The Ark Sakura

by Kōbō Abe

  “Terrible flood in here. What are you doing?” It was the insect dealer. But he pressed us no further. Probably he found it too troublesome to take responsibility for me and my present difficulty. “We called roll and found that fortunately seventy percent of the men were inside the blockade line. We’re incredibly busy. There aren’t many places left we haven’t looked, so we’ll have to change our search methods. Right now the men are hunting in every cranny, using condenser mikes. We’re going to try some excavating too. Captain, can you hang on a bit longer? It won’t be much more. Just say the word if you need anything to eat or drink. The body will keep awhile longer.”

  “What do you suppose is happening outside?” said the shill innocently, asking the expected questions to avoid arousing suspicion.

  “By now it’s raining glass shards and radiation. Well, Captain, don’t hesitate to let me know.” With this, he passed his light over the ceiling and withdrew. The shill hadn’t betrayed me. Evidently the seriousness of the situation had not escaped him.

  “I think my calf just pulled free.”

  The girl shone her penlight down inside the toilet, and stuck a finger between my leg and the pipe. I felt nothing.

  “You’re right—there’s about a finger’s width of space there now.”

  After that everything went unexpectedly easily. With one arm around each of their shoulders, I hauled myself up in midair, as simultaneously water came welling up. Probably the pressurization from below aided in my release—but now this toilet was no longer a toilet. I had thought my leg would be all bloody, but it wasn’t as bad as I feared: the shin and the top of my foot were skinned, and there was no other external injury. The whole leg was swollen and purplish-red, however, as if smeared with ink from a souvenir stamp pad at a Shinto shrine. Looking carefully, I saw that the old scar where I’d been chained long ago was sprinkled with tiny bloodstains, like grains of rough-ground pepper. It would be some time before I could wear a shoe again. The joint seemed unaffected, so I anticipated no difficulty walking, as soon as sensation returned. It was the rest of me that was totally worn out. I decided to sit down on the encyclopedia and continue hiding my leg in the toilet, until sensation returned to the sole of my foot and the crick in my ankle went away.

  “Thanks a million. I’d about given up hope.”

  “So nothing’s changed,” mused the shill. “I’m no different from before. We didn’t really ‘survive,’ after all.”

  Clawing the sides of the toilet, I sought to endure the agony of returning sensation; it felt as if the raw nerves were at the mercy of a merciless wind. I forced myself to exercise the ankle.

  “You’re strange, you know that?” I scoffed. “You actually sound regretful. None of that crowd is worth a moment’s regret, if you ask me.”

  “They are a bedraggled lot, those old men,” he agreed. “Scraggly eyebrows, long hairs sticking out of their noses, wrinkled hippopotamuses under their chins … Well, you can’t blame them for how they look, can you? What I can’t forgive is that miserable, know-it-all thickheadedness of theirs.”

  “As soon as you’re ready, let’s go. The longer we hang around here, the greater the chance they’ll be back.”

  “He’s right,” said the girl, and added, laughing, “After all, you’re bound to have a lot to do after your new promotion.” She bent over in leapfrog position.

  Laying a hand on her shoulder, I stood on my right leg and set my freed left leg on the floor. There was no pain, and the knee and hip joints did everything I told them to. The leg might look like a rotten eggplant, but inside, anyway, it was sound. Cheered, I shifted my weight. My vision whirled, and before I could tell what was happening, pain was shooting through my shoulder and arm, and I lay face down in water, Evidently sensation had not yet returned to the left leg. The shill and the girl helped me up.

  “I’ll carry you piggyback,” said the shill. “Come on—this is no time to stand on ceremony. With you out of the toilet, every second counts.”

  He was right. If they knew I’d gotten free, our chances for escaping here would dwindle. I put my arms around his neck, keeping my right foot on the ground to ease his burden. Reeling, he spluttered:

  “How much do you weigh? You’re just as heavy as you look, aren’t you?”

  The girl’s voice followed us. “You want your camera, don’t you? Shall I get it?”

  “Yes, the one that’s out, and the case next to it, if you don’t mind. They’re heavy… . While you’re at it, I’d appreciate it if you could bring the eupcaccia.”

  There were dozens of others out in the jeep, I knew, but somehow they weren’t the same. I could only be satisfied with my eupcaccia, the one that I had checked with my own eyes.

  “Something bothers me …” said the shill, his breath coming hard. “It’s all this water. You don’t suppose the entire cave is going to be flooded, do you?”

  “My guess, from the general topography, is that it won’t go higher than a foot or so off the ground. The work hold will be all right.”

  “What about places lower than this?”

  “Some will become pools, filled to the ceiling.”

  “What if those girls are really hiding out somewhere? Then they could flee from the water right into a waiting net.”

  I hadn’t thought of it before, but there was such a possibility. Was that my responsibility too? My brain could not forget the adjutant’s comment likening young girls to wet paper. It seemed unlikely, but what if these people, thinking this was all that remained of the world, should go on living here in this spurious ark for a year, two years, three, four—maybe a decade or longer—spinning out their days… .

