it out), I click on the box to exit communications mode. I direct the program to leave no record in the operations file, and after checking to be sure that this has been done, I cut the switch. The computer beeps, and the monitor screen goes dead white. The monotonous mechanical drone is swallowed up in the silence of the room, like a vivid dream ripped out by the hand of nothingness.