The Woman in the Dunes - Machi Abe [20]
“There’s some water left over. Would you like to wash your face?”
“No, I’d rather drink it than wash my face in it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but I keep the drinking water separate.” From under the sink she took a large kettle which was swathed in plastic. “It’s not very cold, but it’s been boiled, so you don’t have to be afraid.…”
“By the way, if you don’t leave a little water in the jar, you’ll be up against it when it comes to washing up later, won’t you?”
“Oh, no. I clean off the dishes just by rubbing them with sand.”
As she said this, she grabbed a handful of sand by the window and threw it into a plate she was holding. She swirled the sand around and covered the plate, to demonstrate the actual process. He wasn’t sure whether the plate was really clean or not, but he had the feeling it probably was. The sand in this operation, at least, conformed very well with the idea he had had of it all along.
Again the meal was served under the umbrella. Lightly broiled fish and the cooked vegetables. Everything was slightly gritty with sand. They could eat together, he thought, if she would hang the umbrella from the ceiling, but he didn’t want to make an express suggestion. The coarse, common tea was dark enough in color, but it had little taste.
When he had finished eating, the woman returned to the sink and, putting a piece of plastic over her head, quietly began to eat her own meal under it. She looked like some kind of insect, he thought. Did she intend to go on living like this forever? From the outside, this place seemed only a tiny spot of earth, but when you were at the bottom of the hole you could see nothing but limitless sand and sky. A monotonous existence enclosed in an eye. She had probably spent her whole life down here, without even the memory of a comforting word from anyone. Perhaps her heart was throbbing now like a girl’s because they had trapped him and given him to her. It was too pitiful!
He was tempted to say something to her; for the time being, however, he decided to have a smoke, and he lit a cigarette. It would certainly appear that plastic was a necessity of life here. He got the match to light, but the cigarette had become unsmokable. He took strong drags on it, sucking in his cheeks between his teeth. Yet no matter how he puffed he got only the taste of smoke, an extremely greasy smoke that irritated his tongue; the cigarette was worse than useless. The experience quite spoiled his frame of mind and took away any desire he might have had to speak to the woman.
She attended to the dirty dishes, placing them on the earthen floor and slowly heaping up sand on them. Then she said hesitantly: “I’m going to have to begin right away getting the sand down from the ceiling.”
“Getting the sand down? Oh. Well, that’s all right with me.” He wondered indifferently why that should have anything to do with him now. It didn’t concern him if the beams rotted and the roof fell in.
“If I’m in your way, do you want me to move somewhere else?”
“I’m sorry, but would you mind …?”
She needn’t pretend! Why didn’t she show even a little of her real feelings? In her heart she probably felt as if she had bitten into a spoiled onion. But she was expressionless as she swiftly, with an accustomed movement, wrapped a towel folded in two around the lower part of her face and tied it behind her head. She put a whisk broom and a small piece of wood under her arm, and climbed up on the partition of the closet, which had only half a door remaining.
Abruptly, he exclaimed: “Frankly, I’m convinced we’d both feel much better if this house fell to pieces!”
He was surprised himself at his peevish outburst, and the woman turned and looked at him with an even more startled look. Well, apparently she had not yet turned quite into an insect.
On he went: “No, I’m not particularly angry at you. It’s the whole business. I don’t like this scheming where you people think you can put a man in chains. Do