I couldn’t tell that she was blind. That’s why I didn’t realize at first she was Hisako Aosawa. If her eyes had been shut I might have known, but they were wide open. At first glance she looked like someone who could see.
So how did I know it was her? Strange, isn’t it. But the moment she looked at Saiga and smiled sweetly, I knew.
Aha, so this is her, I thought.
And that was it. The first and last time I ever saw Hisako Aosawa.
My impression? Well, she certainly did seem special in some way.
Why? Well… I suppose because, hmm… I’m slightly uncomfortable talking about impressions. And I also regret using expressions like “uneasy” and “chill down my spine” about Saiga before. I hope you understand that truth is nothing more than one view of a subject seen from a particular perspective.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but when the door opened, she was looking at me.
Yes, she looked directly at the spot where I was standing.
I realize what I’m saying sounds contradictory. Of course she couldn’t have seen me. But I firmly believe that in that moment, she was clearly aware of me.
Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe she simply happened to turn her face in my direction. In all truth, I think that’s probably what happened.
However, I know what I sensed. Hisako Aosawa knew I was there, and she knew I was looking at her.
Where was I? Well, I was standing in the shade of a tree on the other side of the street, which was very narrow, I might add.
Being summer, the tree was thick with leaves. I was in the shadows, and it would have been difficult to see me even from the other side of the road.
That’s why I said to you that the truth is nothing more than a subject seen from a certain perspective. However, I was convinced at the time that she had seen me.
A crepe myrtle tree?
In front of the house?
At that time? No, I don’t recall it. Is it significant?
After that? Well, I was rather shaken and went straight back to the guest house. I felt as if I’d done something very wrong.
Naturally I didn’t mention any of this to Saiga.
VII
You’ll recall my saying that whenever we came to K— we always stayed in the same guest house.
Well, Saiga also chose the same room every time.
Yes, it was an upstairs corner room at the end of the corridor. Occasionally I had a different room, but hers was always the same one.
I asked her once why she always stayed in the same room, and she answered that it was because she felt more relaxed. However, I suspected another reason.
We did the transcriptions in her room. We never spoke when transcribing, but as I said before we used to spend an hour or so winding down over a beer and snacks after finishing up at midnight. It was a time to review the day.
As I also mentioned earlier, we didn’t speak a lot, but a few points have stuck in my mind, one of them concerning that room.
Saiga had a habit of staring up at a certain place on the ceiling whenever she was deep in thought. She would do it in the middle of transcribing, and sometimes in the course of conversation too, when she was considering what to say next. In moments of concentration, that’s where she focused.
The guest house was Japanese-style with knotted wooden ceilings. You must know the type. As a child didn’t you ever look at the ceiling and scare yourself silly imagining all kinds of ominous meanings in those marks? One never sees ceilings like that in modern homes, so children don’t know what it’s like to be afraid of a ceiling any more.
Anyway, when I looked up to see what she was staring at, I noticed a roughly oval-shaped gnarl in the ceiling.
She saw that I’d noticed and asked, “What do you think it looks like?”
“An amoeba, maybe,” I replied. “What does it look like to you?” I asked in return.
“I don’t know,” she said. “A kettle maybe.” Then she added, “A house I used to live in had a knot in the ceiling just like that.”
That’s why I concluded that the mark in the ceiling was the reason she always chose that particular room. I had no other evidence to support that, of course.
She asked me something else once: “What would you do if you wanted to send a message to one particular person when everybody is looking?”
I didn’t understand her point exactly, but answered, “Isn’t that the purpose of those three-line advertisements in the newspaper? Everybody sees them, but only the people they’re intended for understand what they mean.”
“Oh, I see,” she responded.
Then, sometime later, she asked me again, “What if you planned to leave a note on the table at home or in a club-room to communicate something to one particular person only, what would you do then? And of course you didn’t want anyone else who might see it to know who it’s meant for. What would you do?”
I thought about that for a while. “If I could consult with that person in advance,” I told her, “I’d decide a code or some kind of password to draw their attention.”
Then she said, “What if you couldn’t discuss it in advance?”
My response to that was, “The only thing you could do is write something which only that person could know about. It wasn’t much of an answer.”
But she repeated what I’d said – “something which only that person could know about” – then sank into thought for a long time, with a serious look on her face. I continued with transcribing and didn’t give the matter much more thought. I still don’t know if it’s significant in any way.
VIII
I was aware that a strange letter had been left at the scene of the crime, but I never knew what it said. Saiga seemed familiar with it though.
After our conversation about the note, I thought it might be relevant and did some research in newspapers and magazines, but I couldn’t find any reference to its content. The police apparently treated it as a clue to the murderer’s identity. Yet although the murderer was identified, the police still don’t know if that note was written by him or not.
I can’t help feeling there’s something inexplicable about this crime. I don’t know how to express it precisely, but there’s something incoherent or indefinable about it, something the human mind isn’t equipped to engage with.
IX
Shall we turn back now? I think the rain has finally arrived.
The two rivers either side of the hill at this city’s centre have very different characters. Although much the same in size, one is said to be masculine and the other feminine. The feminine river has a gentle, graceful ambience, while this masculine river has a certain wildness. Interesting, isn’t it, how similar rivers can project such different personalities.
Well, this has been a most enjoyable stroll. I do like to take the occasional detour.
What kind of trip is this? Well now, I’d have to say it’s slightly out of the ordinary.
I’m not here for the purpose of seeing a particular sight. This journey is one in search of something that exists only in my memory.
No, I don’t have any desire to see Saiga again. My memories of her are sufficient. Besides, I still have a copy of The Forgotten Festival.
Yes, I did read it when I first received it. I wanted to know if Saiga’s interest lay in the murderer’s identity, or in the crime itself.