The Woman in the Dunes - Machi Abe [69]
He had not known there were spiders like this. How clever to use the lamp in place of a web. In a web it could only wait passively, but with the lamp it could engage its prey. However, a suitable light was the prerequisite of the method. It was impossible to get such a light naturally. It would not do to look for a forest fire or wander about under the moon. Could this be a new species of spider, then, that had developed its instincts by evolving with man? It wasn’t a bad hypothesis. But, in that case, how could you explain the attraction of a moth for light? A moth is different from a spider, and lamplight can hardly be thought of as useful in maintaining the species. And yet the point was the same: both phenomena had come about after man-made lights had come into being. The fact that moths did not all go flying off to the moon was irrefutable proof of it. It would be understandable if this were the habit of only one species of moth. But since it was common to moths of about ten thousand varieties, he could only assume that it was an immutable law. This crazy, blind beating of wings caused by man-made light … this irrational connection between spiders, moths, and light. If a law appeared without reason, like this, what could one believe in?
He closed his eyes. Spots of light seemed to float before him. When he tried to catch them, they suddenly swirled rapidly and escaped him. They were like the shadows of beetles left on the sand.
He was awakened by the woman’s sobbing.
“What are you crying about?”
The woman stood up hastily, trying to hide her embarrassment.
“I’m sorry … I was just going to make you some tea.…”
Her tearful voice puzzled him. Her back as she bent over, stirring the fire in the hearth, made her seem strangely jittery, and it was some time before he understood the meaning of it. He was slow, as if he were forcing his way through the musty pages of some book. Yet he was able to turn the pages. Suddenly he seemed so miserable that he was sorry for himself.
“I have failed!”
“Yes.”
“I have really failed!”
“But there hasn’t been a single person who made it … not one.”
She spoke in an unsteady voice, but there was a certain strength in it, as if she were defending his failure. What pitiful tenderness. It would be too unfair if such tenderness were not rewarded.
“Well, that’s too bad. If I had been successful in escaping, I was thinking of sending you a radio.”
“A radio?”
“I have been thinking about it for a long time.”
“Oh, no … you don’t have to do that …,” the woman said, flustered, as if she were making an excuse. “If I work hard at my side jobs, I’ll be able to buy it myself. If I bought it in installments, the down payment would be enough.…”
“Well … that’s right. You could, if you bought it in installments.…”
“When the water’s hot, shall I wash your back?”
Suddenly a sorrow the color of dawn welled up in him. They might as well lick each other’s wounds. But they would lick forever, and the wounds would never heal, and in the end their tongues would be worn away.
“I didn’t understand. But life isn’t something one can understand, I suppose. There are all kinds of life, and sometimes the other side of the hill looks greener. What’s hardest for me is not knowing what living like this will ever come to. But obviously you can never know, no matter what sort of life you live. Somehow I can’t help but feel it would be better to have a little more to keep busy with.”
“Shall I wash you …?”
She spoke as if she were encouraging him. It was a soft, moving voice. He slowly began to unbutton his shirt and trousers. It was as if the sand had filled his whole skin. (What was the other woman doing now? he wondered.) What had happened before yesterday seemed like ages ago.
The woman began to rub some soap on a wet cloth.
28
OCTOBER.
During the day the traces of summer, reluctant to depart, still set the sand afire,