I had to tell people what I'd seen. I knew what I said was mostly nonsense, but I just had to say something. And then I'd deeply regret having spoken and become depressed. Still, through that process I couldn't deny the mystical experiences I had. It was all so unspeakably painful.
"The difference now was that after I awoke from a trance and recov- ered from the unsettled emotional state that always followed, I had a patient listener who would put my scattered words in order. He gave meaning to the disaster that had ruined half my life, and through his help I discovered a new whole sense of self. What he made whole was me, the Savior, whether false or genuine. That was how it began."
Patron's monologue came to a halt. A long but not unnatural silence descended on them. With all other sounds absorbed by the falling snow, the sound of the gate outside being pushed open suddenly rang out loud and clear.
Dancer came into the living room, surrounded by the cold iron smell of the snow she'd brushed off at the entrance. Silently, she looked reprovingly at Patron and, ignoring Kizu, walked over to the armchair.
"I'll talk with you after you've gone to your room," she said, nimbly getting Patron up.
Kizu watched her propel Patron into his bedroom study, a clump of snow clinging to her skirt. Ikuo, coming in a moment later, plopped down without a word in the chair facing away from the dining room, the one at a right angle to the sofa. The scent Kizu sniffed out from his large body was the metallic smell of snow Dancer had brought with her, overlaid with sweat.
Ikuo held Kizu's questioning gaze and nodded gravely, his expression show- ing small signs both of a deep exhaustion and a renewed vigor.
"I see… He's gone. That is really a shame," was all Kizu could mus- ter. "So the two of you walked back all the way in the snow?"
"The train was stopped at Kyodo so we walked from there. Dancer's done so much serious training she barely broke a sweat. Ogi stayed at the hospital to deal with the police and make funeral arrangements. The news- papers seem to have caught wind of it, and reporters have been snooping around the night reception desk. I thought it would be a pain to have phone calls coming in here so I switched the office phone over to fax when we left- which is why we couldn't call you-and came back instead. Dancer in par- ticular wanted to report directly to Patron."
Dancer had led Patron into the back, as if scolding a child for staying up too late, but now no voices could be heard. Kizu fixed his gaze on the carved vine-covered clock on the wall, which hung next to the watercolor he'd pre- sented to Patron. It was already past three.
"When people die… even if it's from illness, it's a terrible thing," Ikuo said. "Guide may have been brain dead, just an object, but when I saw him sweep aside his IV tube and sit up halfway in bed to vomit, trying not to soil his bed, I knew this wasn't just some inanimate thing."
They suddenly noticed that Dancer had come out from Patron's room and was standing at the corner of the dining room, looking down at Kizu and Ikuo.
"Patron told me again that he wants you to be Guide," she said to Kizu.
3
The next morning dawned clear, not a cloud in the sky. Over a foot of snow piled up in the branches and treetops, and the trees in the garden leaned over at anarchic angles. The line of potted wild plants looked like deep-dish pot pies. The layer of snow covering the ground twinkled in dead silence. The morning was still early. Kizu and Ikuo had slept in the annex, and Kizu left Ikuo there, deep in the enduring sleep of a healthy young man, and went over to the main house. Dancer was already up, planted in the chair that Ogi nor- mally used, hard at work. When she saw Kizu she reported that last night she'd recorded Patron's statement on the death of Guide. She was letting Patron sleep in and was getting things ready for what was likely to prove a busy afternoon.
The small lamp on her desk just illuminated the documents on top of it, and in contrast to the bright snow coming from the north and south sides of the garden, in this darkly shadowed interior Dancer's face looked pale and swollen. Her nostalgic little-girl-with-a-cold face at the same time showed the pain of one who's been abandoned. Kizu wondered when Patron was planning to visit the hospital and how they planned to get there if the snow prevented them from taking the car.
"Patron isn't going to the hospital," Dancer replied. "Point-blank, with- out any emotion, he said there was no need, now that Guide has passed away."
"But he will have to bid farewell to the body, won't he? Is Ogi going to bring the body back here?"
"We've made an appointment at the crematorium; Ogi will take care of everything. We'll just wait for the ashes to be brought back here. In the afternoon we'll be inundated with reporters, and Patron plans to hold a press conference. We'll all be pretty busy. Ms. Tachibana will be bringing one of her colleagues but will have to wait until the trains are running again."
"How were Guide's wife and son told?"
As if wondering how much Kizu already knew about Guide's family, Dancer assumed her typical expression, mouth slightly open, for the first time this morning.
"I think Ogi contacted them last night, before dinner," she replied.
"When we got back to the hospital, his wife and son were already there. His wife seemed to think it was very important for her to see him once before he died-even if he wasn't able to realize she was there. When the doctors were performing heart massage and ordered everyone out of the room, she insisted on staying there and did so, along with her son. When we went back into the room, she looked devastated, as if it had been her chest they'd been massaging.
"All things considered, she held up well; she kept repeating to her poor son that his father had died repentant. Ogi's supposed to escort them to the crematorium. Guide's wife wanted to go back to Boso as soon as she could and told us that though her husband had been a big man and there would be a lot of bones left after the cremation, they need only bury a small portion."
"So his wife said he died repentant, did she?" Kizu said, his voice full of regret for the bereaved family.
Dancer leaped in adroitly. "I wonder how his wife and son understood the word. Ikuo and I discussed it on the way back, whether what she said about repentance is the same thing as the term Patron uses in his teaching, or whether she meant your garden variety of repentance."
"Do you mean Guide repenting what he did to his family?" Kizu asked her. "Maybe all repentance leads in the same direction."
"When Patron heard this, he cried," Dancer said, looking at Kizu closely to gauge his reaction.
"It must be a complex thing for Patron."
"Don't be so standoffish-like it has nothing to do with you," Dancer protested mildly. "Instead, as your first task as the new Guide, would you transcribe the tape of Patron's announcement?"
Dancer leaned forward to pass him the tape, still in its Walkman, her eyes as she did so overflowing with light reflected from the snow on the north side of the house like some alien on a TV movie. Dancer had a dignity that wouldn't take no for an answer, and her obvious exhaustion-she'd only managed to grab a few hours' sleep-did nothing to diminish the energy with which she took care of the work she had to do. Still, though, she showed her concern, saying, "If you'd like to have breakfast before you get to work, I'll make it."
"No, I don't want to bother you with those kinds of chores," Kizu said, borrowing a ballpoint pen and loose-leaf notebook. "Ikuo should be up soon.
I'll ask him to fix it."
Kizu settled down in the armchair Patron had recently occupied, put on the headphone, and pushed the PLAY button on the Walkman.
Patron was muttering, so at first Kizu couldn't understand him. He was about to turn up the volume but the switch was taped over. He looked up and Dancer, who'd been watching him all the while, nodded, her eyes like melted pools of ice. She seemed to be telling him to listen to the tape as it was, until Patron's low murmur itself changed in tone.