Beasts Head for Home

  “Ah, I talk too much when the heroin starts taking effect.”

  “Please get some sleep. Time is precious.”

  Kyūzō rose to gather some kindling. By the time he returned, Kō had already fallen asleep.

  Throwing all the kindling on the fire, Kyūzō also lay down next to it. There was no need to take turns standing watch since he planned to leave once the fire was out.

  XIX

  Kyūzō couldn’t quite remember the dream’s content, but it was horrible and oppressive. He was being chased by something, and was trying to escape down a steep and narrow slope that continued on indefinitely. He couldn’t see the person, but a gangly man whose entire body was covered in scabs—between which grew several wet, black hairs—bounded after him in constant pursuit while playing a violin with a broken, screeching sound. The sound was horrible. Unable to withstand the tension, he intentionally slipped and tried to plunge into a cold, pitch-dark cave—at which time he awoke.

  The wind blew harder and harder, and the sky, completely tinged in a dark orange, shone eerily. Kyūzō’s eyes hurt. The inner lining of his throat and nose burned with sand and dust. Something heavy lay on his chest. It leaned over his face with both hands on his chest, pressing something cold against the bottom of his nose. He then heard some rough panting by his ear.

  Quickly raising his elbow to push the assailant’s flank to the right, he tucked in his knees, turned his body to the left, and sprang up. Yet his attacker jumped back even faster. With a low hanging head, it looked searchingly at Kyūzō from five or six steps away.

  It was clearly some kind of dog. In any case, it certainly wasn’t a wolf. Yet Kyūzō couldn’t tell whether it was an actual feral dog or a stray that had become separated from its owner. Its coarse fur as well as the bared teeth jutting out from its dark lips were like those of generations of feral dogs, but its small, thin body, protruding ribs, and timid look evoked a sense of servility and weakness more characteristic of pets.

  With its unusually large and unshapely head turned to the side, the dog quickly averted its eyes from Kyūzō’s gaze and kept its short, filthy tail curled between its legs. Only its ears were pointed attentively at Kyūzō. He tentatively reached out a hand and called to the dog, but the animal moved one step away with a low growl. However, it made no attempt to move farther. Sitting down, the dog began busily scratching its belly with its hind leg.

  The fire began to go out. Kyūzō reached out with the walking stick to sweep up the scattered embers when the dog suddenly leaped up with an asthmatic bark, staggering clumsily.

  It’s sick, Kyūzō thought, and immediately felt his body stiffen with a raging appetite for the dog. If he were lucky, there was a possibility of catching the animal. As if sensing something, the dog snarled, baring its teeth. Perhaps the animal also felt some appetite for Kyūzō and Kō. But no doubt its sickness prevented it from daring to make a meal of them, and the animal simply hoped to hang around until they died. Kyūzō thought with revulsion that the dog, with its sensitive nose, might perhaps have smelled that he was already half-dead.

  He poked Kō’s shoulder with the back of the walking stick, waking him. Sluggishly, Kō rose to his feet and let out a long yawn, which sounded as if he were blowing on the mouth of a bottle. Backing away, the dog coughed hoarsely.

  “What’s that?”

  “A dog. A dog that’s sick.”

  The dog again shrank back a bit, but then, as if settling down, lay on its belly growling.

  “That’s no dog. It’s a wolf.”

  Kyūzō was unconvinced. Wolves, he thought, were larger and skinnier. Kō himself didn’t seem quite sure, adding vaguely, “It might not be a wolf, but it’s not a dog either. Maybe it’s that something or other animal that’s a cross between them. I forget the name, but there’s an animal like that. People say that they’re even fiercer than wolves. They’re called something like Korean mountain dogs.”

  “But it’s sick.”

  “You might be right.”

  “Let’s catch it.”

  “I wonder …” Kō’s lips were curled cynically as if wanting to say something.

  Kyūzō immediately understood that he was referring to the bullets from the pistol. In his mind, however, he repeated to himself: it’s no use talking about the past, for on balance I’m the one who comes out ahead. Didn’t I save your life? And you also tried to abandon me once. Ignoring the cynicism, he rose to his feet.

