by Meira Chand
Further down the river, while looking for insects with the children, she had seen the pipe flue, a large open circle in the river bank. In the daylight then she noticed the pale interior, large enough to sit inside. It was dry and dusty, with dandelions growing thickly about the rim. She knew it was disused, no water ever flowed from it. But now, in the evening, it gaped blackly. She hesitated a moment before climbing in.
It was not as large as it appeared from outside. As she pulled herself inside a fine dry dust settled between her fingers and over her knees, powdery and smooth. Sitting sideways her feet rested on the vertical curve, level with her stomach. Her knees came right up beneath her chin. She manoeuvred round until she sat lengthways, legs straight out, feet near the entrance, her head just clear of the top. But this way there was nothing to lean against, and her back soon tired. In the end she settled for a twisted posture with her legs stretched out and her shoulders resting against the side of the pipe.
It was now quite dark outside. The sky was full of moonlit cloud, banked flatly together like a frozen lunar landscape. A breeze blew down the pipe. Natsuko hugged her bare upper arms with her hands. In the daylight, from outside, she had not thought about the dark. The pipe faced not houses, but the silent wooded hills. All she saw was blackness and, along the top of the hills, a ragged fringe of trees against the white cloud. The night began placing things uncomfortably before her. From the back of the pipe came a damp putrid smell. When the breeze changed direction, away from the pipe, a soft rotting wave of it pushed over her. It forced her to think about the pipe, stretching back behind, empty and hollow. If she coughed or moved each small sound echoed slightly. And further back, in the narrow emptiness, strange sounds sometimes boomed, repeating up and down the pipe. A picture came into her mind of being sucked back into the pipe, deeper and deeper, of seeing the hole in the bank rushing away from her, disappearing as the pipe joined other pipes, tunnelling beneath the village in a labyrinth of complex tubes. Her body would wedge there, clogging the pipe, decomposing slowly, washing away bit by bit, until there was nothing left of her but a few bones to slip easily along, out into the sea. She had thought in the beginning no further than the dusty entrance. But suddenly now she felt the same panic as when she swam in deep water and thought of the depth below her. She remembered once on a seaside holiday swimming with Riichi, splashing and laughing, trying to keep up with his thrashing body. Ahead of her he turned and stopped, so that she too slowed down and began paddling water in one spot. She had looked down then and seen the dark shadows of rocks, looming murky and threatening beneath her. Instantly panic filled her. She beat the water hysterically, unable to turn, float or swim. Salty water gushed into her nose and mouth. Riichi pulled her back to shore, but not until she felt ground beneath her feet did the panic leave.
She moved closer to the entrance of the pipe, and tried not to think of the endless narrow tunnel, burrowing behind her. She did not know what time it was, or how long she had been in the pipe. The thick clouds above had broken up, freeing the moon. Thin pale stratas of cloud drifted across the sky, like yards of flimsy chiffon. The silhouettes of branches and leaves were black and lacy. She did not feel hungry, but lunch seemed long ago. She felt she should eat as a means of conserving her strength. Her head beat painfully now and she was cold. She pulled the bag of rice crackers from her pocket, and the two chewy sweets, wrapped in waxy green paper. Having eaten this neither the coldness in her body nor the ache in her head were any better. Stretching out she lay down, pillowing her head against her arm, and tried to sleep. It was a fitful dozing, each time a black falling off, only to wake again to the narrow confines of the pipe. Shivering with cold, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, feeling the breeze blow up her legs and skirt. In the sleeping and waking she did not know if hours or only minutes passed. Then again blackness sucked her under.
She came to slowly, with the feeling of being pulled back into her body, spiralling up into it from a deep and terrible place. When, slowly, she sat up there was a spinning sensation in her head. It bumped the top of the pile, reminding her where she was. She was stiff with cold, and near the end of the pipe her feet and ankles were wet. It was raining. She heard the light patter of water on leaves outside. The sound of the trickling river carried loudly in the night, dogs barked somewhere in the village. A light wind stirred grass, rustling like tissue paper. Moonlight shone directly into the mouth of the pipe. She could see the patent sheen of dandelion leaves, raindrops dripping from their ragged edges. She pulled her feet in, curling up roundly, trying to get warmer. Her socks were soaking wet, cold on her feet. Her head hurt now if she moved her neck, and she was conscious of a pain in her chest. Each time she tried to breathe it closed up tightly inside her, like a fist. It was easier to take short shallow breaths.
From one end of the pipe cold blew in, from the other the dark welled up. Somewhere, from the back, she heard a continuous knocking sound, metallic and hollow. The pipe must surface, and rain splattering upon it echo along. She closed her eyes, and again and dreamed she was falling, turning head over heels, on and on. As she fell Hiroko’s face floated up from the opposite direction, came level with her and drifted on. From behind her voice trailed back to Natsuko. ‘Leave her alone. She’ll come back by herself, snivelling and crying. Leave her alone.’ Alone. The other words faded, except this. Alone.
