TEN
Sado Island is situated in the unlucky northeast and equally unlucky northwest, depending on where you are and who you are. In olden times, when Kyoto was the capital, anything northeast of the city could bring it bad luck, so that included Sado Island. I learned this fact from Mrs. Katoh who, leaving her husband and son behind on the island, had come to Tokyo in search of some good luck. The island, being located so unluckily, is fortified against the bad spirits by numerous temples. I thought about this often. Perhaps Mrs. Katoh’s relentless giggle was also fortification against badness. Or perhaps she started laughing when she first arrived in Tokyo, or when she found Mrs. Yamamoto and the house with wisteria over the door and music inside. But for me it was different. If you’re starting from Tokyo, Sado is in the northwest and this direction was more unlucky for Lucy. She had read Kinkakuji, and identified with the tragic monk who was told by a fortune-teller not to travel to the northwest because it would bring bad luck, so he did. I was not deterred from going northwesterly; if anything the bad luck pulled me in that direction. Like the ugly, stammering Mizoguchi, I could not but think of myself as connected in some way to a place that was so prone to malevolence.
Lily was waiting for me on the platform at Tokyo station. We were taking the shinkansen to Niigata and there we would board a ferry to the island. I had told Teiji of our plans but didn’t expect him to come. As far as I knew, Teiji had not been outside Tokyo since he’d arrived, aged fourteen, to meet Uncle Soutaro for the first time. Why would he want to? With his camera and his long, solitary nights on the streets, he had come to understand Tokyo as a limitless form, a voice that called him then ran away and hid. For Teiji, each street, or bridge, or river was another connection in the spiral he was bidden to follow, outward and outward without ever finding the end. Why would he want to disprove this truth so comically by getting on a train and traveling out to the city’s physical edge and beyond, seeing the clear line where Tokyo stops and the countryside begins? And of course, I thought he wouldn’t want to be with me. I was too strange.
Some part of Lucy’s thesis was wrong, for two minutes after finding Lily and leading her to the correct part of the platform, I spotted Teiji. He had just come through the ticket barriers and was waving at me. I jumped up in the air with joy. Lily squeezed my arm.
When he reached me, I hugged him. Hugging Teiji was not like a normal embrace because he didn’t respond in the usual way. He didn’t hug back but neither did he stand coldly as if being embraced by an old aunt. It was something in between that I couldn’t fathom. I put my arms around him, squeezed only slightly—just enough to feel the unique fingerprint of his warmth and muscles—and pulled back so as not to risk making him uncomfortable.
“I never thought you’d come,” I said.
“I miss the sea.” He inhaled deeply as if he could already smell it. “I used to love the ocean but I never go there anymore. And I didn’t want you to go without me.”
I smiled at that and I think his words repeated themselves all the way to Sado.
The journey led us away from the industrial pulse of Japan and toward the green paddy fields and hills of the countryside. I forced Lily to study Japanese by pointing out features we passed and getting her to repeat the Japanese names. At first she didn’t want to.
“It’s too hard. Look at me. I haven’t even got O-level French.”
“Never mind, this is Japanese and you’re not taking your O-levels today. Look over there. See? That’s a mori.”
“Where, what?”
“Guess,” said Teiji. He was sitting on the other side of the aisle. He turned in his seat to join in the lesson, rested one foot over the other. His trousers were baggy, looked as though there were no legs inside them, just crumpled cotton.
Lily blushed. She didn’t mind being bad at Japanese with me, but in front of a Japanese person she was acutely self-conscious. Lucy has this syndrome in reverse. I’ve never minded making mistakes when I’m speaking to a native Japanese speaker, but if a non-Japanese person is listening, I like to be word-perfect.
“That—the mountain?” She pointed her finger feebly at one of the many high peaks that spread toward the skyline.
“That’s a yama.” Teiji was a gentle teacher. He corrected so well that you learned both words—the wrong one and the right one—and never forgot them.
“Yama. The trees, then. Mori means tree?”
“Almost. That’s very close. Have another guess.” I was enjoying the lesson. It was like watching a child learn to identify simple objects for the first time.
“The leaves on the trees?”
“Nope. Leaves are ha.”
“That’s easy to remember. Ha ha, it’s a leaf.” She was pleased with the notion and smiled at her cleverness.
“But you could forget and say, ha ha it’s a branch.” Teiji grinned.
“Why would you say either?” I didn’t think this was helping Lily. “You might as well say ha ha it’s a pavement or ha ha it’s a bus stop.”
“Don’t confuse me. Branch. Is mori a branch?”
“Branch is eda.”
“Yama, eda, ha. OK, I’ve got those. I give up. What does mori mean?”
“Not telling. You have to work it out for yourself.”
Thick forests spread over the mountains, dark green and fuzzy. There was nothing else to see. I wondered if Lily had a sight problem.
“I’ll give you a hint.” Teiji fumbled in his pockets, then in his rucksack.
“What are you looking for?”
“Have you got a pen or pencil and paper?”
“I haven’t.” Lily shrugged. “I never carry anything except my purse and my hairspray. And my undies of course, when I’m going away. And a toothbrush and—”
“Here.” I handed Teiji a chewed pencil and a shopping receipt.
