"That's a pretty twisted way of thinking," Oshima says.
"In our home everything was twisted. And when everything's twisted, what's normal ends up looking weird too. I've known this for a long time, but I was a child. Where else could I go?"
"I've seen your father's works a number of times," Oshima replies. "He's a wonderful sculptor. His pieces are original, provocative, powerful. Uncompromising, is how I'd put it. Most definitely the real thing."
"Maybe so. But the dregs left over from creating these he spread everywhere, like a poison you can't escape. My father polluted everything he touched, damaged everyone around him. I don't know if he did it because he wanted to. Maybe he had to. Maybe it's just part of his makeup. Anyhow, I get the feeling he was connected to something very unusual. Do you have any idea what I mean?"
"Yeah, I think so," Oshima says. "Something beyond good and evil. The source of power, you might call it."
"And half my genes are made up of that. Maybe that's why my mother abandoned me. Maybe she wanted to cut herself off from me because I was born from this terrible source. Since I was polluted."
Oshima lightly presses his fingertips against his temples as he mulls this over. He narrows his eyes and stares at me. "Is there any chance he's not your biological father?"
I shake my head. "A few years ago we got tested at a hospital. The two of us had a DNA check done on our blood. No doubt about it—biologically we're father and son a hundred percent. They showed me the results of the tests."
"Very cautious of him."
"I guess he wanted me to know I was one of the works he'd created. Something he'd finished and signed."
Oshima's fingers stay pressed to his temples. "But your father's prophecy didn't come true, did it? You didn't murder him. You were here in Takamatsu when it happened. Somebody else killed him in Tokyo."
Silently I spread my hands out in front of me and stare at them. Those hands that, in the darkness of night, had been covered with blood. "I'm not so sure of that," I tell him.
And I proceed to tell him everything. About how that night, on my way back to the hotel, I'd lost consciousness for a few hours. About waking up in the woods behind the shrine, my shirt sticky with somebody's blood. About washing the blood off in the restroom. About how several hours had been erased from my memory. To save time I don't go into how I stayed overnight at Sakura's. Oshima asks the occasional question, and files away the details in his head. But he doesn't voice any opinions.
"I have no idea how that blood got all over me, or whose blood it could be. It's a complete blank," I tell him. "But maybe I did kill my father with my own hands, not metaphorically. I really get the feeling that I did. Like you said, I was in Takamatsu that day—I definitely didn't go to Tokyo. But In dreams begin responsibilities, right?"
Oshima nods. "Yeats."
"So maybe I murdered him through a dream," I say. "Maybe I went through some special dream circuit or something and killed him."
"To you that might feel like the truth, but nobody's going to grill you about your poetic responsibilities. Certainly not the police. Nobody can be in two places at once. It's a scientific fact—Einstein and all that—and the law accepts that principle."
"But I'm not talking about science or law here."
"What you're talking about, Kafka," Oshima says, "is just a theory. A bold, surrealistic theory, to be sure, but one that belongs in a science fiction novel."
"Of course it's just a theory. I know that. I don't think anybody else is going to believe such a stupid thing. But my father always used to say that without counterevidence to refute a theory, science would never progress. A theory is a battlefield in your head—that was his pet phrase. And right now I can't think of any evidence to counter my hypothesis."
Oshima is silent. And I can't think of anything else to say.
"Anyway," Oshima finally says, "that's why you ran away to Shikoku. To escape your father's curse."
I nod, and point to the folded-up newspaper. "But it looks like there's no escape."
Distance won't solve anything, the boy named Crow says.
"Well, you definitely need a hiding place," Oshima says. "Beyond that there's not much I can say."
I suddenly realize how exhausted I am. I lean against Oshima, and he wraps his arms around me.
I push my face up against his flat chest. "Oshima, I don't want to do those things. I don't want to kill my father. Or be with my mother and sister."
"Of course you don't," he replies, running his fingers through my short hair.
"How could you?"
"Not even in dreams."
