Cobo Abe - The Woman in the Dunes

The breeze blowing down from the road had indeed become much cooler. The sound of what seemed to be the motor of a three-wheeled pickup truck came to him on the wind. And when he strained his ears he could hear a number of people. Moreover — was it his imagination? — he sensed greater animation than during the day. Or was it the sound of the sea? The sky was heavy with stars.

The woman turned when she saw the lamplight. Skillfully handling the shovel, she was scooping sand into a big kerosene can. Beyond her the wall of black sand soared precipitously up and seemed to be bending inward on them. It must have been up there that he had walked during the day in his search for insects. When two kerosene cans were full, the woman carried them, one in each hand, over to where he was. As she passed him she raised her eyes. «Sand,» she said in a nasal voice. She emptied the sand from the kerosene cans near the path in the back where the rope ladder hung. Then she wiped away the sweat with the end of a towel. The place was already piled high with the sand she had hauled over.

«I'm clearing away the sand.»

«You'll never finish, no matter how long you work at it.»

The next time she passed, she poked him in the side with the end of a free finger. He almost let the lamp fall as he started up in surprise. Should he keep holding the lamp as he was, or should he put it on the ground and return the tickling? He hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected choice he faced. He decided to keep the lamp in his hand, and with his face set in a grin, which he himself did not know the meaning of, he awkwardly and stiffly approached the woman, who had begun to shovel again. As he drew near, her shadow filled the whole surface of the sand wall.

«You shouldn't do that, you know,» she said in a low, breathless voice, her back still toward him. «I have six cans to go until the lift basket comes.»

His expression hardened. It was unpleasant to have feelings that he had been at pains to check aroused to no purpose. Yet, in spite of himself something not to be denied was welling up in his veins. The sand which clung to his skin was seeping into his veins and, from the inside, undermining his resistance. «Well, shall I give you a hand?»

«Oh, that's all right. It wouldn't be right to have you do anything on the very first day.»

«On the first day? Don't worry about such things. I'll only be here tonight anyway.»

«Is that so?»

«I don't lead a life of leisure, you know. Hand me the other shovel. Come on.»

«Excuse me, but your shovel is over there.» Indeed, under the eaves near the entrance a shovel and two kerosene cans with handles were lined up to the side. When they had said «for the other one,» it was most certainly these things that had been tossed down from the road above. The preparations were too good, and he had the feeling that they had guessed in advance what he would do. But how could they? He had not known himself. Anyway, he thought apprehensively, they had a pretty low opinion of him. The shaft of the shovel was made of a bumpy wood and had a dark sheen from handling. He had already lost his desire to lend a hand. «Oh! The lift basket is already at the neighbors'!»

She spoke animatedly, seeming not to have noticed his hesitation. Her voice was cheerful and contained a note of confidence that had not been there before. The human sounds that had been audible for some time were suddenly near at hand. A series of short, rhythmic shouts was repeated several times, followed by a period of low, continuous muttering interspersed with suppressed laughter, and then the shouts again. The rhythm of the work suddenly made him feel buoyant. In such a simple world it was probably quite normal to let a night's guest use a shovel. And there would be something curious about holding back. With his heel he made a hollow in the sand, in which he placed the lamp so that it would not fall.

«I suppose it's all right to dig any place, isn't it?»

«Well… not just any place.»

«Then what about over here?»

«Yes, but try to dig right down from the cliff wall.»

«Is this the time for clearing away the sand at all the houses?»

«Yes. The sand is easier to work with at night because it's damp. When the sand is dry,» she said, looking up toward the sky, «you never know when or where it will come crashing down.»

He peered up, and indeed a brow of sand, like drifted snow, bulged out from the lip of the cliff.

«But that's dangerous, isn't it?»

«It's really quite safe,» she said in a laughing tone, different from her usual voice. «Look! The mist's beginning to come in.»

«Mist?»

As she spoke the expanse of stars rapidly grew patchy and began to fade. A tangled filmy cloud swirled around fitfully where the wall of sand met the sky.

«You see, it's because the sand soaks up a lot of fog. When salty sand is full of fog, it gets hard like starch.»

«I can't believe it!»

«Oh, yes, it's true. When the tide along the beach goes down, even big tanks can drive over the sand with no trouble.» «Amazing!»

«It's quite true. So that part that sticks out there gets bigger every night On days when the wind comes from a bad direction, the sand comes down like today, on the umbrella. In the afternoon, when it's good and dry, it comes crashing down all at once. And it's the end if it falls in the wrong place… where the pillars are weak.»

Her topics of conversation were restricted. Yet once she entered her own sphere she suddenly took on a new animation. This might also be the way to her heart. He was not particularly interested in what she had to say, but her words had a warmth in them that made him think of the body concealed beneath the coarse work trousers.

Then, with all his strength, he repeatedly thrust the dented cutting edge of his shovel into the sand at his feet.

When he had finished carrying the kerosene cans over the second time, he heard the sound of voices, and on the road above a hand lamp flickered. The woman spoke rather sharply.

«It's the lift basket. I've already finished over here. Give me some help over there, will you?» For the first time he grasped the meaning of the sandbags that lay buried at the top of the ladder: by running the ropes around them, the baskets could be raised and lowered. Four men managed each basket, and there were two or three groups in all. For the most part, they appeared to be young men who worked briskly and efficiently. By the time the basket of one group was full, the next group was already waiting to take over. In six hauls, the sand which had been piled up was completely leveled off.

«Those fellows are amazing!»

His tone was friendly as he wiped away the sweat with his shirt sleeve. The young men, who uttered not a word of ridicule at his helping with the sand, appeared to devote themselves energetically to their work. He felt well disposed toward them.

«Yes. In our village we really follow the motto 'Love Your Home.'»

«What sort of love is that?»

«It's the love you have for where you live.»

«Great!»

He laughed, and she laughed with him. But she did not seem to understand the reason for her laughter herself.

From afar came the sound of a three-wheeled truck starting up. «Well now, shall we take a rest?»

«Oh, no. When they finish with one round they come right back again with the basket.»

«Oh, let it go. The rest can wait until tomorrow and…» He arose unconcerned and began walking toward the earthen floor, but she showed no signs of coming along with him.

«You can't do things that way! We've got to work at least once all around the house.»

«What do you mean, 'all around'?»

«Well, we can't let the house be smashed, can we? The sand comes down from all sides.»