A Pale View of Hills

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  She began packing again. I sat down at the opposite side of the room and watched her.

  “What are your plans now?” I asked. "What will you do once you arrive in Kobe?”

  "Everything’s been arranged, Etsuko” she said, without looking up. “There’s no need to worry. Frank has seen to everything”

  “But why Kobe?"

  “He has friends there. At the American base. He’s been entrusted with a job on cargo ship, and he’ll be in America in a very short time. Then he’ll send us the necessary amount of money, and He’s seen to all the arrangements.”

  “You mean, he’s leaving Japan without you?" Sachiko laughed. “One needs to be patient, Etsuko."

  Once he arrives in America, he’ll be able to work and send money. Its by far the most sensible solution. After all, it would be so much easier for him to find work once he’s back in America. I don’t mind waiting a little.”

  “I see".

  “He’s seen to everything, Etsuko. He’s found a place for Us to stay in Kobe, and he’s seen to it that we’ll get on a ship it almost half the usual cost." She gave a sigh. “You have no idea how pleased I am to be leaving this place.”

  Sachiko continued to pack. The pale light from outside bu on one side of her face, but her hands and sleeves were ught in the glow from the lantern. It was a strange effect.

  “DO you expect to waft long in Kobe?" I tasked. She shrugged. “I’m prepared to be patient, Etsuko. One needs to be patient.”

  could not see in the dimness what it was she was folding; it seemed to be giving her some difficulty, for she opened and refolded it several times.

  In any case, Etsuko,” she went on, “why would he have gone to all this trouble if he wasn’t absolutely sincere? Why would he have gone to all this trouble on my behalf? Sometimes, Etsuko, you seem so doubting. You should be happy for me. Things are working out at last."

  “Yes, of course. I’m very happy for you.”

  “But really, Etsuko, it would be unfair to start doubing him after he’s gone to all this trouble. It would be quite unfair"

  "Yes.”

  “And Mariko would be happier there. America is a better place for a young girl to grow up. Out there, could do all kinds of things with her life. She could bec a business girl. Or she could study painting at college become an artist. All these things are much easier America, Etsuko. Japan is no place for a girl. What can look forward to here?”

  I made no reply. Sachiko glanced up at me and gave small laugh.

  “Try and smile, Etsuko,” she said. Things will turn well in the end.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they will.”

  “Of course they will."

  “Yes."

  For another minute or so, Sachiko continued with packing. Then her hands became still, and she gazed across the room towards me, her face caught in that strange mixture of light.

  “I suppose you think I’m a fool, she said, quietly “Don’t you, Etsuko?”

  I looked back at her, a little surprised.

  “I realize we may never see America," she said.—even if we did, I know how difficult things will be. Did you think I never knew that?”

  I gave no reply, and we went on staring at each other. “But what of it?” said Sachiko. “What difference does It make? Why shouldn’t I go to Kobe? After all, Etsuko, what do I have to lose? There’s nothing for me at my uncle’s house. Just a few empty rooms, that’s all. I could sit there in and grow old. Other than that there’ll be nothing. Just empty rooms, that’s all, You know that yourself, Etsuko.”

  ”But Mariko,” I said, “What about Mariko?” “Mariko? She’ll manage well enough. She’ll just have Sachiko continued to gaze at me through the dimness, e side of her face in shadow. Then she said: "Do you imagine for one moment that I’m a good mother to her?"

  I remained silent. Then suddenly, Sachiko laughed.

  "Why are we talking like this?” she said, and her hands

  to move busily once more. "Everything will turn out , I assure you. I’ll write to you when I reach America. haps, Etsuko, you’ll even come and visit us one day. U could bring your child with you.”

  Yes, indeed.”

  Perhaps you’ll have several children by then.” Yes,” I said, laughing awkwardly. “You never know.” Sachiko gave a sigh and lifted both hands into the air. "there’s so much to pack,” she murmured. “I’ll just have to some of it behind.” at there for some moments, watching her.

  "If you wish,” I said, eventually “I could go and look for it. It’s getting rather late.”

  You only tire yourself, Etsuko. I’ll finish packing and t still hasn’t come back we could go and look for her all right. I’ll see if I can find her. It’s nearly dark now”

  Sachiko glanced up, then shrugged. “Perhaps you’d best We lantern with you,” she said. It’s quite slippery the bank.”

  The to my feet and took the lantern down from the shadows moved across the cottage as I walked towards the doorway. As I was leaving, I glanced back towards Sachiko. I could see only her silhouette, seated before the open partitions, the sky behind her turned almost to night.

  Insects followed my lantern as I made my way along the river. Occasionally, some creature would become trapped inside, and I would then have to stop and hold the lantern still until it had found its way out.

  In time, the small wooden bridge appeared on the bank ahead of me. While crossing it, I stopped for a moment to gaze at the evening sky. As I recall, a strange sense of tranquillity came over me thereon that bridge. I stood there for some minutes, leaning over the rail, listening to the sounds of the river below me. When finally I turned, I saw my own shadow, cast by the lantern, thrown across the wooden slats of the bridge.

