by Riku Onda
One can keep walking along here for quite a long way. Riverside paths like this, where there’s no traffic allowed, give me a great deal of pleasure. Maybe this space is the reason this city has produced several world-famous philosophers. Isn’t something similar said of Kyoto? And walking is supposed to be a source of inspiration, isn’t it?
It’s surprising how much a stroll along here jogs the memory.
I remember being in a dark house with lots of different people, and her sitting slightly apart from everybody else, operating the tape recorder.
Yes, people are indeed a mystery. The way they present themselves changes according to the place and person they are with. Everybody does that to some degree. However, I was astonished on a very deep level when I listened to Saiga conduct her interviews. It was as if she became an utterly different person. I knew she was intelligent, but I was unaware of this other talent.
From the moment she asked me to help her I was curious to know how she planned to go about conducting the interviews. I’d never seen her try to reach out to other people before, which is the kind of action that reveals what a person is really like.
I imagined that she would ask questions matter-of-factly, completely logically and with detachment.
But she wasn’t like that at all. She presented herself completely differently, every time, according to whom she was speaking with.
I can’t express it very precisely, but it was as if she became the kind of interviewer that the other person wanted her to be. She’d make the adjustment in an instant, changing her personality just like that. Even her expressions and vocabulary would vary. I might be expecting a timid, unsophisticated student, but she’d say something straight out and come across as an arch, with-it college girl. I don’t really know if it’s a good thing or not for an interviewer to be like that… it might be more desirable to present a consistent face.
Before then, I’d never seen her focus all her attention and energy on the person in front of her, so I was utterly taken aback by this aspect of her. It was quite discomfiting, actually, because she herself didn’t appear to be aware of what she was doing.
I asked her once after an interview why she changed her persona so much.
That was in the beginning, when I still wasn’t used to her drastic adjustments for each interviewee.
She was completely perplexed. “What do you mean?” she said.
I thought she must be teasing me, so I laughed and said, “You were incredible. When do you decide how you’re going to present yourself with each person?”
She only looked at me more suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”
“But you were completely different with the person just now – the way you talked, your expressions and everything. Just like an actress.”
She simply looked at me with a blank expression.
I realized then she had no idea she was doing it.
For some reason that sent a chill down my spine. At the same time, I was taken aback to realize just how deep the level of her concentration was in these interviews.
Why did I feel a chill down my spine? Well… probably because I realized she was capable of using any means to achieve something she’d set her sights on. Also, because I understood she would achieve that goal no matter what.
I was also uneasy about why she was going to such lengths. What exactly did she hope to discover?
She’d been at the scene of a heinous crime as a child. However, the perpetrator had been identified and for all intents and purposes the crime was solved. What drove her, then? It did cross my mind that I might unwittingly be involved in something significant. But maybe I was reading too much into it.
Please don’t get the wrong idea. My intention isn’t to level any criticism at her. There’s a part of me that still admires her.
My abiding impression of Saiga is that she’s a deep enigma, someone I will never be able to understand. You might say that in some respects I feel I failed.
That’s also why, perversely, I wasn’t much interested in the actual content of the book, despite the sensation it caused. For a time everybody who knew her was talking about it.
She came in for some strong criticism because of the title and subject matter, but I wasn’t worried for her as I believed she was resilient enough to take it.
I also had an instinctive feeling that she’d achieved her goal the moment the book came out.
Yes, that’s when she accomplished her objective. And it’s why she lost all interest in it after publication. That was my sense of it, anyway.
When was it finished? Well now, I can’t say I really know. But I do believe that the actual process of writing was significant to her.
VI
Hisako Aosawa? I never did get to meet her.
Saiga almost never mentioned her either, though I had the impression she wasn’t inclined to share information about Hisako with me. Hisako Aosawa was very special to Saiga.
Hisako also seemed to be an unusual character. People reacted visibly when her name came up in interviews. A change seemed to come over them. Apparently she held quite a sway over people, despite her relative youth at the time of the murders. She seemed to be adored, respected and feared alike. Everybody we spoke to had a strong feeling of some kind about her.
What?
Ah, ha ha, you’ve seen through me yet again.
I’m no match for you. I never was any good at lying.
Yes, to tell the truth I did see her once, from a distance. This is just between you and me, you understand.
When one hears a great deal about a person, it’s natural to be curious and want to see them in the flesh. I’d heard she was very beautiful and was desperate for a glimpse of her. She sounded like a heroine of tragedy or legend. I suppose it was natural for a young man to think as I did, though anybody might have felt the same.
When I realized Saiga wasn’t going to permit me to meet Hisako, I became even more curious.
