A Pale View of Hills

by Kazuo Ishiguro

She continued to look at me for a moment, then asked:

  Have you any idea where the occupant has gone? She’s left the child here on her own.”

  The little girl had shifted her position so that she was sitting alongside the stranger. At the old woman’s question, Mariko looked at me intently.

  “No, I’ve no idea,” I said.

  “It’s odd," said the woman. “The child doesn’t seem to know either. I wonder where she could be. I cannot stay long.”

  We gazed at each other for a few moments more. “Have you come far?” I asked,

  “Quite far. Please excuse my clothes. I’ve just been attending a funeral.”

  “I see.” I bowed again.

  “A sorrowful occasion,” the old woman said, nodding slowly to herself. “A former colleague of my father. My father is too ill to leave the house. He sent me to pay his respects. It was a sorrowful occasion.” She passed her gaze around the inside of the cottage, moving her head with the same carefulness. “You have no idea where she is?” she asked again.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “I cannot wait long. My father will be getting anxious.”

  “Is there perhaps some message I could pass on?” I asked.

  The old woman did not answer for a while. Then she said: “You could perhaps tell her I came here and was asking after her. I am a relative. My name is Yasuko Kawada.”

  “Yasuko-San?” I did my best to conceal my surprise. “You’re Yasuko-San. Sachiko’s cousin?”

  The old woman bowed, and as she did so her shoulders trembled slightly. “If you would tell her I was here and that I was asking after her. You have no idea where she could be?”

  Again, I denied any knowledge. The woman began nodding to herself once more.

  “Nagasaki is very different now,” she said. “This afternoon, I could hardly recognize it.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I suppose it’s greatly changed. But do you not live in Nagasaki?"

  “We’ve lived in Nagasaki now for many years. It’s greatly changed, as you say. New buildings have appeared, even new streets. It must have been in the spring, the last time I came out into the town. And even since then, new buildings have appeared. I’m certain they were not there in the spring. In tact, on that occasion too, I believe I was attending a funeral. Yes, it was Yamashita-San’s Funeral. A funeral in the spring seems all the sadder somehow, You are a neighbour, you say? Then I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance." Her face trembled and I saw she was smiling; her eyes had become very thin, and her mouth was curving downwards instead of up. I felt uncomfortable standing in the entryway, but did not feel free to step up to the tatami.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” I said. “Sachiko often mentions you.”

  "She mentions me?” The woman seemed to consider this for a moment. “We were exciting her to come and live with us. With my father and myself. Perhaps she told you as much.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “We were expecting her three weeks ago, But she has not yet come."

  “Three weeks ago? Well, I suppose there must have been some misunderstanding. I know she’s preparing to move any day.

  The old woman’s eyes passed around the cottage once more. “A pity she isn’t here” she said. "But if you are her neighbour, then I’m very glad to have made your acquaintance. "She bowed to me again, then went on gazing at me. “Perhaps you will pass a message to her,” she said.

  “Why, certainly.”

  The woman remained silent for some time. Finally, she said: “We had a slight disagreement, she and I. Perhaps she even told you about it. Nothing more than a misunderstanding, that was all. I was very surprised to find she had packed and left the next day. I was very surprised indeed. I didn’t mean to offend her. My father says I amto blame.” She paused for a moment. “I didn’t mean to offend her,” she repeated.

  It had never occurred to me before that Sachiko’s uncle and cousin would know nothing of the existence of her American friend. I bowed again, at a loss for a suitable. reply.

  “I’ve missed her since she left, I confess it," the old woman continued. “I’ve missed Mariko-San also. I enjoyed their company and it was foolish of me to have lost my temper and said the things I did.” She paused again, turned her face towards Mariko, then back to me. “My father, in his own way, misses them also. He can hear, you see. He can hear how much quieter the house is. The other morning I found him awake and he said it reminded him of a tomb. Just like a tomb, he said. It would do my father much good to have them back again. Perhaps she will come back for his sake."

  “Ill certainly convey your feelings to Sachiko-San,” I said.