On the back of the receipt Teiji wrote the kanji for mori, twelve simple but deft strokes, neatly drawn.
“This is how we write mori. What does it look like to you?”
“A Japanese letter.”
“Look at the shape.”
Lily peered at the character, the three radicals forming a triangle. “Trees. Three little trees.”
Teiji put his finger over two of the trees and left the top one showing. “This one alone is a tree. So what do three together mean?”
“Lots of trees. A forest?”
“You’re a good student,” Teiji said, and handed me the pencil. I think we were both relieved she had got it right.
I dozed a little after that, listened to Lily repeating her new words as the things went by.
“Yama, hashi, ki, eda, eki, ha, mori.”
Mountain, bridge, tree, branch, station, leaf, forest.
The hills gave way to steep mountains and finally we were in Niigata. We headed straight for the port and boarded the ferry. True holiday spirit had caught us and we ran to find the best place on deck to watch mainland Japan disappear. We were leaving Honshu and heading in the direction of bad fortune to the storm-beaten land of exiles. I was deliriously happy.
The journey took over an hour and the sea was calm. It was late afternoon when we arrived on Sado. The ferry came to a stop in the fishing town of Ryotsu and we climbed off. Lily stared at the dark mountains rising behind the town. She looked left then right, then left again trying to take their harsh beauty into her big, blank eyes. Teiji turned back to face the sea, the rugged bay we had just entered. He laughed, walking dizzily backward. A gust of wind caught him and he spun around with his arms out. He staggered suddenly and looked as if he were about to fall, but before his knees could hit the ground he leaped up again. He reminded me of the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. I laughed at him.
In Ryotsu we walked down little back streets, breathing fishy air. We ran round corners, peeked through the windows of small wooden houses. Teiji picked up a discarded piece of fishing net and chased me through the sleepy streets. People looked at us and smiled. No one seemed to mind his small act of theft. Lily shouted behind, “Don’t throw it over her. She’ll stink of fish. Don’t hurt her!”
I ran and hid between two houses. When Teiji came toward me I knew he’d lost my trail but I wasn’t sure what to do. He still had the net. I charged out behind him and tried to wrestle it from his arms. He turned suddenly and with a wide smile on his face, the widest I ever saw, he pulled the net over both our heads and pushed me gently back into my hiding place. I pushed back but he was too strong for me.
“I’ve caught you now,” he said. “You’ll never escape.” And he tried to kiss me but something fell off the net above his head, brushed down his cheek and touched his shoulder. He must have thought it was some kind of animal or insect because he jumped with a cry of horror and slapped his neck several times. It fell to the ground. It was a tiny strand of rope from the net. I laughed so hard I fell over and pulled Teiji down with me. Lily ran up, out of breath, to find us in a heap on the ground, struggling through laughter to get free of the net. She blushed and stepped back.
“Sorry.”
“It’s OK. We’re not doing anything,” I said.
“We’re just laughing.” Tears ran down Teiji’s cheeks. I wiped them off and rubbed them into my hands to keep them there.
Lily helped us up and we returned the net. We had planned to rent a car to tour the island and we followed signs to a place where we could get a cheap one. When we arrived, we all found ourselves looking at the shop next door, at its display of rental mopeds and bicycles.
“That would be fun,” Lily said.
“Being in a car is a bit claustrophobic.” Teiji could not take his eyes off the mopeds. “I don’t mind when there’s no alternative, but . . .”
I wanted the pleasure of riding through the plains of the island, along the coastal road, by myself, not in a car sharing my air with two people. Lucy and the bike in mountain and sea air. Her two friends riding with her, but also on their own.
So we rented mopeds and set off away from Ryotsu to the road leading to the Sotokaifu coast. From there we rode by the sea until we reached Nyuukawa. We continued a little farther toward the northern cape and stopped at our destination.
I had made a reservation with a minshuku, a simple, traditional inn. Our room overlooked the Japan Sea, and as soon as we’d left our bags and shoes we went down to the rocks and sand. We said we would have a look at the sea and when we saw it we said we’d have a paddle in the water. The evening was dark but the edge of the sea was lit by a few street lamps on the shore. We paddled in the small waves at the sea’s edge. The cold water splashed around our tired feet. The sand between the rocks was soft and disappeared under our footsteps, like another kind of water.
Lily ran as she paddled and I followed, laughing. I don’t remember where Teiji was. I rolled up the legs of my jeans, but the water splashed up to my thighs and soaked me. I laughed harder. Lily shouted something at me but I didn’t catch it. She twisted around, still running, to repeat it, but as she did so, tripped over her own leg and fell backward into the water. I could not contain myself. I choked with laughter till I thought my chest would explode. I didn’t dare look at Lily in case she was hurt for I knew that even if she was, I would not be able to stop laughing. I started to drag myself to the sand but as I turned my back on the water there was a loud splash behind me and I was being pulled into the sea. Lily had grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to take two steps back. Then she settled her arms around my waist and threw me down. I coughed and spat salty water back into the sea, looked up to find Lily. She was grinning.