First it was a circle of light, shining into her face, dancing on the sides of the pipe. And voices, more than one, talking all at once. They sounded distant and confused. The darkness seeped up around her again. On her chest was a heavy weight. She could hardly breathe, she wondered if she was suffocating. Again the light, on her face, and in her eyes, blinding for a moment. Then it flicked away and she saw behind it faces, crowding into the end of the pipe. And hands, pulling at her legs, pushing beneath her, lifting her up.
Above her suddenly the sky shot out in all directions, as if freed from a small container, breathing wide and free. The rain had stopped, the night was clear. Stars glinted, tiny, like pins in a cushion. Somebody put a cool hand on her forehead, wrapped something warm about her shoulders. The brilliant spheres of torches darted about, showing small patches of faces and limbs. A voice was shouting loudly.
‘We’ve found her. Found her.’
The sobs welled up in her then.
10
Light. White and cool, above and around her. It was a high ceiling. She saw now the milky bulb and shade at its centre. There was a feeling of air and space. She did not know where she was. And yet she was sure of some familiarity, sure she had been here before, if only she could remember. She stirred on the bed and became aware of her left arm, unable to move. Looking down she saw the needle, held down in her arm bybsticking plaster. From it clear plastic tubes led to bags of liquid, hanging on a metal stand. Still she was afraid to guess, afraid this too might be a dream.
‘Ah. She is awake. And how are you feeling, Natsuko? A little better?’ The voice came from beside her.
She saw the long pale face of Sister Yvonne leaning over her, the white veil, the black spectacles. She nodded mutely to the nun.
‘Yes, you certainly look a bit better today. My, but you had us all worried, you know. Now, these nasty drips will be finished in a few hours. I think it would be a good idea if you were to try a little soft food at lunch today.’ The nun bent at the end of the bed, turning the crank. Her head bobbed up and down beyond the pyramid of Natsuko’s feet as the bed wound up. Slowly Natsuko was raised to an incline. Now she could see the room, the pale walls and curtains, and the white bed, spread out before her like a field of snow. Through the large window was sun and Kobe rooftops.
The nun came forward with a wash cloth, towel and brush. The cloth was cool and refreshing on Natsuko’s face, hair was smoothed neatly behind her ears. Then the nun plumped up the pillows, settling Natsuko comfortably back upon them.
‘Now, just ring if you need me, child. You should feel much more yourself today. You’re
well through the crisis now, thank the dear Lord.’ She paused at the door and then turned back.
‘Do you know, by some blessed coincidence, you are in the same room as your dear mother was. Now doesn’t that make you feel better already.’ She disappeared with a wave and a smile.
The same room as her mother. Yes. Now she understood the pale antiseptic familiarities. For a moment she saw again her mother’s stark face, slipping in and out of the beige dressing-gown, and the putty-coloured curtains. She remembered the loose, lost feeling of her embrace, and the silent tears sliding down her cheeks on to the cloth-wrapped box of biscuits. She remembered the noiselessness of those tears.
A breeze from an open crack of window slipped coolly across her face and was gone. She lay, quite still, staring from the window at the spread of roofs, and the wide pale sea of the bay. Between, in a ribbon, ran the docks, the chimneys of the steel works and breweries. Beside the hulls of ships stood massive red container cranes, rearing up long necks like prehistoric monsters. The view was familiar, home was not far away. It lay to the left behind the hospital, much further up the same slope of hill. She wondered now who had brought her here. If Riichi and her father had returned from Tokyo. Her mind was blank as the sheets tucked about her.
She woke with a gentle tugging on her arm. Beside her a nurse was freeing her arm from the drip. The plastic bottles were empty, and without the needle Natsuko flexed her hand, examining the swollen blue bruise over the vein. The nurse smiled brightly, she was a young Japanese girl.
‘Feeling better? You’ve been very ill. Going to eat some lunch?’ She wheeled up a high trolley of food and pushed it across the bed, against Natsuko’s chest. Tucking a napkin in the front of Natsuko’s pyjamas, she lifted up the metal covers from the plates. Natsuko looked at the pale minced chicken and mashed vegetables, and felt not the slightest interest.
‘Come along. Just a little will get you well and out of here soon.’ The nurse picked up a forkful of chicken and fed it to Natsuko. On her tongue the food was thick and tasteless.
‘Did I come yesterday? Who brought me here? What is the matter with me?’ She was almost afraid to ask the questions.
‘Yesterday? Of course not. No. You’ve been with us three days. Don’t you remember? Be a good girl, eat this all up. Look at that strawberry jelly. It was your father who brought you here. You’ve had pneumonia.’
Three days. She could find them nowhere, detect no clues in her mind. She took another forkful of chicken, chewing it slowly. After she swallowed, little fibrous bits were left in her mouth. With her tongue she rolled them against her palate. Pushing out her tongue she rolled a bit off on her finger. It was pale and well beaten, like blotting paper. It all broke in her mind then, cracking through the denseness. She saw again the fuzzy slubs of wet paper rubbing between her fingers, the long thick strip tearing away from the block. Shojiro. Hiroko. The memories came then, pouring in coldly. As if she welcomed back a dreaded acquaintance.
