Ruined Map - Abe Kobo [107]
But was it really not worth considering? If I went ahead without waiting for my memory to return, and if by chance the scene turned out to be one I didn’t know, how would I bring things under control? Even this scenery on the slope, which I thought I knew so thoroughly, might suddenly be transposed into an unknown world for me. There was the possibility. Perhaps the row of houses midway up the slope was merely an imaginative collage, and even the memory of the labyrinth at the foot of the cliff could be called a very ordinary association of ideas coming from the chimney of the public bath. I suppose I could easily infer from the way the slightly dirty moss was growing, extending its oozing domain from the protective wall to the concrete pavement, that this was the northern side of the slope.
In the final analysis, supposing this sensation of familiarity was actually not really memory, supposing it was merely the false sense of déjà-vu disguised as memory, then even my conclusion that I was now on my way home became similarly merely a pretext for rationalizing this feeling of déjà-vu. If that were true, my very self would be open to doubt, something I could not call me.
Unable to hold my breath longer, I let it out. Passing by the man with the umbrella who had overtaken me, a young girl in a long green jacket went hurrying down the slope with a springy step, jingling the coins in the purse which she clutched in her hand. As if by sleight of hand, someone was constantly vanishing beyond the town that was out of sight, and appearing from it. Using the fact that I had come to a halt as an excuse, I took out a cigarette and put it between my lips, fussing purposelessly and interminably over striking my match. I would have been glad if some acquaintance had chanced by. But supposing, as with the town on the plateau, even faces which I should know by sight were to change into unknown strangers, what then?
Nausea rose in my gorge. Perhaps it was because I had strained my eyes, trying to force myself to see something invisible. In addition to the nausea, I was dizzy. Whatever, I had been hesitating much too long. If I did not have the courage to round the curve, I would have to resolve to act differently. The instant I began to change directions, a comical blast on a horn sounded behind me. A dented three-wheeled truck loaded with vegetables was coming up the hill, sending up a cloud of white exhaust. But was it an illusion? I wondered. I tried to avoid it by moving toward the protective wall, and from one instant to the next the three-wheeler was nowhere to be seen. But that was not the only thing to vanish. The forms of people instantly were suspended and the surroundings were completely depopulated. I was overcome by an unbearable sense of loneliness. I was wretched, as if I had had ink eradicator poured over me, and I rushed full speed down the road I had just come along. However, the abrupt slope was much harder to go down than to climb up. The smooth concrete paving gave poor footing and the antislip grooves were almost useless for pedestrians. I had to keep my balance by knee action. The protective wall, which had shifted now to my right, gradually grew higher, and the street lights were lit at the point where the slope leveled off. A sign with the name of the town, white letters on a blue ground, was nailed to a lamp pole. I felt it was the name I had expected, but the self-confidence I had experienced