Klara and the Sun

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  ‘That’s brilliant! Did you invent this?’

  ‘I’d like to claim it, but the real credit goes to my friend Benjamin, one of the other guys in the community. He came up with the idea, but he didn’t know quite how to pull it off in real-world terms. So I did that part. Fresh out the oven, only last week. What do you think, Josie?’

  ‘Wow, it’s a masterpiece. I’m going to be checking my face in public the whole time now. Thanks! You’re such a genius. Does this thing run on batteries?’

  For the next few moments the Father and Josie went on talking about the mirror, breaking off to exchange jokey greetings as if they were only meeting for the first time at that moment. Their shoulders were touching, and as they talked they often pressed further into one another. I remained standing in the middle of the room, the Father sometimes glancing towards me, and I thought at any moment Josie would introduce us. But the Father’s arrival had made her excited, she continued to talk rapidly to him, and soon the Father ceased glancing my way.

  ‘My new physics tutor, Dad, I bet he doesn’t know even half what you do. And he’s weird. If he wasn’t mega-accredited, I’d be like, Mom, we have to get this guy arrested. No, no, don’t panic, he isn’t improper. It’s just so obvious he’s fixing something in his shed, you know, to blow us all up. Hey, how’s the knee?’

  ‘Oh, much better, thanks. In fact it’s just fine.’

  ‘You remember that cookie you had the last time we went out? The one that looked like the president of China?’

  Even though Josie’s speech was fast and seamless, I could tell she was testing her words in her mind before speaking them. Then the Mother – who’d gone out into the hall – came back wearing her coat, and she was also holding up in the air Josie’s thicker jacket. Cutting straight into the talk between Josie and the Father, she said:

  ‘Paul, come on. You haven’t said hello to Klara. This here’s Klara.’

  The Father and Josie fell silent, both looking at me. Then the Father said: ‘Klara. Hello.’ The smile he’d had since entering the apartment had vanished.

  ‘Hate to rush you guys,’ the Mother said. ‘But you got here late, Paul. We have an appointment to keep.’

  The Father’s smile returned, but there was now anger in his eyes. ‘I haven’t seen my daughter in nearly three months and I don’t get to talk with her for five minutes?’

  ‘Paul, it’s you who insisted on coming with us today.’

  ‘I think I have a right to come, Chrissie.’

  ‘No one’s denying that. But you don’t make us late.’

  ‘Is this guy so busy…’

  ‘Don’t make us late, Paul. And you behave while we’re there.’

  The Father looked at Josie and shrugged. ‘See, in trouble already,’ he said and laughed. ‘Come on then, animal, we’d better get going.’

  ‘Paul,’ the Mother said, ‘you haven’t spoken to Klara.’

  ‘I just said hello.’

  ‘Come on. Speak to her some more.’

  ‘Part of the family. Is that what you’re saying?’

  The Mother stared at him, then seemed to change her mind about something and shook Josie’s jacket in the air.

  ‘Come on, honey. We need to go.’

  * * *

  —

  While we were waiting outside for the Mother’s car, the Father – wearing his raincoat again – stood with his arm around Josie. They were at the front edge of the sidewalk while I stood further back, almost at the townhouse’s railings, the pedestrians passing between us. Because of our positions and the unusual outdoor acoustics, I had difficulty hearing their words. At one point the Father turned towards me, but continued speaking to Josie even as his eyes examined me. Then a black-skinned lady with large earrings passed between us, and when she’d gone, the Father’s back was turned once more.

  When the Mother’s car arrived, Josie and I got into the back, and as we set off, I tried to catch her eye, to give reassurance in case she was anxious about posing for her portrait. But she was looking out of the window on her own side and didn’t turn my way.

  The Mother’s car made slow progress, leaving one traffic line only to get held up in another. We passed shuttered doorways and buildings with crossed-out windows. It began to rain again, the umbrella couples appeared and the dog lead people moved in a hurry. Once there appeared on my side – close enough that I might have touched it had I lowered my window – a soaked wall covered in angry cartoon writing.

