The Isle of South Kamui and Other Stories (8 page)

When I looked up, I noticed a single small spot vivid against her white bosom. It was my blood. When I touched my lips to her, blood had fallen from my wound onto her breast. A moment of panic strangely dissipated as I stared at the spot of red blood. It was stunningly red. It was beautiful. I remembered the dream I had the night before. In the dream, when I fired, her naked white body had been stained red. I was seized by the sweet illusion that the dream had come true. Furthermore, this was my blood. My blood was staining her breast red. A desire to color her breast bright red swept over me. I went to touch her lips again. But just then, with a jolt I felt someone's presence in the room.

I turned around to see him standing in the doorway watching me. I disliked him, but until that moment I had not thought of him as hateful.

I went over to him and fixed him with a glare, “Do you want something?” He smiled oddly, and said, “You shouldn't do that” in a warning tone. “You shouldn't do that sort of thing to her. You'll just get hurt. You're seventeen—it's normal to start liking women at that age, but not
her
.”

“Don't talk about her like that!” I yelled.

My heart felt heavy with anger and sadness at having been witnessed by such a man. The blend of anger and sadness was making me feel ferocious. She belonged to me! She was not his.

“But she's your mother. And what's more, she—”

He continued talking in a hoarse voice, still with that unpleasant smile.

“Shut up.
Shut up!
” I yelled, and hit his face as hard as I could. On the headland I had beaten up a man towards whom I felt absolutely no anger or hatred. But now I hit him with the full force of my loathing.

His skinny frame flew back against the window. The glass shattered with a tremendous crash. A shard pierced his arm, and I saw blood spurt out.

“Stop this idiocy now!” he screamed. I paid no attention, and grabbing his shirt I shoved him up against the wall, banging his head against it with dull thuds.

“Stop that!” I heard her voice behind me. As if repelled, I let go of him.

Glaring at me with fierce eyes, she went over to him and helped him up.

“What do you think you're doing?” she demanded accusingly.

Consumed with fierce jealousy, I stared at her as she gently stroked his forehead and cheeks.

“Shinichi and I were just play boxing,” he said, puckering his cheeks. So, did he mean to cover up for me? I felt so humiliated, I wanted to throw up.

“Well it's going too far.” She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at the stream of blood on his arm. The fulfilment of a moment ago, when I had touched her lips and felt she was at last mine, had been swept away without trace. So it had been nothing more than a momentary illusion after all.

Was that really all it was?

I looked for the spot of blood on her breast. That vivid red spot of blood was the proof that in that moment she and I had been one. It had been a reality, not a dream.

It was still there, but it had already dried up, and had lost the beauty of that moment. Instead, blood from his arm was staining her breast and dress.

“Get me a bandage, would you?” she said, as if she was ordering me. I bit my lip and ran out of the room. Get a bandage for him? You must be joking!

I fled to the twilight beach.

The sky was dark, and the sea surging. The breeze, too, was cold. The empty beach reflected in my eyes was as bleak as a desert.

Subconsciously I was searching for the little blonde girl, her hair glinting in the rays of the setting sun, her cute pouting mouth, and her small hands. I wanted to see her again. It would be enough just to see her. If I could just see her cute figure and serious eyes, perhaps I could get some respite from this crushing sense of despair.

I carried on walking along the beach.

The rain started with a thunderous roar, like a horse abruptly taking the bit and bolting.

Sheaves of raindrops beat against my face, my shoulders.

The surroundings grew darker and the headland and the villa were only dimly visible in the rain. The beach looked like an ink painting. I walked slowly along, still hoping for a glimpse of the little blonde girl. I knew she could not be out in this downpour. I knew that, but I still searched for her. What I wanted now was probably not the child herself, but rather the fantasy of seeing her. Of course, this was nonsense. I know that. But I believed then that I would not mind even just the fantasy.

The rain persisted. I carried on walking. I did not find the little blonde girl.

Little by little I grew tired, and the distinction between reality and illusion became hazy. I was losing my grip.

I was just seventeen, so why was reality so indistinct? Was it because I was still young? Or was it equally vague and unreliable for everybody? I would never find that little blonde girl I had seen yesterday playing with the crab, who had shouted fiercely, “
My
crab!” My blood had stained
her
breast a vivid red, but in the next moment it had become just one small dirty stain. Everything was hazy. Had I really beaten up a young man on the headland? I could no longer be confident of anything. The pain in my hand from having hit him had already gone. Plus I would never see those guys or their car on the headland again. There was no proof that the fight had ever happened, and I could no longer vouch that it had.

I was even beginning to think that dreams were more certain than reality. In my dream, I had shot her naked body. That dream would never change or fade. Every time I recalled it, her naked body would fall with bright red blood flowing from her white breast. That was certain.

It was still raining.

I was exhausted.

That night the wind raged. The TV and radio announced that the tropical storm off the coast of Kanto had strengthened and been upgraded to a typhoon.

Upstairs in my room, I pressed my face up to the window and stared out at the stormy night sea. Every now and then a heavy squall of rain spattered against the glass and passed by.

The sea was baring its white fangs. Its gentle face of indolence at the height of summer had gone. It had transformed. The sea tonight was violent and aggressive. This morning it betrayed me, defeated me. And now it was howling, as if challenging me.

Of a mind to accept the sea's challenge, I went out onto the balcony. I wanted to feel my body exposed to the wind and rain.

