Minae Mizumura - A True Novel

“So you need to go back to Middle Karuizawa?”

“Yes, I do.” In case she assumed he had a house of his own there, he added, “I’m staying at a friend’s cottage for my vacation.”

The woman didn’t respond; she only peered into the teapot, checking that she had put in enough water.

He explained that because of the congestion during the peak holiday season in Karuizawa, he’d headed in the opposite direction on Route 18, coasting down one slope after another until he ended up in Komoro, two towns away. Now he was on his way back.

“Oh my, you went all the way to Komoro?”

She was gently tipping the teapot back and forth to coax a rich, even color out of the tea leaves.

“That’s right.”

“Do you have a map?”

Yusuke took out the simple map that he had been using and placed it on the table. “This is where we are in Oiwake,” she told him, pointing at one spot. She turned the map so that he could look at it the right way around. They were close to the edge of a town called Miyota but not that far from Middle Karuizawa.

With his index finger, he traced his route on the map.

“This doesn’t show any smaller roads, so I couldn’t figure out where I was. No matter which way I turned, I just couldn’t find a road going in the right direction. I was completely foxed.”

It was after watching the folk dancing and having a bowl of ramen and some fried dumplings nearby that he had decided to avoid continuing alongside the traffic on Route 18 and try a detour to the south.

“You know what it is?” The woman lifted her finger from the map and looked up at him. “There aren’t any roads besides the ones on this map.”

She went over to the built-in bookshelf on the far side of the room and brought back a large folded map, spreading it out on the table in front of him. Peering over his shoulder, she explained the area to him: “You see, there’s a valley that runs through Oiwake but no road crossing the valley in the direction of Middle Karuizawa. So if you try to avoid the main road and take a detour, you end up going as far south as the railroad tracks. My advice is to get back to the main road, though it will take some time. But at least you’ll have the moonlight to guide you.”

The woman put away the map and sat down again. Taking her reading glasses off, she said, “Here, do have some tea. It’s roasted hojicha , the brown tea.”

“Thank you.”

“Once you’re on the main road, it’s uphill most of the way, but the road is paved.”

Yusuke, with a wry smile, told her of his predicament: that he would have to walk the bicycle all the way back. “Oh dear,” she said, looking surprised. “Well, that won’t be an easy trip. It will take you at least two hours.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Why, it will be the middle of the night by the time you get there.”

He took a few sips of tea before standing up. He knew he’d overstayed his welcome. “What good is a broken bicycle?” the woman said as she stood up herself. She may have been surprised at his bad luck, but there was little sympathy in her voice.

As he headed toward the porch, backpack in hand, he heard her ask, “What about the light on your bicycle?”

“It’s broken too.”

“You ought to take that with you, then,” she said, pointing to a large red flashlight hanging by the window. “It’s just a cheap Chinese one. There are hardly any lights between here and the main road. If the moon clouded over, you wouldn’t be able to find your way.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to return it.”

“Oh no, don’t bother. It’s only a flashlight.”

She said this so casually that Yusuke, who’d been sure she was tight-fisted, was rather taken aback. He thanked her and took it.

The woman pulled the curtain open, her left hand resting on the edge of the screen door, and began drawing a map in the air with her other hand showing how to reach Route 18. She broke off when she saw he wasn’t paying attention, fixing him with a stare.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t find my key.”

He was sure it had been in his pocket.

“Your key?”

“Yes, the key to my friend’s house. Maybe it fell out when I took the handkerchief out of my pocket.”

He knew he should have kept it in his backpack, and felt both embarrassed and annoyed with himself.

“I see,” was all she said.

Waving the flashlight, he told her, “I’ll use this to look for it,” and stepped out onto the front porch.

The moon was still high. He went back to the road, pointed the flashlight toward the spot where he’d crashed his bicycle, and saw that, hidden beneath shrubbery, there was a low wall of black lava stones. No wonder the impact had been so strong, he thought. The moon shone brightly through the treetops, highlighting the shapes of individual pebbles. He followed the gravel path from the gate to the front of the house, but still no key. The brilliance of the moon made him feel all the more as if he had actually been bewitched by a fox, like someone in a folktale.

“Did you find it?” the woman called from inside the screen door.

“No, I didn’t.”

When he went back in, he saw that the man was standing by the door to the front room, apparently discussing something with her.

“I’m not sure what I should do. Without the key, I won’t be able to get in.”

He felt obliged to explain that the house belonged to his friend’s parents and that he had arrived with this friend, who had then been summoned to Tokyo for some emergency, leaving him there alone.

“Maybe there’s a caretaker?” the woman ventured, but Yusuke had no idea.

“And you don’t know the name of the management company?”

Yusuke was now starting to feel like a fool. It had never occurred to him that there were caretakers or management companies for summer houses.

Conscious of the man’s gaze, he asked if he could use their telephone to call his friend in Tokyo: he would know the people looking after it or if an extra key was hidden somewhere. An old wooden cottage would be easy enough to find a way into, but his friend’s house was new and solid. Not only that, he’d felt responsible as a houseguest and conscientiously locked every window and door on his way out that morning.

The man went on standing in the doorway, not saying a word, his silence intense. Yusuke took his datebook out of the backpack and dialed his friend’s cellphone. After hearing it ring a few times, he got the answering machine but saw no point in leaving a message. Next he tried his friend’s home number, only to hear another high-pitched, prerecorded message. The family had probably all gone to the hospital to see the ailing grandmother.

“Even if you leave a message, it might be quite a while before your friend calls you back,” said the woman.

“That’s true.”

Yusuke’s brain felt fogged, ineffectual. The man’s gaze bore down on him, deepening his confusion. After an uncomfortable silence, the woman said, as if to clear the air, “Why not wait for a bit and try calling again later?”

She glanced at the wall clock. It was a little before ten.

Yusuke looked toward the man. There was something about this person that drew one’s eyes to him. He seemed to be glaring at the woman, apparently trying to signal that he wanted this late-night intruder to leave. Yusuke had no way of knowing whether he was angry with him or the woman, but he could sense hostility beneath the surface. He remembered the strange atmosphere surrounding the house before he entered it—a force field that seemed to repel the world outside. He was convinced that it somehow emanated from this man. Though Yusuke himself was protective of his own time and space, the man’s reaction seemed out of all proportion. Yusuke almost forgot his own predicament, staring at him. On her side, the woman looked back defiantly, her narrow eyebrows raised. Just as Yusuke was about to say that he would start on his journey anyway, she pressed, “As I said, you should wait here a while longer and try calling him again. We’re usually up until around midnight anyway.”