Kenzaburo Oe - Death by Water

Meanwhile, the sound of rushing water in the canal had grown louder. This was because the current was stronger along here; also, the framework supporting the steel train bridge — the Odakyu Line passed directly overhead — formed a canopy over the canal and magnified the sound. My eyes were drawn to the surface of the water, where something rather interesting was going on. As I trundled along in a distracted state, staring into the canal, I suddenly collided with a lamppost that had loomed up unnoticed in front of me and I hit my head — hard! (How hard? Well, the resulting hematoma stretched from the right side of my head to the corner of my eye and was still plainly visible four or five days after the accident.)

Just as the world went dark and I was on the verge of toppling over, I was caught from behind in someone’s solid yet supple embrace. Two strong arms encircled me, and the next thing I knew I was perched on what seemed to be a sort of spindle-shaped platform. My perch felt strangely warm and alive, though, and I soon deduced that it was a human thigh. I also became aware that my back was resting against a soft female chest. I somehow managed to struggle to my feet, and clinging to the lamppost I had crashed into a moment earlier, I tried to catch my breath. All the while, I could hear myself groaning out loud.

“Sensei, please sit down on my lap again,” the girl in the chino pants said in a calm, measured tone and obediently, just like that, this vertiginous old man resumed his previous position. Nevertheless, after a few minutes had passed — it was about the same amount of time it took for Akari to recover from a medium-severe seizure — I once again hoisted my body off the girl’s thigh, which had grown noticeably warmer and was now soaked with perspiration.

As I was trying to express my gratitude the girl said politely, “Excuse me for asking, but does this kind of thing happen often?”

“No, not at all.”

“That’s good, because if it were a frequent occurrence it would be cause for worry.”

The girl had the sort of relaxed, easygoing attitude you would expect from someone in her thirties, and she was smiling as she spoke. (I suppose she was a young woman, technically, but she seemed like a girl to me.) Even while I was grimacing with pain, I felt the need to explain the confluence of circumstances that I thought, on brief reflection, had caused my bizarre accident.

“It’s rather dark in this particular spot because the Odakyu Line passes overhead,” I began, “and also this lamppost has a device in the base to turn it on automatically, so the lower part is quite wide while the upper section is oddly attenuated, and I simply didn’t see it. On top of that, my attention was distracted by a sloshing sound in the canal and I was trying to see what was going on. I think the fish have moved to the other shore now — you can still see them splashing around over there — but anyway, four or five splendid-looking male carp were tussling with each other, vying for the favor of one lone female. It must be spawning season for koi. Where I come from you never see such big carp swimming together in a group, and I was momentarily mesmerized by the unusual sight. The next thing I knew, I was about to crash into the pole. In my youth, when my reflexes were sharper, I probably could have made a quick course correction and avoided the collision, but …”

“I see,” said the girl, barely suppressing a giggle. “Thank you for the explanation. I guess that kind of precision and attention to detail must come in handy in your line of work.”

“The most outlandish thing is that the whole time I was trying to piece it all together, I was sitting on the knee of a young woman I’ve never even met! By the way, please excuse me for not being able to stay on my feet,” I added, “but the pain was simply too much to bear. I really can’t thank you enough for your assistance.”

“It’s a good thing the pole didn’t smack you in the temple,” the girl said. “But it looks as though the blood is still spreading under the skin at the edge of your forehead. You should hurry home and put some ice on it right away.”

As I headed toward the bridge over the canal, which was my customary turnaround point, the girl began walking with me, slowing her pace to match mine. That was when it finally dawned on me that this was not some fortuitous chance encounter at all. After the girl had first passed me without a backward glance, she had probably managed to confirm my identity when I passed the small fitness plaza and had followed me from there with the intention of talking to me about something; that’s how she happened to be nearby when I collided with the lamppost. She was planning to use the serendipitous rescue as an excuse for continuing our conversation.

“I’m sorry,” she was saying now. “I should have introduced myself earlier.” Watching my expression, which clearly conveyed, Well, there were extenuating circumstances — I mean, I banged my head on a pole and had to sit on your lap! the girl went on: “I’m from Masao Anai’s group, the Caveman Group, and I’ve heard that Masao has been acquainted with you, at least in passing, for many years. Incidentally, our group was given its name by your late brother-in-law, Goro Hanawa. Anyway, when Masao first started the theater company I gather he wrote you a letter, asking for permission to dramatize your early works, and you kindly agreed. After that, his stage version of The Day He Himself Shall Wipe My Tears Away had a successful run and won an award, which was a huge career boost for our troupe. So we decided to move the Caveman Group’s headquarters to Matsuyama, and now we’re busy with a plan to dramatize more of your work. Your sister, Asa, has been unbelievably helpful, and we’ll be indebted to her forever. I was lucky enough to appear in the production of The Day He Himself Shall Wipe My Tears Away , and on the program where it credits ‘Unaiko’? That’s me!”

“In that case,” I said, “I did hear something about this from Asa, by way of my wife.”

“Actually, Sensei, I’ve been thinking for the longest time that I would like to meet you someday, if I ever had the chance. I needed to come to Tokyo this week on other business, so I decided to seize the moment. When I asked Asa how I should handle it, she said rather than setting up a formal appointment — she explained that you always found that sort of thing bothersome and added that your advancing age was a factor as well — anyway, she suggested that I should try to engineer an ‘accidental’ encounter, as if by coincidence. She said you often go walking on a nearby cycling path, and she suggested simply lying in wait and ambushing you, as she put it. (She’s so funny.) She even called your wife to find out what time you were likely to be here. But then the very first time I ventured out here — and I don’t know whether this was good luck, or …” Again, she choked back a little burst of laughter before continuing: “I mean, it was rotten luck for you, but even so, to be honest, it was really very fortunate for me that you happened to bump into the pole.”

My usual exercise course followed a road (paved with a soft, resilient mixture of red and black sand) along the opposite shore, then brought me back to my starting point. The girl followed along, chattering as we walked. There was one rapidly swelling knot between my ear and my eyebrow, and another on my forehead. Both lumps were throbbing and my entire body seemed to be engulfed in a rapidly rising fever, so I assumed the role of passive listener and hardly said a word.

“The truth is,” Unaiko began, “I heard from Asa that you’re planning to go home this summer after a long absence. I gather you’ll be staying in the Forest House, so Asa wanted to give the place a thorough cleaning well in advance. She asked whether the younger members of our troupe — the Caveman Group — might be willing to lend a hand, and of course we happily agreed. But anyway, while we were all working together, we got to hear about the reason for your return. Apparently Asa has been holding on to a certain red leather trunk your mother left in her custody before she passed away, and since this year is the tenth anniversary of your mother’s death, that trunk can now be given to you. Also, Asa said you would most likely pick up where you left off on a book you started many years ago, and that you’d be making use of the stuff in that trunk. She spoke of the book as the ‘drowning novel,’ and I gathered that it begins with an account of what happened one night when the river near your village overflowed its banks.