So one day when Saiga went out by herself I decided to follow. She sometimes went out on her own, and while she was away I would spend the time transcribing, or wander around the city sightseeing. On that particular occasion I pretended I was going out to see the sights by myself.
I had a rough idea where the house was, and managed to follow her there.
I saw Saiga walk briskly through the gate. But before she could press the doorbell the door opened, as if someone had been waiting for her.
Then I saw a slim young woman with short hair. She wasn’t tall but seemed poised and dainty. I couldn’t tell her age, but I did have the impression that she wasn’t too far advanced in years.
I couldn’t tell that she was blind. That’s why I didn’t realize at first she was Hisako Aosawa. If her eyes had been shut I might have known, but they were wide open. At first glance she looked like someone who could see.
So how did I know it was her? Strange, isn’t it. But the moment she looked at Saiga and smiled sweetly, I knew.
Aha, so this is her, I thought.
And that was it. The first and last time I ever saw Hisako Aosawa.
My impression? Well, she certainly did seem special in some way.
Why? Well… I suppose because, hmm… I’m slightly uncomfortable talking about impressions. And I also regret using expressions like “uneasy” and “chill down my spine” about Saiga before. I hope you understand that truth is nothing more than one view of a subject seen from a particular perspective.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but when the door opened, she was looking at me.
Yes, she looked directly at the spot where I was standing.
I realize what I’m saying sounds contradictory. Of course she couldn’t have seen me. But I firmly believe that in that moment, she was clearly aware of me.
Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe she simply happened to turn her face in my direction. In all truth, I think that’s probably what happened.
However, I know what I sensed. Hisako Aosawa knew
I was there, and she knew I was looking at her.
Where was I? Well, I was standing in the shade of a tree on the other side of the street, which was very narrow, I might add.
Being summer, the tree was thick with leaves. I was in the shadows, and it would have been difficult to see me even from the other side of the road.
That’s why I said to you that the truth is nothing more than a subject seen from a certain perspective. However, I was convinced at the time that she had seen me.
A crepe myrtle tree?
In front of the house?
At that time? No, I don’t recall it. Is it significant?
After that? Well, I was rather shaken and went straight back to the guest house. I felt as if I’d done something very wrong.
Naturally I didn’t mention any of this to Saiga.
VII
You’ll recall my saying that whenever we came to K— we always stayed in the same guest house.
Well, Saiga also chose the same room every time.
Yes, it was an upstairs corner room at the end of the corridor. Occasionally I had a different room, but hers was always the same one.
I asked her once why she always stayed in the same room, and she answered that it was because she felt more relaxed. However, I suspected another reason.
We did the transcriptions in her room. We never spoke when transcribing, but as I said before we used to spend an hour or so winding down over a beer and snacks after finishing up at midnight. It was a time to review the day.
As I also mentioned earlier, we didn’t speak a lot, but a few points have stuck in my mind, one of them concerning that room.
Saiga had a habit of staring up at a certain place on the ceiling whenever she was deep in thought. She would do it in the middle of transcribing, and sometimes in the course of conversation too, when she was considering what to say next. In moments of concentration, that’s where she focused.
The guest house was Japanese-style with knotted wooden ceilings. You must know the type. As a child didn’t you ever look at the ceiling and scare yourself silly imagining all kinds of ominous meanings in those marks? One never sees ceilings like that in modern homes, so children don’t know what it’s like to be afraid of a ceiling any more.
Anyway, when I looked up to see what she was staring at, I noticed a roughly oval-shaped gnarl in the ceiling.
She saw that I’d noticed and asked, “What do you think it looks like?”
“An amoeba, maybe,” I replied. “What does it look like to you?” I asked in return.
“I don’t know,” she said. “A kettle maybe.” Then she added, “A house I used to live in had a knot in the ceiling just like that.”
That’s why I concluded that the mark in the ceiling was the reason she always chose that particular room. I had no other evidence to support that, of course.
She asked me something else once: “What would you do if you wanted to send a message to one particular person when everybody is looking?”
I didn’t understand her point exactly, but answered, “Isn’t that the purpose of those three-line advertisements in the newspaper? Everybody sees them, but only the people they’re intended for understand what they mean.”
“Oh, I see,” she responded.
Then, sometime later, she asked me again, “What if you planned to leave a note on the table at home or in a club-room to communicate something to one particular person only, what would you do then? And of course you didn’t want anyone else who might see it to know who it’s meant for. What would you do?”
I thought about that for a while. “If I could consult with that person in advance,” I told her, “I’d decide a code or some kind of password to draw their attention.”
Then she said, “What if you couldn’t discuss it in advance?”
My response to that was, “The only thing you could do is write something which only that person could know about. It wasn’t much of an answer.”