“That’ll learn you,” she shrieked, and ran off inviting me to chase her. Her red tuft of hair that never flinched in the wind had been flattened by the sea. Her face looked quite different, less silly, older. She kicked up water as she ran so I couldn’t get closer to her. I didn’t try. I just flipped over and turned cartwheel after cartwheel along the wet sand. Gentle waves licked my hands, my feet, and then my hands again. I was delighted that I could still keep my legs up straight after a retirement of about twenty-five years.
I don’t remember stopping but I know that a little later Lily and I were walking along the beach side by side. Our voices were quick and breathy. My face and hands tingled with a cold that stung so sharply it was almost warmth.
Lily put out her arm and motioned for me to stop. I looked to where she silently pointed. On the beach a few feet away from us was a small bundle of clothes. Of course, I recognized Teiji’s baggy cotton trousers and white T-shirt immediately. On top of them, held down by a smooth gray stone, were his shorts.
I looked back at the sea. Small waves shivered under the weak moonlight, as far as I could see in each direction. Then I saw Teiji, a white featureless stick moving slowly through the water. He ducked between the waves and turned every now and then from his front to his back. He was relishing the touch of water on his bare skin.
The sight was so beautiful that I wanted to stand on the shore and watch Teiji for as long as he was there, but Lily appeared at my shoulder with a giggle.
“He’s got the right idea.” Her voice was full of thrill. She waved at Teiji though he didn’t notice her, then pulled off her knickers and brandished them with a whoop. She unzipped her dress and slipped it off in one movement. When she stepped out of it she gave a self-conscious shiver and turned to the water’s edge, hesitated. I understood her dilemma. It was too cold to go straight in up to her neck, but she was suddenly too aware of her nakedness to make a cautious, joint by joint entry. She waded steadily up to her knees. The whiteness of her skin was dazzling, as if lit by fluorescence. To me she didn’t look like a naked woman but like a skeleton in a funfair ghost ride. Then she screwed up her face, lunged forward and screamed as her whole body went down into the icy water. I watched her disappear. The dark sea smoothed over the spot where she had been. She resurfaced a few meters away and swam, taking firm, regular strokes until she relaxed and began to twist and turn in the water. She moved farther from the shore. Soon I could not tell which of the two bobbing figures was Lily and which was Teiji.
I wanted to swim too, but I had played enough games and needed to be alone with the water and night sky. I walked a little farther along the edge of the sea to where the moon caught the sea in yellow patches. The cold water slapped my ankles. I left my clothes on the sand and ran in up to my shoulders. The water gripped my whole body and I kicked off, swam away from the shore beyond battered rocks that jutted out into the sea.
Every stroke and forward push was a fresh shock as the sea gnawed at my flesh like sharp-toothed, hungry fish. I kept my head up and looked at the water before me, the Sea of Japan. I guessed I was swimming northwest of the island. If I floated now, letting the water carry my frozen body, where would I finish my journey? Following my bad-luck direction, I might come to Vladivostok or Nakhodka. If I continued northerly from there, I would head to the freezing Sea of Okhotsk. I gasped with cold, tasted salt. It was exhilarating but the thought of Siberia made the water still colder. I twisted around and took a few strokes southward, toward South Korea, Shanghai, the warmer waters of the East China Sea.
My limbs were stiffening. The cold water between my legs and under my arms made every breath shorter than the last. I thought I would die if I kept swimming, and yet I also felt as if I had never been so joyously alive, so awake. The feeling wouldn’t last—I knew that—but I wanted to remember it, to keep it somewhere inside to find later when I needed it back.
Of course, it didn’t work. It was there and now it’s gone. I need it but I can’t even find the taste of the fresh air on my tongue. I can picture the water, remember that it was cold, but I’m in a stuffy room in a large building in Tokyo. It’s no good remembering something if you can’t live it again. It’s not enough to know that I was so happy. I can’t find it anymore.
At the time, though, I thought it was enough. So, after carefully savoring the moment, scanning it into my memory for future use, I swam back to the shore. Lily and Teiji were side by side on the beach, picking up wet clothes to put on their dripping bodies. Convulsing with cold, they no longer cared that they were naked.
I hoped Lily would sleep well that night. I hoped that I might shift my futon closer to Teiji’s and that, when Lily’s breathing became heavy, I would roll over to him and, very quietly, in the warmth of snug white cotton, we would make love. I missed him.
Who unfolded the futons and laid them on the tatami? Did we each do our own or did one of us do all while the other two cleaned their teeth or undressed? I must have been sleepy for I didn’t notice until we were all tucked up that Lily was lying on the middle futon. There was no way I could get to Teiji in the night without the possibility of treading on her. I couldn’t blame Lily because it may not have been her fault. I might have chosen my bed first, absently forgetting my plans, or we might all have settled down at the same time. I resigned myself to a night without Teiji and accepted that I had the consolation of sleeping in the spot closest to the window. I reached for the catch and pushed it. The window slid open easily. I lay down and slept deeply to the rhythm of the waves lapping the shore.
When I awoke in the morning I was rocking gently from side to side in the warmth of yellow daylight.