At tea-time they made her climb off the high bed and walk to the bathroom, the nurse holding her arm. Her legs were without substance. Sitting on the toilet she felt faint. Quickly the nurse pushed her head down between her knees. For a moment in front of her eyes it all pricked hotly, pins and needles of flame-coloured dots. Then it cleared, a cool feeling washed through her head. The nurse helped her up, and pressed the flush. With a rushing and gurgling the water in the toilet disappeared, sucked back into the dark mouth of the pipe, before clear water swelled back into the bowl. She stood quite still then, seeing again the dark hollow pipe tunnelling away behind her. She saw the dandelions, bright in the moonlight, rain dripping from their ragged leaves. Then the torches and faces, after that nothing.
He was alone. He came exactly at six, in a lightweight beige suit, carrying a cellophane wrapped box of strawberries. His expression was stern, though he tried hard to smile when he saw Natsuko lying back upon the pillows, washed and free of tubes. Beside the bed he hesitated, before putting the strawberries down on the cabinet. She knew suddenly then, her father was nervous. He kissed her and patted her head. As he leaned over a faint tang of aftershave lotion filled her nose. His lips brushed her cheek, dry as a moth.
‘Well. This is much better. Now we shall soon have you home. Riichi and Hiroko wanted to come, but we were not sure how well you might be. I phoned this morning, did they tell you? They said you were still very weak.’
Ignoring the chair her father sat down on the end of the bed. His weight pulled the sheets tight across Natsuko’s toes. He looked smooth and clean. Seeing him, she remembered suddenly the dry knotted hair of the doll in her lap, and from the next room his sharp voice. ‘But why? Why must you go to places likethat, Frances?’ Later she had seen her mother, after the doctor came, lying quietly in bed, exhausted. Tears wet her hair, plastering it flatly about her ears.
‘Who brought me here?’ she asked him then.
‘I did. The doctor insisted you come. You were very ill, you know.’ Relief showed plainly in his face, hearing her speak.
‘I have been so worried about you.’ He leaned forward and took her hand, squeezing it hard. ‘Thank God you are safe. I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything since this happened. Today I cut my last lecture nearly to half, to rush here as soon as I could.’
A confusion of feeling tightened his throat. The relief of seeing her at last, awake and conscious, made him feel quite weak. He reached out with his other hand, clasping her fingers between both his palms, feeling their small unyielding frailty. He knew if Frances were here instead of himself, she would throw her arms about Natsuko, nearly drowning the child in her own relief. But for all the years he had lived with Frances he had never learnt this easy demonstrativeness. He looked upon it sometimes with distaste, sometimes with envious trepidation. But now he wished, for a moment, the iron in him might break, that he could do more than just sit here, patting the child’s hand, repeating, thank God, thank God.
‘I don’t remember anything.’ Natsuko looked away, not wanting him closer. All she wanted were answers to her questions.
‘Hiroko phoned me. We had just got home from Tokyo. I told her to bring you straight back in a taxi.’
‘When?’ Just hearing Hiroko’s name fall, loud and rounded from his mouth, was enough to bring the physical presence of the woman up sharp before her again.
‘On Sunday evening.’
She remembered the torches, the people, the sky shooting out in all directions, starry and dark. It had been night when they found her. It had been Saturday. She remembered it all now. That meant for a further whole day, until the following evening, she had been at the farmhouse with Hiroko. In her mind were stray pictures that fitted nowhere. She had kept brushing them away, thinking them remnants of strange dreams. Now she was not so sure. There was a memory of the old woman’s bed, laid out, but empty, with herself being lowered into it. And a terrible fear, as the cool covers touched her, that she would die there, her insides rotting. Insects would come down from the rafters and up through cracks between mats, to feed upon her. Another picture was of trees and sky, moving like a film through a car window. These things were not dreams. She knew now they had happened.
Her father looked up, opened his mouth as if to speak, gave a little cough and looked away again. Then he turned determinedly back to her, smiling too brightly, his eyes a narrow slanted crease. Natsuko saw with surprise they were moist with emotion.
‘Well. They will be happy to hear you are so much better. I expect they will come tomorrow to see you.’ She could hear the nervous effort, the ill ease in his voice.
‘I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see Riichi.’
‘Natsuko. That is not the right attitude. Hiroko has been very good. With your mother away it is not easy, I know. Hiroko has been so worried about you.’ His voice was suddenly full and strong. Through his relief annoyance surged up now. She did not seem to realize how much she had worried them. He was suddenly angry. There was n
ot even a splinter of repentance in her. Her chin was all puckered and hard, her lower lip the usual stubborn pout. He tried to control his resentment, patting her hand again.
She thought, I hate you. I hate Riichi. Neither of you care. Aloud she said, ‘I hate Hiroko.’
Annoyance and alarm passed over his face. And suddenly then, she felt herself strong.
‘I hate her. I hate her,’ she said again, screaming it out, watching his face grow red and flustered.
‘Now, Natsuko. That is not the way to speak. You are ill, I did not want to talk about it but I have heard of the way you behaved at Hiroko’s. And really, I am most ashamed. Ashamed. We will not say anything more now, you are still too weak. But I do not want this nonsense. Don’t think I do not know all that has happened.’