Nocturnes: Five Stories of Music and Nightfall

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  “I’m very grateful, Charlie. I’m just thinking it through, that’s all. Look, for one thing, what if these people really turn up? After Emily’s home, I mean.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose. All I can say is you’d be very, very unlucky if such a thing happened. When I said they came round a lot, I meant maybe once a month at most. So stop picking holes and be grateful.”

  “But Charlie, isn’t it a little far-fetched that this dog would chew just the diary, and exactly those pages?”

  I heard him sigh. “I assumed you didn’t need the rest of it spelt out. Naturally, you have to do the place over a bit. Knock over the standard lamp, spill sugar over the kitchen floor. You have to make it like Hendrix did this whirlwind job on the place. Look, they’re calling the flight. I’ve got to go. I’ll check in with you once I’m in Germany.”

  While listening to Charlie, I’d had a feeling come over me similar to the one I get when someone starts on about a dream they had, or the circumstances that led to the little bump on their car door. His plan was all very well-ingenious, even-but I couldn’t see how it had to do with anything I was really likely to say or do when Emily got home, and I’d found myself getting more and more impatient. But once Charlie had gone, I found his call had had a kind of hypnotic effect on me. Even as my head was dismissing his idea as idiotic, my arms and legs were setting out to put his “solution” into action.

  I began by putting the standard lamp down on its side. I was careful not to bump anything with it, and I removed the shade first, putting it back on at a cocked angle only once the whole thing was arranged on the floor. Then I took down a vase from a bookshelf and laid it down on the rug, spreading around it the dried grasses that had been inside. Next I selected a good spot near the coffee table to “knock over” the wastepaper basket. I went about my work in a strange, disembodied mode. I didn’t believe any of it would achieve anything, but I was finding the whole procedure rather soothing. Then I remembered all this vandalism was supposed to relate to the diary, and went through into the kitchen.

  After a little think, I took a bowl of sugar from a cupboard, placed it on the table not far from the purple notebook, and slowly tilted it until the sugar slid out. I had a bit of a job preventing the bowl rolling off the edge of the table, but in the end got it to stay put. By this time, the gnawing panic I’d been feeling had evaporated. I wasn’t tranquil, exactly, but it now seemed silly to have got myself in the state I had.

  I went back to the living room, lay down on the sofa and picked up the Jane Austen book. After a few lines, I felt a huge tiredness coming over me and before I knew it, I was slipping into sleep once more.

  I WAS WOKEN UP by the phone. When Emily’s voice came on the machine, I sat up and answered it.

  “Oh goody, Raymond, you are there. How are you, darling? How are you feeling now? Have you managed to relax?”

  I assured her I had, that in fact I’d been sleeping.

  “Oh what a pity! You probably haven’t been sleeping properly for weeks, and now just when you finally get a moment’s escape, I go and disturb you! I’m so sorry! And I’m sorry too, Ray, I’m going to have to disappoint you. There’s an absolute crisis on here and I won’t be able to get home quite as quickly as I’d hoped. In fact, I’m going to be another hour at least. You’ll be able to hold out, won’t you?”

  I reiterated how relaxed and happy I was feeling.

  “Yes, you do sound really stable now. I’m so sorry, Raymond, but I’ve got to go and sort this out. Help yourself to anything and everything. Goodbye, darling.”

  I put down the phone and stretched my arms. The light was starting to fade now, so I went about the apartment switching on lights. Then I contemplated my “wrecked” living room, and the more I looked at it, the more it seemed overwhelmingly contrived. The sense of panic began to grow once more in my stomach.

  The phone went again, and this time it was Charlie. He was, he told me, beside the luggage carousel at Frankfurt airport.

  “They’re taking bloody ages. We haven’t had a single bag come down yet. How are you making out over there? Madam not home yet?”

  “No, not yet. Look, Charlie, that plan of yours. It’s not going to work.”

  “What do you mean, it’s not going to work? Don’t tell me you’ve been twiddling your thumbs all this time mulling it over.”

  “I’ve done as you suggested. I’ve messed the place up, but it doesn’t look convincing. It just doesn’t look like a dog’s been here. It just looks like an art exhibition.”

