Kazuo Ishiguro - Nocturnes - five stories of music and nightfall

After a little think, I took a bowl of sugar from a cupboard, placed it on the table not far from the purple notebook, and slowly tilted it until the sugar slid out. I had a bit of a job preventing the bowl rolling off the edge of the table, but in the end got it to stay put. By this time, the gnawing panic I’d been feeling had evaporated. I wasn’t tranquil, exactly, but it now seemed silly to have got myself in the state I had.

I went back to the living room, lay down on the sofa and picked up the Jane Austen book. After a few lines, I felt a huge tiredness coming over me and before I knew it, I was slipping into sleep once more.

I WAS WOKEN UP by the phone. When Emily’s voice came on the machine, I sat up and answered it.

“Oh goody, Raymond, you are there. How are you, darling? How are you feeling now? Have you managed to relax?”

I assured her I had, that in fact I’d been sleeping.

“Oh what a pity! You probably haven’t been sleeping properly for weeks, and now just when you finally get a moment’s escape, I go and disturb you! I’m so sorry! And I’m sorry too, Ray, I’m going to have to disappoint you. There’s an absolute crisis on here and I won’t be able to get home quite as quickly as I’d hoped. In fact, I’m going to be another hour at least. You’ll be able to hold out, won’t you?”

I reiterated how relaxed and happy I was feeling.

“Yes, you do sound really stable now. I’m so sorry, Raymond, but I’ve got to go and sort this out. Help yourself to anything and everything. Goodbye, darling.”

I put down the phone and stretched my arms. The light was starting to fade now, so I went about the apartment switching on lights. Then I contemplated my “wrecked” living room, and the more I looked at it, the more it seemed overwhelmingly contrived. The sense of panic began to grow once more in my stomach.

The phone went again, and this time it was Charlie. He was, he told me, beside the luggage carousel at Frankfurt airport.

“They’re taking bloody ages. We haven’t had a single bag come down yet. How are you making out over there? Madam not home yet?”

“No, not yet. Look, Charlie, that plan of yours. It’s not going to work.”

“What do you mean, it’s not going to work? Don’t tell me you’ve been twiddling your thumbs all this time mulling it over.”

“I’ve done as you suggested. I’ve messed the place up, but it doesn’t look convincing. It just doesn’t look like a dog’s been here. It just looks like an art exhibition.”

He was silent for a moment, perhaps concentrating on the carousel. Then he said: “I can understand your problem. It’s someone else’s property. You’re bound to be inhibited. So listen, I’m going to name a few items I’d dearly love to see damaged. Are you listening, Ray? I want the following things ruined. That stupid china ox thing. It’s by the CD player. That’s a present from David bloody Corey after his trip to Lagos. You can smash that up for a start. In fact, I don’t care what you destroy. Destroy everything!”

“Charlie, I think you need to calm down.”

“Okay, okay. But that apartment’s full of junk. Just like our marriage right now. Full of tired junk. That spongy red sofa, you know the one I mean, Ray?”

“Yes. Actually I fell asleep on it just now.”

“That should have been in a skip ages ago. Why don’t you rip open the covering and throw the stuffing around.”

“Charlie, you have to get a grip. In fact, it occurs to me you’re not trying to help me at all. You’re just using me as a tool to express your rage and frustration…”

“Oh shut up with that bollocks! Of course I’m trying to help you. And of course my plan’s a good one. I guarantee it’ll work. Emily hates that dog, she hates Angela and Solly, so she’ll seize any opportunity to hate them even more. Listen.” His voice suddenly dropped to a near-whisper. “I’ll give you the big tip. The secret ingredient that’ll ensure she’s convinced.

I should have thought of this before. How much time do you have left?”

“Another hour or so…”

“Good. Listen carefully. Smell. That’s right. You make that place smell of dog. From the moment she walks in, she’ll register it, even if it’s only subliminally. Then she steps into the room, notices darling David’s china ox smashed up on the floor, the stuffing from that foul red sofa all over…”

“Now look, I didn’t say I’d…”

“Just listen! She sees all the wreckage, and immediately, consciously or unconsciously, she’ll make the connection with the dog smell. The whole scene with Hendrix will flash vividly through her head, even before you’ve said a word to her. That’s the beauty of it!”

“You’re havering, Charlie. Okay, so how do I make your home pong of dog?”

“I know exactly how you create a dog smell.” His voice was still an excited whisper. “I know exactly how you do it, because me and Tony Barton used to do it in the Lower Sixth. He had a recipe, but I refined it.”

“But why?”

“Why? Because it stank more like cabbage than dog, that’s why.”

“No, I meant why would you… Look, never mind. You might as well tell me, so long as it doesn’t involve going out and buying a chemistry set.”

“Good. You’re coming round to it. Get a pen, Ray. Write this down. Ah, here it comes at last.” He must have put the phone in his pocket, because for the next few moments I listened to womb noises. Then he came back and said:

“I have to go now. So write this down. Are you ready? The middle-sized saucepan. It’s probably on the stove already. Put about a pint of water in it. Add two beef stock cubes, one dessertspoon of cumin, one tablespoon of paprika, two tablespoons of vinegar, a generous lot of bay leaves. Got that? Now you put in there a leather shoe or boot, upside down, so the sole’s not actually immersed in the liquid. That’s so you don’t get any hint of burning rubber. Then you turn on the gas, bring the concoction to the boil, let it sit there simmering. Pretty soon, you’ll notice the smell. It’s not an awful smell. Tony Barton’s original recipe involved garden slugs, but this one’s much more subtle. Just like a smelly dog. I know, you’re going to ask me where to find the ingredients. All the herbs and stuff are in the kitchen cupboards. If you go to the under-stairs cupboard, you’ll find a discarded pair of boots in there. Not the wellingtons. I mean the battered-up pair, they’re more like built-up shoes. I used to wear them all the time on the common. They’ve had it and they’re waiting for the heave. Take one of those. What’s the matter? Look, Ray, you just do this, okay? Save yourself. Because I’m telling you, an angry Emily is no joke. I’ve got to go now. Oh, and remember. No showing off your wonderful musical knowledge.”

Perhaps it was simply the effect of receiving a clear set of instructions, however dubious: when I put the phone down, a detached, business-like mood had come over me. I could see clearly just what I needed to do. I went into the kitchen and switched on the lights. Sure enough, the “middle-sized” saucepan was sitting on the cooker, awaiting its next task. I filled it to halfway with water, and put it back on the hob. Even as I was doing this, I realised there was something else I had to establish before proceeding any further: namely, the precise amount of time I had to complete my work. I went into the living room, picked up the phone, and called Emily’s work number.

I got her assistant, who told me Emily was in a meeting. I insisted, in a tone that balanced geniality with resolution, that she bring Emily out of her meeting, “if indeed she is in one at all.” The next moment, Emily was on the line.