Hotel Iris by Yoko Ogawa

Author:Yoko Ogawa [Ogawa, Yoko]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Vintage Digital
Published: 2010-04-27T06:00:00+00:00

He seemed dizzy long after we got off the ride.

“Do you feel bad?” I asked.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. We held hands again and wandered past the other rides.

With dusk the fairground grew crowded. Children called out in excitement and rushed about clutching balloons or cotton candy. Strolling performers spat fire. Startled by the impromptu show, a baby began to cry. Couples wandered along arm in arm, stopping to hug and kiss as if there were no one else about. Popcorn and ticket stubs skittered across the grounds ahead of the breeze. A bottle rocket shot up from somewhere, a stray dog raced through the crowd, flashbulbs popped.

The translator’s hand was soft. So soft, it seemed my hand would sink completely into his. This hand had done so many things to me—stroked my hair, made my tea, stripped me, bound me—and with each new act it had been reborn as something different. But was the hand that held mine now the same one that had killed a woman? The thought occurred to me at times, but it did not frighten me in the least. Had this hand strangled her? Or stabbed her with a pair of scissors? Or made her drink poison? I had no idea. But I could easily imagine how gracefully the fingers would have done those things … the curve of the knuckles, the faint web of blue veins.

Leaning against the fence of the merry-go-round, we ate ice cream cones. The translator stared for a moment at his cone—chocolate and vanilla swirled together in a spiral.

“It’s going to melt if you don’t eat it,” I warned.

“But it’s such a fascinating shape.”

“It’s just soft ice cream,” I told him.

“I almost never eat it.”

“You have to do it like this,” I said, opening my mouth wide and taking a huge bite. He watched me, and then, holding his cone as if it might break, he bent forward and cautiously licked the very top. A drop melted on his pants, and he hurried to pull out his handkerchief and wipe it away. I took the handkerchief to help him, thinking how much simpler eating ice cream should have been than taking off my clothes and tying me up.

“I always had an ice cream cone when I came here with my father. I could pick one ride and one treat, that was the rule. As we left the house, Mother would remind me, ‘Only one, now! Don’t forget, and don’t go begging for anything more.’ ”

“But why was she so strict?”

“She thought the fair was a waste of money. That’s all she cared about. But Papa always let me have something extra as long as I didn’t tell Mother. The best part was wandering around trying to decide what to choose. A candy apple, or the shooting gallery, or maybe the haunted house. … I felt as though a genie had offered to grant me a wish. And Papa would stay right there with me, waiting patiently, no matter how long I took to decide.

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