"Or in a metaphor," Oshima adds. "Or in an allegory, or an analogy." He pauses and then says, "If you don't mind, I'll stay with you here tonight. I can sleep on the chair."
But I turn him down. I think I'm better off alone for a while, I tell him.
Oshima brushes the strands of hair off his forehead. After hesitating a bit he says,
"I know I'm a hopeless, damaged, homosexual woman, and if that's what's bothering you..."
"No," I say, "that's not it at all. I just need some time alone to think. Too many things have happened all at once. That's all."
Oshima writes down a phone number on a memo pad. "In the middle of the night, if you feel like talking to anybody, call this number. Don't hesitate, okay? I'm a light sleeper anyway." I thank him.
That's the night I see a ghost.
Chapter 22
The truck Nakata was riding in arrived in Kobe just after five in the morning. It was light out, but the warehouse was still closed and their freight couldn't be unloaded. They parked the truck in a broad street near the harbor and took a nap. The young driver stretched out on the back seat—his usual spot for napping—and was soon snoring away contentedly. His snores sometimes woke Nakata up, but each time he quickly dropped back into a comfortable sleep. Insomnia was one phenomenon Nakata had never experienced.
A little before eight the young driver sat up and gave a big yawn. "Hey, Gramps, ya hungry?" he asked. He was busy shaving with an electric razor, using the rearview mirror.
"Now that you mention it, yes, Nakata does feel a little hungry."
"Well, let's go grab some breakfast."
From the time they left Fujigawa to their arrival in Kobe, Nakata had spent most of the time sleeping. The young driver barely said a word the whole time, just drove on, listening to a late-night radio show. Occasionally he'd sing along to a song, none of which Nakata had ever heard before. He wondered if they were even in Japanese, since he could barely understand any of the lyrics, just the occasional word. From his bag he took out the chocolate and rice balls he'd gotten from the two young office girls in Shinjuku, and shared them.
The driver had chain-smoked, saying it helped keep him awake, so Nakata's clothes were reeking of smoke by the time they arrived in Kobe.
Bag and umbrella in hand, Nakata clambered down from the truck.
"You better leave that stuff in the truck," the driver said. "We're not going far, and we'll come right back after we eat."
"Yes, you're quite right, but Nakata feels better having them."
The young man frowned. "Whatever. It's not like I'm lugging them around. It's up to you."
"Much obliged."
"My name's Hoshino, by the way. Spelled the same as the former manager of the Chunichi Dragons. We're not related, though."
"Mr. Hoshino, is it? Very glad to meet you. My name is Nakata."
"Come on—I knew that already," Hoshino said.
He knew the neighborhood and strode off down the street, Nakata almost having to trot to keep up. They wound up in a small diner down a back street, seated among other truck drivers and stevedores from the docks. Not a single necktie in sight. All of them were intently shoveling in their breakfasts like they were filling up a gas tank. The place was filled with the clatter of dishes, the waitress yelling out orders, the morning NHK news on the TV buzzing in the corner.
Hoshino
pointed to the menu taped to the wall. "Just order whatever you want, Gramps. The food's cheap here, and pretty good."
"All right," Nakata said, and did as he was told, staring at the menu until he remembered he couldn't read. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hoshino, but I'm not very bright and can't read."
"Is that right?" Hoshino said, amazed. "Can't read? That's pretty rare these days. But that's okay. I'm having the grilled fish and omelette—why don't you get the same?"
"That sounds good. Grilled fish and omelettes are some of Nakata's favorites."
"Glad to hear it."
"I enjoy eel a lot, too."
"Yeah? I like eel myself. But eel's not something you have in the morning, is it."
"That's right. And Nakata had eel last night, when Mr. Hagita bought some for me."
"Glad to hear it," Hoshino said again. "Two orders of the grilled fish set plus omelettes!" he yelled out to the waitress. "And super-size one of the rices, okay?"
"Two grilled fish sets, plus omelettes! One rice super-size!" the waitress called loudly to the cooks.