  “What are you doing here?” tasked, for the little girl was before me, sat crouched beneath the opposite rail. I came forward until I could see her more clearly under my lantern. She was looking at her palms and said nothing.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I said. “Why are you sitting here like this?”

  The insects were clustering around the lantern. I put it down in front of me, and the child’s face became more sharply illuminated. After a long silence, she said: “I don’t want to go away. I don’t want to go away tomorrow.”

  I gave a sigh. "But you’ll like it. Everyone’s a little frightened of new things. You’ll like it over there.”

  “I don’t want to go away. And I don’t like him. He’s like a pig.”

  “You’re not to speak like that,” I said, angrily. We stared at each other for a moment, then she looked back down at her hands.

  “You mustn’t speak like that,” I said, more calmly, “He’s very fond of you, and he’ll be just like a new father. Everything will turn out well, I promise.”

  The child said nothing. I sighed again.

  “In any case,” I went on, “if you don’t like it over there, we can always come back.”

  This time she looked up at me questioningly.

  “Yes I promise,” I said. “If you don’t like it over there, we’ll come straight back. But we have to try it and see if we like it there. I’m sure we will.”

  The little girl was watching me closely. “Why are you holding that?” she asked.

  “This? It just caught around my sandal, that’s all.”

  “Why are you holding it?”

  “I told you. It caught around my foot. What’s wrong with you?” I gave a short laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Without taking her eyes from me, she rose slowly to her

  "What’s wrong with you?” I repeated.

  The child began to run, her footsteps drumming along the wooden boards. She stopped at the end of the bridge and stood watching me suspiciously. I smiled at her and picked up the lantern. The child began once more to run.

  A half-moon had appeared above the water and for several quiet moments I remained on the bridge, gazing at it. Once, through the d
imness, I thought I could see Mariko running along the riverbank in the direction of the cottage.

  Chapter Eleven

  At first, I was sure someone had walked past my bed and out of my room, closing the door quietly. Then I became more awake, and I realized how fanciful an idea this was.

  I lay in bed listening for further noises. Quite obviously, I had heard Niki in the next room; she had complained throughout her stay of being unable to sleep well. Or possibly there had been no noises at all, I had awoken again during the early hours from habit.

  The sound of birds came from outside, but my room was still in darkness. After several minutes I rose and found my dressing gown. When [opened my door, the light outside was very pale. I stepped further on to the landing and almost by instinct cast a glance down to the far end of the corridor, towards Keiko’s door.

  Then, for a moment, I was sure I had heard a sound come from within Keiko’s room, a small clear sound amidst the singing of the birds outside. I stood still, listening, then began to walk towards the door. There came more noises, and I realized they were coming from the kitchen downstairs. I remained on the landing for a moment, then made my way down the staircase.

  Niki was coming out of the kitchen and started on seeing me.

  Oh, Mother, you gave me a real fright.”

  In the murky light of the hallway, I could see her thin figure in a pale dressing gown holding a cup in both her hands.

  “I’m sorry, Niki. I thought perhaps you were a burglar.”

  My daughter took a deep breath, but still seemed shaken.

  Then she said: “I couldn’t sleep very well. So I thought I might as well make some coffee.”

  “What time is it now?"

  “About five, I suppose."

  She went into the living room, leaving me standing at the foot of the stairs. I went to the kitchen to make myself coffee before going to join her. In the living room, Niki had opened the curtains and was sitting astride a hard-backed chair, looking emptily out into the garden. The grey light from the window fell on her face.

  “Will it rain again, do you think?" I asked.

  She shrugged and continued to look out of the window. I sat down near the fireplace and watched her, Then she sighed tiredly and said:

  “I don’t seem to sleep very well. I keep having these bad dreams all the time.”

  That’s worrying, Niki. At your age you should have no problems sleeping.”

  She said nothing and went on looking at the garden.

  “What kind of bad dreams do you have?" I asked.

  “Oh, just bad dreams.”

  “Bad dreams about what, Niki?”

  “Just bad dreams,” she said, suddenly irritated. “What does it matter what they’re about?”

  We fell silent for a moment. Then Niki said without turning:

  “I suppose d should have looked after her a bit more, shouldn’t he? He ignored her most of the time. It wasn’t fair really.”

  I waited to see if she would say more. Then I said: “Well. it’s understandable enough. He wasn’t her real father, after all.”

  “But it wasn’t fair really.”

  Outside, I could see, it was nearly daylight. A lone bird was making its noises somewhere close by the window.

  “Your father was rather idealistic at times," I said. “In those days, you see, he really believed we could give her a happy life over here."

  Niki shrugged. I watched her for a little longer, then said:

  “But you see, Niki, I knew all along. I knew all along she wouldn’t be happy over here. But I decided to bring her just the same.

  My daughter seemed to consider this for a moment. “Don’t be silly,” she said, turning to me, “how could you have known? And you did everything you could for her. You’re the last person anyone could blame.”

  I remained silent. Her face, devoid of any make-up, looked very young.

  Anyway,” she said, “sometimes you’ve got to take risks. You did exactly the right thing. You can’t just watch your life wasting away.”