  “That thing just crawled on top of me trying to smell my throat. It’s got to be very weak because it didn’t even bite me.”

  Kyūzō took out his knife, readying it in his right hand. When he straightened his back, the nerves and muscles of his body—particularly his lower half—attacked simultaneously by sleeplessness, hunger, and fatigue, lost control and became entangled together. Panting, he couldn’t step forward as he wished. Kō also rose to his feet. Gripping his small knife, he slowly walked hunched over around the remains of the fire, intending to appear on the dog’s far side.

  “Keep the blade pointed up!”

  The dog also rose to its feet. Growling, it began listlessly sniffing the ground.

  As Kō approached, he started to whistle as if to calm the dog. The animal turned around and lazily walked away. When the two men stopped, the dog stopped; when they advanced, the dog retreated just as much. They were planning a pincer attack, but the dog seemed aware of this, and constantly maintained its position at the top of the isosceles triangle formed by Kō and Kyūzō at its base. The animal showed no confusion whatsoever about its positioning. Its gait was very unsteady, and the men felt that they could soon catch up with it. Yet even if the dog didn’t run faster than the speed at which it was pursued, it didn’t slow down either. Drawn by the dog, the men continued after it from both sides of the road. In their eyes, the animal appeared as a piece of meat that would soon be consumed.

  Suddenly the dog jumped to the side and disappeared along the southern end of the embankment. Shouting, the men gave chase but had already lost sight of it. There were many small hills around them. They stood side by side on a slight elevation nearby, their teeth chattering as if by common consent. For some time they could neither move nor speak. Suddenly Kyūzō broke off a withered branch, gnawing on the raw bark. Seeing this, Kō immediately began imitating him.

  Dragging his legs, which had lost all feeling and felt so heavy that they seemed to have sunk largely into his torso, Kyūzō finally returned to the fire. There was the dog, which had somehow slipped ahead of him. It lay atop the embankment sprawled on its belly with its mouth open, gazing at him with a look of indifference. Kyūzō ran after it but tripped and fell to the ground with a cry. As if in response, the dog began barking, its fur standing on end.

  A desperate chase began once more. The dog cut across the road and fled north along the wasteland. The terrain was rugged and uneven compared with when Kyūzō had walked through it. With each step, his feet got caught up in stones, grassy stumps, hollows, and ditches. He staggered constantly, bruising his elbows and kneecaps. His center of gravity shifted continually on its own accord, at moments exceeding his own body, forcing him to crawl on all fours as he could no longer walk standing up.

  The dog was also exhausted. Once the edge of Kyūzō’s knife even grazed the fur on its legs. As the dog twisted away, he heard the sound of its clattering jaws next to his wrist. Yet that happened only once. As one might expect, the dog was quicker. But perhaps it was the animal that was toying with the men. Perhaps it wasn’t being chased about but was merely pretending to be chased while secretly waiting for the two men to eventually tire and stop resisting.

  Moving slowly, Kō was virtually no help. He merely panted for breath and lagged far behind. Yet he never became completely separated from Kyūzō. At a certain point, the dog would invariably turn and run around behind him. It was as if the animal were anticipating that Kō would be the first to collapse. Once it even attempted to slip by his legs. Trying to tw
ist his body, Kō toppled over, apparently angered, and with a shout flung his knife at the dog with all his strength. The blade grazed the dog’s back, but it did not turn around.

  As dusk approached, the sky was covered in yellow sand dust. Untiringly, the three hungry rascals continued their game of tag, their shadows dancing faintly about the vast wasteland. Their efforts had now clearly exceeded their willpower. The only force that drove on these three puppets was the feel of the inner lining in their throats in the expectation of warm meat passing through it.

  Yet Kyūzō now felt that even that force was beginning to ebb. It was no doubt because of the temperature, but he was dripping in sweat from his shoulders to his armpits. That had never happened before. Overwhelmed by an unchecked sense of lethargy and bewilderment, as if his body had flown off somewhere far away and left only his face, he even lost sight of the dog. At those moments he barely managed to get hold of himself and crawl after the animal. The dog waited for him then, maintaining its distance as it ran slowly ahead once it had confirmed that Kyūzō had begun walking again.

