1Q84. Òûñÿ÷à Íåâåñòüñîò Âîñåìüäåñÿò ×åòûðå. Êíèãà 1. Àïðåëü–èþíü Ìóðàêàìè Õàðóêè
She passed by the park, and when she got to the next corner, she turned and retraced her steps. She hid in the shadows and watched the man on the slide. The pistol against her back was as hard and cold as death, and the feeling soothed her.
She waited five minutes. Bobblehead slowly got to his feet, brushed off his coat, and gazed up one more time at the sky. Then, as if he had made up his mind, he clambered down the steps of the slide. He left the park and walked off in the direction of the station. Shadowing him wasn’t particularly hard. There were few people on a residential street on a Sunday night, and even keeping her distance, she wouldn’t lose him. He also had not the slightest suspicion that someone was observing him. He never looked back, kept walking at a set pace, the pace people keep when they’re preoccupied. How ironic, Aomame thought. The pursuer’s blind spot is that he never thinks he’s being pursued.
After a while it dawned on her that Bobblehead wasn’t heading toward Koenji Station. Back in the apartment, using a Tokyo map of all twenty-three wards, she had gone over the district again and again until she had memorized the local geography so she would know what direction to take in an emergency. So though he was initially headed toward the station, she knew that when he turned at one corner he was going in a different direction. Bobblehead didn’t know the neighborhood, she noticed. Twice he stopped at a corner, looked around as if unsure where to go, and checked the address plaques on telephone poles. He was definitely not from around here.
Finally Bobblehead picked up the pace. Aomame surmised that he was back on familiar territory. He walked past a municipal elementary school, down a narrow street, and went inside an old three-story apartment building.
Aomame waited for five minutes after the man had disappeared inside. Bumping into him at the entrance was the last thing she wanted. There were concrete eaves at the entrance, a round light bathing the front door in a yellowish glow. She looked everywhere but couldn’t find a sign for the name of the building. Maybe the apartment building didn’t have a name. Either way, it had been built quite a few years ago. She memorized the address indicated on the nearby telephone pole.
After five minutes she headed toward the entrance. She passed quickly under the yellowish light and hurriedly opened the door. There was no one in the tiny entrance hall. It was an empty space, devoid of warmth. A fluorescent light on its last legs buzzed above her. The sound of a TV filtered in from somewhere, as did the shrill voice of a child pestering his mother.
Aomame took her apartment key out of the pocket of her down jacket and lightly jiggled it in her hands so if anyone saw her it would look like she lived in the building. She scanned the names on the mailboxes. One of them might be Bobblehead’s. She wasn’t hopeful but thought it worth trying. It was a small building, with not that many residents. When she ran across the name Kawana on one of the boxes, all sound faded away.
She stood frozen in front of that mailbox. The air felt terribly thin, and she found it hard to breathe. Her lips, slightly parted, were trembling. Time passed. She knew how stupid and dangerous this was. Bobblehead could show up any minute. Still, she couldn’t tear herself away from the mailbox. One little card with the name Kawana had paralyzed her brain, frozen her body in place.
She had no positive proof that this resident named Kawana was Tengo Kawana. Kawana wasn’t that common a name, but certainly not as unusual as Aomame. But if, as she surmised, Bobblehead had some connection with Tengo, then there was a strong possibility that this Kawana was none other than Tengo Kawana. The room number was 303, coincidentally the same number as the apartment where she was currently staying.
What should I do? Aomame bit down hard on her lip. Her mind kept going in circles and couldn’t find an exit. What should I do? Well, she couldn’t stay planted in front of the mailbox forever. She made up her mind and walked up the uninviting concrete stairs to the third floor. Here and there on the gloomy floor were thin cracks from years of wear and tear. Her sneakers made a grating noise as she walked.
Aomame now stood outside apartment 303. An ordinary steel door with a printed card saying Kawana in the name slot. Just the last name. Those two characters looked brusque, inorganic. At the same time, a deep riddle lay within them. Aomame stood there, listening carefully, her senses razor sharp. But she couldn’t hear any sound at all from behind the door, or even tell if there was a light on inside. There was a doorbell next to the door.
Aomame was confused. She bit her lip and contemplated her next step. Am I supposed to ring the bell? she asked herself.