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ the Mother was saying to the Father. ‘There aren’t enough of us. Budget per campaign’s down almost forty percent. We’re in chronic conflict with the PR people. But otherwise, yes. It’s fine.’

  ‘Steven still making his presence felt?’

  ‘Certainly is. Same congenial figure he always was.’

  ‘You know, Chrissie. I really do wonder if it’s worth it. You hanging on this way.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand. What is it I’m hanging onto?’

  ‘Goodwins. Your law department. This whole…world of work. Your every waking moment determined by some contract you once signed.’

  ‘Please let’s not go over this again. I’m sorry about what happened to you, Paul. I’m sorry and I’m still angry. But I keep hanging on, as you put it, because on the day I stop, Josie’s world, my world, would collapse.’

  ‘Why are you so sure of that, Chrissie? Look, it’s a big step, I know. I’m only suggesting you think about it further. Try viewing things from a fresh perspective.’

  ‘Fresh perspective? Come on, Paul. Don’t start claiming you’re happy about the way it turned out. All that talent. All that experience.’

  ‘Honestly? I think the substitutions were the best thing that happened to me. I’m well out of it.’

  ‘How can you say that? You were top-flight. Unique knowledge, specialist skills. How is it right no one can make use of you?’

  ‘Chrissie, I have to tell you, you’re much more bitter about it than I am. The substitutions made me take a completely fresh look at the world, and I really believe they helped me to distinguish what’s important from what isn’t. And where I live now, there are many fine people who feel exactly the same way. They all came down the same road, some with careers far grander than mine. And we all of us agree, and I honestly believe we’re not kidding ourselves. We’re better off than we were back then.’

  ‘Really? Everyone thinks that? Even that friend of yours, the one who was the judge in Milwaukee?’

  ‘I’m not saying it’s always easy. We all have our bad days. But compared to what we had before, we feel like…we’re really living for the first time.’

  ‘That’s good to hear from an ex-husband.’

  ‘Sorry. Look, never mind this. I have some questions. About this portrait.’

  ‘Not now, Paul. Not here.’

  ‘Hmm. Okay.’

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ Josie called out beside me. ‘You go ahead and ask what you want. I’m not listening.’

  ‘Like hell you’re not listening,’ the Father said and laughed.

  ‘No more arguments about the portrait, Paul,’ the Mother said. ‘You owe me that.’

  ‘I owe you? I don’t quite see why I owe you anything, Chrissie.’

  ‘Not now, Paul.’

  It was just then I realized that the Tow-Away Zone sign we were passing was the very one I knew so well, and in that same instant, the RPO Building appeared on Josie’s side, and the familiar taxis were all around us. But when I turned with excitement towards our store, I could see something was not correct.

  Of course I’d never seen the store from the street, but even so, there were no AFs and no Striped Sofa in the window. Instead there was a display of colored bottles and a sign saying ‘Recessed Lighting’. I turned right around to continue looking just as Josie said
:

  ‘Hey, Klara, you know where we are?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ But we were already beyond the pedestrian crossing, and I hadn’t even looked to see if the birds were perched up on the traffic signal. In fact I’d been so startled by the store’s new appearance, I’d not observed the surroundings nearly as much as I’d have liked. And then we were in a different section of the street altogether, and I turned again to see, through the rear windshield, the RPO Building growing smaller.

  ‘You know what I think?’ There was concern in Josie’s voice. ‘I think maybe your old store’s moved on.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps.’

  But I had no more time to think about the store, for what I saw next – between the two front seats – was the Cootings Machine. I recognized it before we were close enough to see the name on its body. There it was, throwing out Pollution from three funnels the way it had always done. I knew I should feel anger, but coming on it after the surprise about the store, I felt something almost like kindness towards the terrible machine. Then we’d passed it, the Mother and the Father continuing to speak with tension, and Josie said beside me: ‘These stores, the way they keep changing. That day I came looking for you, that’s what I was afraid of. That the store would have gone, you and all your friends with it.’