"Isn't it kind of a pain, not being able to read?" Hoshino asked.
"Yes, sometimes I have trouble because I can't read. As long as I stay in Nakano Ward in Tokyo it's not so bad, but if I go somewhere else, like now, it's very hard for me."
"I guess so. Kobe's pretty far from Nakano."
"Nakata doesn't know north and south. All I know is left and right. So I get lost, and can't buy tickets, either."
"Incredible you were able to get this far."
"Many people were kind enough to help me. You're one of them, Mr. Hoshino. I don't know how to thank you."
"That must be tough, though, not being able to read. My grandad was pretty senile, but he could still read well enough."
"I'm especially dumb."
"Is everybody in your family like that?"
"No, they aren't. My older brother is a depart mint head at a place called Itoh-chew, and my younger brother works at an office called Em-i-tee-i."
"Wow," Hoshino said. "Pretty elite bunch. So you're the only one who's a bit off, huh?"
"Yes, Nakata's the only one who had an accident and isn't bright. That's why I'm always being told not to go out too much and cause any trouble for my brothers, nieces, and nephews."
"Yeah, I guess most people would find it kind of awkward to have someone like you show up."
"I don't understand difficult things, but I know that as long as I stay in Nakano Ward I don't get lost. The Governor helped me out, and I got along well with cats. Once a month I got my hair cut and every once in a while I'd eat eel. But after Johnnie Walker, Nakata couldn't stay in Nakano anymore."
"Johnnie Walker?"
"That's right. He has boots and a tall black hat, and a vest and walking stick. He collects cats to get their souls."
"You don't say...," Hoshino said. "I don't have much patience with long stories. So anyway, something happened and you left Nakano, right?"
"That's right. I left Nakano."
"So where are you headed?"
"Nakata doesn't know yet. But after we got here I knew I had to go across a bridge. A big bridge near here."
"Ah, so you're going to Shikoku."
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Hoshino, but I don't know geography very well. If you go over the bridge are you in Shikoku?"
"Yeah. If you're talking about a big bridge around here, that's the one to Shikoku. There're three of them, actually. One goes from Kobe to Awaji Island, then on to Tokushima. Another goes from below Kurashiki over to Sakaide. And one connects Onomichi and Imabari. One bridge would've been plenty, but politicians stuck their noses into it and they wound up with three. Typical pork-barrel projects." Hoshino poured out some water onto the resin tabletop and drew an abbreviated map of Japan with his finger, indicating the three bridges connecting Honshu and Shikoku.
"Are these bridges really big?" Nakata asked.
"They're huge."
"Is that right? Anyway, Nakata's going to cross over one of them. Probably whichever one is closest. I'll figure out what to do after that later on."
"So what you're saying is you don't have any friends or anybody where you're headed?"
"No, Nakata doesn't know anybody there."
"You're just going to cross the bridge to Shikoku and then go somewhere else."
"That's right."
"And you don't know where that somewhere is."
"I have no idea. But I think I'll know it when I get there."
"Jeez," Hoshino said. He brushed back his hair, gave his ponytail a tug, and put on his Chunichi Dragons cap.
Their food was served, and they started eating.
"Pretty good omelette, huh?" Hoshino asked.
"Yes, it's very good. It tastes different from the omelettes I always eat in Nakano."
"That's 'cause it's Kansai style. Not at all like those tasteless flat things that pass as omelettes in Tokyo."
The two of them then silently enjoyed their meal, the omelettes, salt-grilled mackerel, miso soup with shellfish, pickled turnips, seasoned spinach, seaweed. They didn't leave a grain of rice. Nakata made sure to chew each bite thirty-two times, so it took quite a while for him to finish.
"Get enough, Mr. Nakata?"
"Yes, plenty. How about you, Mr. Hoshino?"
"Even me, I'm stuffed. Perks up the old spirits, doesn't it, to have such a great breakfast?"
"Yes, it certainly does."
