Fuminori Nakamura - Last Winter We Parted

I wonder if I’ve made myself clear about the fact that I have no interest in butterfly specimens. I don’t understand why those guys like to collect and mount them. I mean, they kill the butterflies, thereby preventing any further possibility of their motion. Which means they will never possess the butterflies in their beautiful flight … Do you know what I mean?

K2. What I just described, that’s probably the reason why I shifted my attention from butterflies that move to dolls that don’t move. Then again, I can’t necessarily be sure of that. But doesn’t it make sense? I mean, who can say for sure that dolls never move, that they always appear the same way?

… I’ve rambled on. It seems as though your strategy worked out after all. I certainly do get introspective in letters. And on a night like this …

It’s almost time for lights out. I can hear the sound of doors opening on the floor above me. Since I’ve been here, I’ve learned to figure out what’s going on just by listening carefully. My hearing has grown more acute. It’s as if my eardrums have become integrated with the hard concrete and steel doors. With a sense of hearing like this, if I were to get out of this place, I might not really need to worry too much about my sense of sight. Well … I wonder. Are they really the same?

Soon I’ll hear the sound of footsteps coming this way. So I’ll finish this letter.

Now it’s your turn.

A ROOM AT a musty old ryokan. The elderly woman who showed me in spoke so softly I could barely hear her.

There are two cushions on the floor around a shoddy table. From the window, all I can see are the slender trees that stand right outside. A cluster of branches is too close to the window — the tips of the leaves are touching the glass. Although there are no actual tears in the paper of the shabby fusuma sliding door, a pattern that looks uncannily like a black forest is well worn into its surface.

Kiharazaka’s older sister, Akari, was the one who — after I had contacted her who knows how many times — had designated this inn as our meeting place. She said that she doesn’t want to attract attention. I don’t blame her. She is the sister of a convicted murderer. Who knows what kind of connection she has with a place like this.

I open the window to smoke a cigarette. It seems as though the tree branches might reach all the way into the room. Taking my eyes off the branches, I am conscious of the recorder in my bag. I wonder if she will consent to letting me use it.

The fusuma door opens. A tall woman enters the room. It is Akari. I recognize her from an archive photograph that had been released by her family. Akari murmurs something, and the elderly woman who had shown me in nods and retreats into the corridor. Or perhaps there are two elderly women. It may be a different one than before.

Akari sits down across the table from me. My gaze is drawn instinctively to her eyes. It had been the same when I saw her in the photo. I feel the desire to look directly at something that I’m not supposed to.

“… I am Kiharazaka’s older sister … Akari.”

“Yes, and I am …”

I hand her my card. She makes no effort to look at it.

“Um.” Her voice is tenuous and low. “How did you find my address?”

She looks directly at me as she asks this. No idle chitchat or banter.

She is in hiding now. Her lawyer is functioning as intermediary, acting as shelter for her. I doubt anyone else knows her whereabouts.

But for the sake of this interview, I have the assistance of the editor at the publisher that plans to put out this book. They have their own means. Other than the police, that is.

“… Because I’m working on this … I don’t mean to be rude but I’m … Kiharazaka’s …”

“You’re writing a book about him. Why?”

She is looking my way guardedly. But why am I writing the book? She doesn’t really look all that wary. It is almost as though she is pretending to maintain that expression, when inwardly she seems to be smiling. She is a strange woman. And I doubt I am the only one to think so.

“I’m … not sure myself.”

“Is it because you saw that photograph?… The one my brother took, Butterflies? ”

Suddenly I have an image of countless butterflies bursting into flight all around her. My heart is beating slightly erratically. I try to light a cigarette, but my lighter isn’t working.

“Have you been captivated too? By that type of thing?”

“… No.”

“What is it you’re looking for?”

She fixes her gaze on me again. There is something about her eyes. As if she is actually concerned about me. Concerned, and yet still trying to draw me in. She keeps looking at me as she opens her mouth to speak.

“Have you spent a long time looking at that photo?”

“… No.”

“There are people who say that it seems like it moves … Something, there in the background.”

I have the urge to close the window. But it is too far away from where I am sitting. I feel as though the branches are coming in toward me. Countless branches, coming into the room.

“… Is it all right if I record this?”

“No, it isn’t. Please just listen.”

My lighter is never going to work. I put my cigarette back into the pack.

“… You and your brother Yudai have always managed to get by together. What kind of boy was he, when you were kids?”

She doesn’t say anything. She just keeps staring at me.

“When you were kids, was Yudai …”

She maintains her silence. I have another urge to shut the window. This window isn’t there to open onto the scenery outside. Instead it seems more as if it is there to protect the room from the trees that surround it.

Akari is wearing a red sweater over a black skirt. Beneath her dark shoulder-length hair, she wears tiny earrings that catch and reflect the light. Just when I think she is going to crack a sudden smile, she begins to speak unexpectedly.

“My brother used a camera as though it were merely an extension of his own body.”

I can’t seem to follow her pace. All there is for me to do is play along.

“Something that I thought was a little strange … when was this?… I don’t remember, but one time … that’s when it was. The two of us had decided to run away from our father — from home — and Yudai took my picture. And he said …‘Now it’ll be all right.’ That’s what he said.”

“… ‘All right’?”

“What could he have meant by that? Here’s what I think it must have been. If we got caught, or even if we were killed, it would be all right because he had taken a photo of me when I was safe … That’s what he meant.”

I ponder what she says.

“… I don’t understand.”

“I’m not surprised. At the time, we’d run away whenever we’d see a policeman. Isn’t that strange? If we had just acted normal, he would have simply passed us by, but since we fled … that’s how we got put into protective custody and placed in an institution. In hindsight, I guess that was a good thing.”

“… What kind of institution was it?”

“You know … the usual.”

“Are there photos from that time?”

“None … I threw them all away.”

She looks at me. Her eyes have a wondering look that is out of context with our conversation. Just what is it about this woman? I can’t figure it out.

“… You threw them away?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She smiles.

“It must sound odd, but … when Yudai would take my picture, it made me feel strange. As if I myself were being cropped. As if my true nature were being stolen. It slipped away into the photograph, my real shape … I found this unsettling so I got rid of everything — all the photos my brother had taken of me, whatever I could find.”