Or was this some clever trap? Maybe Bobblehead was hiding behind the door, like an evil dwarf in a dark forest, an ominous smile on his face as he waited. He deliberately revealed himself on top of that slide to lure me over here and take me captive. Fully aware that I’m searching for Tengo, he’s using that as bait. A low-down, cunning man who knows exactly what my weak point is. That’s the only way he could ever get me to open my door from the inside.
She checked that no one else was around and pulled the pistol out of her jeans. She flicked off the safety and stuffed the pistol into the pocket of her down jacket so she could get to it easily. She gripped the pistol in her right hand, finger on the trigger, and with her left hand pressed the doorbell.
The doorbell rang inside the apartment. A leisurely chime, out of step with her racing heart. She gripped the pistol tight, waiting for the door to open. But it didn’t. And there didn’t seem to be anyone peering out at her through the peephole. She waited a moment, then rang the bell again. The bell was loud enough to get all the people in Suginami Ward to raise their heads and prick up their ears. Aomame’s right hand on the pistol grip started to sweat a little. But there was no response.
Better leave, she decided. The Kawana who lives in 303, whoever he is, isn’t at home. And that ominous Bobblehead is still lurking somewhere in this building. Too dangerous to stay any longer. She rushed down the stairs, shooting a glance at the mailbox as she passed, and left the building. Head down, she hurried under the yellow light and headed toward the street. She glanced back to make sure no one was following her.
There were lots of things she needed to think about, and an equal number of decisions she had to make. She felt in her pocket and reset the safety on the pistol. Then, away from any possible prying eyes, she shoved the pistol in the back of her jeans. I can’t get my expectations or hopes up too high, she told herself. The Kawana who lived there might be Tengo. And then again he might not. Once you get your hopes up, your mind starts acting on its own. And when your hopes are dashed you get disappointed, and disappointment leads to a feeling of helplessness. You get careless and let your guard down. And right now, she thought, that’s the last thing I can afford.
I have no idea how much Bobblehead knows. But the reality is that he’s getting close to me. Almost close enough to reach out and touch. I need to pull myself together and stay alert. I’m dealing with someone who is totally dangerous. The tiniest mistake could be fatal. First of all, I have to stay away from that old apartment building. He’s hiding in there, scheming how to capture me-like a poisonous, blood-sucking spider who has spun a web in the darkness.
By the time she got back to her apartment Aomame’s mind was made up. There was but one path she could follow.
This time she dialed Tamaru’s entire number. She let it ring twelve times, then hung up. She took off her cap and coat, returned the pistol to the drawer, then gulped down two glasses of water. She filled the kettle and boiled water for tea. She peeked through a gap in the curtain at the park across the street, to make sure no one was there. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed her hair. Even after that her fingers didn’t work right. The tension remained. She was pouring hot water in the teapot when the phone rang. It was Tamaru, of course.
“I just saw Bobblehead,” she told him.
Silence. “By just saw him you mean he’s not there anymore?”
“That’s right,” Aomame said. “A little while ago he was in the park across from my building. But he’s not there anymore.”
“How long ago do you mean by a little while ago?”
“About forty minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you call me forty minutes ago?”
“I had to follow him right away and didn’t have the time.”
Tamaru exhaled ever so slowly, as if squeezing out the breath. “Follow him?”
“I didn’t want to lose him.”
“I thought I told you never to go outside.”
Aomame chose her words carefully. “But I can’t just sit by when danger’s approaching me. Even if I had called you, you wouldn’t have been able to get here right away. Right?”
Tamaru made a small sound in the back of his throat. “So you followed Bobblehead.”
“It looks like he had no idea at all he was being followed.”
“A pro can act like that,” Tamaru cautioned.
Tamaru was right. It all might have been an elaborate ruse. Not that she would admit that. “I’m sure you would be able to do that, but as far as I could tell, Bobblehead isn’t on the same level. He may be skilled, but he’s different from you.”
“He might have had backup.”
“No. He was definitely on his own.”
Tamaru paused for a moment. “All right. So did you find out where he was heading?”
Aomame told him the address of the building and described its exterior. She didn’t know which apartment he was in. Tamaru took notes. He asked a few questions, and Aomame answered as accurately as she could.
“You said that when you first saw him he was in the park across the street from you,” Tamaru said.
“Correct.”
“What was he doing there?”
Aomame told him-how the man was sitting on top of the slide and staring at the night sky. She didn’t mention the two moons. That was only to be expected.
“Looking at the sky?” Tamaru asked. Aomame could hear the gears shift in his mind.
