Read Last Winter We Parted Online
Authors: Fuminori Nakamura
Last Winter We Parted (3 page)
A ROOM AT a musty old ryokan. The elderly woman who showed me in spoke so softly I could barely hear her.
There are two cushions on the floor around a shoddy table. From the window, all I can see are the slender trees that stand right outside. A cluster of branches is too close to the window—the tips of the leaves are touching the glass. Although there are no actual tears in the paper of the shabby
fusuma
sliding door, a pattern that looks uncannily like a black forest is well worn into its surface.
Kiharazaka’s older sister, Akari, was the one who—after I had contacted her who knows how many times—had designated this inn as our meeting place. She said that she doesn’t want to attract attention. I don’t blame her. She is the sister of a convicted murderer. Who knows what kind of connection she has with a place like this.
I open the window to smoke a cigarette. It seems as though the tree branches might reach all the way into the room. Taking my eyes off the branches, I am conscious of the recorder in my bag. I wonder if she will consent to letting me use it.
The
fusuma
door opens. A tall woman enters the room. It is Akari. I recognize her from an archive photograph that had been released by her family. Akari murmurs something, and the elderly woman who had shown me in nods and retreats into the corridor. Or perhaps there are two elderly women. It may be a different one than before.
Akari sits down across the table from me. My gaze is drawn instinctively to her eyes. It had been the same when I saw her in the photo. I feel the desire to look directly at something that I’m not supposed to.
“… I am Kiharazaka’s older sister … Akari.”
“Yes, and I am …”
I hand her my card. She makes no effort to look at it.
“Um.” Her voice is tenuous and low. “How did you find my address?”
She looks directly at me as she asks this. No idle chitchat or banter.
She is in hiding now. Her lawyer is functioning as intermediary, acting as shelter for her. I doubt anyone else knows her whereabouts.
But for the sake of this interview, I have the assistance of the editor at the publisher that plans to put out this book. They have their own means. Other than the police, that is.
“… Because I’m working on this … I don’t mean to be rude but I’m … Kiharazaka’s …”
“You’re writing a book about him. Why?”
She is looking my way guardedly. But why
am
I writing the book? She doesn’t really look all that wary. It is almost as though she is pretending to maintain that expression, when inwardly she seems to be smiling. She is a strange woman. And I doubt I am the only one to think so.
“I’m … not sure myself.”
“Is it because you saw that photograph?… The one my brother took,
Butterflies?
”
Suddenly I have an image of countless butterflies bursting into flight all around her. My heart is beating slightly erratically. I try to light a cigarette, but my lighter isn’t working.
“Have you been captivated too? By that type of thing?”
“… No.”
“What is it you’re looking for?”
She fixes her gaze on me again. There is something about her eyes. As if she is actually concerned about me. Concerned, and yet still trying to draw me in. She keeps looking at me as she opens her mouth to speak.
“Have you spent a long time looking at that photo?”
“… No.”
“There are people who say that it seems like it moves … Something, there in the background.”
I have the urge to close the window. But it is too far away from where I am sitting. I feel as though the branches are coming in toward me. Countless branches, coming into the room.
“… Is it all right if I record this?”
“No, it isn’t. Please just listen.”
My lighter is never going to work. I put my cigarette back into the pack.
“… You and your brother Yudai have always managed to get by together. What kind of boy was he, when you were kids?”
She doesn’t say anything. She just keeps staring at me.
“When you were kids, was Yudai …”
She maintains her silence. I have another urge to shut the window. This window isn’t there to open onto the scenery outside. Instead it seems more as if it is there to protect the room from the trees that surround it.
Akari is wearing a red sweater over a black skirt. Beneath her dark shoulder-length hair, she wears tiny earrings that catch and reflect the light. Just when I think she is going to crack a sudden smile, she begins to speak unexpectedly.
“My brother used a camera as though it were merely an extension of his own body.”
I can’t seem to follow her pace. All there is for me to do is play along.
“Something that I thought was a little strange … when was this?… I don’t remember, but one time … that’s when it was. The two of us had decided to run away from our father—from home—and Yudai took my picture. And he said …‘Now it’ll be all right.’ That’s what he said.”
“… ‘All right’?”
“What could he have meant by that? Here’s what I think it must have been. If we got caught, or even if we were killed, it would be all right because he had taken a photo of me when I was safe … That’s what he meant.”
I ponder what she says.
“… I don’t understand.”
“I’m not surprised. At the time, we’d run away whenever we’d see a policeman. Isn’t that strange? If we had just acted normal, he would have simply passed us by, but since we fled … that’s how we got put into protective custody and placed in an institution. In hindsight, I guess that was a good thing.”
“… What kind of institution was it?”
“You know … the usual.”
“Are there photos from that time?”
“None … I threw them all away.”
She looks at me. Her eyes have a wondering look that is out of context with our conversation. Just what is it about this woman? I can’t figure it out.
“… You threw them away?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She smiles.
“It must sound odd, but … when Yudai would take my picture, it made me feel strange. As if I myself were being cropped. As if my true nature were being stolen. It slipped away into the photograph, my real shape … I found this unsettling so I got rid of everything—all the photos my brother had taken of me, whatever I could find.”
“… Everything?”
“Well … there is a single photo left. But it’s from when we were kids. It’s the only one I couldn’t bring myself to throw away. It’s special to me.”