  He was silent for a moment, perhaps concentrating on the carousel. Then he said: “I can understand your problem. It’s someone else’s property. You’re bound to be inhibited. So listen, I’m going to name a few items I’d dearly love to see damaged. Are you listening, Ray? I want the following things ruined. That stupid china ox thing. It’s by the CD player. That’s a present from David bloody Corey after his trip to Lagos. You can smash that up for a start. In fact, I don’t care what you destroy. Destroy everything!”

  “Charlie, I think you need to calm down.”

  “Okay, okay. But that apartment’s full of junk. Just like our marriage right now. Full of tired junk. That spongy red sofa, you know the one I mean, Ray?”

  “Yes. Actually I fell asleep on it just now.”

  “That should have been in a skip ages ago. Why don’t you rip open the covering and throw the stuffing around.”

  “Charlie, you have to get a grip. In fact, it occurs to me you’re not trying to help me at all. You’re just using me as a tool to express your rage and frustration…”

  “Oh shut up with that bollocks! Of course I’m trying to help you. And of course my plan’s a good one. I guarantee it’ll work. Emily hates that dog, she hates Angela and Solly, so she’ll seize any opportunity to hate them even more. Listen.” His voice suddenly dropped to a near-whisper. “I’ll give you the big tip. The secret ingredient that’ll ensure she’s convinced.

  I should have thought of this before. How much time do you have left?”

  “Another hour or so…”

  “Good. Listen carefully. Smell. That’s right. You make that place smell of dog. From the moment she walks in, she’ll register it, even if it’s only subliminally. Then she steps into the room, notices darling David’s china ox smashed up on the floor, the stuffing from that foul red sofa all over…”

  “Now look, I didn’t say I’d…”

  “Just listen! She sees all the wreckage, and immediately, consciously or unconsciously, she’ll make the connection with the dog smell. The whole scene with Hendrix will flash vividly through her head, even before you’ve said a word to her. That’s the beauty of it!”

  “You’re havering, Charlie. Okay, so how do I make your home pong of dog?”

  “I know exactly how you create a dog smell.” His voice was still an excited whisper. “I know exactly how you do it, because me and Tony Barton used to do it in the Lower Sixth. He had a recipe, but I refined it.”

  “But why?”

  “Why? Because it stank more like cabbage than dog, that’s why.”

  “No, I meant why would you… Look, never mind. You might as well tell me, so long as it doesn’t involve going out and buying a chemistry set.”

  “Good. You’re coming round to it. Get a pen, Ray. Write this down. Ah, here it comes at last.” He must have put the phone in his pocket, because for the next few moments I listened to womb noises. Then he came back and said:

  “I have to go now. So write this down. Are you ready? The middle-sized saucepan. It’s probably on the stove already. Put about a pint of water in it. Add two beef stock cubes, one dessertspoon of cumin, one tablespoon of paprika, two tablespoons of vinegar, a generous lot of bay leaves. Got that? Now you put in there a leather shoe or boot, upside down, so the sole’s not actually immersed in the liquid. That’s so you don’t get any hint of burning rubber. Then you turn on the gas, bring the concoction to the boil, let it sit there simmering
. Pretty soon, you’ll notice the smell. It’s not an awful smell. Tony Barton’s original recipe involved garden slugs, but this one’s much more subtle. Just like a smelly dog. I know, you’re going to ask me where to find the ingredients. All the herbs and stuff are in the kitchen cupboards. If you go to the under-stairs cupboard, you’ll find a discarded pair of boots in there. Not the wellingtons. I mean the battered-up pair, they’re more like built-up shoes. I used to wear them all the time on the common. They’ve had it and they’re waiting for the heave. Take one of those. What’s the matter? Look, Ray, you just do this, okay? Save yourself. Because I’m telling you, an angry Emily is no joke. I’ve got to go now. Oh, and remember. No showing off your wonderful musical knowledge.”