  I smiled at her, but didn’t say anything. In the front the adults’ voices grew louder.

  ‘Look, Paul, we’ve been over and over this. Josie, Klara and I are going in there and we’re proceeding just as planned. You agreed to it, remember?’

  ‘I agreed to it, but I can still comment, can’t I?’

  ‘Not here you can’t! Not now and not in this goddam car!’

  Josie, all this time, had been saying something to me, but she’d become distracted. Now, as the adults fell silent, she said: ‘If you want, Klara, we can go look for it tomorrow provided we’ve time.’

  I almost thought she meant the Cootings Machine, then realized she was referring to whatever new premises Manager and the other AFs might have gone to. I thought she was being hasty in assuming they’d definitely moved, simply because the window had looked different, and was about to say so, when she leaned forward to the adults.

  ‘Mom? Just if there’s time tomorrow? Klara wants to go find out what’s happened to her old store. Could we do that?’

  ‘If you want, honey. That was the deal. Today we go and see Mr Capaldi and you do what he asks. Tomorrow we do what you want.’

  The Father shook his head and turned to his own window, but because Josie was sitting directly behind him, she didn’t see his expression.

  ‘Don’t worry, Klara.’ She reached over to touch my arm. ‘We’ll find it tomorrow.’

  * * *

  —

  The Mother steered the car off the street into a small yard enclosed by wire mesh. There was an anti-parking sign fixed to a fence, but she stopped the car facing it beside the only other car present. When we got out, the ground was hard and cracked in many places. Josie began her cautious walk beside the Father towards a brick building overlooking the yard, and perhaps because of the uneven ground, the Father took her arm. The Mother, standing at the car, watched this and didn’t move for a moment. Then to my surprise, she came up to me and took my own arm, and we began to walk together, as though in imitation of the Father and Josie.

  There were no other adjoining buildings to either side, and I designated it a building rather than a house because the brickwork was unpainted and dark fire escapes rose up in zigzags. There were five stories ending at a flat rooftop, and I had the impression the reason there were no neighbor buildings was because something unfortunate had happened, and they’d had to be cleared away by the overhaul men. As I stepped over the cracks, the Mother leaned closer towards me.

  ‘Klara,’ she said quietly. ‘Remember. Mr Capaldi will want to ask you some questions. In fact, he may have quite a few. You just answer them. Okay, honey?’

  It was the first time she’d called me ‘honey’. I replied, ‘Yes, of course,’ and then the brick building was there before us, and I saw that each window had within it a graph-paper pattern.

  There was a door at ground level beside two trash cans, and when Josie and the Father reached it, they turned and waited, as though it was up to the Mother to lead us in. Seeing this, she let go of me and went up to the door by herself. She stood there quite still for a moment, then pressed the door button.

  ‘Henry,’ she said into the wall speaker. ‘We’re here.’

  * * *

  —

  The interior of Mr Capaldi’s house was nothing like its outside. In his Main Room the floors were almost the same shade of white as his huge walls. Powerful spotlights fixed to the ceiling shone down on us, making it hard to look up without being dazzled. There was very little furniture for such a large space: one large black sofa, and in front of it, a low table on which Mr Capaldi had laid out two cameras and their lenses. The low table, like the Glass Display Trolley in our store, had wheels to allow it to move smoothly across the floor.

  ‘Henry, we don’t want Josie getting tired,’ the Mother was saying. ‘Maybe we can get started?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mr Capaldi waved towards the far corner, where two charts were fixed side by side to the wall. I could see, on each chart, many ruled lines criss-crossing at various angles. A light metal chair had been left in front of the charts, and also a tripod-stand lamp. Just now the tripod-stand lamp wasn’t switched on, and the far corner looked dark and lonely. Josie and the Mother gazed towards it apprehensively, then Mr Capaldi, perhaps noticing, touched something on the low table and the tripod-stand lamp came to life, brightly illuminating the entire corner, but creating new shadows.

