Кадзуо Исигуро - Klara and the Sun

I found strange for a while not only the lack of traffic and passers-by, but also the absence of other AFs. Of course, I hadn’t expected other AFs to be in the house, and I was in many ways pleased to be the only one, since I could focus my attention solely on Josie. But I realized how much I’d grown used to making observations and estimates in relation to those of other AFs around me, and here too was another adjustment I had to make. In those early days, at stray moments, I’d often look out at the highway going over the hill – or at the view across the fields from the bedroom rear window – and search with my gaze for the figure of a distant AF, before remembering how unlikely a prospect that was, so far away from the city and other buildings.

During my very first days in the house, I foolishly thought Melania Housekeeper might be a person rather like Manager, and this led to a few misunderstandings. For instance, I’d thought it might be her duty to introduce me to the various aspects of my new life, and understandably, Melania Housekeeper had found my frequent presence in her vicinity both puzzling and irritating. When at last she turned angrily around to me and shouted, ‘Quit follow me AF get lost!’ I was surprised, but soon came to appreciate that her role in the house was quite unlike Manager’s, and that I’d been at fault.

Even allowing for such misunderstandings on my part, it remains hard not to believe Melania Housekeeper was opposed from the start to my presence. Although I behaved towards her with consistent politeness, and especially in the first days, tried to do small things to please her, she never returned my smiles, or spoke to me other than to issue an instruction or reprimand. Today, as I gather together these memories, it seems obvious that her hostility had to do with her larger fears concerning what might be happening around Josie. But at the time there was no easy way for me to account for her coldness. She seemed often to wish to shorten the time I spent with Josie – which of course ran counter to my duty – and, initially, she even attempted to prevent me coming into the kitchen for the Mother’s quick coffee and Josie’s breakfast. It was only after Josie insisted strongly – the Mother finally ruling in my favor – that I was permitted to be in the kitchen for these pivotal moments each morning. Even then, Melania Housekeeper tried to insist that I remain standing by the refrigerator while Josie and the Mother sat at the Island, and I was allowed to join them only after more protests from Josie.

The Mother’s quick coffee was, as I say, an important moment every morning, and it was one of my tasks to wake Josie up in good time for it. Often, despite my repeated efforts, Josie wouldn’t rise until the very last moment, and would then start shouting from inside her en suite bathroom, ‘Hurry up, Klara! We’ll be late!’ even though I was already outside on the landing, waiting anxiously.

We would find the Mother sitting at the Island, staring at her oblong as she drank her coffee, Melania Housekeeper hovering nearby ready to refill her cup. There was often not much time for Josie and the Mother to converse, but I soon learned how important it was, nonetheless, for Josie to be able to sit with the Mother during the quick coffee. Once, when her illness had disturbed much of her night, I allowed Josie to fall back asleep after I’d woken her, thinking it best she rest a little more. When she woke up, she shouted angry words at me, and for all her being weak, hurried to get downstairs in time. But as she was emerging from her en suite, we heard the Mother’s car down on the loose stones below, and we hurried to the front window in time to see her car moving away towards the hill. Josie didn’t shout at me again, but once we were down in the kitchen, she didn’t smile while she ate her breakfast. I understood then that if she failed to join the Mother for the quick coffee, there was the danger of loneliness creeping into her day, no matter what other events filled it.

Occasionally there were mornings when the Mother didn’t have to hurry; when though she was in her high-rank clothes, and her bag was against the refrigerator, she would drink her coffee slowly, even getting off the highstool and walking around with the cup and saucer in her hands. Sometimes she would stand before the large windows, the Sun’s morning pattern over her, and say something like:

‘You know, Josie, I get the impression you’ve given up on your color pencils. I love those black-and-whites you’re doing. But I do miss the color pictures.’

‘I decided, Mom, my color pictures were a major embarrassment.’

‘An embarrassment? Oh, come on!’

‘Mom. Me drawing in color is like you playing that cello. In fact, worse.’

When Josie said this, the Mother’s face broke into a smile. The Mother didn’t smile often, but when she did, her smile was surprisingly like Josie’s: her whole face seemed to overflow with kindness, and the same creases that usually created such a tense expression would refold into ones of humor and gentleness.

‘I have to admit. My cello-playing, even at its glorious best, sounded like Dracula’s grandmother. But your use of color is more like, well, a pond on a summer’s evening. Something like that. You do beautiful things with color, Josie. Things no one else even thought about.’

‘Mom. People’s children’s pictures always look that way to them. Something to do with the evolutionary process.’

‘You know what? I think this all has to do with when you took that very good flyer you made into that meeting that time. The meeting before last. And that Richards girl said something a little ironic. I’ve told you before, I know, but here it is again. That young lady was jealous of your talent. That’s why she said what she did.’

‘Okay. If you really mean that, Mom, I might even go back to the color. And maybe in return, you could take up your cello again.’

‘Oh no. That’s all behind me now. Unless someone’s desperate for a soundtrack for their homemade zombie picture.’

But there were other mornings when the Mother would remain unsmiling and tense, even if the quick coffee didn’t have to be hurried. If Josie was talking about her oblong tutors, doing her best to be humorous about them, the Mother would listen with a serious expression, then interrupt to say:

‘We could switch. If you don’t like the guy, we can always switch.’

‘No, Mom, please. I’m just talking, okay? In fact, this guy’s so much better than the last one. He’s funny too.’

‘That’s good.’ The Mother would nod, her face still serious. ‘The way you’re always willing to give people a decent chance. That’s a good trait.’

In those days, when Josie’s health was quite good, she still liked to eat her evening meal after the Mother had come in from her work. This meant we would often go up to Josie’s bedroom to wait for the Mother’s return – and to watch the Sun go to his resting place.

Just as Josie had promised, the bedroom rear window had a clear view across the fields all the way to the horizon, allowing us to watch the Sun sinking into the ground at the end of his day. Although Josie always talked about ‘the field’, it was in fact three fields adjoining one another, and anyone looking carefully could see the posts marking their boundaries. The grass was tall in all three fields, and when the wind blew, it would move as if invisible passers-by were hurrying through it.

The sky from the bedroom rear window was far larger than the gap of sky at the store – and capable of surprising variations. Sometimes it was the color of the lemons in the fruit bowl, then could turn to the gray of the slate chopping boards. When Josie wasn’t well, it could turn the color of her vomit or her pale feces, or even develop streaks of blood. Sometimes the sky would become divided into a series of squares, each one a different shade of purple to its neighbor.