Well, not so very far away, I said, with deliberate ambiguity. I switched the receiver from my left hand to my right. How can I put this? I was in a somewhat cut-off place. I really cant go into it, though, in great detail. I have my reasons. And I just got back a little while ago. I'm too tired for long explanations.
Of course, Mr. Okada. I understand. All people have their reasons. I will not press you to explain. You must be very tired indeed: I can tell from the sound of your voice. Please do not concern yourself about me. I should not be bothering you with a lot of questions at a time like this. I am terribly sorry. We can always discuss this matter at a more appropriate time. I know it was terribly rude of me to ask such a personal question, but I did so only because I was worried that something very bad had happened to you over the past several days.
I tried to make an appropriate response, but the little noise that came out of my throat sounded less like a response than like the gasp of an aquatic animal that had breathed the wrong way. Something very bad, I thought. Of all the things that were happening to me, which were bad and which were not bad? Which were all right and which were not all right?
Thank you for being so concerned about me, I said, after getting my voice to work properly, but I'm fine at the moment. I cant say that something good happened to me, but theres been nothing especially bad, either.
I am glad to hear that. I'm just tired, thats all, I added. Malta Kano made a dainty little sound of clearing her throat. By the way, Mr. Okada, I wonder if you might have noticed some kind of major physical change during the past few days?
A physical change? In me? Yes, Mr. Okada. Some kind of change in your body. I raised my face and looked at my reflection in the glass patio door, but I couldn't make out anything that could be called a physical change. I had scrubbed every part of my body in the shower but had noticed nothing then, either. What kind of change did you have in mind? I asked.
I have no idea what it might be, but it should be very obvious to anyone who looks at you.
I stretched my left hand open atop the table and stared at the palm, but it was just my usual palm. It had not changed in any way that I could perceive. It had not become covered in gold foil, nor had it developed webs between the fingers. It was neither beautiful nor ugly. When you say that it should be very obvious to anyone who looks at me, what do you mean? Something like wings sprouting on my back?
It could be something like that, said Malta Kano, in her usual even tone. Of course, I mean that as one possibility.
Of course, I said. So, then, have you noticed some such change? Not really. Not so far, at least. I mean, if wings had sprouted on my back, I probably couldn't help but notice, don't you think? Probably not, said Malta Kano. But do be careful, Mr. Okada. To know ones own state is not a simple matter. One cannot look directly at ones own face with ones own eyes, for example. One has no choice but to look at ones reflection in the mirror. Through experience, we come to believe that the image is correct, but that is all.
I'll be careful, I said. I do have one more thing I would like to ask you about, Mr. Okada. For some time now, I have been unable to establish contact with my sister -just as I lost contact with you. It may be a coincidence, but I find it very strange. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might have some knowledge of the circumstances behind this.
Creta Kano?! Yes, said Malta Kano. Does anything come to mind in that regard? No, nothing came to mind, I replied. I had no clear basis for thinking so, but I felt that for the time being, it would be better if I said nothing to Malta Kano about the fact that I had recently spoken with Creta Kano in person and that, immediately afterward, she had disappeared. It was just a feeling.
I was worried about having lost contact with you, Mr. Okada. She went out last night, saying that she planned to visit your home and see what she could find there, but even at this late hour she has not returned. And for some reason, I can no longer sense her presence.
I see. Well, if she should happen to come here, I'll tell her to contact you right away, I said.
Malta Kano remained silent for some time at her end of the line. To tell you the truth, Mr. Okada, I am worried about her. As you know, the work that she and I do is far from ordinary. But she is not as well versed in matters of that world as I am. I do not mean to imply that she is not gifted. In fact, she is very gifted. But she is not yet fully acclimated to her gift.
I see.
Malta Kano fell silent once again. This silence was longer than the last one. I sensed a certain indecision on her part.
Hello. Are you still there? I asked. Yes, Mr. Okada, I am still here, she replied. If I see her, I'll be sure to tell her to get in touch with you, I said again. Thank you very much, said Malta Kano. Then, after apologizing for the late-night call, she hung up. I hung up, too, and looked at my reflection in the glass one more time. Then the thought struck me: I might never speak with Malta Kano again. This could be the last contact I would ever have with her. She could disappear from my life forever. I had no special reason for thinking this: it was just a feeling that came to me.
Suddenly I thought about the rope ladder. I had left it hanging down in the well. Probably, the sooner I retrieved it, the better. Problems could arise if someone found it there. And then there was the sudden disappearance of Creta Kano. I had last seen her at the well.
I shoved my flashlight into my pocket, put on my shoes, stepped down into the garden, and climbed over the wall again. Then I passed down the alley to the vacant house. May Kasahara's house was pitch dark. The hands of my watch were nearing 3:00 a.m. I entered the yard of the vacant house and went straight for the well. The rope ladder was still anchored to the base of the tree and hanging down into the well, which was still just half open.
Something prompted me to peer down into the well and call Creta Kano's name in a kind of whispered shout. There was no answer. I pulled out my flashlight and aimed it down the well. The beam did not reach bottom, but I heard a tiny moaning sort of sound. I tried calling the name again.
Its all right. I'm here, said Creta Kano. What are you doing in a place like this? I asked, in a low voice. What am I doing? I'm doing the same thing you were doing, Mr. Okada, she replied, with obvious puzzlement. I'm thinking. This really is a perfect place for thinking, isn't it? Well, yes, I guess it is, I said. But your sister called me at home a little while ago. Shes very worried about your disappearance. Its the middle of the night and you're still not home, and she says she cant feel your presence. She wanted me to tell you to get in touch with her right away if I heard from you.
I see. Well, thank you for taking the trouble.
Never mind about that, Creta Kano. Will you do me a favor and come out of there? I have to talk to you. She did not reply.
I switched off my flashlight and returned it to my pocket. Why don't you come down here, Mr. Okada? The two of us could sit here and talk.
It might not be a bad idea, I thought, to climb down into the well again and talk with Creta Kano, but then I thought about the moldy darkness at the bottom of the well and got a heavy feeling in my stomach.
No, sorry, but I'm not going down there again. And you ought to come out, too. Somebody might pull the ladder up again. And the air is stale.
I know that. But I want to stay down here a little longer. Don't worry yourself about me.
There was nothing I could do as long as Creta Kano had no intention of coming out of the well.
When I talked to your sister on the phone, I didn't tell her I saw you here. I hope that was the right thing to do. I just sort of had this feeling that it'd be better to say nothing.