I awoke with a start in the middle of some kind of dream. I could not recall what had been happening in the dream, but it had obviously been one filled with tension, because my heart was pounding. The room was still pitch dark. For a time after I awoke, I could not remember where I was. A good deal of time had to go by before I realized that I was in my own house, in my own bed. The hands of the alarm clock showed it to be just after two in the morning.
My irregular sleeping habits in the well were probably responsible for these unpredictable cycles of sleep and wakefulness. Once my confusion died down, I felt the need to urinate. It was probably the beer Id drunk. I would have preferred to go back to sleep, but I had no choice in the matter. When I resigned myself to the fact and sat up in bed, my hand brushed against the skin of the person sleeping next to me. This came as no surprise. That was where Kumiko always slept. I was used to having someone sleeping by my side. But then I realized that Kumiko wasn't with me anymore. She had left the house. Some other person was sleeping next to me.
I held my breath and turned on the light by the bed. It was Creta Kano.
13 Creta Kano's Story Continued
Creta Kano was stark naked. Facing toward my side of the bed, she lay there asleep, with nothing on, not even a cover, revealing two well-shaped breasts, two small pink nipples, and, below a perfectly flat stomach, a black triangle of pubic hair, looking like a shaded area in a drawing. Her skin was very white, with a newly minted glow. At a loss to explain her presence here, I nevertheless went on staring at her beautiful body. She had her knees closed tightly together and slightly bent, her legs in perfect alignment. Her hair fell forward, covering half her face, which made it impossible for me to see her eyes, but she was obviously in a deep sleep: my turning on the bedside lamp had caused not the slightest tremble, and her breathing was quiet and regular. I myself, though, was now wide awake. I took a thin summer comforter from the closet and spread it over her. Then I turned out the lamp and, still in my pajamas, went to the kitchen to sit at the table for a while.
I recalled my mark. That patch on my cheek was still slightly warm to the touch. It was still there, all right-I had no need to look in the mirror. It wasn't the kind of little nothing that just disappears by itself overnight. I thought about looking up a nearby dermatologist in the phone book when it got light out, but how could I answer if a doctor asked me what I thought the cause might be? I was in a well for two or three days. No, it had nothing to do with work or anything; I was just there to do a little thinking. I figured the bottom of a well would be a good place for that. No, I didn't take any food with me. No, it wasn't on my property; it belonged to another house. A vacant house in the neighborhood. I went in without permission.
I sighed. I could never say these things to anyone, of course.
I set my elbows on the table and, without really intending to, found myself thinking in strangely vivid detail about Creta Kano's naked body. She was sound asleep in my bed. I thought about the time in my dream when I joined my body with hers as she wore Kumiko's dress. I still had a clear impression of the touch of her skin, the weight of her flesh. Without a step-by-step investigation of that event, I would not be able to distinguish the point at which the real ended and the unreal took over. The wall separating the two regions had begun to melt. In my memory, at least, the real and the unreal seemed to be residing together with equal weight and vividness. I had joined my body with Creta Kano's, and at the same time, I had not.
To clear my head of these jumbled sexual images, I had to go to the washbasin and splash my face with cold water. A little while later, I looked in on Creta Kano. She was still sound asleep. She had pushed the cover down to her waist. From where I stood, I could see only her back. It reminded me of my last view of Kumiko's back. Now that I thought about it, Creta Kano's figure was amazingly like Kumiko's. I had failed to notice the resemblance until now because their hair and their taste in clothes and their makeup were so utterly different. They were the same height and appeared to be about the same weight. They probably wore the same dress size.
I carried my own summer comforter to the living room, stretched out on the sofa, and opened my book. I had been reading a history book from the library. It was all about Japanese management of Manchuria before the war and the battle with the Soviets in Nomonhan. Lieutenant Mamiya's story had aroused my interest in continental affairs of the period, and I had borrowed several books on the subject. Now, however, less than ten minutes into the finely detailed historical narrative, I was falling asleep. I laid the book on the floor, intending to rest my eyes for a few moments, but I fell into a deep sleep, with the lights still on.
A sound from the kitchen woke me up. When I went to investigate, Creta Kano was there, making breakfast, wearing a white T-shirt and blue shorts, both of which belonged to Kumiko.
Where are your clothes? I demanded, standing in the kitchen door. Oh, I'm sorry. You were asleep, so I took the liberty of borrowing some of your wifes clothing. I knew it was terribly forward of me, but I didn't have a thing to wear, said Creta Kano, turning just her head to look at me. At some point since I last saw her, she had reverted to her usual sixties style of hair and makeup, lacking only the fake eyelashes.
No, thats no problem, I said. What I want to know is what happened to your clothes. I lost them, she said simply.
Lost them? Yes. I lost them somewhere. I stepped into the kitchen and watched, leaning against the table, as Creta Kano made an omelette. With deft movements, she cracked the eggs, added seasoning, and beat the mixture. Meaning you came here naked?
Yes, that is correct, said Creta Kano, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I was completely naked. You know that, Mr. Okada. You put the cover on me.
Well, true enough, I mumbled. But what Id like to know is, where and how did you lose your clothing, and how did you manage to get here with nothing on?
I don't know that any better than you do, said Creta Kano, while shaking the frying pan to fold the omelette over on itself.
You don't know that any better than I do, I said. Creta Kano slipped the omelette onto a plate and garnished it with a few stalks of freshly steamed broccoli. She had also made toast, which she set on the table, along with coffee. I put out the butter and salt and pepper. Then, like a newly married couple, we sat down to breakfast, facing each other.
It was then that I recalled my mark. Creta Kano had shown no surprise when she looked at me, and she asked me nothing about it. I reached up to touch the spot and found it slightly warm, as before. Does that hurt, Mr. Okada? No, not at all, I said.
Creta Kano stared at my face for a time. It looks like a mark, she said.
It looks like a mark to me too, I said. I'm wondering whether I should show it to a doctor or not.
It strikes me as something that a doctor would not be able to handle. You may be right, I said. But I cant just ignore it. Fork in hand, Creta Kano thought for a moment. If you have shopping or other business, I could do it for you. You can stay inside as long as you like, if you would rather not go out. I'm grateful for the offer, but you must have your own things to do, and I cant just stay holed up in here forever. Creta Kano thought about that for a while too. Malta Kano would probably know how to deal with this. Would you mind getting in touch with her for me, then? Malta Kano gets in touch with other people, but she does not allow other people to get in touch with her. Creta Kano bit into a piece of broccoli. But you can get in touch with her, I'm sure? Of course. We're sisters. Well, next time you talk to her, why don't you ask her about my mark? Or you could ask her to get in touch with me. I am sorry, but that is something I cannot do. I am not allowed to approach my sister on someone else's behalf. Its a sort of rule we have. Buttering my toast, I let out a sigh. You mean to say, if I have something I need to talk to Malta Kano about, all I can do is wait for her to get in touch with me? That is exactly what I mean, said Creta Kano. Then she nodded. But about that mark.