Manazuru by Hiromi Kawakami

Author:Hiromi Kawakami
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Counterpoint
Published: 2010-09-02T04:00:00+00:00

I HEAR A woman crying.

The festive mood is more apparent today than it was yesterday. Since morning, men have been weaving through the town carrying posts decked out, umbrella-like, with paper flowers. People beating drums and playing flutes, packed into the long, narrow bed of a beautifully decorated truck, lead the way for the omikoshi.

From time to time, mixed with the music, I hear the woman crying. Or maybe it is the wind moaning. Yes, it was only the wind, I think, relieved, and the next instant I begin to think again that it is the woman crying.

The tone of the flutes and drums is bright. The woman’s crying is dark. Sometimes I lose sight of the flower-covered posts, the shrine moving along. The mist is thick. I make my way forward, relying on the sounds, then my field of vision expands, once again I am in the midst of the bustle.

“She was a good girl, a good girl,” the woman says, crying.

“What girl?”

“The girl strung up in the tree.”

It wasn’t you, was it, it was your daughter? I ask the woman, but I can’t see her, I feel as if I am all on my own. Without her expression before me, I am at a loss.

“I don’t know.” There is only her voice.

Why would anyone want to have children? Dogs do, and cats, foxes, deer, people. When my heart turns to Rei, when it turns to Seiji, it is utterly unclouded, it is only when my heart turns to Momo that it is overcast, everywhere. I’m as confused as in my youth, when I didn’t know how my body worked and how it responded. I have no idea how my heart turns to Momo, in what way it reaches toward her, whether it is affection or dislike, love or hatred, or to what extent they are commingled.

“It’s easy if they’re not your children, when they belong elsewhere,” I murmur, and then, slowly, the woman’s form emerged from the mist.

“Really? Is it really so?” the woman asked.

Maybe not. I laughed, and she did, too. I am glad she has stopped crying. I feel pity for a crying woman.

“Look at me, I’m all wet again.” The woman held out her arms. A fine rain falls and stops, stops and falls, intermittently. The drops don’t roll from the woman’s skin, they seep into it.

“We’ve become very close, haven’t we,” I said, and the woman nodded.

“Take care,” the woman said, walking behind me.

Of what? I asked, turning around, but by then she was gone. I felt a sense of disjointedness in the center of my body. A terrible pain seized me, just below the pit of my stomach.

“Lost a little weight.” I remembered the words in Rei’s diary. I wrapped my arms around my body, embraced myself. Held myself, strongly, in my arms.

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