“… Since the first murder, you’ve maintained all along that Yudai was innocent.”
“I still do. But … now that things have come to this, it’s too late.”
“About that photo …”
“You mean
Butterflies?
”
“… Yes. Isn’t that you, the model in the photo?”
She smiles again when I ask this.
“By modeling for it, Yudai was able, through you, to express his special feelings, I mean, feelings more than just between a brother and sister.”
“You’ve got the wrong idea.”
“Maybe Yudai was using you, to say something about your long-gone mother.”
“… Don’t jump to conclusions.”
I recall how Yudai Kiharazaka said the same words to me.
“And you’re wrong. You don’t know anything. At the very least you need to have the ability to understand that.”
She continues to stare at me. With pitying eyes.
“You can’t handle this.”
“What?”
“You cannot simply come into
our realm
.”
“Your realm?”
“There’s no way you are capable of writing a book about us.” I again have the urge to shut the window. The branches are growing. Into the room.
“What a pity you are. Have you read Truman Capote’s
In Cold Blood?
”
“… I have.”
“Really? I’m surprised. Capote wrote his nonfiction novel, and he lost his mind. Writing that book about the criminals who brutally murdered that family … At least he was able to finish it. I bet you’ll give up halfway, won’t you?”
The temperature in the room grows chilly.
“… But you’re still writing it.”
“… Yes.”
What else could I have said? Consciously I draw in a breath. I look at her.
“That … the old photo, would it be possible to see it? The one of you and Yudai.”
“It’s in my apartment … Would you come over?”
She looks at me. With concern. And yet, she still seems to be trying to draw me in. A smile plays about her lips. She narrows her eyes.
“This is too much for you.”
“… I’ll be there.”
“Don’t feel like you have to.”
She smiles again.
“Another day, then …”
I LEAVE THE
inn. For whatever reason, she stays behind in the room. Maybe there is something she needs to talk to
those elderly women about. Why had she pulled such attitude with me, even though she is the one who is related to a brutal murderer? They are twisted, that brother and sister …
I rub my lighter over and over, until finally it produces a small flame. As I take a drag off my cigarette, the energy suddenly drains out of my body. I shake off a sense of eeriness.
The light on my cell phone is blinking.
I look at my incoming call list. Yukie.
She called fifteen minutes ago. What timing, I think.
Hey sis, the stuff about the trial, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing’s going to change my sentence. So I couldn’t care less about anything in your letter.
Sis, how are you getting by these days? That’s what I’d really like to hear about—what is your life like now?
Are you on your own right now, sis? After the first murder, you had said that you weren’t seeing anybody in particular, but I sensed otherwise. You met a nice guy, didn’t you. I guess it’s kind of like brotherly intuition, but I’m often right about these things. I don’t know what kind of guy he was, but he must have been a good person. I just have a feeling about this too … you’ve already broken up with him, haven’t you, sis. And … yet again, my intuition tells me that very soon, you’re going to meet someone else. Your letter just has the whiff of a man. I’ve got a feeling.
I’m sure you don’t want to hear this from me now, but you have a bad habit, sis. You have a tendency to want to ruin people—or actually, you want to ruin yourself by causing ruin to others.
The other day I remembered something from back in school, when we used to make things out of clay in art class.
It was summer, and in the heat of the classroom, the clay model I had made had melted into the clay model that was next to it. Both of them were reduced to a puddle. There was nothing to do with them but throw them away. But as they were falling
into the garbage can, I could have sworn that one of them—my clay model, that is—had been smiling. I didn’t see the expression on the face of the other clay model.
Sis, you never fall alone. You’re always caught up with someone else.
… Don’t take it the wrong way. I don’t depend on you, since I can no longer depend on anyone. I heard from the lawyer that you’ve suffered emotionally. It’s my fault. I know that. It’s all my fault.
I distinctly remember when you told me to throw away all of the photographs I’d taken of you. It was a shock to learn that my photos had always made you feel strange. But the truth is, I didn’t get rid of all of them. That’s why, now … I’m sending this back to you. I’m enclosing it with this letter.
Sis, you’re my closest loved one. You’re the only person in the world whose happiness I care about. It’s all right. I’m no longer jealous of the men in your life. I just want you to be happy.
Isn’t that right? Both you and I are hated by everyone out there. That doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating, though. Being happy would be the best revenge … Be happy enough for me too.
I know about your bad reputation too. And about the nasty remarks you made to the victim’s family after the first incident. But that was just because you cared too much about me. Right?
And already at that point, sis, you weren’t in your right mind. You know … you’ve said all along that I was innocent, but you’re wrong. I did it. I killed them. How many times have I told you?… I really hope you can forgive me.
You keep telling me to file an appeal. Just like the lawyer does. But there’s no more use for me. Just be happy yourself. Let this photo be a clean break from me.
… It’s a good one, isn’t it? It seems like all of you is in here. This is one of the photos I’m most proud of. The young girl in a white dress, nervously facing the camera. Actually, you faced the whole world nervously, didn’t you, sis? And behind this expression lies your true self. Everything is apparent on your face. I captured it all in that one moment … I think it’s a terrifying image. It was cruel for me to have taken a photo like this.
Ultimately, sis, your way of dealing with the world is wrong.
The same way mine is.