Kenzaburo Oe - Somersault

Dancer had returned to the office and read the e-mail Ikuo had received, but just stood there without a word, her mouth slightly open, gazing off into space. What concerned her most among the messages was an e-mail from the person who had run the church after Patron and Guide stopped. He was an executive at one of the largest construction firms in the Kansai region, and though the headquarters didn't send a group delegation to the memorial ser- vice he wrote that he was quite moved by what he heard by phone from mem- bers who had attended individually.

His e-mail soon moved on to more practical matters, saying that, though he didn't know the direction Patron's newly founded movement would take, he assumed it would be based on a communal lifestyle. Perhaps, he suggested, the church could make use of some buildings in the woods of Shikoku that the Kansai headquarters owned. He added that he would be in Tokyo soon on business and could discuss it with Patron or, if that was out of the question, with members of his staff. All the Kansai people-who helped obtain the buildings, participated in refurbishing them, and were even now taking care of them-were hoping that Patron and Guide would rise again and make use of the facilities. We pray that our dream will become a reality, he wrote. Once more, let me express my deepest condolences on the passing of Guide.

Their schedule for this very long day was now over, and Dancer, whose bed was in the small room diagonally across the hall from Patron's-Ogi slept beside the entrance, Ikuo on the second floor of the annex-suggested that, since the studio was soundproof, Ikuo might like to try playing Ms. Tachibana's brother's compositions on Guide's piano. Up till now Dancer had only shown an interest in the next morning's newspaper articles and the e-mail from the church headquarters, and Ogi was surprised by her sugges- tion. Ikuo, too, seemed unsure if she was serious or not.

But Dancer, straightening up the documents on the desk, along with the PC and other devices on it, turned to Ikuo, who hadn't said anything and was about to leave, and repeated her offer, then went on to say, "When I met you when you were a child, I already felt there was something special about you. That model you made and were so gingerly carrying when it got caught in me-you didn't know what to do. Those eyes that glared back at me weren't the eyes of an ordinary child. A long time later the word came to me to de- scribe what they looked like, and I thought: This was a person who expresses dreadful things. Even so, meeting you fifteen years later, I'm disappointed to find you aren't trying to express anything now. That's why, now that I've learned you play the piano, I want to hear you."

After she said this, Ikuo didn't hesitate. He took out Morio's music, which he'd put on a bookshelf, and stood up, grasping it in his huge hand.

He strode off outside along the path that, despite the streetlight in the stand of trees, was dark, with Dancer walking in his footsteps as if leaping from one stepping-stone to the next. Following at some distance, Ogi felt as if he were viewing a ballet: a sprite dancing in the shadow of some giant beast.

Ikuo's playing threw cold water on Ogi's excitement. After running through the five short pieces, with brief intervals between them, he remained very still in front of the piano, while Dancer stood motionless in the center of the dance floor. Ogi felt the two of them had just shared something very special-something from which he was excluded.

A few days after the memorial service, Kizu awoke in the morning to the sound of a feeble sigh-his own voice, he realized-and knew it wasn't the first time this had happened. Snuggled in his blanket, he felt a balance deep within him collapse, giving rise to this voice that circumvented his con- sciousness. This time it had come out as a protracted ahhhh, and he knew he was shouldering an exhaustion that had hardened and would never dissipate.

That sigh, then, echoed with a sense of his own body trying to comfort itself Alter a while he got out of bed to use the bathroom. Before he sat down on the toilet, Kizu looked out the window at the wych elm; strangely enough, it had regained the vivid softness it had had a week or two before, possibly as a result of the drizzle that had fallen all through the night. As he stood up, the large American-style toilet bowl looked-to use the first words that came to him-as if it were dyed a shining vermilion that dissolved the large pile of tarlike feces. Had all the energy he'd accumulated in his anus and intestines by exposing them to sunlight last summer now made his feces shine? No. It's come at last, Kizu thought. A thin sad smile came to his face. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror and flushed away the contents of the bowl.

As he walked back to his bed, Kizu looked out at the wych elm again; though the rain continued, beyond the branches he could spy a patch of light blue sky. But this blue sky, over the soft leaves washed by the rain, didn't have the usual effect on him. His cancer was back. He had long since come to terms with the fact that it was only a matter of time. And knowing this he'd come to Japan to start a new life. But up till now he'd tried to avoid facing any tan- gible signals his body might be sending him. Or at least, he realized, he'd postponed acknowledging them.

But now he could no longer ignore the cancer. For quite some time he'd felt something wrong inside him; was it now going to accelerate? Would he soon be racked with unspeakable pain? What held Kizu's attention was less the thought of pain-though of course this too was one way to avoid think- ing about it-but thoughts of how much, as long as he was able to be up and about, he wanted to continue his physical relationship with Ikuo-at the same time, of course, not doing anything to dampen Ikuo's enthusiasm for work- ing for Patron. He wanted to be close to the track Ikuo was running along, while still accomplishing his own goals. What was necessary now was get- ting a sense of how many days he had left to live his new life with Ikuo and Patron, as well as the best ways to cope with the pain once it began.

The director of Kizu's research institute had written him a letter of introduction to a local doctor, so Kizu telephoned the clinic and made an appointment. What he was really hoping for, though, was less a physical checkup than for the doctor to grasp the principle he'd committed himself to-the decision to live in a symbiotic relationship with his disease. Know- ing the director of the institute would be a definite advantage here.

When he went in for his appointment, Kizu spoke to the doctor about his own past illnesses and then about his brother's cancer, all the details from the first occurrence to his death. He also told the doctor how, from the time his own cancer was first detected, he felt swept along by an unstoppable course of treatment, something he now wanted at all costs to avoid. Could you pos- sibly, he asked, just ascertain that it's cancer by using traditional methods and then help me live with it at home?

Kizu was full of apprehension as he related his somewhat self-centered desires, but to his surprise the doctor agreed. Or at least he consented to ex- amine him as his patient wanted.

Once the doctor had listened to his hopes, Kizu grew mellow and said, as he got dressed, "I think my dark mood of the last few years may have been a psychological expression of my cancer. It may sound like I'm exaggerating, but for the past six months I've felt so utterly positive it's as if I'm a young man all over again. I want to hold on to that feeling for the time I have left.

For a year, if that's possible. Just to live a normal life for a year-without any operations, taking medicine when the pain gets to be too much, and, if I can, continuing to paint. Even if I can't do that, I want to live on my own and watch the activities of my young friend. Do you think I have a year left?"