I was soon drenched to the skin. The rain was driving against me in large drops that hurt. The wind tried to sweep me off my feet. I braced myself, planting my feet firmly, and glared at the sea with my eyes wide open.

The wind and rain raged furiously, but then abruptly dropped. I continued to glare at the dark, boundlessly dark sea. In that blackness, I tried to recall everything that had happened to me since yesterday. I hoped that the roughness of the sea would expunge anything not worth remembering from my consciousness.

What on earth had I done these past two days? What had happened? I made an effort to remember. She was reading under the parasol. I swam. He arrived in his bright red sports car. I almost drowned. There was a young blonde girl. In my hands, a small crab was crushed to bits. I had fired the rifle at night on the headland, and I had touched her lips. And I had beaten up a young man. I could remember many things, but all the images were terribly vague. What had that little blonde girl's face looked like? I couldn't remember. Even the bright red drop of blood on
her
breast had dimmed. I was getting exasperated. Was reality as vague and nebulous for Yukibe as it was for me? No, it couldn't be. For her, there would surely always be a definite response to reality. That was probably why she had left school and home behind and taken to the streets. She had a clearly defined enemy to fight. But for me, it was as if there was a veil over my eyes and nothing at all was clear.

I wanted to shoot that veil away with the rifle. A momentary flash might make this vague, hazy reality into something unchanging and solid. It might clarify what I needed to do.

I went back into my room. I paid no attention to the water dripping from my drenched body as I took out my hunting rifle. Before loading it, I aimed it at the dark stormy sea. I would shoot at the sea, at the invisible veil. With my nerves on edge, my senses were keener than ever. That was probably why I noticed that something was not quite right. There was a slight difference in how it handled, and I noticed it right away. The gun was heavier than usual.

Did I leave it loaded?

No, that was not possible. I had no recollection of reloading it after firing it at the headland last night.

I checked the barrel. As I had thought, it wasn't loaded. But near the muzzle, I discovered something was blocking it; a ball of lead.

A chill ran down my spine. If, unawares, I had loaded the rifle and pulled the trigger, the weapon would have exploded and probably killed me.

Gradually the fear subsided. In its place, rage welled up. Who could have done such a thing?

It was him!

It must have been him. I could not think otherwise. It must have been him.

I had found a target for my bullet. The haze had not lifted from reality, but the enemy had become clear. This man was my enemy.

I took out my tools and removed the lump of lead; then I slowly loaded a bullet. My hands trembled slightly, not from fear but from the fury I felt towards him.

I took the gun and went downstairs.

The lights were off in the living room, but there was light coming from his room.

I threw open his door without knocking. He was sitting on the bed, and with a displeased expression looked at me and then at the gun.

“That's a dangerous thing you have there,” he said.

I planted myself in the doorway and glared at him. His right hand was swathed in a white bandage. That whiteness reminded me of the incident that afternoon. I had hit him, and he had crashed into the window. The shattered glass. Dripping blood. Her eyes reproaching me. And her breast sullied by his blood.

“I'm going to kill you.” I leveled the rifle at him. His face contorted in fear.

“Don't make dumb jokes,” he said, his voice trembling. “What if it's loaded?”

“It is loaded. I am going to kill you.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Surely you know.”

“No, I don't. I know you don't like me much, but is that enough for you to kill me?”

“You tried to kill me, so instead I'll kill you.”

“I tried to kill you? What nonsense is that? I was your father's friend, you know. Why on earth would I want to kill you?”

“You blocked my gun with a lead ball so that it would explode and kill me. Isn't that so?”

“I put a lead ball in your gun? I don't know what you're talking about. I've never even touched your gun.”

“You're lying.”

“I'm not lying. You are like my own child. Your father himself asked me to look after you. And you think I would try to kill you?”

“So who put it there?”

“I don't know, but it wasn't me.”

“You're the only one here. If it wasn't you—”

“What about her?” he said in a low voice.
Her?
I felt the blood drain from my face. A cold shiver ran through my body. It was not because I believed him. It was because she had suddenly come up in this dark talk about murder.

“It wasn't her,” I yelled. “How could it be?”

“But if it wasn't me, that only leaves her,” he said callously, his voice dry.

I shouted furiously, “No! It was you. You did it. And what about this morning? When you saw me drowning, you pretended you hadn't seen me and walked away. You intended to leave me for dead!”

“No. The fishing boat had seen you, so I knew you'd be alright. That's why I didn't do anything. Anyway, I can't swim.”

“But why did you turn your back?”

“Ah, yes.” His gaze went into space. “Yes, I did turn my back on you. That's because I noticed that she was on the upstairs balcony. I'm sure you won't believe me, but she was calmly watching you drown. Her face was so cold!”

“Liar!”

“It's true. At that moment, I again felt how you were a burden to her.”

“It's a lie!”

“Do you remember me saying I wanted to give you some advice? I wanted to tell you to stop falling in love with her. You might think she's an angel, but she is the type of woman who cannot live without a man. She's been making eyes at me, too. So for her, you falling in love with her, being obsessed with her, is a nuisance. You're in her way.”

“It's a lie! A lie!”

“It's cruel, but it's true. She was probably the one who fixed your gun.”

“Rubbish! You haven't any proof.”

“No, I don't have any proof. But there is a way of finding out if I am right or not. Go to her room and pretend that you are going to shoot her. If she is scared, then I am wrong. If she isn't scared, that's because she put the lead into the gun and knows that if you pull the trigger it'll be you who will die.”