  Perhaps it was simply the effect of receiving a clear set of instructions, however dubious: when I put the phone down, a detached, business-like mood had come over me. I could see clearly just what I needed to do. I went into the kitchen and switched on the lights. Sure enough, the “middle-sized” saucepan was sitting on the cooker, awaiting its next task. I filled it to halfway with water, and put it back on the hob. Even as I was doing this, I realised there was something else I had to establish before proceeding any further: namely, the precise amount of time I had to complete my work. I went into the living room, picked up the phone, and called Emily’s work number.

  I got her assistant, who told me Emily was in a meeting. I insisted, in a tone that balanced geniality with resolution, that she bring Emily out of her meeting, “if indeed she is in one at all.” The next moment, Emily was on the line.

  “What is it, Raymond? What’s happened?”

  “Nothing’s happened. I’m just calling to find out how you are.”

  “Ray, you sound odd. What is it?”

  “What do you mean, I sound odd? I just called to establish when to expect you back. I know you regard me as a layabout, but I still appreciate a timetable of sorts.”

  “Raymond, there’s no need to get cross like that. Now let me see. It’s going to be another hour… Maybe an hour and a half. I’m awfully sorry, but there’s a real crisis on here…”

  “One hour to ninety minutes. That’s fine. That’s all I need to know. Okay, I’ll see you soon. You can get back to your business now.”

  She might have been about to say something else, but I hung up and strode back into the kitchen, determined not to let my decisive mood evaporate. In fact, I was beginning to feel distinctly exhilarated, and I couldn’t understand at all how I’d allowed myself to get into such a state of despondency earlier on. I went through the cupboards and lined up, in a neat row beside the hob, all the herbs and spices I needed. Then I measured them out into the water, gave a quick stir, and went off to find the boot.

  The understairs cupboard was hiding a whole heap of sorry-looking footwear. After a few moments of rummaging, I discovered what was certainly one of the boots Charlie had prescribed-a particularly exhausted specimen with ancient mud encrusted along the rim of its heel. Holding it with fingertips, I took it back to the kitchen and placed it carefully in the water with the sole facing up to the ceiling. Then I lit a medium flame under the pan, sat down at the table and waited for the water to heat. When the phone rang again, I felt reluctant to abandon the saucepan, but then I heard Charlie on the machine going on and on. So I eventually turned the flame down low and went to answer him.

  “What were you saying?” I asked. “It sounded particularly self-pitying, but I was busy so I missed it.”

  “I’m at the hotel. It’s only a three-star. Can you believe the cheek! A big company like them! And it’s a poxy little room too!”

  “But you’re only there for a couple of nights…”

  “Listen, Ray, there’s something I wasn’t entirely honest about earlier. It’s not fair on you. After all, you’re doing me a favour, you’re doing your best for me, trying to heal things with Emily, and here I am, being less than frank with you.”

  “If you’re talking about the recipe for the dog smell, it’s too late. I’ve got it all going. I suppose I might be able to add an extra herb or something…”

  “If I wasn’t straight with you before, that’s because I wasn’t being straight with myself. But now I’ve come away, I’ve been able to think more clearly. Ray, I told you there wasn’t anyone else, but that’s not strictly true. There’s this girl. Yes, she is a girl, early thirties at most. She’s very concerned about education in the developing world, and fairer global trade. It wasn’t really a sexual attraction thing, that was just a kind of byproduct. It was her untarnished idealism. It reminded me of how we all were once. You remember that, Ray?”

  “I’m sorry, Charlie, but I don’t remember you ever being especially idealistic. In fact, you were always utterly selfish and hedonistic…”

  “Okay, maybe we were all decadent slobs back then, the lot of us. But there’s always been this other person, somewhere inside of me, wanting to come out. That’s what drew me to her…”

  “Charlie, when was this? When did this happen?”

  “When did what happen?”

  “This affair.”

  “There was no affair! I didn’t have sex with her, nothing. I didn’t even have lunch with her. I just… I just made sure I kept seeing her.”

  “What do you mean, kept seeing her?” I’d drifted back into the kitchen by this time and was gazing at my concoction.

  “Well, I kept seeing her,” he said. “I kept making appointments to see her.”

  “You mean, she’s a call girl.”