  The girl caught up with us in front of the lockers. “These are heavy. I see photography isn’t all just pushing buttons—it’s hard work!”

  “You’d better believe it,” said the shill. “Even flea circus trainers end up with a sprained back, you know.” He used the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his chin, then rubbed the hand on the side of his trousers.

  I glanced with satisfaction at the label on locker number one: “Flammable Solvents; Lathe Blades, All Sizes; Rubber Work Aprons; Infrared Lamps; Waterproof Sandpaper; Insulation; Corking Materials; Aluminum; Heat-resistant Facial Cream.” A plausible list of items that nobody would be likely to need or care about, and yet that aroused no suspicions. Even the most rapacious thief would surely decide it was not worth the trouble of breaking the lock.

  Right 1—left 1—right 1.

  The items actually stored inside were a close match for the label on the door, although in some cases the containers were barely filled, or empty. The idea was to lower the overall weight, but even so, I was careful not to make it suspiciously light. Rails were attached to the locker ceiling, and when a hook was removed, the shelves swung out opposite the door. In other words, they served as a hidden inner door.

  From beyond the back of the locker, now opened, there swept up a moist breeze smelling rather like the warehouse in the fish market. The shill’s penlight lit up the casing of the escape hatch, which measured two feet by two and a half. The shill whistled.

  “You could fool anybody with this.”

  “Maybe I had a presentiment something like this would happen.”

  “Where does it lead?” he asked.

  “He says it comes out underneath the city hall,” answered the girl in my place. There was a lilt in her voice, as if she sensed light at the end of a very long tunnel.

  “Is it safe?”

  “Of course. The nuclear explosion’s a fake, and I deliberately left the dynamite unconnected here. Let’s go—there’s no time to waste. Once they’re on to us, that will be that.”

  “What will they do when they find out?” asked the girl, hunching her shoulders and stifling a giggle.

  “I wouldn’t worry. They’ll be too busy looking for those junior high school girls for the time being.” The shill passed a critical hand over the locker door.

  “I’m
a girl too, you know,” she said.

  “They wouldn’t dare lay a hand on a crack shot like you,” he answered.

  “What do you mean?” I said. “You’re both coming with me, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t decide …” he said.

  “What is there to decide? You’ve had it with those old men, haven’t you?”

  “Still, I don’t know… .” He stepped out of the locker and bit his lower lip. A sound like uneven hand-clapping, apparently an echo from the work hold, rose and fell like the sound of rain pelting eaves.

  “The world outside is exactly the same as before. All that about a nuclear war was a pack of lies. Don’t tell me you’re going to stay here knowing it was a lie.”

  “That depends. If you imagine it really happened, then it seems real. And you’ve been saying so all along, haven’t you? That one of these days it really would happen. That a nuclear war starts before it starts… .” All three of us pricked up our ears in the darkness. It was either an unintelligible command from the insect dealer, or a howl of laughter from Sengoku, or a scream. The shill went on: “I wouldn’t mind a bit—staying on here as we are awhile longer.”

  “You’re out of your mind.” I fixed my eyes on the girl, seeking her support. “I don’t care how good a shot you are—you can’t stay awake twenty-four hours a day.”

  “That’s true—the air here is too stale,” said the girl, her voice muffled and hesitant.

  “It’s not only the air. There’s no sky, no day and night. You can’t even take pictures.”

  “If you’re going, you’d better get on with it,” he said.

  The girl drew her lips into a sharp line, tilted her head, and looked from me to the shill and back. What a peculiar fellow—why in the world was he hesitating? I couldn’t understand it.

  “Let’s go; there’s no more time for jokes,” I said.

  “No—I really think I’ll hold off. Wherever and however I decide to go on living, it doesn’t make a hell of a lot of difference. Besides, professionally speaking, that’s what I’m for—responding to lies as if they were true, knowing full well they’re not… .”

  “All right, then, I’ll call Komono.” I thought it was a bit reckless, but I couldn’t just abandon them. “I’ll talk to him for you.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. You’re only going to make things worse. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “You’re right,” murmured the girl. “Believing it was true might make us happier in the end… .”

  “We’re at home with lies, anyway. They’re us. We’re sakura, don’t forget.”

  If that was the way they were going to be, let them. I had simply felt a duty to tell them of this chance to escape, in return for their help in getting me free. Still, it seemed unreasonable of him to keep the girl there too. All along I had dreamed of escaping with her, just the two of us; and if only the shill hadn’t interfered, she would have come. I was the one who had told the shill about this escape route; she had never opened her mouth.

  “Why don’t you at least let her go free?”

  “She is free. Stop talking that way.” He turned to her. “Right? You’re free, aren’t you?” He prodded her along, and she nodded hesitantly.

  “Never mind that,” he said. “Do you know how the word sakura—cherry blossoms—came to be used for people like us? It comes from the expression ‘Blossom-viewing is free.’ In other words, it costs us nothing to do our shopping.”