“The sky, or the moon, or the stars. One of those.”
“And he let himself be exposed like that, defenseless, on the slide.”
“That’s right.”
“Don’t you find that odd?” Tamaru asked. His voice was hard and dry, reminding her of a desert plant that could survive a whole year on one day’s worth of rain. “That man had run you down. He was one step away from you. Pretty impressive. Yet there he was, on top of a slide, leisurely gazing up at the night sky, not paying any attention to the apartment where you live. It doesn’t add up.”
“I agree-it doesn’t make much sense. Be that as it may, I couldn’t very well let him go.”
Tamaru sighed. “But I still think it was dangerous.”
Aomame didn’t say anything.
“Did following him help you get any closer to solving the riddle?” Tamaru asked.
“No,” Aomame said. “But there was one thing that caught my attention.”
“Which was?”
“When I looked at the mailboxes I saw that a person named Kawana lives on the third floor.”
“So?”
“Have you heard of Air Chrysalis? The bestselling novel this past summer?”
“Even I read newspapers, you know. The author, Eriko Fukada, was the daughter of a follower of Sakigake. She disappeared and they suspected she was abducted by the cult. The police investigated it. I haven’t read the novel yet.”
“Eriko Fukada isn’t just the daughter of a follower. Her father was Leader, the head of Sakigake. She’s the daughter of the man I sent on to the other side. Tengo Kawana was hired by the editor as a ghostwriter, and rewrote Air Chrysalis. In reality the novel is a joint work between the two of them.”
A long silence descended. Long enough to walk to the end of a long, narrow room, look up something in a dictionary, and walk back. Finally Tamaru broke the silence.
“You have no proof that the Kawana who lives in that building is Tengo Kawana.”
“Not yet, no,” Aomame admitted. “But if he is the same person, then this all makes sense.”
“Certain parts do mesh together,” Tamaru said. “But how do you know that this Tengo Kawana ghostwrote Air Chrysalis? That can’t have been made public. It would have caused a major scandal.”
“I heard it from Leader himself. Right before he died, he told me.”
Tamaru’s voice turned a little cold. “Don’t you think you should have told me this before?”
“At the time I didn’t think it was so important.”
There was silence again for a time. Aomame couldn’t tell what Tamaru was thinking, but she knew he didn’t like excuses.
“Okay,” he finally said. “We’ll put that on hold. Let’s cut to the chase. What you’re trying to say is that Bobblehead marked this Tengo Kawana. And using that as a lead, he was tracking down your whereabouts.”
“That’s what I think.”
“I don’t get it,” Tamaru said. “Why would Tengo Kawana be a lead to find you? There isn’t any connection between you and Kawana, is there? Other than that you dealt with Eriko Fukada’s father, and Tengo was the ghostwriter for her novel.”
“There is a connection,” Aomame said, her voice flat.
“There’s a direct relationship between you and Tengo Kawana. Is that what you’re saying?”
“He and I were in the same class in elementary school. And I believe he’s the father of my baby. But I can’t explain any more beyond that. It’s very-how should I put it?-personal.”
On the other end of the phone she heard a ballpoint pen tapping on a desk. That was the only sound she could hear.
“Personal,” Tamaru repeated, in a voice that sounded like he had spied some weird creature on top of a rock in a garden.
“I’m sorry,” Aomame said.
“I understand. It’s a very personal thing. I won’t ask anymore,” Tamaru said. “So, specifically, what do you want from me?”
“Well, the first thing I would like to know is if the Kawana who lives in that building is actually Tengo Kawana. If it were possible, I would like to make sure of that myself, but it’s too risky to go there again.”
“Agreed.”
“And Bobblehead is probably holed up somewhere in that building, planning something. If he’s getting close to locating me, we have to do something about it.”
“He already knows a certain amount about the connection between you and the dowager. He has painstakingly hauled in these various leads and is trying to tie them all together. We can’t ignore him.”
“I have one other request of you,” Aomame said.
“Go ahead.”
“If it is really Tengo Kawana living there, I don’t want any harm to come to him. If it’s unavoidable that he is going to get hurt, then I want to take his place.”
Tamaru was silent again for a time. No more ballpoint pen tapping this time. There were no sounds at all, in fact. He was considering things in a world devoid of sound.
“I think I can take care of the first two requests,” Tamaru said. “That’s part of my job. But I can’t say anything about the third. It involves very personal things, and there’s too much about it I don’t understand. Speaking from experience, taking care of three items at once isn’t easy. Like it or not, you end up prioritizing.”