But she repeated what I’d said – “something which only that person could know about” – then sank into thought for a long time, with a serious look on her face. I continued with transcribing and didn’t give the matter much more thought. I still don’t know if it’s significant in any way.
VIII
I was aware that a strange letter had been left at the scene of the crime, but I never knew what it said. Saiga seemed familiar with it though.
After our conversation about the note, I thought it might be relevant and did some research in newspapers and magazines, but I couldn’t find any reference to its content. The police apparently treated it as a clue to the murderer’s identity. Yet although the murderer was identified, the police still don’t know if that note was written by him or not.
I can’t help feeling there’s something inexplicable about this crime. I don’t know how to express it precisely, but there’s something incoherent or indefinable about it, something the human mind isn’t equipped to engage with.
IX
Shall we turn back now? I think the rain has finally arrived.
The two rivers either side of the hill at this city’s centre have very different characters. Although much the same in size, one is said to be masculine and the other feminine. The feminine river has a gentle, graceful ambience, while this masculine river has a certain wildness. Interesting, isn’t it, how similar rivers can project such different personalities.
Well, this has been a most enjoyable stroll. I do like to take the occasional detour.
What kind of trip is this? Well now, I’d have to say it’s slightly out of the ordinary.
I’m not here for the purpose of seeing a particular sight. This journey is one in search of something that exists only in my memory.
No, I don’t have any desire to see Saiga again. My memories of her are sufficient. Besides, I still have a copy of The Forgotten Festival.
Yes, I did read it when I first received it. I wanted to know if Saiga’s interest lay in the murderer’s identity, or in the crime itself.
In the end, I couldn’t decide. As I said earlier, I’d already come to the conclusion that her object was to have the book published.
Sorry, what was that?
Did she suspect that the real criminal was someone else? Are you referring to back then, or something she said recently?
Not clear?
Hmm, that surprises me. Perhaps she thought that all along. It could explain why she was so keen.
If that’s the case, then that might have been significant too. By that I mean of course the title, The Forgotten Festival.
X
There was another reason I didn’t want my name printed in the book as a collaborator. I kept it to myself, but it was in fact the real reason.
After hearing what you just told me, however, I’m inclined to think that Saiga may also have had her reasons. I had a feeling there was something she intended.
Well no, they were merely small things.
I don’t think they were crucial.
But who knows?
I was with Saiga during almost all the interviews, and I transcribed them into writing. I remembered most of what had been said them.
Which is why when I read the proofs of The Forgotten Festival, I was surprised to find a number of perplexing discrepancies. Details that were different to the testimony we had heard.
Small things, not relevant to the main thread of speech. But unmistakably different to what had been said. To rephrase, I’d say they weren’t the kind of mistakes you would expect as the result of oversight or carelessness.
When I began reading, I felt there was something strange about the text. At first I thought they were misprints, but there were too many for that.
Saiga had tremendous powers of concentration and was meticulous about double-checking, therefore I don’t believe she overlooked these errors in the process of reviewing and correcting. I couldn’t fathom how she had made such mistakes. But since they didn’t affect the main narrative directly, I
didn’t dwell on it too much.
Is it conceivable she did it on purpose? Did she perhaps deliberately change the testimony when she wrote the manuscript? She did say it was neither fiction nor non-fiction, didn’t she?
When the book came out, that’s the position she took. It was neither, and she didn’t mind which way it was taken. Which of course only exasperated the mass media even more. The media like to paint everything as black or white. Make a comment such as “I don’t know”, “either way” or “it’s a grey area”, and they come down on a person like they’ve committed a crime.
It’s common to deliberately change identifying factors such as setting or appearance when actual people are the subject of a novel, but that theory didn’t fit either. The persons involved could still be identified, and if the altered details were removed it wouldn’t have changed anything. Besides, the only parts that were altered were details that didn’t matter in the least.
But they must have meant something to her.
In that case, however, it must follow that those words have some other significance.
She did ask me what one could do if one wanted to send a particular message when everyone was looking, if you recall.
I took it for granted she was referring to the letter left on the table at the crime scene. Up until this moment that’s what I’ve always thought.
But what if? What if at the time she was doing her research, she already anticipated it becoming the book The Forgotten Festival?
Do you think that’s a possibility? It’s something that everybody sees, and through it she could send a message to one specific person while everyone was looking.
That bestselling book would be a way to do it. A message to a specific person… Someone connected with the crime who would be likely to pick up that book…
Someone she couldn’t consult in advance or share a code with.
All she could do was write something which only that person would recognize.
Do you think it’s relevant that she thought over what I said to her for a long time?
The parts she deliberately changed could be a message to a particular person, written so that only that person would understand, don’t you think?