The Ark Sakura

by Kōbō Abe

  Towering blue space. Massive stone walls intersecting sharply, as if sliced with a knife. Numberless horizontal lines, like marks left by the teeth of a comb—the signature of the power stonecutter blade. The walls do not appear to be even parallelograms but seem rather to undergo a certain curvature, as if falling in toward the center, probably an effect of the uneven light cast by the wall light fixtures.

  When you focus on particulars, things shrink and miniaturize again: the thirty-two storage drums to my right in the corner of the hold were like scales on a carp; the shill, staring open-mouthed at the ceiling, was no bigger than my thumb. Beside him, sitting at his feet with her arms around her knees, was the girl, the size of my pinkie. She too was sweeping her eyes across the ceiling, from end to end. They were both dressed exactly as I had last seen them on the store rooftop—only the girl’s hair was again short. Her own hair became her far better than the wig.

  “Incredible.” The insect dealer was backed up flat against the wall, barely able to speak. He seemed afraid of heights. “I had no idea it was so huge,” he said. “This place is like a sports stadium. You could fit five tennis courts in here.”

  “This is just one small part.” Their stunned looks revived my spirits. “My preliminary surveys indicate there are at least eighteen other holds this size. In that wall over there to the right, past that row of storage drums, there’s a narrow opening between the pillar and the wall—see it? That’s the passageway to the next hold. And on the upper left over there, that area hollowed out like a terrace is my cabin. There’s another hole in there that you crawl through to reach another hold, and you see the place is actually a vast honeycomb of—”

  “What’s that thing over there?” interrupted the shill, pointing his chin toward the left-hand wall. It scarcely needed pointing out; one’s eyes traveled there automatically, drawn by the gleam of white.

  “That? That’s the toilet.”

  “The toilet? You mean that’s the john? That’s where you go?”

  “The design’s a little unusual, but the water pressure is terrific.”

  “Doesn’t it feel a little strange taking a crap right out in the open like that?”

  The girl clapped her hands. “Wow,” she said. “Listen to that echo.”

  The insect dealer looked up, attentive to the reverberations. “If you tried singing in here, you’d sound like a pro,” he said.

  “We’ll pay our passage, of course,” said the shill. “This is worth a lot. Nobody’s asking for a free ride. We’ll talk it over with you and pay a fair price.” He moistened three fingers and rubbed them on his forehead as if performing some magic rite, then added as an afterthought, “Before I forget it, Komono, you still owe me my fee for sales promotion.”

  Ignoring this, the insect dealer bent down to inspect the stairs. “There’s nothing rotten here,” he said. “It’s all in perfect shape.”

  I grabbed his elbow and pulled him back. “Watch out! It’s a trap. This way down, over here.”

  The ladder was propped up in such a way that it could easily be mistaken for part of the scaffolding. I started down first, and immediately regretted not having let the insect dealer take the lead. Too late. The shill came striding over, heels clicking on stone; he grabbed the ladder and began to shake it.

  “So that’s the way it was, eh? You knew about the danger all along and did nothing to warn us. It’s your fault the young lady got hurt.”

  My position was highly disadvantageous. Was he planning to use violence? In any case, it wouldn’t do to betray weakness.

  “I had no obligation to warn you of anything. You, sir, are in the wrong for breaking and entering.”

  The insect dealer leaned down from above the ladder, showing rodentlike teeth. “All right, you two,” he said. “Break it up. In any quarrel, both sides are at fault.”

  “This isn’t a quarrel,” said the shill. What was that supposed to mean? He went on shaking the ladder. “I’m just trying to help. Two injured people is enough. We certainly wouldn’t want anything to happen to the captain.”

  The girl tossed in an irrelevant remark. “Is the stone in these walls really blue, or does it just look that way?” Sitting all alone in the center of the vast stone room, arms clasped around one knee, she was as conspicuous as a tin can in the center of a soccer field. I’d heard that the female sex took cold easily; would she be all right, sitting directly on the cold stone floor all this time? If her ankle was sprained, there wasn’t much else she could do. I found her pose unbearably provocative.

  “It really is blue,” I told her. “That’s why it’s called waterstone. Maybe you’ve heard of it. When it’s polished it shines like marble, but the shine doesn’t last long. When it dries out, the surface turns powdery.”

  The shill let go of the ladder and stepped back, adopting a neutral stance. The insect dealer started down the ladder, calling out to the girl as he descended:

  “How are you doing? Pain any better?”

  “No,” she shouted back.

  His feet were almost to my head. There were still three rungs below me, but I jumped to the floor. The shock of landing was translated into bunches of needles hammered into my knee; I staggered, and the shill held me up. The insect dealer slipped past me with a smile and a pat on the shoulder, heading straight for the girl.

  “How’s that ankle?” he asked. “Are you okay? Do you want to see a doctor?”

  “I can’t walk.”

  “There’s a jeep right outside.”

  The shill cut in impatiently, “Her bone’s broken, you know. Just how do you think she’s going to climb the ladder and hang on to the rope?”

  “I’ll carry her piggyback. Fractures need attention fast.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” The shill made a noise in the back of his throat like a balloon popping. “You can’t climb a rope with someone on your back.”