“I don’t mind. You can prioritize them however you like. I just want you to keep this in mind: while I’m still alive, I have to meet Tengo. There’s something I have to tell him.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Tamaru said. “While there’s still spare room in my mind, that is.”
“Thank you.”
“I have to report what you have told me to the dowager. This is a rather delicate issue, and I can’t decide things on my own. So I’ll hang up for now. Listen-do not go outside anymore. Lock the door and stay put. If you go outside, it could cause problems. Maybe it already has.”
“But it helped me find out a few things about him.”
“All right,” Tamaru said, sounding resigned. “From what you have told me, it sounds like you did an excellent job. I’ll admit that. But don’t let your guard down. We don’t know yet what he’s got up his sleeve. And considering the situation, most likely he has an organization behind him. Do you still have the thing I gave you?”
“Of course.”
“Best to keep it nearby.”
“Will do.”
A short pause, then the phone connection went dead.
Aomame sank back into the bathtub, which she had filled to the brim, and while she warmed up, she thought about Tengo-the Tengo who might or might not be living in an apartment in that old building. She pictured the uninviting steel door, the slot for the name card, the name Kawana printed on the card. What kind of place was beyond that door? And what kind of life was he living?
In the hot water she touched her breasts, rubbing them. Her nipples had grown larger and harder than before, and more sensitive. I wish these were Tengo’s hands instead of mine, she thought. She imagined his hands, large and warm. Strong, but surely gentle. If her breasts were enveloped in his hands-how much joy, and peace, she would feel. Aomame also noticed that her breasts were now slightly larger. It was no illusion. They definitely were swollen, the curves softer. It’s probably due to my pregnancy. Or maybe they just got bigger, unrelated to being pregnant. One aspect of my transformation.
She put her hands on her abdomen. It was still barely swollen, and she didn’t have any morning sickness, for some reason. But there was a little one hidden within. She knew it. Wait a moment, she thought. Maybe they’re not after my life, but after this little one? As revenge for me killing Leader, are they trying to get to it, along with me? The thought made her shudder. Aomame was doubly determined now to see Tengo. Together, the two of them had to protect the little one. I have had so many precious things stolen from me in my life. But this is one I am going to hold on to.
She went to bed and read for a while, but sleep didn’t come. She shut her book, and gently rolled into a ball to protect her abdomen. With her cheek against the pillow, she thought of the winter moon in the sky above the park, and the little green moon beside it. Maza and dohta. The mixed light of the two moons bathing the bare branches of the zelkova tree. At this very moment Tamaru must be figuring out a plan, his mind racing at top speed. She could see him, brows knit, tip of his ballpoint pen tapping furiously on the desktop. Eventually, as if led by that monotonous, ceaseless rhythm, the soft blanket of sleep wrapped itself around her.
CHAPTER 21
The phone was ringing. The hands on his alarm clock showed 2:04. Monday, 2:04 a.m. It was still dark out and Tengo had been sound asleep. A peaceful, dreamless sleep.
First he thought it was Fuka-Eri. She would be the only person who would possibly call at this ungodly hour. Or it could be Komatsu. Komatsu didn’t have much common sense when it came to time. But somehow the ring didn’t sound like Komatsu. It was more insistent, and businesslike. And besides, he had just seen Komatsu a few hours earlier.
One option was to ignore the call and go back to sleep-Tengo’s first choice. But the phone kept on ringing. It might go on ringing all night, for that matter. He got out of bed, bumping his shin as he did, and picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” Tengo said, his voice still slurry from sleep. It was like his head was filled with frozen lettuce. There must be some people who don’t know you’re not supposed to freeze lettuce. Once lettuce has been frozen, it loses all its crispness-which for lettuce is surely its best characteristic.
When he held the receiver to his ear, he heard the sound of wind blowing. A capricious wind rushing through a narrow valley, ruffling the fur of beautiful deer bent over to drink from a clear stream. But it wasn’t the sound of wind. It was someone’s breathing, amplified by the phone.
“Hello,” Tengo repeated. Was it a prank call? Or perhaps the connection was bad.
“Hello,” the person on the other end said. A woman’s voice he had heard before. It wasn’t Fuka-Eri. Nor was it his older girlfriend.
“Hello,” Tengo said. “Kawana here.”
“Tengo,” the person said. They were finally on the same page, though he still didn’t know who it was.
