Ruined Map - Abe Kobo [53]
Behind my closed eyes, all turned lemon-yellow. I could imagine the contours of her ear, bright with lemon-yellow, luminous with the light reflected from the lemon-yellow curtains. Lemon-yellow fragrance. Lemon-yellow … Ridiculous. Why not say banana-yellow or squash-yellow freckles? Yes, this was not a battlefield or an execution. I had no right to harm her by even so much as a hypodermic puncture. All that I could do was go on writing my reports. The client is always right. Even if he tells a lie, for instance, if he says it’s the truth the truth it is. But facts were no longer necessary; it was even unreasonable to demand only motives and omit the facts. If I went on ferreting out facts, I could expect nothing but my client’s despair. I keep circling at a distance round senseless facts, trying to explain the unexplainable.
Suddenly the student seated to my left, a girl, pushed her body against the desk beyond the partition between us, and leaning inward, slashed at a photograph with a razor blade. I too leaned forward again behind the partition and in embarrassment continued writing my report.
… it may be concluded. However, there is no evidence he used his raincoat that day. There is simply a strong possibility he did not, since in the week from the 29th until his disappearance the weather turned relatively clear and the temperature was quite high. We must consider that the said newspaper and matchbox (or the telephone number on it) had already been used before then. These facts demonstrate that we cannot deny that the disappearance of the man under investigation was certainly not unexpected and that there is a possibility he had laid plans and made preparations in advance.
THE GIRL next to me finished cutting up the picture. Tearing about an inch from the last page of my report pad, I quickly wrote a note: “I saw you. I’ll say nothing if you come along with me. If okay, crumble this paper into a ball and return.”
I folded the note in two and slipped it gently under the girl’s elbow. Startled, she shrank back and looked at me, but I began to clear the top of my desk, oblivious of her. She opened the paper and began to read in a flustered way; at once her stubby nose and plump cheeks were dappled with red. She ceased all movement, she seemed even to have suspended her breathing. I patiently awaited her answer, savoring the moment like a piquant spice.
At last, she shot me a tentative glance. Her shoulders relaxed and she heaved a sigh. Rolling the paper into a ball, she flipped it back to me with the tip of her fingernail. Her aim was bad and it fell to the floor. As I leaned over to pick it up I looked up at her. I had the impression that below her thick-set ankles the flat-soled black shoes, cracked and worn, were somehow not capable of supporting her weight. Only the depression at the back of her knees created a shadow that was somehow feminine and clean. Adolescence drawing to a close, a time out of kilter, like catching a cold in the nose. She was apparently aware of my look, and the tendons in her legs tensed.
I picked up the paper ball and put it in my pocket, folded the photocopy of the newspaper, placed my pad and fountain pen in my briefcase, and stood up as if nothing at all had occurred. Without so much as a glance back, I headed across the overly waxed floor in the direction of the loan desk at a speed befitting a library. Having returned the newspaper, I looked only once in the girl’s direction, but she had not yet left her seat, and only her eyes peeped over the edge of the partition as she spied on me. I raised my hand slightly as a sign, and, seating myself on a little bench in the smoking area between the reading room and the exit, I lit a cigarette. I had barely taken four puffs when the girl appeared in front of the loan desk, walking stiffly. Nervously she was watching for me outside and did not seem to see where I was. She quickly returned her books and picked up her coat at