  I noticed he had stopped calling me Captain. So be it. I handed him the control panel, said what I had to say, and thus carried out what I took to be my duty.

  “The key to the jeep is in it, right?”

  The shill nodded as he accepted the control panel.

  “That’s right.”

  “They’ll have it in for you for letting me go.”

  “Them? Have it in for me? No.”

  “How are you going to explain? I don’t know about Komono, but that adjutant means business.”

  “I’ll tell them you got all soft and squishy, and the toilet just swallowed you right up.”

  “Who’s going to believe that?”

  “They will. All right, go, will you? I’ll look after the ship. Not that I’m all that sure of myself… . But now that the anchor’s up, it would be a shame to sink her so fast.”

  “Sorry about that encyclopedia,” said the girl. “The last three volumes are soaking wet.”

  She set my camera case down on the floor of the locker, sliding it back in with the toe of her shoe. Meaning to follow her, I tripped over her leg and fell forward, taking advantage of the situation to push her deeper inside the locker, covering her with my body. I couldn’t let this sudden intimacy daunt me; we had a long trip ahead of us, traveling together down this tunnel. We would warm each other as we waited for dawn, protecting each other from cold and darkness.

  But my shoulders were hindered by the locker, and my torso hung tilted in the air. My shoulders measured seventeen inches across, and the locker a mere thirteen; there was no way I could get through facing straight ahead.

  “Are you all right?” With a wry smile, the shill grasped my left shoulder and pulled, while pushing on my right shoulder, turning me ninety degrees.

  My leg was still not what it should be. I felt myself go on crashing to the right, unable to retrieve my balance. The girl slipped out from beneath me. For some reason, the shill’s penlight went out. As I fell, I grabbed hold of the hem of her skirt. There was the sound of my shirt ripping in back; a couple of buttons popped off. Partly it was the fault of the inner construction of the locker, but mostly it had to do with the accumulation of fat on my stomach. My ribs banged against the camera case with a noise like someone pounding rice cakes. Pain flashed not so much there as in my knee and neck. Somebody was grasping my ankle and pushing it. I could feel myself slide with the camera case across the stone floor. Something fell on my back—a shoe. Where was the girl? I could feel her skirt in my hand, yet strangely I could not tell where she was.

  “Take care… .” The voice was too far away.

  The sound of the locker shelves moving, then the metallic click of the door closing. I pulled hard with the arm that held her skirt, and she came down against me … or so I expected, but to my chagrin, all that remained in my hand was the skirt itself. Had it come off? I could hardly bear to give her up. A moment later, I realized that what I had taken for her skirt was in fact a rubber work apron. When had that misapprehension occurred? She was free, I told myself. Of her own free will she had shut herself up in there. Or was I the one who had been shut up in here? For a while I lay where I was and rested, clinging to the case. Somewhere only a few feet away she was staring wide-eyed into the dark with those eyes that forced you to trust her, like it or not. But there was no meaning anymore in the units of distance between us. I got up, and immediately fell over again. I took off my shoes and tied them together, slung them around my neck, and started crawling down the tunnel on both hands and one knee, dragging my camera case behind me.

  25

  THE TRANSPARENT TOWN

  It took a long time. I seem to have slept more than once along the way. The numbness in my leg subsided, and sensation returned to my knees; but by the time I reached the basement of the city hall, the sun was coming up. After waiting for people to start coming and going, I went outside.

  Transparent rays of sun, the first I had seen in a long time, stained the streets and buildings red. The area was lively with the mingled flow of bicycles moving south along the riverside fish market, and commuters hurrying north to the station on foot. On a truck marked LIVE FISH, a small flag fluttered in the breeze, inscribed with the words FISH BEFORE PEOPLE. Another truck, waiting at a stoplight, proclaimed, WHEN I AM GONE AND THE CHERRIES BLOOM, LOVE WILL ALSO BLOOM.

  Facing the black-glass walls of the city hall, I set up my camera, using the wide-angle lens, and focused. I meant to take a souvenir photograph of myself and the street, but everything was too transpare
nt. Not only the light but the people as well: you could see right through them. Beyond the transparent people lay a transparent town. Was I transparent, then, too? I held a hand up to my face—and through it saw buildings. I turned around, and looked all about me; still everything was transparent. The whole town was dead, in an energetic, lifelike way. I decided not to think anymore about who could or would survive.

  A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kōbō Abe was born in Tokyo and grew up in Mukden, Manchuria, during World War II. In 1948, he received a medical degree from Tokyo Imperial University, but he has never practiced medicine. Abe is considered his country’s foremost living novelist. His books have earned many literary awards and prizes, and have all been best sellers in Japan. They include The Woman in the Dunes, The Face of Another, The Box Man, and Secret Rendezvous. Abe is also widely known as a dramatist. He lives in Tokyo with his wife, the artist Machi Abe.