“Who’s calling?”
“Kumi Adachi,” the woman said.
“Oh, hi,” Tengo said. Kumi Adachi, the young nurse who lived in the apartment with the hooting owl. “What’s going on?”
“Were you asleep?”
“Yes,” Tengo said. “How about you?”
This was a pointless question. People who are sleeping can’t make phone calls. Why did I say such a stupid thing? he wondered. It must be the frozen lettuce in my head.
“I’m on duty now,” she said. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Kawana just passed away.”
“Mr. Kawana just passed away,” Tengo repeated, not comprehending. Was someone telling him he himself had just died?
“Your father just breathed his last breath,” Kumi said, rephrasing.
Tengo pointlessly switched the receiver from his right hand to his left. “Breathed his last breath,” he repeated.
“I was dozing in the nurses’ lounge when the bell rang, just after one. It was the bell for your father’s room. He has been in a coma for so long, and he couldn’t ring the bell by himself, so I thought it was odd, and went to check it out. When I got there his breathing had stopped, as had his heart. I woke up the on-call doctor and we tried to revive him, but couldn’t.”
“Are you saying my father pressed the call button?”
“Probably. There was no one else who could have.”
“What was the cause of death?” Tengo asked.
“I really can’t say, though he didn’t seem to have suffered. His face looked very peaceful. It was like-a windless day at the end of autumn, when a single leaf falls from a tree. But maybe that’s not a good way to put it.”
“No, that’s okay,” Tengo said. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“Tengo, can you get here today?”
“I think so.” His classes at the cram school began again today, Monday, but for something like this, he would be able to get out of them.
“I’ll take the first express train. I should be there before ten.”
“I would appreciate it if you would. There are all sorts of formalities that have to be taken care of.”
“Formalities,” Tengo said. “Is there anything in particular I should bring with me?”
“Are you Mr. Kawana’s only relative?”
“I’m pretty sure I am.”
“Then bring your registered seal. You might need it. And do you have a certificate of registration for the seal?”
“I think I have a spare copy.”
“Bring that, too, just in case. I don’t think there’s anything else you especially need. Your father arranged everything beforehand.”
“Arranged everything?”
“Um, while he was still conscious, he gave detailed instructions for everything-the money for his funeral, the clothes he would wear in the coffin, where his ashes would be interred. He was very thorough when it came to preparations. Very practical, I guess you could say.”
“That’s the kind of person he was,” Tengo said, rubbing his temple.
“I finish my rotation at seven a.m. and then am going home to sleep. But Nurse Tamura and Nurse Omura will be on duty in the morning and they can explain the details to you.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done,” Tengo said.
“You’re quite welcome,” Kumi Adachi replied. And then, as if suddenly remembering, her tone turned formal. “My deepest sympathy for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Tengo said.
He knew he couldn’t go back to sleep, so he boiled water and made coffee. That woke him up a bit. Feeling hungry, he threw together a sandwich of tomatoes and cheese that were in the fridge. Like eating in the dark, he could feel the texture but very little of the flavor. He then took out the train schedule and checked the time for the next express to Tateyama. He had only returned two days earlier from the cat town, on Saturday afternoon, and now here he was, setting off again. This time, though, he would probably only stay a night or two.
At four a.m. he washed his face in the bathroom and shaved. He used a brush to tame his cowlicks but, as always, was only partly successful. Let it be, he thought, it will fall into place before long.
His father’s passing didn’t particularly shock Tengo. He had spent two solid weeks beside his unconscious father. He already felt that his father had accepted his impending death. The doctors weren’t able to determine what had put him into a coma, but Tengo knew. His father had simply decided to die, or else had abandoned the will to live any longer. To borrow Kumi’s phrase, as a “single leaf on a tree,” he turned off the light of consciousness, closed the door on any senses, and waited for the change of seasons.
From Chikura Station he took a taxi and arrived at the seaside sanatorium at ten thirty. Like the previous day, Sunday, it was a calm early-winter day. Warm sunlight streamed down on the withered lawn, as if rewarding it, and a calico cat that Tengo had never seen before was sunning itself, leisurely grooming its tail. Nurse Tamura and Nurse Omura came to the entrance to greet him. Quietly, they each expressed their condolences, and Tengo thanked them.