  “I used to be a member of the Self-Defense Forces. They trained us in that sort of maneuver. Besides, there won’t be any climbing; on the way back it’s all downhill.”

  “You mean uphill.” The shill’s voice was thick with saliva; his voice quivered at the end of the sentence for lack of breath. “The way here was downhill, so they way back is uphill.”

  “You mean to say you two climbed down to get here?” The insect dealer shot me an accusing look out of the corner of his eye. I grew flustered. “Where from?” he demanded.

  “From the road overhead, of course.”

  “You mean the town road?”

  “Whatever. The one overhead.”

  “There’s no rope there.”

  “I brought my own.” He bent down under the staircase and picked up a bag like a photographer’s case. “See this?” he said. “I keep a set of essential tools in it.”

  “What for?”

  “Just in case.”

  “I see.” The insect dealer nodded, drawing an X with his large head. “That explains how you got past the dogs.”

  “But how did you find your way here?” I asked.

  “I just showed that map to a taxi driver, and he brought us straight here.”

  “A taxi driver?” Hold on, mustn’t get too excited. It would only amount to a display of weakness. “Well, that was a damn fool thing to do. That’s why I didn’t want to let you have a ticket in the first place. That’s the sort of person you are, I could tell. You wreck everything—”

  “Calm down, please. All I did was show him the map.”

  “That’s exactly what you shouldn’t have done.”

  “The captain does have a point.” The insect dealer squatted down comfortably on the floor next to the girl. “The fewer people who know about this, the bigger each one’s share, after all.”

  “It’s unpardonable. Hand me that ticket and get out of here right now.”

  “But what about me? I’m hurt,” the girl said forlornly, looking up at the insect dealer, beside her.

  The shill added deliberately, in a hard voice, “
If a taxi driver is dangerous, I’m more so. I know too much—more than any cabbie. You can’t afford to throw me out.”

  The silence that followed, though short, seemed interminable.

  “What’s that smell?” murmured the girl.

  There was a smell of some kind. I had already decided it was the scent of the girl’s body—but she would hardly react to that herself.

  “Maybe it’s the bleaching power I use for disinfectant.”

  “No. I have a very good nose. This is more like … burned soy sauce.

  Simultaneously we three men began to stick our noses up and swing our heads around as we sniffed the air.

  “Do you know, you’re right; I had squid with soy sauce for dinner yesterday.”

  “Not spear squid, was it? The ones around here are fit for a king.” The insect dealer’s voice was eager, and he spoke with that twitch of the soft palate that comes when one is fondly recalling a particular taste. “Good raw too.”

  “As a matter of fact, I fried up the leftovers of some I ate raw the night before.”

  “Look, will you hurry and call an ambulance, please,” the girl begged, drawing out the vowel at the end of the sentence as if she were singing. It really seemed as much a test of the echo as a cry of exasperation. I was about to tell her that it was out of the question; the insect dealer opened his mouth too, apparently on the verge of some similar remark; but it was the shill who said it first:

  “Forget it. We can’t possibly do that.”

  “Oh, I know. Never mind.” She gave in without a fight. “If you’re trying to avoid contact with the outside world, then it doesn’t make sense to call an ambulance, does it? But God, it’s killing me… .”

  “Oh, let me give this back to you before I forget,” said the shill. He took my padlock out from a compartment in his bag and threw it at me all of a sudden, though we were barely an arm’s length apart. I missed it, and it fell to the floor—but there was no clank when it hit the stone. It was still twirling around the shill’s finger. More parlor tricks. This time he passed it slowly into my palm. “You can never be too careful with a lock, can you?” he said.

  “How about the key, while you’re at it?”

  “Sure thing.” He fumbled in his pocket. “Komono, you give back yours too.”

  “All right.” Without the slightest hesitation, the insect dealer tossed over his passkey, which flew in a precise parabola, landing smack in the shill’s hand before being transferred to mine. I was not impressed. Such virtuoso performances leave me cold. It’s always the same: the ball goes back and forth, back and forth, in a quick, light rhythm … and then before I know it, somebody switches it for a hand grenade; I catch it, and that’s the end of the game. I had recovered the padlock and keys, but in return I had been forced to acknowledge that the shill and the girl would stay.

  “Just tell me when you want out. I’ll open the door right up.”

  “No problem. I have no pressing commitments.” He sucked in a bit of saliva at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, in here you don’t have to worry about bill collectors chasing after you.”

  “That’s right,” the insect dealer chimed in. Everybody laughed but me. The girl began massaging her ankle as if she’d just remembered. I could see right through her little ruse, but there seemed no point in bringing it up.

  “Doesn’t anybody know a good doctor? Someone discreet, who makes house calls.”

  “Yes, we’ll need a ship’s doctor. Ships always have one, you know.” The shill sought the insect dealer’s concurrence; the insect dealer nodded. “Not only should he be exempted from paying a fare; he should be paid a salary. Does anybody know a good person?”

  I did, but I didn’t want to say so. “For now, why don’t you let me have a look at that leg?” I offered. “I used to work for the fire department. I can at least tell a sprain from a fracture.”