  I put down the coffee cup I had been holding and stared past her, out into the garden. There were no signs of rain and the sky seemed clearer than on previous mornings.

  “It would have been so stupid,” Niki went on, “if you’d just accepted everything the way it was and just stayed where you were. At least you made an effort.”

  “As you say. Now let’s not discuss it any further."

  “It’s so stupid the way people just waste away their lives.”

  “Let’s not discuss it any further” I said, more firmly. “There’s no point in going overall that now.”

  My daughter turned away again. We sat without talking for a little while, then I rose to my feet and came closer to the window.

  “It looks a much better morning today,” I said. “Perhaps the sun will come out. If it does, Niki, we could go for a walk. It would do us a lot of good.”

  “I suppose so,” she mumbled.

  When I left the living room, my daughter was still sitting astride her chair, her chin supported by a hand, gazing emptily out into the garden.

  When the telephone rang, Niki and I were f4iishing breakfast in the kitchen. It had rung for her so frequently during the previous few days that it seemed natural she should be the one to go and answer it. By the time she returned, her coffee had grown cold.

  “Your friends again?” I asked.

  She nodded, then went over to switch on the kettle.

  “Actually, Mother,” she said, “I’ll have to go back this afternoon. Is that all right?” She was standing with one hand on the handle of the kettle, the other on her hip.

  “Of course it’s all right. It’s been very nice having you here, Niki.”

  “I’ll come and see you again soon. But I’ve really got to be getting back now."

  “You don’t have to apologize. Its very important you lead your own life now."

  Niki turned away and waited for her kettle. The windows above the sink unit had misted over a little, but outside the sun was shining. Niki poured herself coffee, then sat down at the table.

  “Oh, by the way, Mother,” she said. “You know that friend I was telling you about, the one writing the poem about you?”

  I smiled. “Oh yes. Your friend.”

  “She wanted me to bring back a photo or something. Of Nagasaki. Have you got anything like that? An old postcard or something?”

  “I should think I could find something for you. How absurd—I gave a laugh—“Whatever can she be writing about me?”

  “She’s a really good poet. She’s been through a lot, you see. That’s why I told her about you.”

  “I’m sure she’ll write a marvellous poem, Niki.”

  “Just an old postcard, anything like that. Just so she can see what everything was like.” “Well, Niki, I’m not so sure, It has to show what everything was like, does it?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I laughed again. “I’ll have a look for you later.”

  Niki had been buttering a piece of toast, but now she began to scrape some butter off again. My daughter has been thin since childhood, and the idea that she was concerned at becoming (at amused me. I watched her for a moment.

  “Still,” I said, eventually, “it’s a pity you’re leaving today. I was about to suggest we went to the cinema this evening.”

  “The cinema? Why, what’s on?”

  “I don’t know what kind of films they show these days.. J was hoping you’d know more about it.”

  “Actually Mother, it’s ages since we went to a film together, isn’t it? Not since I was little.’ Niki smiled, and for a moment her face became child-like. Then she put down her knife and gazed at her coffee cup. “I don’t go to see films much either” she said, “There’s always loads on in London, but we don’t go much.”

  “Well, if you prefer, there’s always the theatre. The bus takes you right up to the theatre now. I don’t know what they have o
n at the moment, but we could find out. Is that the local paper there, just behind you?”

  “Well, Mother, don’t bother. There’s not much point.”

  “I think they do quite good plays sometimes. Some quite modem ones. It’ll say in the paper.”

  “There’s not much point, Mother. I’ll have to go back today anyhow. I’d like to stay, but I’ve really got to get back.”

  “Of course. Niki. There’s no need to apologize.” I smiled at her across the table. “As a matter of fact, it’s a great comfort to me you have good friends you enjoy being with. You’re always welcome to bring any of them here.”

  “Yes, Mother, thank you.”

  The spare bedroom Niki had been using was small and stark; the sun was streaming into it that morning.

  “Will this do for your friend?” tasked, from the doorway. Niki was packing her suitcase on the bed and glanced up briefly at the calendar had found. “That’s fine," she said.

  I stepped further into the room. From the window, I could see the orchard below and the neat rows of thin young trees. The calendar I was holding had originally offered a photograph for each month, but all but the last had been torn away. For a moment, I regarded the remaining picture.

  “Don’t give me anything important,” Niki said. “If there isn’t anything, it doesn’t matter.”

  I laughed and laid the picture down on the bed alongside her other things. “It’s just an old calendar, that’s all. I’ve no idea why I’ve kept it.”

  Niki pushed some hair back behind her ear, then continued packing.

  “I suppose,” I said, eventually, “you plan to go on living in London for the time being.”

  She gave a shnzg. “Well, I’m quite happy there.”

  “You must send my best wishes to all your friends.”

  ”All right, I will."

  “And to David. That was his name, wasn’t it?”

  She gave another shrug but said nothing. She had brought with her three separate pairs of boots and now she was struggling to find a way of putting them in her case.

  “I suppose, Niki, you don’t have any plans yet to be getting married?”

  “What dot want to get married for?”

  “I was just asking."