The Woman in the Dunes - Machi Abe [11]
“You see, it’s because the sand soaks up a lot of fog. When salty sand is full of fog, it gets hard like starch.”
“I can’t believe it!”
“Oh, yes, it’s true. When the tide along the beach goes down, even big tanks can drive over the sand with no trouble.”
“Amazing!”
“It’s quite true. So that part that sticks out there gets bigger every night. On days when the wind comes from a bad direction, the sand comes down like today, on the umbrella. In the afternoon, when it’s good and dry, it comes crashing down all at once. And it’s the end if it falls in the wrong place … where the pillars are weak.”
Her topics of conversation were restricted. Yet once she entered her own sphere she suddenly took on a new animation. This might also be the way to her heart. He was not particularly interested in what she had to say, but her words had a warmth in them that made him think of the body concealed beneath the coarse work trousers.
Then, with all his strength, he repeatedly thrust the dented cutting edge of his shovel into the sand at his feet.
6
WHEN he had finished carrying the kerosene cans over the second time, he heard the sound of voices, and on the road above a hand lamp flickered.
The woman spoke rather sharply.
“It’s the lift basket. I’ve already finished over here. Give me some help over there, will you?” For the first time he grasped the meaning of the sandbags that lay buried at the top of the ladder: by running the ropes around them, the baskets could be raised and lowered. Four men managed each basket, and there were two or three groups in all. For the most part, they appeared to be young men who worked briskly and efficiently. By the time the basket of one group was full, the next group was already waiting to take over. In six hauls, the sand which had been piled up was completely leveled off.
“Those fellows are amazing!”
His tone was friendly as he wiped away the sweat with his shirt sleeve. The young men, who uttered not a word of ridicule at his helping with the sand, appeared to devote themselves energetically to their work. He felt well disposed toward them.
“Yes. In our village we really follow the motto ‘Love Your Home.’ ”
“What sort of love is that?”
“It’s the love you have for where you live.”
“Great!”
He laughed, and she laughed with him. But she did not seem to understand the reason for her laughter herself.
From afar came the sound of a three-wheeled truck starting up.
“Well now, shall we take a rest?”
“Oh, no. When they finish with one round they come right back again with the basket.”
“Oh, let it go. The rest can wait until tomorrow and …”
He arose unconcerned and began walking toward the earthen floor, but she showed no signs of coming along with him.
“You can’t do things that way! We’ve got to work at least once all around the house.”
“What do you mean, ‘all around’?”
“Well, we can’t let the house be smashed, can we? The sand comes down from all sides.”
“But it’ll take until morning to do that.”
As though challenged, she turned abruptly and hurried off. She apparently intended to return to the base of the cliff and continue her work. Quite like the behavior of the beetle, he thought.
Now that he understood this, he certainly wouldn’t be taken in again.
“I’m dumfounded! Is it like this every night?”
“The sand never stops. The baskets and the three-wheeler keep going the whole night through.”
“I suppose they do.” And indeed they did. The sand never stopped falling. The man was completely at a loss. He was bewildered, rather as if he had casually stepped on the tail of a snake that he had thought to be small but had turned out to be surprisingly large; by the time he had realized this, its head was already threatening him from behind.
“But this means you exist only for the purpose of clearing away the sand, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but we just can’t sneak away at night, you know.”
He was more and more upset. He had no intention of becoming involved in such a life.
“Yes, you can. It would be simple, wouldn