"How 'bout it? Gotta take a dump?"
"Now that you mention it, I do feel like it."
"Go right ahead. Toilet's over there."
"What about you, Mr. Hoshino?"
"I'll go later on. Take my time about it."
"Thank you. Nakata will go take a dump, then."
"Hey, not so loud. People are still eating here."
"I'm sorry. Nakata's not very bright."
"Never mind. Just go."
"Do you mind if I brush my teeth, too?"
"No, go ahead. We got time. Do whatever you want. Tell you what, I don't think you'll be needing that umbrella. You're just going to the toilet, right?"
"All right. I'll leave the umbrella."
When Nakata came back from the toilet Hoshino had already paid their bill.
"Mr. Hoshino, I have money with me, so please let me at least pay for breakfast."
Hoshino shook his head. "It's okay. I owe my grandpa big time. Back then I was kind of wild."
"I see. But I'm not your grandfather."
"That's my problem, so don't worry about it. No arguments, okay? Just let me treat you."
After a moment's thought Nakata decided to accept the young man's generosity.
"Thank you so much then. It was a wonderful meal."
"Hey, it's just some mackerel and omelettes at a nothing little diner. No need to bow like that."
"But you know, Mr. Hoshino, ever since Nakata left Nakano Ward everyone's been so nice to me I haven't had to use hardly any money at all."
"Sweet," Hoshino said, impressed.
Nakata had a waitress fill his little thermos with hot tea, then he carefully replaced it in his bag. Walking back to where the truck was parked, Hoshino said, "So, about this going to Shikoku thing..."
"Yes?" Nakata replied.
"Why do you want to go there?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know why you're going, or even where you're going. But you've still got to go to Shikoku?"
"That's right. Nakata's going to cross a big bridge."
"Things'll be clearer once you're on the other side?"
"I think so. I won't know anything until I cross the bridge."
"Hmm," Hoshino said. "So crossing that bridge is very important."
"Yes, that's more important than anything."
"Man alive," Hoshino said, scratching his head.
The young man had to drive his truck over to the warehouse to deliver his load of furniture, so he told Nakata to wait for him at a small park near the harbor.
"Don't move from here, okay?" Hoshino cautioned him. "There's a restroom over there, and a water fountain. You got everything you need. If you wander off somewhere, you might not find your way back."
"I understand. I'm not in Nakano Ward anymore."
"Exactly. This isn't Nakano. So sit tight, and I'll be back real soon."
"All right. I'll stay right here."
"Good. I'll be back as soon as I finish my delivery."
Nakata did as he was told, not moving from the bench, not even to use the restroom. He didn't find staying put in one place for a long time very hard. Sitting still, in fact, was his specialty.
He could see the sea from where he sat. This he hadn't seen for a long, long time.
When he was little, he and his family had gone to the seaside any number of times. He'd put on trunks, splash around on the shore, gather seashells at low tide. But these memories weren't clear. It was like this had taken place in another world. Since then, he couldn't recall seeing the sea even once.
After the strange incident in the hills of Yamanashi, Nakata went back to school in Tokyo. He'd regained consciousness and physically was fine, but his memory had been wiped clean, and he never regained the ability to read and write. He couldn't read his school textbooks, and couldn't take any tests. All the knowledge he'd gained up till then had vanished, as had the ability, to a great extent, to think in abstract terms. Still, they let him graduate. He couldn't follow what was being taught, and instead sat quietly in a corner of the classroom. When the teacher told him to do something, he followed her instructions to the letter. He didn't bother anyone, so teachers tended to forget he was even there. He was more like a guest sitting in than a burden.
People soon forgot that until the accident he'd always gotten straight As. But now the school activities and events took place without him. He didn't make any friends.
None of this bothered him, though. Being left alone meant he could be lost in his own little world. What absorbed him the most at school was taking care of the rabbits and goats they raised there, tending the flower beds outside and cleaning the classrooms. A constant smile on his face, he never tired of these chores.