You were in another Room 208, thats for sure. There was a certain unsteadiness in her voice, which gave me a slightly unsettled feeling.
The alcohol might have been affecting her. I took my wool cap off and laid it on my knee. I said to her, The phone was dead, you know. Yes, I know, she said, with a hint of resignation. They cut it. They knew how I used to like to make calls.
Are they the ones who are keeping you here?
Hmm, I wonder. I don't really know, she said, with a little laugh. The disturbance in the air made her voice quaver slightly.
Facing in her direction, I said, I've been thinking about you for a very long time. Ever since I was last here. Thinking about who you are and what you're doing here.
Sounds like fun, she said.
I imagined all sorts of possibilities, but I cant be sure of anything yet. I'm still in the imagining stage.
Well, well, she said, as if impressed. So you cant be sure of anything yet, you're still in the imagining stage.
That's right, I said. And I might as well tell you this: I think you're Kumiko. I didn't realize it at first, but I'm becoming more and more convinced.
Oh, are you? she said, after a moments pause, sounding amused. So I'm Kumiko, am I?
For a moment, I lost all sense of direction, as if everything I was doing was off: I had come to the wrong place to say the wrong things to the wrong person. It was all a waste of time, a meaningless detour. But I managed to set myself straight in the dark. To perform a check on reality, I fastened my hands on the hat in my lap.
Yes, I think you are Kumiko. Because then all kinds of story lines work out. You kept calling me on the phone from here. You were trying to convey some kind of secret to me. A secret of Kumiko's. A secret that the real Kumiko in the real world couldn't bring herself to tell me. So you must have been doing it for her- in words like secret codes.
She said nothing for a while. She lifted her glass for another sip of whiskey, then said, I wonder. But if thats what you think, you may be right. Maybe I really am Kumiko. I'm still not sure, though. So, then, if its true ... if I really am Kumiko ... I should be able to talk with you here through her voice. Isn't that right? It makes things a little complicated, but do you mind?
No, I don't mind, I said. Once more my voice seemed to have lost a degree of calm and some sense of reality.
She cleared her throat in the darkness. Here goes, then. I wonder if it will work. Again she gave a little laugh. Its not easy, though. Are you in a hurry? Can you stay here awhile?
I don't really know, I said. Wait just a minute. Sorry. Ahem ... I'll be ready in a minute. I waited. So. You came here looking for me. You wanted to see me, is that it? Kumiko's earnest voice resounded in the darkness. I had not heard Kumiko's voice since that summer morning when I zipped her dress up.
She had been wearing new cologne behind the ears, cologne from someone else. She left the house that day and never came back. Whether the voice in the darkness was the real thing or a fake, it brought me back to that morning for a moment. I could smell the cologne and see the white skin of Kumiko's back. The memory was dense and heavy in the darkness-perhaps denser and heavier than in reality. I tightened my grip on my hat.
Strictly speaking, I didn't come here to see you. I came here to bring you back, I said. She released a little sigh in the darkness. Why do you want so badly to bring me back? Because I love you, I said. And I know that you love me and want me. You sound pretty sure of yourself, said Kumiko-or Kumiko's voice. There was nothing derisive about her tone of voice-but nothing warm about it, either. I heard the contents of the ice bucket in the next room shifting. I have to solve some riddles, though, if I'm going to get you back, I said. Isn't it a little late to be starting such things now? I thought you didn't have that much time. She was right. There was not much time left and too much to think about. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. This was probably my last chance, I told myself. I had to think.
I want you to help me, I said. I wonder, said Kumiko's voice. I may not be able to help you. But I'm willing to try. The first question is why you had to leave me. I want to know the real reason. I know what your letter said-that you had become involved with another man. I read it, of course. And read it and read it and reread it. And I suppose it does serve as some kind of explanation. But I cant believe its the real reason. It doesn't quite ring true. I'm not saying its a lie, but I cant help feeling its nothing but a kind of metaphor.
A metaphor?! She sounded truly shocked. Maybe I just don't get it, but if sleeping with other men is a metaphor for something, Id like to know what.
What I'm trying to say is that it seems to me to be nothing but an explanation for explanations sake. It doesn't lead anywhere. It just traces the surface. The more I read your letter, the more I felt that. There must be some other reason that is more basic-more real. And it almost certainly involves Noboru Wataya.
I could feel her eyes focused on me in the darkness and was struck by the thought that she might be able to see me.
Involves Noboru Wataya? How? asked Kumiko's voice.
Well, finally, the events I've been through have been tremendously complicated. All kinds of characters have come on the scene, and strange things have happened one after another, to the point where, if I try to think about them in order, I lose track. Viewed at more of a distance, though, the thread running through them is perfectly clear. What it all boils down to is that you have gone over from my world to the world of Noboru Wataya. That shift is the important thing. Even if you did, in fact, have sex with another man or other men, that is just a secondary matter. A front. That's what I'm trying to say.
She inclined her glass somewhat in the darkness. Staring hard toward the source of the sound, I felt as if I could catch a faint glimpse of her movements, but this was obviously an illusion.
People don't always send messages in order to communicate the truth, Mr. Okada, she said. The voice was no longer Kumiko's. Neither was it the original girlish voice. This was a new voice, which belonged to someone else. It had a poised, intelligent ring to it. ... just as people don't always meet others in order to reveal their true selves. Do you grasp my meaning, Mr. Okada?
But still, Kumiko was trying to communicate something to me. Whether or not it was the truth, she was looking to me for something, and that was the truth for me.
I sensed the darkness around me increasing in density, much as the evening tide comes to fullness without a sound. I had to hurry. I didn't . have much time left. They might come looking for me here once the lights came back on. I decided to risk putting into words the thoughts that had been slowly forming in my mind.
This is strictly a product of my own imagination, but I would guess that there was some kind of inherited tendency in the Wataya family bloodline. What kind of tendency I cant be sure, but it was some kind of tendency-something that you were afraid of. Which is why you were afraid of having children. When you got pregnant, you panicked because you were worried the tendency would show up in your own child. But you couldn't reveal the secret to me. The whole story started from there.
She said nothing but quietly placed her glass on the night table. I went on: And your sister, I'm sure, didn't die from food poisoning. No, it was more unusual than that. The one responsible for her death was Noboru Wataya, and you know that for a fact. Your sister probably said something to you about it before she died, gave you some kind of warning. Noboru Wataya probably had some special power, and he knew how to find people who were especially responsive to that power and to draw something out of them. He must have used that power in a particularly violent way on Creta Kano. She was able, one way or another, to recover, but your sister was not. She lived in the same house, after alclass="underline" she had nowhere to run to. She couldn't stand it anymore and chose to die. Your parents have always kept her suicide a secret. Isn't that true?