  Nevertheless, the time was approaching for him to muster all his remaining strength and resolve things at once. Fearing the outcome, however, he was unable to make up his mind. Yet it was not as if Kyūzō had any particular plan of action. He would merely pretend to collapse, drawing the dog to him as closely as possible—perhaps three or four meters—and then suddenly spring up and throw himself upon the animal. He shuddered to think of the drain on his muscles and the pain in his heart that would be required then. In any case, he would have only one chance. There was no hope that the attempt could be repeated a second time. But he considered that such an action was better than having one’s life erode away bit by bit. Above all, it was the raging hunger that waited, stretching painfully wide the entire inner lining of his throat so as to devour the dog’s flesh.

  Kyūzō sent a signal to Kō, who, already wanting to lie down, immediately rolled over on the ground without quite knowing what the signal meant. Kyūzō then drew one of his knees tightly to his chest, held in both arms, and bent over at an angle, ready to pounce at any time.

  It was then that his worst fears were realized. While it would certainly have been horrible to lose and fall victim to the dog, as the animal wished, this result was even more devastating—it was a draw.

  This time the dog did not stop. Nor did it turn around. Perhaps even the animal had reached the limits of its strength. Its tail curled inward and muzzle pressed to the ground, it ran off unsteadily with a floating gait heading straight east into the wasteland.

  Kyūzō tried to get up but could not. Like a wet rag, he lay stuck in place. Although his battle with the dog had ended in a draw, he was losing the battle with life. The defeat was irrevocable. It was doubtful that he possessed the energy to go on living.

  Kō inched toward him, pulling his head up.

  “This wouldn’t have happened if we could use the pistol. Listen, you bastard, it’s your fault. Shit! Shit! Because of your stupidity, you bastard, we’re going to hell!”

  Kō removed his hands, allowing Kyūzō’s head to fall onto the ice with a thud.

  “Even going to hell isn’t possible since we can’t use the pistol. One shot for you, one for me, and things would quickly be over. At this rate, it won’t be easy even to get to hell. One shot and everything would be done. And such a shitty dog. I’m sure you realize the consequences now. Idiot!”

  In a wet nasal voice, Kyūzō began crying as he lay sprawled on the ground. The tears gathered on his filthy cheeks, the dust particles floating around inside them.

  The two men were loath to even move. The sweat on their bodies gradually chilled, however, and the cold wind reached its bare hand inside their collars and sleeves, rubbing their skin that now felt peculiar with fatigue. Their sense of discomfort was so strong that they could no longer remain still. Sighing and shivering, they controlled their shaking long enough to crawl back to the road.

  The fire, however, was now extinguished. Around the black ash, only thin strands of cobalt-blue smoke appeared weakly hectored about by the wind. At this point the men had no energy to gather more firewood. Tearing off his gloves, Kyūzō thrust his dark, frost-swollen hands into the remains of the fire. He sensed a sharp pain, but the dryness felt good. Using his free hand to pull the blanket to him, he closed his eyes. Kō collapsed on top of the ashes, his body shivering within the whirling dust.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” Kō said breathlessly, reaching out a hand to Kyūzō.

  Seeking warmth, Kyūzō dug himself more deeply into the embers, his left shoulder pressing firmly against Kō’s elbow. Kō clutched the edge of Kyūzō’s blanket and silently crawled inside. Instinctively, the two men sought out each other’s body warmth, huddling closely together. The pungent smell of ash mixed with their own body odors soon filled the blanket, providing an indescribable sense of well-being.

  “Don’t go to sleep.”

  Despite this repetition, however, Kō’s voice was already partly engulfed within the membrane of sleep, blurring the contours of its sound.

  (Thin creases of light streamed down from throughout the pitch-dark sky, flowing into Kyūzō’s eyes. Upon solidifying, the light turned into the white wall of a room. In the crack of the wall climbed an insect. The insect disappeared, and there rose up the smokestack of the paper manufacturing factory in Baharin. A man with a dog stood up in the shadow of the smokestack. It was Lieutenant Alexandrov. As Alexandrov turned around, his face changed into that of Kyūzō’s dead mother, in whose eyes soup was simmering. Ladling some of the soup with his hands, he poured it into the hole of some black bread. The many men gathered around him then dipped their hands into the soup.)

  Choking on the smoke, his fingers thrust into Kyūzō’s armpit, Kō said again as if remembering: “On’t go slee …”

  The dream shattered, changing now to a new scene.

  (The empty dormitory. As Kyūzō walked around it alone, he gradually turned into a child. Opening a door, he saw an elementary school classroom. The army medic Dania stood at the lectern holding an attendance book. Someone was hiding below the lectern. In the shadows of the door and window, the cunning gazes of several people were directed at him. Laughing, Dania motioned him over. She looked like Sachiko when she laughed. Someone whispered in his ear: say Sovet, not Russki! All the women must cut their hair! Dania opened the attendance book. A thin silk handkerchief fell to the floor. Looking at it, Kyūzō now saw sand dunes and a large salt tower. Below the tower it was he himself who lay dead. Outside in the school yard his classmates practiced their skating as they followed the whistles of their teacher.)

  XX

  4:30. For a long time, the men under the blanket barely even moved as they clung together in the ashes. At one point the area around them grew dim, but when the wind fell and dust cleared it again became bright. There still seemed to be some time before the actual dusk.

  It was then that several wagons happened to pass nearby. Only their sounds appeared, however; the shapes remained unseen. For some reason—perhaps the air temperature or wind direction—sounds as far off as three or four miles would, at this time and place, appear as if they were suddenly in front of one’s nose. It was probably a sonic mirage caused by the refracting airwaves.

  The unseen wagons approached. They were the most primitive two-wheeled wagons, the wheels large and wooden. Their axles creaked, singing their sad, plaintive appeal, and the large, black oilcans hanging underneath offered perfect accompaniment each time they banged against something. The sound of whipping rang out. Riders were probably urging on their idle horses. The rumbling grew heavier.

  A hand reached out from the edge of the blanket. The glove was made of black fur, so the hand was Kō’s. The blanket rose up, slipping from his shoulders. Leaning on Kyūzō with all his weight, Kō tried to shake him awake. Distraught and covered in ash, he looked around quickly. Suddenly the sound of the wagons faded. He seemed stupefied for a w
hile, but quickly sank back down absorbed within the ashes, and in the next instant was already fast asleep. His breathing sounded as if his throat had been torn out.

  The next unseen wagon came by five minutes later. Kō reflexively stood up. As soon as he got to his feet, he heaved and vomited. Yet nothing came out from his empty stomach. As he tried to ascertain the nature of the sound, his red, bloodshot eye that shifted around frantically made for an uncanny contrast with his clear, white artificial eye that stared straight ahead indifferently. Shrieking with a teary voice, he began pounding Kyūzō’s chest.

  “Wake up! Hey, there’s a wagon!”

  In his blurry conscious, Kyūzō had also heard the sound. But he could not move his body. He lacked even the energy to straighten his bent finger.

  “Can you hear that? It’s a wagon!” His vocal chords numb, Kō murmured into Kyūzō’s ear with all his strength.

  Kyūzō returned his gaze with half-open eyes, nodding as he drew his chin back in such a way that it was unclear whether he could see or not. Assured that he was not hearing things, Kō fell silent with relief. His hands trembled as he gripped Kyūzō’s shoulder. The trembling gradually intensified, and he suddenly began yelling at Kyūzō while roughly shaking him.

  “Wake up! Hey, wake up! Hey.”

  The sound of the wagon began to slowly recede in the distance, swaying back and forth before once again vanishing somewhere. Kō hurriedly pressed his ear to the ground. At first he heard nothing. After a while, however, he was able to faintly distinguish from within the heavy groaning of the earth some thin, weak vibrations of a wagon mixed together with horse hooves. Compared with the phantom sounds he had just heard, these vibrations were so distant and faint that they were barely worth considering. Nevertheless, the sound was unmistakably real.

  Kō slowly got up. Folding down the earflaps of his hat and rubbing them lightly, he gazed around him in a vacant stare. Recoiling, he caught a glimpse of Kyūzō from the corner of his eye. He gave a low grunt, as if forcibly coming to a decision.