His father’s body was being kept in an inconspicuous little room in an inconspicuous corner of the sanatorium. Nurse Tamura led Tengo there. His father was lying faceup on a gurney, covered in a white cloth. In the square, windowless room, the white fluorescent light overhead made the white walls even brighter. On top of a waist-high cabinet was a glass vase with three white chrysanthemums, probably placed there that very morning. On the wall was a round clock. It was an old, dusty clock, but it told the time correctly. Its role, perhaps, was to be a witness of some kind. Besides this, there were no furniture or decorations. Countless bodies of elderly people must have passed through here-entering without a word, exiting without a word. A straightforward but solemn atmosphere lay over the room like an unspoken fact.
His father’s face didn’t look much different from when he was alive. Even up close, it didn’t seem like he was dead. His color wasn’t bad, and perhaps because someone had been kind enough to shave him, his chin and upper lip were strangely smooth. There didn’t seem to be all that much difference from when he was alive, deeply asleep, except that now the feeding tubes and catheters were unnecessary. Leave the body like this, though, and in a few days decay would set in, and then there would be a big difference between life and death. But the body would be cremated before that happened.
The doctor with whom Tengo had spoken many times before came in, expressed his sympathy, then explained what had led up to his father’s passing. He was very kind, very thorough in his explanation, but it really all came down to one conclusion: the cause of death was unknown. None of their tests had ever determined what was wrong with him. The closest the doctor could say was that Tengo’s father died of old age-but he was still only in his mid-sixties, too young for such a diagnosis.
“As the attending physician I’m the one who fills out the death certificate,” the doctor said hesitantly. “I’m thinking of writing that the cause of death was ‘heart failure brought on by an extended coma,’ if that is all right with you?”
“But actually the cause of death was not ‘heart failure brought on by an extended coma.’ Is that what you’re saying?”
The doctor looked a bit embarrassed. “True, until the very end we found nothing wrong with his heart.”
“But you couldn’t find anything wrong with any of his other organs.”
“That’s right,” the doctor said reluctantly.
“But the form requires a clear cause of death?”
“Correct.”
“This isn’t my field, but right now his heart is stopped, right?”
“Of course. His heart has stopped.”
“Which is a kind of organ failure, isn’t it?”
The doctor considered this. “If the heart beating is considered normal, then yes, it is a sort of organ failure, as you say.”
“So please write it that way. ‘Heart failure brought on by an extended coma,’ was it? I have no objection.”
The doctor seemed relieved. “I can have the death certificate ready in thirty minutes,” he said. Tengo thanked him. The doctor left, leaving only bespectacled Nurse Tamura behind.
“Shall I leave you alone with your father?” Nurse Tamura asked Tengo. Since she had to ask-it was standard procedure-the question sounded a bit matter-of-fact.
“No, there’s no need. Thanks,” Tengo said. Even if he were left alone with his father, there was nothing in particular he wanted to say to him. It was the same as when he was alive. Now that he was dead, there weren’t suddenly all sorts of topics Tengo wanted to discuss.
“Would you like to go somewhere else, then, to discuss the arrangements? You don’t mind?” Nurse Tamura asked.
“I don’t mind,” Tengo replied.
Before Nurse Tamura left, she faced the corpse and brought her hands together in prayer. Tengo did the same. People naturally pay their respects to the dead. The person had, after all, just accomplished the personal, profound feat of dying. Then the two of them left the windowless little room and went to the cafeteria. There was no one else there. Bright sunlight shone in through the large window facing the garden. Tengo stepped into that light and breathed a sigh of relief. There was no sign of the dead there. This was the world of the living-no matter how uncertain and imperfect a world it might be.
Nurse Tamura poured hot roasted hojicha tea into a teacup and passed it to him. They sat down across from each other and drank their tea in silence for a while.
“Are you staying over somewhere tonight?” Nurse Tamura asked.
“I’m planning to stay over, but I haven’t made a reservation yet.”
“If you don’t mind, why don’t you stay in your father’s room? Nobody’s using it, and you can save on hotel costs. If it doesn’t bother you.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Tengo said, a little surprised. “But is it all right to do that?”
“We don’t mind. If you’re okay with it, it’s okay with us. I’ll get the bed ready later.”
“So,” Tengo said, broaching the topic, “what am I supposed to do now?”
“Once you get the death certificate from the attending physician, go to the town office and get a permit for cremation, and then take care of the procedures to remove his name from the family record. Those are the main things you need to do now. There should be other things you’ll need to take care of-his pension, changing names on his savings account-but talk to the lawyer about those.”