  ‘This will be totally relaxed,’ Mr Capaldi said. He had a balding head, and a beard that almost hid his mouth. I estimated fifty-two years old. His face was constantly on the brink of smiling. ‘Nothing strenuous. So if Josie’s ready, let’s maybe get started. Josie, if you’d care to come this way?’

  ‘Henry, wait,’ the Mother said, her voice echoing in the space. ‘I was hoping to see the portrait first. What you’ve done so far.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Capaldi said. ‘Though you must understand, it’s still work in progress. And it’s not always easy for a layperson to understand the way these things slowly take shape.’

  ‘I’d like to take a look all the same.’

  ‘I’ll take you up. In fact, Chrissie, you know you don’t need my permission. You’re the boss here.’

  ‘It’s kind of scary,’ Josie said, ‘but I’d like to take a peek too.’

  ‘Uh uh, honey. I promised Mr Capaldi you wouldn’t see anything yet.’

  ‘I tend to agree,’ Mr Capaldi said. ‘If you don’t mind, Josie. In my experience, if the subject sees a portrait too early, things get messy. I need you to remain totally unselfconscious.’

  ‘Unselfconscious about what exactly?’ the Father asked, his voice loud and echoing. He’d kept on his raincoat, even though Mr Capaldi had twice invited him to hang it on one of the pegs inside the entrance. He had now drifted towards the charts and was studying them with a frown.

  ‘What I mean, Paul, is that if the subject, in this case Josie, becomes too self-conscious, she may start posing unnaturally. That’s all I was meaning.’

  The Father kept staring at the wall charts. Then he shook his head in the same way he had in the car.

  ‘Henry?’ the Mother said. ‘May I go now to your studio? See what you’ve been doing?’

  ‘Of course. Follow me.’

  Mr Capaldi led the Mother over to a metal staircase rising to a balcony. I watched their ascending feet through the gaps between the steps. Arriving on the balcony, Mr Capaldi pressed a keypad beside a purple door, there was a short hum, and they both went in.

  The Purple Door closed behind them, and I went to the
black sofa where Josie was sitting. I wanted to make a humorous remark to relax her, but the Father spoke first from the illuminated corner.

  ‘I guess the idea, animal, is that you get photographed over and over in front of these charts.’ He stepped in closer. ‘See this. Measurements marked along every line.’

  ‘You know, Dad,’ Josie said. ‘Mom told us you were cool about coming today. But maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. We could have met up somewhere else. Done something different.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll do something else later. Something better than this.’ Then he turned and smiled at her gently. ‘This portrait. Let’s say it gets finished. What bothers me is that I won’t get to have it with me. Because your mom will want it with her.’

  ‘You could come see it any time,’ Josie said. ‘It could be like your excuse. To come more often.’

  ‘Look, Josie, I’m sorry. The way everything’s turned out. I wish I could be with you more. A lot more.’

  ‘That’s okay, Dad. It’s all working out now. Hey, Klara. What do you think of my dad here? Not such a crazy, huh?’

  ‘It’s been a great pleasure to meet Mr Paul.’

  The Father went on looking at the charts as though I hadn’t spoken, making a pointing gesture towards a detail. When at last he turned to face me, his eyes had lost their smiling folds.

  ‘Pleasure to meet you too, Klara,’ he said. Then he looked at Josie. ‘Tell you what, animal. Let’s get done with all of this quickly. Then just the two of us, we can go somewhere, get something to eat. There’s a place I’m thinking you’d like.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. If that’s okay with Mom and Klara.’

  She turned to look over her shoulder, and just at that moment, up on the balcony, the Purple Door opened and Mr Capaldi came out. He called back into his studio through the doorway:

  ‘You’re welcome to stay in there as long as you want. I’d better go and see to Josie.’

  I heard the Mother’s voice say something, then she too came out onto the balcony. She had lost her usual straight-backed posture and Mr Capaldi extended a hand, as though ready to catch her if she fell over.