  “No, no, I told you, we’ve never had sex. No, she’s a dentist. I kept going back, kept making things up about a pain here, discomfort of the gums there. You know, I spun it out. And of course, in the end, Emily guessed.” For a second, Charlie seemed to be choking back a sob. Then the dam burst. “She found out… she found out… because I was flossing so much!” He was now half-shrieking. “She said, you never, ever floss your teeth that much!”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. If you look after your teeth more, you’ve less reason to go back to her…”

  “Who cares if it makes sense? I just wanted to please her!”

  “Look, Charlie, you didn’t go out with her, you didn’t have sex with her, what’s the issue?”

  “The issue is, I so wanted someone like that, someone who’d bring out this other me, the one that’s been trapped inside…”

  “Charlie, listen to me. Since the last time you called, I’ve pulled myself together considerably. And quite frankly, I think you should pull yourself together too. We can discuss all of this when you get back. But Emily will be here in an hour or so, and I’ve got to have everything ready. I’m on top of things here now, Charlie. I suppose you can tell that from my voice.”

  “Fucking fantastic! You’re on top of things. Great! Some fucking friend…”

  “Charlie, I think you’re upset because you don’t like your hotel. But you should pull yourself together. Get things in perspective. And take heart. I’m on top of things here. I’ll sort out the dog business, then I’ll play my part up to the hilt for you. Emily, I’ll say. Emily, just look at me, just look how pathetic I am. The truth is, most people are just as pathetic. But Charlie, he’s different. Charlie is in a different league.”

  “You can’t say that. That sounds completely unnatural.”

  “Of course I won’t put it literally like that, idiot. Look, just leave it to me. I’ve got the whole situation under control. So calm down. Now I’ve got to go.”

  I put the phone down and examined the pot. The liquid had now come to the boil and there was a lot of steam about, but as yet no real smell of any sort. I adjusted the flame until everything was bubbling nicely. It was around this point I was overcome by a craving for some fresh air, and since I hadn’t yet investigated their roof terrace, I opened the kitchen door and stepped out.

  It was surprisingly balmy for an English evening in early June. Only a little bite in the breeze told me I wasn’t back in Spain.
The sky wasn’t fully dark yet, but was already filling with stars. Beyond the wall that marked the end of the terrace, I could see for miles around the windows and back yards of the neighbouring properties. A lot of the windows were lit, and the ones in the distance, if you narrowed your eyes, looked almost like an extension of the stars. This roof terrace wasn’t large, but there was definitely something romantic about it. You could imagine a couple, in the midst of busy city lives, coming out here on a warm evening and strolling around the potted shrubs, in each other’s arms, swapping stories about their day.

  I could have stayed out there a lot longer, but I was afraid of losing my momentum. I went back into the kitchen, and walking past the bubbling pot, paused at the threshold of the living room to survey my earlier work. The big mistake, it struck me, lay in my complete failure to consider the task from the perspective of a creature like Hendrix. The key, I now realised, was to immerse myself within Hendrix’s spirit and vision.

  Once I’d started on this tack, I saw not only the inadequacy of my previous efforts, but how hopeless most of Charlie’s suggestions had been. Why would an over-lively dog extract a little ox ornament from the midst of hi-fi equipment and smash it? And the idea of cutting open the sofa and throwing around the stuffing was idiotic. Hendrix would need razor teeth to achieve an effect like that. The capsized sugar bowl in the kitchen was fine, but the living room, I realised, would have to be re-conceptualised from scratch.

  I went into the room in a crouched posture, so as to see it from something like Hendrix’s eyeline. Immediately, the glossy magazines piled up on the coffee table revealed themselves as an obvious target, and so I pushed them off the surface along a trajectory consistent with a shove from a rampant muzzle. The way the magazines landed on the floor looked satisfyingly authentic. Encouraged, I knelt down, opened one of the magazines and scrunched up a page in a manner, I hoped, would find an echo when eventually Emily came across the diary. But this time the result was disappointing: too obviously the work of a human hand rather than canine teeth. I’d fallen into my earlier error again: I’d not merged sufficiently with Hendrix.