“Lawyer?” This took Tengo by surprise.
“Mr. Kawana-your father, that is-spoke with a lawyer about the procedures for after his death. Don’t let the word lawyer scare you. Our facility has a lot of elderly patients, and since many are not legally competent, we have paired up with a local law office to provide consultations, so people can avoid legal problems related to division of estates. They also make up wills and provide witnesses. They don’t charge a lot.”
“Did my father have a will?”
“I can’t really say anything about it. You’ll need to talk to the lawyer.”
“I see. Can I see him soon?”
“We got in touch with him, and he’ll be coming here at three. Is that all right? It seems like we’re rushing things, but I know you’re busy, so I hope you don’t mind that we went ahead.”
“I appreciate it.” Tengo was thankful for her efficiency. For some reason all the middle-aged women he knew were very efficient.
“Before that, though, make sure you go to the town office,” Nurse Tamura said, “get his name removed from your family record, and get a permit for cremation. Nothing can happen until you’ve done that.”
“Well, then I have to go to Ichikawa. My father’s permanent legal residence should be Ichikawa. If I do that, though, I won’t be able to make it back by three.”
The nurse shook her head. “No, soon after he came here your father changed his official residence from Ichikawa to Chikura. He said it should make things easier if and when the time came.”
“He was well prepared,” Tengo said, impressed. It was as if he knew from the beginning that this was where he would die.
“He was,” the nurse agreed. “No one else has ever done that. Everyone thinks they will just be here for a short time. Still, though…,” she began to say, and stopped, quietly bringing her hands together in front of her to suggest the rest of what she was going to say. “At any rate, you don’t need to go to Ichikawa.”
Tengo was taken to his father’s room, the room where he spent his final months. The sheets and covers had been stripped off, leaving only a striped mattress. There was a simple lamp on the nightstand, and five empty hangers in the narrow closet. There wasn’t a single book in the bookshelf, and all his personal effects had been taken away. But Tengo couldn’t recall what personal effects had been there in the first place. He put his bag on the floor and looked around.
The room still had a medicinal smell, and you could still detect the breath of a sick person hanging in the air. Tengo opened the window to let in fresh air. The sun-bleached curtain fluttered in the breeze like the skirt of a girl at play. How wonderful it would be if Aomame were here, he thought, just holding my hand tight, not saying a word.
…
He took a bus to the Chikura town hall, showed them the death certificate, and received a permit for cremation. Once twenty-four hours had passed since the time of death, the body could be cremated. He also applied to have his father’s name removed from the family record, and received a certificate to that effect. The procedures took a while, but were almost disappointingly simple-nothing that would cause any soul searching. It was no different from reporting a stolen car. Nurse Tamura used their office copier to make three copies of the documents he received.
“At two thirty, before the lawyer comes, someone will be here from Zenkosha, a funeral parlor,” Mrs. Tamura said. “Please give him one copy of the cremation permit. The person from the funeral parlor will take care of the rest. While he was still alive, your father talked to the funeral director and decided on all the arrangements. He also put enough money aside to cover it, so you don’t need to do anything. Unless you have an objection.”
“No, no objection,” Tengo said.
His father had left hardly any belongings behind. Old clothes, a few books-that was all.
“Would you like something as a keepsake? All there is, though, is an alarm clock radio, an old self-winding watch, and reading glasses,” Nurse Tamura said.
“I don’t want anything,” Tengo told her. “Just dispose of it any way you like.”
At precisely two thirty the funeral director arrived, dressed in a black suit. He moved silently. A thin man, in his early fifties, he had long fingers, large eyes, and a single dry, black wart next to his nose. He seemed to have spent a great deal of time outdoors, because his face was suntanned all over, down to the tips of his ears. Tengo wasn’t sure why, but he had never seen a fat funeral director. The man explained the main procedures for the funeral. He was very polite and spoke slowly, deliberately, as if indicating that they could take all the time they needed.
“While your father was alive, he said he wanted as simple a funeral as possible. He wanted a simple, functional casket, and he wanted to be cremated as is. He did not want any ceremony, no scriptures read, no posthumous Buddhist name, or flowers, or a eulogy. And he didn’t want a grave. He instructed me to have his ashes simply put in a suitable communal facility. That is, if there are no objections…”
He paused and looked entreatingly at Tengo with his large eyes.
×èòàòü áåñïëàòíî äðóãèå êíèãè:
