A Pale View of Hills

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  “As a matter of fact, I do happen to be familiar with certain aspects of your career. For instance, the sacking and imprisoning of the five teachers at Nishizaka. April of 19, if I’m not mistaken. But those men are free now, and they’ll help us reach a new dawn. Now please excuse me.” He picked up his briefcase and bowed to us in turn. "My regards to Jim,"he added, then turned and walked away.

  Ogata-San watched the young man disappear down the hill. He continued to stand there for several more moments, not speaking. Then when he turned to me, there was a smile around his eyes.

  "How confident young men are,” he said. “I suppose I was much the same once. Very sure of my opinions.”

  “Father,” I said. "Perhaps we should go and see Mrs. Fujiwara now. It’s time we ate lunch."

  “Why, of course, Etsuko. This is very inconsiderate of me, making you stand about in this heat. Yes, let’s go and see the good lady. I’ll be very pleased to see her again.”

  We made our way down the hill, then crossed a wooden bridge over a narrow river. Below us, children were playing along the riverbank, some with fishing poles. Once, I said to Ogata-San:

  “What nonsense he was speaking,”

  "Who? You mean Shigeo?"

  “What vile nonsense. I don’t think you should pay the slightest attention, Father.”

  Ogata-San laughed, but made no reply.

  As always at that hour, the shopping area of the district was busy with people. On entering the shaded forecourt of the noodle shop, I was pleased to see several of the tables occupied with customers. Mrs. Fujiwara saw us and came across the forecourt.

  "Why, Ogata-San,” she exclaimed, recognizing him immediately, “how splendid to see you again. It’s been a longtime, hasn’t it?’’

  "A long time indeed.” Ogata-San returned the bow Mrs. Fujiwara gave him. “Yes, a long time.”

  I was struck by the warmth with which they greeted each other, for as far as I knew Ogata-San and Mrs. Fujiwara had never known one another well. They exchanged what seemed an endless succession of bows, before Mrs. Fujiwara went to fetch us something to eat.

  She returned presently with two steaming bowls, apologizing that she had nothing better for us. Ogata-San bowed appreciatively and began to eat.

  “I thought you’d have forgotten me Long ago, Mrs. Fujiwara,” he remarked with a smile. Indeed, it’s been a long time.”

  “It’s such a pleasure to meet again like this,” Mrs. Fujiwara said, seating herself on the edge of my bench. “Etsuko tells me you reside in Fukuoka these days. I visited Fukuoka several times. A fine city, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, indeed. Fukuoka is my hometown.”

  “Fukuoka your hometown? But you lived and worked [here for years, Ogata-San. Don’t we have any claim on you in Nagasaki?”

  Ogata-San laughed and leaned his head to one side. “A man might work and make his contribution in one place, but at the end of it all” he shrugged and smiled wistfully—“at the end of it all, he still wants to go back to the place where he grew up.”

  Mrs. Fujiwara nodded understandingly. Then she said: “I was just remembering, Ogata-San, the days when you were the headmaster at Suichi’s school. He used to be so frightened of you.”

  Ogata-San laughed. “Yes, I remember your Suichi very well. A bright little boy. Very bright.”

  “Do you really remember him still, Ogata-San?”

  “Yes, of course, I remember Suichi. He used to work very hard. A good little boy.”

  "Yes, he was a good little boy.”

  Ogata-San pointed at his bowl with his chopsticks. “This is really marvellous,” he said.

  "Nonsense. I’m sorry I have nothing better to give you.”

  "No, really, it’s delicious.”

  “Now let me see,” said Mrs. Fujiwara. “There was a teacher in those days, she was very kind to Suichi. Now what was her name? Suzuki, I think it was, Miss Suzuki. Have you any idea what became of her, Ogata-San?”

  "Miss Suzuki? Ah, yes, I recall her quite well. But I’m afraid I’ve no idea where she could be now.”

  “She was very kind to Suichi. And there was that other teacher, Kuroda was his name. An excellent young man.”