  “For her own sake too,” the old woman said. “After all, it isn’t good that a woman should be without a man to guide her. Only harm can come of such a situation. My father is

  ill, but his life is in no danger. She should come back now, for her own wellbeing if for nothing else.” The old woman

  began to untie a kerchief lying at her side. “In fact, I brought these with me,” she said. “Just some cardigans I knitted, nothing more. But it’s fine wool. I’d intended to offer them when she came back, but I brought them with me today. I first knitted one for Mariko, then I thought I may as well knit another for her mother.” She held up a t cardigan, then looked towards the little girl. Her mouth curved downwards again as she smiled.

  “They look splendid,” I said. “It must have taken you a longtime.”

  “It’s fine wool,” the woman said again. She wrapped the kerchief back around the cardigans, then tied it carefully. “Now I must return. My father will be anxious"

  She got to her feet and came down off the tatami. I assisted her in putting on her wooden sandals. Mariko had come to the edge of the tatami and the old woman lightly touched the top of the child’s head.

  “Remember then Mariko-San” she said, tell your mother what I told you. And you’re not to worry about your kittens. There’s plenty of room in the house for them all.”

  “We’ll come soon,’ Mariko said. "I’ll tell Mother.”

  The woman smiled again. Then she turned to me and bowed. “I’m glad to have made your acquaintance. I cannot stay any longer. My father, you see, is unwell.”

  "Oh, it’s you, Etsuko,” Sachiko said, when I returned to her cottage that evening. Then she laughed and said:

  “Don’t look so surprised. You didn’t expect me to stay here for ever, did you?”

  Articles of clothing, blankets, numerous other items lay scattered over the tatami, I made some appropriate reply and sat down where I would not be in the way. On the floor beside me, I noticed two splendid-looking kimonos I had never seen Sachiko wear. I saw also—in the middle of the floor, packed into a cardboard box her delicate tea set of pale white china.

  Sachiko had opened wide the central partitions to allow the last of the daylight to come into the cottage; despite that, a dimness was fast setting in and the sunset coming across the veranda barely reached the far corner where Mariko sat watching her mother quietly. Near her, two of the kittens were fighting playfully; the little girl was holding a third kitten in her aims.

  “I expect Mariko told you," I said to Sachiko. “There was a visitor for you earlier. Your cousin was here.”

  “Yes. Mariko told me.” Sachiko continued to pack her trunk.

  “You’re leaving in the morning?”

  Yes,” she said, with a touch of impatience. Then she gave a sigh and looked up at me. “Yes, Etsuko, we’re leaving in the morning. “She folded something away into i corner of her trunk.

  “You have so much luggage" I said, eventually. "How will you ever carry it all?"

  For a little while, Sachiko did not answer. Then, continuing to pack, she said: "You know perfectly well, Etsuko. We’ll put it in the car.”

  I remained silent. She took a deep breath, and glanced across the room to where I was sitting.

  “Yes, we’re leaving Nagasaki, Etsuko. I assure you. I had eve
ry intention of coming to say goodbye once all the packing was finished. I wouldn’t have left without thanking you, you’ve been most kind. Incidentally, as regards the loan, it will be returned to you through the post. Please don’t worry about that.” She began to pack again.

  “Where is it you’re going?” I asked.

  “Kobe. Everything’s decided now, once and for all.”

  "Kobe?”

  ”Yes, Etsuko, Kobe. Then after that, America. Frank has arranged everyhing. Aren’t you pleased for me?” She smiled quickly, then turned away again.

  I went on watching her. Mariko, too, was watching her. The kitten in her arms was struggling to join its companions on the tatami, but the little girl continued to hold it firmly. Beside her, in the corner of the room, I saw the vegetable box she had won at the kujibiki stall; Mariko, it appeared, had converted the box into a house for her kittens.

  · "Incidentally, Etsuko, that pile over there”—Sachiko pointed—"those items I’ll just have to leave behind. I had no idea there was so much. Some of it is of decent enough quality. Please make use of it if you wish. I don’t mean any offence, of course. It’s merely that some of it is of good quality.”

