The Woman in the Dunes - Machi Abe [61]
Yes, perhaps he should have spoken about this scenery to the woman. Perhaps he should have sung her the song of the sands, which has absolutely no room for a roundtrip ticket, even though he might have sung it badly. At best he had given a poor imitation of a gigolo trying to catch a woman by dangling the bait of a different kind of life. But with his face pressed in the sand, he had been like a cat in a paper bag.
The light on the ridge suddenly vanished. The whole landscape sank into darkness before his eyes. Unnoticed, the wind had died down, and now the mist was coming back strongly. That was probably why the sun had set so abruptly.
Well then, let’s go!
25
HE would have to escape by passing through the village before the basket gangs began their work. Judging by experience, there should be about an hour left or, to be on the safe side, forty-five minutes. The spit of the promontory, as if embracing the village, gradually curved in toward the land, reaching as far as the inlet on the east side and squeezing the village road into a single lane. There the sheer cliffs of the promontory ended in what seemed to be slightly elevated, washed-out dunes. If he went straight ahead, keeping the mist-shrouded lights of the village on his right, he could expect to come out just about where the cliffs stopped. It would be a little over a mile. And beyond that lay the outskirts of the village. He could not remember any houses, only occasional plots of peanuts here and there. If he could just get across the dunes, then it would probably be safe to walk down the road. At least the roadbed was red clay, and if he were to run with all his might it would take him about fifteen minutes to get to the highway. If he could get that far, then he would have won the game. Buses would be running, and people would be in their right minds.
Thus, according to his calculations, he had thirty minutes to get through the village. What was bad about the sand was that one wasted strength, not because one’s feet sank into it but because there was no resistance. Running was most wasteful of all. Walking with long, careful steps would probably be more effective. And yet, the sand compensated for sucking away one’s strength by deadening the sound of footsteps. It was good, at least, that he didn’t have to worry about his footsteps being heard.
Well, look where you’re walking! It didn’t really make any difference whether he fell or not, and he frequently would stumble on the little rises and hollows and sink to his knees. That was all right, but if by chance he were to fall into another sand hole, what in heaven’s name would he do then?
It was dark, and the sand stretched forever on in irregular undulations. There were waves within waves, and within the small ones there were many still smaller ridges and hollows. The lights of the village, on which he had made his fix, seldom came into his view, for they were screened off by the crests of the endless undulations. When he could not see the lights, he went on by instinct. His mistakes were always appallingly major. Perhaps it was because his feet turned irresistibly toward the higher places, unconsciously seeking the lights.
Ah! Again he had made a mistake! It was more to the left. If he went on like this he would end up by going straight into the village. Although he had crossed over three small hill-like dunes, the lights did not seem to be getting much nearer. It seemed as if he were circling around in the same place. Perspiration ran into his eyes. He paused and took a deep breath.
He wondered whether the woman was awake yet. He also wondered what kind of reaction she would have when she did awake and realize that he was not there. No, she probably wouldn’t realize it right away. She would doubtless suppose he was just relieving himself behind the house. Tonight she would be tired. She would be surprised she had slept until it was dark and would probably be barely able to get herself up. Then, finally, she would remember what had happened between them in the