  “Kuroda Ogata-San nodded slowly. “Ah yes, Kuroda. I remember him. A splendid teacher."

  “Yes, a most impressive young man. My husband was very struck by him. Do you know what became of him?”

  “Kuroda Ogata-San was still nodding to himself. A streak of sunlight had fallen across his face, lighting up the many wrinkles around his eyes. “Kuroda, now let me see. I ran into him once, quite by accident. That was at the start of the war. I suppose he went off to fight. I’ve never heard of him since. Yes, an excellent teacher. There are so many from those days I never hear of now:”

  Someone called out to Mrs. Fujiwara and we watched her go hurriedly across the forecourt to her customer’s table. She stood there bowing for several moments, then cleared some dishes from the table and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Ogata-San watched her, then shook his head. “A great pity to see her like this,” he said, in a low voice. I said nothing and continued to eat. Then Ogata-San leaned across the table and asked; “Etsuko, what did you say was the name of her son? The one who’s still alive, I mean.”

  “Kazuo,” I whispered.

  He nodded, then returned to his bowl of noodles.

  Mrs. Fujiwara came back a few moments later. "Such a shame I don’t have something better to offer you,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” said Ogata-San. “This is delicious. And how is Kazuo-San these days?”

  “He’s fine. He’s in good health, and he enjoys his work.”

  “Splendid. Etsuko was telling me he works for a motor car company.

  “Yes, he’s doing very well there, What’s more, he’s thinking of marrying again.”

  “Really?”

  “He said once he’d never many again, but he’s starting to look ahead to things now. He has no one in mind as of yet, but at least he’s started to think ahead.”

  “That sounds like good sense,” Ogata-San said. "Why, he’s still quite a young man, isn’t he?”

  “Of course he is. He still has all his life ahead of him."

  “Of course he has. His whole life ahead of him. You must find him a nice young lady, Mrs. Fujiwara.”

  She laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t tried. But young Women are so different these days. It amazes me, how things have changed so much so quickly.”

  “Indeed, how right you are. Young women these days are all so headstrong. And forever talking about washing machines and American dresses. Etsuko here’s no different."

  “Nonsense, Father.

  Mrs. Fujiwara laughed again, then said: "I remember the first time I heard of a washing-machine, I couldn’t believe anyone would want such a thing. Spending all that money, when you had two good hands to work with. But I’m sure Etsuko wouldn’t agree with me."

  I was about to say something, but Ogata-San spoke first:

  "Let me tell you," he said, “what I heard the other day. A man was telling me this, a colleague of Jiro’s, in fact. Apparently at the last elections, his wife wouldn’t agree with him about which party to vote for. He had to beat her, but she still didn’t give way. So in the end, they voted for separate parties. Can you imagine such a thing happening in the old days? Extraordinary."

  Mrs. Fujiwara shook her head. "Things are so different now,” she said, and sighed. “But I hear from Etsuko, Jiro San is getting on splendidly now, You must be proud of him, Ogata-San.”

  “Yes, I suppose that boy’s getting on well enough. In fact, today he’ll be representing his firm at a most important meeting. It appears they’re thinking of promoting him again.”

  "How marvellous.”

  “It was only last year he was promoted. I suppose his superiors must have a high opinion of him.”

  “How marvellous. You must be very proud o him.”

  “He’s a determined wor
ker, that one. He always was from an early age. I remember when he was a boy, and all the other fathers were busy telling their children to study harder, I was obliged to keep telling him to play more, it wasn’t good for him to work so hard.”

  Mrs. Fujiwara laughed and shook her head. “Yes, Kazuo’s a hard worker too,” she said. “He’s often reading through his paperwork right into the night. I tell him he shouldn’t work so hard, but he won’t listen.”

  “No, they never listen. And I must admit, I was much the same. But when you believe in what you’re doing, you don’t feel like idling away the hours. My wife was always telling me to take it easy, but I never listened.”

  "Yes, that’s just the way Kazuo is. But he’ll have to change his ways if he marries again.”