  "But what about your uncle?” I said. "Andy our cousin?”

  “My uncle?” She gave a shrug. “It was kind of him to have invited me into his household. But I’m afraid I’ve made other plans now. You have no idea, Etsuko, how relieved III be to leave this place. I trust Eve seen the last of such squalor.’ Then she looked across to me once more and laughed. “I can see exactly what you’re thinking. I can assure you, Etsuko, you’re quite wrong. He won’t let me down this time. He’ll be here with the car, first thing tomorrow morning. Aren’t you pleased for me?” Sachiko looked around at the luggage strewn over the floor and sighed. Then stepping over a pile of clothes, she knelt beside the box containing the tea set, and began filling it with rolls of wool.

  “Have you decided yet?” Mariko said, suddenly.

  “We can’t talk about it now, Mariko,” said her mother. “I’m busy now.”

  "But you said I could keep them. Don’t you remember?” Sachiko shook the cardboard box gently; the china still rattled. She looked around, found a piece of cloth and began tearing it into strips.

  You said I could keep them,” Mariko said again.

  “Mariko, please consider the situation for a moment. How can we possibly take all those creatures with us?"

  "But you said I could keep them.”

  Sachiko sighed, and for a moment seemed to be considering something. She looked down at the tea set, the pieces of cloth held in her hands.

  “You did, Mother,” Mariko said. “Don’t you remember? You said I could.”

  Sachiko looked up at her daughter, then over towards the kittens. “Things are different now,” she said, tiredly. Then a wave of irritation crossed her face, and she flung down the pieces of cloth. “Mariko, how can you think so much of these creatures? How can we possibly take them with us? No, we’ll just have to leave them here.”

  “But you said I could keep them.”

  Sachiko glared at her daughter for a moment. “Can’t you think of anything else?” she said, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. “Aren’t you old enough yet to see them are other things besides these filthy little animals? You’ll just have to grow up a little. You simply can’t have these sentimental attachments for ever. These are just … just animals don’t you see? Don’t you understand that, child?"

  "Don’t you understand?”

  Mariko stared back at her mother.

  “If you like, Mariko-San,” I put in, “I could come and feed them from time to time. Then eventually they’ll find homes for themselves. There’s no need to worry.”

  The little girl turned to me. "Mother said I could keep the kittens,” she said.

  “Stop being so childish,” said Sachiko, sharply. "You’re being deliberately awkward, as you always are. What does it matter about the dirty little creatures?” She rose to her feet and went over to Mariko’s corner. The kittens on the tatami scurried back; Sachiko looked down at them, then took a deep breath. Quite calmly, she turned the vegetable box on to its side—so that the wire-grid panels were facing upwards—reached down and dropped the kittens one by one into the box. She then turned to her daughter; Mariko was still clutching the remaining kitten.

  “Give me that,” said Sachiko.

  Mariko continued to hold the kitten. Sachiko stepped forward and put out her hand. The little girl turned and looked at me.

  “This is Atsu,” she said. “Do you want to see him, Etsuko-San? This is Atsu.”

  “Give me that creature, Mariko,” Sachiko said. “Don’t you understand, it’s just an animal. Why can’t you understand that, Mariko? Are you really too young? It’s not your little baby, its just an animal, just like a rat or a snake. Now give it to me.”

  Mariko stared up at her mother. Then slowly, she lowered the kitten and let it drop to the tatarni in front of her. The kitten struggled as Sachiko lifted itàff the ground. She dropped it into the vegetable box and slid shut the wire grid.

  Stay here,” she said to herdaughter, and picked the box up in her arms. Then as she came past, she said to me: “It’s so stupid, these are just animals, what does it matter?

  Mariko rose to her feet and seemed about to follow her mother. Sachiko turned at the entryway and said: “Do as you’re told. Stay here.”

  For a few moments, Mariko remained standing at the edge of the tatami, looking at the doorway where her mother had disappeared.

  Wait for your mother here, Mariko-San,” I said to her.

