Kenzaburo Oe - Death by Water

“Of course, my sister seems to have known that all along. Speaking of Asa, there are still a few drops left in the bottle she sent over last night. How about it, Masao — won’t you join me in a little hair of the dog?”

1

There was no word from Asa for several days, so we hadn’t yet talked about our mother’s cassette-tape bombshell. Unaiko (who was staying at Asa’s house) had informed me that she would be bringing over my meals while my sister tended to her own affairs, which she had apparently been neglecting since my arrival. As for me, I had definitely made up my mind to decamp from the Forest House. I thought this might be the last time I ever came down here for an extended stay, so I needed to spend a large chunk of time tidying up my own effects and getting ready to vacate the premises.

One day I asked Unaiko to tell Asa I was planning to leave for Tokyo at the beginning of the following week. Upon hearing that news, Asa called to ask whether she could stop by to discuss some practical matters.

“I phoned Chikashi a while ago,” Asa declared with her trademark directness as she strode through the front door of the Forest House not long afterward. “She was perfectly calm, as usual, and she said that when she heard about the failure of your quest to find the materials you needed to complete your drowning novel — which was, of course, your primary purpose in coming to Shikoku — she figured you would probably pack up and return home. I’m only mentioning how cool she sounded because I’d been concerned that your decision to abandon a major literary project might create some cash-flow problems for your family, but Chikashi put my mind at ease by addressing the issue on her own.

“She told me that while the income from both foreign-rights and paperback sales of your books had definitely tapered off, you were continuing to write a series of essays for one of the big newspapers, and whenever you went to deliver lectures at small venues outside of Tokyo there was a magazine that paid to publish your lecture texts after you’d polished them a bit. She said this is how it’s always been for writers of pure, noncommercial literature, especially in the latter phases of their careers. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but you really hit the jackpot when you persuaded Chikashi to become your wife. She truly is a magnificent human being.

“On another topic, I wanted to talk about the tape recording I sent over for you to listen to. Since I already knew what was on Mother’s tape I naturally felt a bit guilty (or at least conflicted) about passing it on to you. That’s why I included some strong liquor to dull the pain. I thought it would be all right, just this once, even though you haven’t been drinking much lately. I was worried about the impact the tape might have on your emotional state, but when I quizzed Masao after he’d seen you the next morning he said you appeared to be bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and none the worse for wear. Even so, I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe I shouldn’t have given you a bottle, especially after you’ve made such a valiant — and successful — effort to overcome your fondness for the hard stuff. When I walked in today I was afraid I might find the kitchen strewn with empty bottles of the cheap Scotch you can buy everywhere these days, even at our local supermarket here in the boonies, but when I peeked in there just now the only bottle in sight was the one I sent you the other night, so that was a relief.

“Anyhow, for your supper tonight I’ll be sending Unaiko over with some dishes I prepared, along with some more of the shochu from the other night — properly chilled this time. I was thinking it might be nice for you and Unaiko to share the bottle and keep each other company. Since your writing project has fizzled out, I imagine the work you’ve been doing till now with the Caveman Group will probably be a lost cause as well. It’s natural that Unaiko would want to talk to you about various things and also, in terms of improving your mood, I figured hanging out with her would probably be a lot more fun than sitting around with your sister — am I right?”

2

When Unaiko showed up for our farewell dinner, she was wearing a stylish summer outfit: a pale blouse in a floral print and a full, flouncy skirt. During the recent rehearsal, Unaiko’s rather drab, functional attire had made her look more like a stagehand than an actress, but seeing her now in a casual situation, she seemed much more youthful than usual — girlish, even. Asa had prepared several tasty dishes using ham, sausage, and various types of edible wild plants she’d picked herself in the nearby mountains and then stir-fried. Unaiko dug into the meal with gusto and matched me drink for drink as well. Perhaps to reassure me, she mentioned that she had a tendency to become intoxicated rather quickly, so she had sensibly arranged for Masao to drive her home at the end of the evening.

Once again, Unaiko was in a very talkative mood. And while I should theoretically have still been mired in the depression that had been dogging me for several days, I soon found myself cheerfully joining in the conversation.

Unaiko started off with the usual anodyne small talk, but before long she segued into speaking candidly about what was on her mind.

“I imagine you’d prefer not to dwell on things that are over and done with, but there’s one image from your recurrent dream that I just can’t stop thinking about,” she said. “It’s the scene where your father sets out on the river in his small boat and is borne away by the current. In the dream, you can see what your father’s wearing because the moon breaks through the storm clouds and illuminates the scene below, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “The visibility was perfect.”

“And all the times you’ve had the dream, over the years, did the details change at all?”

“Not in any significant way,” I replied. “The dream is nearly identical every single time. It’s almost like watching a video. That may be why I have a persistent feeling the boat-launching scene is something I actually witnessed in reality.”

“Getting back to your father’s clothing,” Unaiko said, “what exactly was he wearing in the dream? (Let’s put the reality aside for a moment, even though I gather there was quite a bit of overlap.) Asa was saying that he was dressed in the type of uniform civilians wore during wartime, but can you tell me what it would have looked like style-wise? When we staged the dramatic adaptation of The Day He Himself Shall Wipe My Tears Away, we just put his character in the same type of uniform a retired serviceman would have worn.”

“The uniforms for civilians were khaki colored,” I explained. “During the war, everyone was required to wear them. In the dream, my father was dressed in that uniform, complete with a matching military-style hat, and the red leather trunk was by his side.”

“Your mother mentioned on the tape that at first your father was only listening to what his visitors were saying, as an interested observer, but as the conspiratorial plotting gathered steam he ended up being drawn in ever deeper,” Unaiko said. “And the reason he tried to run away on that stormy night was because he was afraid the ill-advised guerrilla action was about to take place. To me, your father’s behavior seems perfectly natural. In your dream, at least, he comes across as a reasonably sane human being, unlike the grotesque, pathetic father figure portrayed in Wipe My Tears Away. Isn’t that correct?”

“That’s exactly right,” I said. “I may have gotten carried away the other day and started singing along with the German song, but that doesn’t change my feeling about the novella I wrote. It was an embarrassingly immature piece of work. In retrospect, I think the only well-written thing in the entire book is the way the mother criticized the foolhardiness of the activities her husband and son were involved in.”