  “Don’t depend on it,” Ogata-San said, with a laugh. Then he put his chopsticks neatly together across his bowl. “Why, that was a splendid meal."

  “Nonsense. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you something better. Would you care for some more?”

  "If you have more to spare me, I’d be delighted. These days, I have to make the best of such good cooking, you know.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Fujiwara again, getting to her feet.

  We had not been back long when Jiro came in from work, an hour or so earlier than usual. He greeted his father cheerfully his show of temper the previous night apparently quite forgotten—before disappearing to take his bath. He returned a little later, dressed in a kimono, humming a song to himself. lie seated himself on a cushion and began to towel his hair.

  “Well, how did it go?” Ogata-San asked.

  “What’s that? Oh, the meeting you mean. It wasn’t so bad. Not so bad at all.”

  I had been on the point of going into the kitchen, but paused at the doorway, waiting to hear what else Jiro had to say. His lather, too, continued to look at him. For several moments, pro went on to welling his hair, looking at neither of us.

  "In fact,” he said at last, “I suppose I did rather well. I persuaded their representatives to sign an agreement. Not exactly a contract, but to all purposes the same thing. My boss was quite surprised. It’s unusual for them to commit themselves like that. He told me to take the rest of the day off.”

  “Why, that’s splendid news,” Ogata-San said, then gave a laugh. He glanced towards me, then back at his son.

  "That’s splendid news."

  “Congratulations,” I said, smiling at my husband. "I’m so glad.”

  Jiro looked up, as if noticing me for the first time.

  "Why are you standing there like that?” he asked. “I wouldn’t mind some tea, you know.” He put down his towel and began combing his hair.

  That evening, in order to celebrate Jiro’s success, I prepared a more elaborate meal than usual. Neither during supper, nor during the rest of the evening, did Ogata-San mention anything of his encounter with Shigeo Matsuda that day. However, just as we began to eat, he said quite suddenly:

  “Well, Jiro, I’ll be leaving you tomorrow.”

  Jiro looked up. You’re leaving? Oh, a pity. Well, I hope you enjoyed your visit.”

  “Yes, I’ve had a good rest. In fact, I’ve been with you rather longer than I planned."

  “You’re welcome, Father,” said Jiro. “No need to rush, I assure you"

  “Thank you, but I must be getting back now. There’s a few things I have to be getting on with.”

  “Please come and visit us again, whenever it’s convenient.”

  “Father,” I said. You must come and see the baby when it arrives.”

  Ogata-San smiled. “Perhaps at New Year then" he said. “But I won’t bother you much earlier than that, Etsuko. You’ll have enough on your hands without having to contend with me.”

  “A pity you caught me at such a busy time" my husband said. “Next time, perhaps, I won’t be so hard pressed and we’ll have more time to talk.”

  “Now, don’t worry, Jiro. Nothing has pleased me more than to see how much you devote yourself to your work.”

  "Now this deal’s finally gone through," said Jim, “I’ll have a little more time. A shame you have to go back just now. And I was thinking of taking a couple of days off too. Still, it can’t be helped, I suppose.”

  “Father,” I said, interrupting, “if Jiro’s going to take a few days off, can’t you stay another week?”

  My husband stopped eating, but did not look up. “It’s tempting,” Ogata-San said, "but I really think it’s time I went back."

  Jiro began to eat once more. “A pity,” he said.

  “Yes, I really must get the veranda finished before Kikuko and her husband come. They’re bound to want to come down in the autumn.”

  Jiro did not reply, and we all ate in silence for a while. Then Ogata-San said:

  "Besides, I can’t sit here thinking about chess all day.” He laughed, a little strangely.

  Jiro nodded, but said nothing. Ogata-San laughed again, then for several moments we continued to eat in silence.

  “Do you drink sake these days, Father?” Jiro asked eventually.

  “Sake? I take a drop sometimes. Not often.”

  Since this is your last evening with us, perhaps we should take some sake.”

  Ogata-San seemed to consider this for a moment. Finally, he said with a smile: "There’s no need to make a fuss about an old man like me. But I’ll join you in a cup to celebrate your splendid future”

  Pro nodded to me. I went to the cupboard and brought out a bottle and two cups.