  The little girl turned and looked at me. Then the next moment, she had gone.

  Fora minute or two, I did not move. Then eventually Igot to my feet and put on my sandals. From the doorway, I could see Sachiko down by the water, the vegetable box beside her feet; she appeared not to have noticed her daughter standing several yards behind her, just at the point where the ground began to slope down steeply. I left the cottage and made my way to where Mariko was standing.

  “Let’s go back to the house, Mariko-San” I said, gently. The little girl’s eyes remained on her mother, her face devoid of any expression. Down in front of us, Sachiko knelt cautiously on the bank, then moved the box a little nearer.

  "Let’s go inside, Mariko,” I said again, but the little girl continued to ignore me. I left her and walked down the muddy slope to where Sachiko was kneeling, The sunset was coming through the trees on the opposite bank, and the reds that grew along the water’s edge cast long shadows on the muddy ground around us. Sachiko had found some grass to kneel on, but that too was thick with mud.

  “Can’t we let them loose?” I said, quietly. “You never know. Someone may want them.”

  Sachiko was gazing down into the vegetable box through the wire gauze. She slid open a panel, brought out a kitten and shut the box again. She held the kitten in both hands, looked at it for a few seconds, then glanced up at me. “It’s just an animal, Etsuko,” she said. “That’s all it is.”

  She put the kitten into the water and held it there. She remained like that for some moments, staring into the water, both hands beneath the surface. She was wearing a casual summer kimono, and the corners of each sleeve touched the water.

  Then for the first time, without taking her hands from the water, Sachiko threw a glance over her shoulder towards her daughter. Instinctively, I followed her glance, and for one brief moment the two of us were both staring back up at Mariko. The little girl was standing at the top of the slope, watching with the same blank expression. On seeing her mother’s face turn to her, she moved her head very slightly; then she remained quite still, her hands behind her back.

  Sachiko brought her hands out of the water and stared at She kitten she was still holding. She brought it closer to her , We and the water ran down her wrists and arms.

  “It’s still alive,” she said, tiredly. Then she turned to me and said: “Look at t
his water, Etsuko. It’s so dirty.” With an air of disgust, she dropped the soaked kitten back into the box and shut it. “How these things struggle,” she muttered, and held up her wrists to show me the scratch-marks. Somehow, Sachiko’s hair had also become wet; one top, then another fell from a thin strand which hung down me side of her face.

  Sachiko adjusted her position then pushed the vegetable box over the edge of the bank the box rolled and landed in the water. To prevent it floating, Sachiko leaned forward and held it down. The water came almost halfway up the wire-grid. She continued to hold down the box, then finally pushed it with both hands. The box floated a little way into the river, bobbed and sank further. Sachiko got to her feet and we both of us watched the box. It continued to float, then caught in the current and began moving more swiftly downstream.

  Some movement caught my eye and made me turn, Mariko had run several yards down the river’s edge, to spot where the bank jutted out into the water. She stock there watching the box float on, her face still expression. less. The box caught in some reeds, freed itself and continued its journey. Mariko began to run again. She ran some distance along the bank, then stopped again to watch the box. By this time, only a small corner was visible about the surface.

  This water’s so dirty,” Sachiko said. She had been shaking the water off her hands. She squeezed in turn the sleeve-ends of her kimono, then brushed the mud from her knees. “Let’s go back inside, Etsuko. The insects here are becoming intolerable."

  "Shouldn’t we go and get Mariko? It will be dark soon.”

  Sachiko turned and called her daughter’s name. Mariko was now fifty yards or so away, still looking at the water She did not seem to hear and Sachiko gave a shrung. “She’ll come back in time," she said, "Now. I must finish packing before the light goes completely” She began to walk up the slope towards the cottage.

  Sachiko lit the lantern and hung it from a low wooden beam. "Don’t worry yourself, Etsuko,” she said, “She’ll back soon enough.” She made her way through the various items strewn over the tatami, and seated herself, as before in front of the open partitions. Behind her, the sky had become pale and faded.