The Woman in the Dunes - Machi Abe [24]
The woman, unable to endure the strain of the situation, would soon be exhausted. Her capacity for work would drop, and even the safety of the building would be threatened. It would be a matter of no little importance for the village too. Far from having someone to help them work, they had got themselves a real stumbling block. If they did not get him out at once, the situation would get completely out of hand.
But this scheme too did not go as smoothly as he had anticipated. Here the nights were busier than the days … the sounds of the shovel which he could hear through the walls … the woman’s breathing … the whistling and the cries of the men carrying the hoist baskets … the muffled roar of the three-wheeled truck, muted by the wind … the distant howling of dogs. The more he tried to sleep, the more nervous he became, and he would awaken completely.
When he did not get enough sleep at night, he could not avoid napping during the day. But what was worse was knowing that, if this idea failed, there would always be some other way of escape; and he was somewhat impatient with the present situation. It had already been a week. It would be just about now that a request for investigation would be submitted. The first three days had been his regular vacation. But after that he would be absent without notice. His colleagues, who were usually very sensitive to what other people were about, would surely not let this go unheeded. Perhaps that very evening some busybody would appear and snoop around his boardinghouse. The plain room, smelly and close in the afternoon sun, would betray the absence of its owner. Perhaps the caller would be instinctively jealous of the lucky man who had been freed from this hole. The next day, malicious gossip would be whispered around to the accompaniment of frowns and raised eyebrows. That would be natural. Even he himself could not expect this eccentric vacation to have any other effect on his colleagues. Rarely will you meet anyone so jealous as a teacher. Year after year students tumble along like the waters of a river. They flow away, and only the teacher is left behind, like some deeply buried rock at the bottom of the current. Although he may tell others of his hopes, he doesn’t dream of them himself. He thinks of himself as worthless and either falls into masochistic loneliness or, failing that, ultimately becomes suspicious and pious, forever denouncing the eccentricities of others. He longs so much for freedom and action that he can only hate people. Was his disappearance accidental? No. If it had been an accident, there would have been some sort of news about him. Well, then, suicide? But that would have involved the police. And suicide would be impossible! Don’t overrate the foolish boy. Yes, indeed, he disappeared by his own choice; there’s no need to root around any more. But it’ll soon be almost a week. He really is a scaremonger. I really don’t know what he can be thinking of.
It was doubtful whether they were sincerely worried, but at least their meddling curiosity was as overripe as an unpicked persimmon. Consequently, the next step would be for the headmaster to visit the police and inquire about forms for requesting an investigation. Behind his serious face he would completely dissimulate the pleasure that was welling up within him. “Full name: Niki Jumpei. Age: thirty-one. Height: five feet five inches. Weight: a hundred and forty pounds. Hair: slightly thin, worn straight back; no hair oil. Eyesight: right 20/30; left, 20/20. Color of skin: darkish. Features: long face, a slight cast to the eyes, snub nose, square jaws; no other special characteristics except for a conspicuous mole under the left ear. Blood type: AB. Speaks thickly with a stammer. Introverted, stubborn, but not especially inept socially. Clothing: perhaps dressed for entomological work. The full-face photograph attached above was taken two months ago.”
Of course even the villagers must naturally have some countermeasure in mind, for