  “I always thought you’d go far,” Ogata-San was saying.

  “You always showed promise."

  "Just because of what happened today, that’s no guarantee they’ll give me the promotion,” my husband said. "But I suppose my efforts today will have done no harm.”

  “No, indeed,” said Ogata-San. “I doubt if you did yourself much harm today”

  They both watched in silence as I poured out the sake. Then Ogata-San laid down his chopsticks and raised his cup.

  "Here’s to your future, Jiro,” he said.

  My husband, some food still in his mouth, also raised his cup.

  “And to yours, Father,” he said.

  Memory, I realize, can be an unreliable thing; often it is heavily coloured by the circumstances in which one remembers, and no doubt this applies to certain of the recollections I have gathered here. For instance, I find it tempting to persuade myself it was a premonition I experienced that afternoon, that the unpleasant image which entered my thoughts that day was something altogether different—something much more intense and vivid—than the numerous day-dreams which drift through one’s imagination during such long and empty hours.

  In all possibility, it was nothing so remarkable. The tragedy of the little girl found hanging from a tree—much more so than the earlier child murders—had made a shocked impression on the neighbourhood, and I could not have been alone that summer in being disturbed by such images.

  It was the latter part of the afternoon, a day or two after our outing to Inasa, and I was occupying myself with some small chores around the apartment when I happened to glance out of the window. The wasteground outside must have hardened significantly since the first occasion I had· watched that large American car, for now I saw it coming across the uneven surface without undue difficulty. It continued to come nearer, then bumped upon to the concrete beneath my window. The glare on the windscreen prevented me from seeing clearly, but I received a distinct impression the driverwas not alone. The car moved around the apartment block and out of my vision.

  It must have been just then that it happened, just as I was gazing towards the cottage in a somewhat confused state of mind. With no apparent provocation, that chilling image intruded into my thoughts, and I came away from the window with a troubled feeling. I returned to my housework, trying to put the picture out of my mind, but it was some minutes before I felt sufficiently rid of it to give consideration to the reappearance of the large white car, It was an hour
or so later I saw the figure walking across the wasteground towards the cottage. I shaded my eyes to see more clearly; it was a woman—a thin figure—and she walked with a slow deliberate step. The figure paused outside the cottage for some time, then disappeared behind the sloping roof. I continued to watch, but she did not re-emerge; to all appearances, the woman had gone inside.

  For several moments, I remained at the window, unsure what to do. Then finally, I put on some sandals and left the apartment. Outside, the day was at its hottest, and the

  The journey across those few dried acres seemed to take an eternity. Indeed, the walk to the cottage tired me so much that when I arrived I had almost forgotten my original purpose. It was with a kind of shock, then, that I heard I voices from within the cottage. One of the voices was Mariko’s; the other I did not recognize. I stepped closer to the entrance, but could make out no words. For several moments I remained there, not sure what I should do. Then I slid open the entrance and called out. The voices stopped.

  I waited another moment, then stepped inside.

  Chapter Ten

  After the brightness of the day outside, the interior of the cottage seemed cool and dark. Here and there, the sun came in sharply through narrow gaps, lighting up small patches on the tatami. The odour of damp wood seemed as strong as ever.

  It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust. There was an old woman sitting on the tatami, Mariko in front of her. In turning to face me, the old woman moved her head with caution as if in fear of hurting her neck. Her face was thin, and had a chalky paleness about it which at first quite unnerved me. She looked to be around seventy or so, though the frailness of her neck and shoulders could have derived from ill-health as much as from age. Her kimono was of a dark sombre colour, the kind normally worn in mourning. Her eyes were slightly hooded and watched me with no apparent emotion.

  “How do you do,” she said, eventually.

  I bowed slightly and returned some greeting. For a second or two, we looked at each other awkwardly.

  "Are you a neighbour?” the old woman asked, She had a slow way of speaking her words.

  “Yes,” I said. "A friend.”