  Again everybody laughed. I could only join in, estimating as I did so the distance between her and me. A good eighteen to twenty paces. The thing to do was to stroll over casually, timing it so that as I finished talking I was right by her side. If all went well, I might be able to touch her leg without anybody stopping me.

  “They make you learn first-aid procedures even if you’re not a member of the emergency squad,” I said. “Things like splinting a fracture or administering artificial respiration—but this is a bit uncomfortable, so why don’t we go to my cabin? It has a sofa and some cushions. Nothing too fancy, but comfortable.”

  Just as planned, I maneuvered myself into place directly opposite the insect dealer, with the girl between us. She nodded and raised her right arm high, signaling that she wanted to lean on my shoulder. Unbelievably, she had accepted my invitation. I knelt down by her side on the left, scarcely breathing, like someone slipping a windfall in change into his pocket. Such a chance would never come again. I could not afford to worry about what anyone else might think.

  Her hand rested on my right shoulder. This was no fantasy, but a real woman’s hand. The sensation was so novel that I can scarcely describe it; if anything, it felt as if someone had applied an icy flatiron to the surface of my brain. Under the circumstances, no one could have objected if I slipped an arm around her waist, but I forbore, content merely to imagine what it would be like. As I stood up, a hand reached in my crotch and tickled my balls. It had to be the insect dealer. I ignored it.

  The shill had gone ahead toward the bridge—my cabin. He kicked at the toilet below the stairs and let out a nervous laugh. These people laughed a lot for no good reason.

  “Sure looks like a toilet,” he said.

  “It is one,” I said.

  The insect dealer caught up with the shill and peered over his shoulder. “This is a special-order size. Are you sure it isn’t for horses? Does it work?”

  “Of course it does.”

  “You must be some kind of exhibitionist.” The shill leaned against a stick beside the toilet. “How you could drop your drawers here, in such an open place, is beyond me.”

  What he had leaned against was a steel rod sticking up out of the floor like a railway switch; it looked like something to grab for support, but actually it was the flush lever. Before I could warn him, the lever moved, and he staggered back. An earthshaking tremor arose, as if a subway were roaring in. The noise was concentrated in the core of the toilet, as if it had been passed through a parabolic lens and magnified. An instant later, water came surging in with a cloud of spray, rose up just level with the bowl, formed a whirlpool, and vanished with another roar. There was a wet noise of rupture, then a hush.

  “How awful.” Shaking my shoulder, the woman emitted a soundless laugh. Judging from the way she carried herself, the ankle was certainly not broken. I doubted if it was even sprained. That was fine with me. I only wanted to stay forever the way we were.

  “That water pressure is ridiculous!” The insect dealer looked back at me and said sharply, “Is this really a john? It’s big enough to service ten elephants—all at the same time. The shape is funny too. I mean, it looks sort of like a john, but it’s really not, is it?”

  “Well, who says that all toilets have to look alike?” I countered. “There’s no law, is there?” I wasn’t dead sure myself. Maybe it was something else. It was bigger than your ordinary facility, and higher; its back was indistinguishable from its front, and it was unusually wide. The absence of a seat made it difficult to straddle and hard to keep your balance. It was also a peculiar shape: the heavy porcelain bowl rested like a giant tulip on stainless-steel pipes protruding from the floor.

  My first encounter with this toilet went back to the time I was confined here under suspicion of rape, and my biological father, Inototsu, had chained me to those very pipes. Every prison cell needs some sort of facility for disposing of human waste. The men at work nearby (who regarded me with a mixture of disgust and awe for having supposedly committed rape so young) used to share their lunches with me and then relieve themselves right in front o
f me without batting an eyelash, while I was still eating. Also, they would dispose of cigarette butts, the paper bags they brought their lunches in, things like that. Sometimes they would drag over a cat carcass or a bug-infested cushion and flush it away. Kittens could fit in whole, and the mother cat could be managed either by hammering the body to bits or by severing it in two. It was doubtless constructed in such a way as to take advantage of different water levels underground—but why and how it generated such tremendous pressure I never understood. Despite its mystery, it was in fact all-powerful, capable of washing anything away.

  “If you say so. But I wish you’d put a screen around it, anyway,” said the shill. Moving on ahead, he laid a hand on the banister of the steps leading up to the bridge.

  “Watch out!” I yelled, pulling away from the woman’s arm. I grabbed the shill’s shirt and hauled him back. “Please don’t go anywhere or touch anything without first checking with me. I told you there are booby traps everyplace.”

  As I spoke, skyrockets went off at the top of the stairs, exploding as they hit the floor, and sending out a cloud of orange smoke.

  “What in hell was that?” The shill’s voice was shrill and unnerved. The woman made a sound like a whistling teakettle.

  “I’d say you’ve gone a little overboard.” The insect dealer spoke slowly and decisively. “That’s going too far. Sheer paranoia.” He signaled me with his eyes all the while he spoke. I couldn’t get what he had in mind, but he was apparently seeking some sort of carte blanche.

  “Relax. Registered crew members will be informed of all booby traps aboard the ship. If necessary, I can turn off the power as a safety precaution.”