Kazuo Ishiguro (18 page)

‘All right,’ she said brightly.

As I stepped back up to the house, I glanced behind me and saw she was roaming about the garden once more, moving her horse in dreamy arcs through the air.

I did not make such promises to Jennifer lightly. At that time, it was my intention entirely to fulfil them, and my fondness for Jennifer only grew in the days that followed. And yet here I am today, planning to desert her; for how long, I do not even know. It is, of course, possible I am exaggerating her dependence on me. If all goes well, moreover, I may well be back in London before the next school holidays and she will hardly notice my absence. And yet, I am obliged to admit, as I was to Miss Givens when she asked me flatly last night, that I may be gone a lot longer. It is this very indefiniteness that betrays my priorities, and I have no doubt Jennifer will not be slow to draw her own conclusions. Whatever brave face she puts on it, I know she will see my decision as a betrayal.

It is not easy to explain how things have come to this. What I can say is that it began some years ago - from well before Jennifer’s arrival - as a vague feeling I would get from time to time; a feeling that someone or other disapproved of me, and was only just managing to conceal it. Curiously, these moments tended to occur in the company of the very people whom I might have expected to be most appreciative of my achievements.

When talking to some statesman at a dinner, say, or to a police officer, or even a client, I would be suddenly surprised by the coldness of a handshake, a curt remark inserted amidst pleasantries, a polite aloofness just where I might have expected gushing gratitude. Initially, whenever such incidents occurred, I would search my memory for some offence I might inadvertently have caused the particular individual; but eventually I was obliged to conclude that such reactions had to do with something more general in people’s perceptions of me.

Because what I am talking of here is so nebulous, it is not easy to recall instances to serve as clear illustrations. But I suppose one example is the odd exchange I had last autumn with the police inspector from Exeter in that gloomy lane outside the village of Coring, in Somerset.

It was one of the most dispiriting crimes I have ever investigated.

I did not arrive in the village until four days after the bodies of the children had been discovered in the lane, and the constant rainfall had turned the ditch where they had been found into a muddy stream - making the gathering of relevant evidence no simple affair. None the less, by the time I heard the inspector’s footsteps approaching, I had formed a fairly clear view of what had occurred.

‘A most disturbing business,’ I said to him as he came up to me.

‘It’s sickened me, Mr Banks.’ the inspector said. ‘Truly sickened me.’

I had been crouching down examining the hedge, but now rose to my feet, and we stood facing one another in the steady drizzle. Then he said: ‘You know, sir, just at this moment, I dearly wish I’d become a carpenter. That’s what my father wished of me. I really do, sir.

Today, after this, I really do.’

‘It’s awful, I agree. But one mustn’t turn away. We have to see to it justice prevails.’

He shook his head forlornly. Then he said: ‘I came out here to ask you, sir, if you’d formed a view of this case. Because you see …’ He looked up at the dripping trees above him, then went on with an effort: ‘You see, my own investigations do lead me towards a certain conclusion. A conclusion I’m somewhat loath to reach.’

I looked at him gravely and nodded. ‘I fear your conclusion is correct.’ I said solemnly. ‘Four days ago, this looked to be as horrific a crime as one could imagine. But now, it seems the truth is even more ghastly.’

‘How can it be, sir?’ The inspector had gone very pale. ‘How can such a thing be possible? Even after all these years I can’t comprehend such…’ He fell silent and turned away from me.

‘Unfortunately, I see no other possibility,’ I said quietly. ‘It is indeed shocking. It’s as if we’re looking right into the depths of the darkness.’

‘Some madman who was passing, something of that order I could have accepted. But this… I am still loath to believe it.’

‘I fear you must.’ I said. ‘We must accept it. Because it’s what happened.’

‘You’re sure of it, sir?’

‘I’m sure of it.’

He was gazing across the neighbouring fields to the row of cottages in the distance.

‘At times like these,’ I said, ‘I can well understand, one gets very discouraged. But if I may say so, it’s well you didn’t follow your father’s advice. Because men of your calibre, inspector, are rare. And those of us whose duty it is to combat evil, we are … how might I put it? We’re like the twine that holds together the slats of a wooden blind. Should we fail to hold strong, then everything will scatter. It’s very important, Inspector, that you carry on.’

He remained silent for another moment. Then when he spoke again, I was rather taken aback by the hardness in his voice.

‘I’m just a small person, sir. So I’ll stay here and do what I can. I’ll stay here and do my best to fight the serpent. But it’s a beast with many heads. You cut one head off, three more will grow in its place. That’s how it seems to me, sir. It’s getting worse. It’s getting worse every day. What’s happened here, these poor little children…’ He turned around and I could now see fury in his face. ‘I’m just a small man. If I was a greater man’ - and here, without a doubt, he looked accusingly straight into my eyes - ‘if I was a greater man, then I tell you, sir, I’d hesitate no longer. I’d go to its heart.’

‘Its heart?’

‘The heart of the serpent. I’d go to it. Why waste precious time wrestling with its many heads? I’d go this day to where the heart of the serpent lies and slay the thing once and for all before… before…’

He appeared to run out of words and simply stood there glaring at me. I do not remember quite what I said in response.

Possibly I muttered something like: ‘Well, that would be most commendable of you,’ and turned away.

Then there was also that incident from last summer, on the occasion I visited the Royal Geographical Society to hear H. L. Mortimer deliver his lecture. It was a very warm evening. The audience of around a hundred was made up of specially invited figures from all walks of life; I recognised, among others, a Liberal peer and a famous Oxford historian. Professor Mortimer spoke for just over an hour, while the lecture hall grew steadily more stuffy. His paper, entitled: ‘Does Nazism pose a threat to Christianity?’, was in fact a polemic to argue that universal suffrage had severely weakened Britain’s hand in international affairs. When questions were invited at the end, a fairly vigorous argument started up around the room, not about Professor Mortimer’s ideas, but concerning the German army’s move into the Rhineland. There were passionate voices both condoning and condemning the German action, but I was exhausted that night after weeks of intense work, and made no real effort to follow.

Eventually we were ushered out of the hall into a neighbouring room, where refreshments were being served. The room was not nearly large enough, so that by the time I entered - and I was by no means among the last - people were already squeezed uncomfortably up against one another. A picture I have of that evening is of large, aproned women elbowing their way ferociously through the crowd with their trays of sherry, and of greying, bird-like professors talking in pairs, their heads tilted right back to maintain a civilised speaking distance. I felt it was impossible to remain in such an environment, and was pushing my way towards the exit when I felt a touch on my shoulder. I turned to find smiling at me Canon?

Moorly, a cleric who had been of invaluable service to me on a recent case, and saw nothing for it but to stop and greet him.

‘What a most fascinating evening it’s been,’ he said. ‘It’s given me so much to think about.’

‘Yes, most interesting.’

‘But I must say, Mr Banks, when I saw you there across the room, I did rather hope you’d say something.’

‘I’m afraid I was feeling rather tired this evening. Besides, virtually everyone else in the room seemed to know so much more about the topic’

‘Oh, nonsense, nonsense.’ He laughed and tapped me on the chest. Then he leant in closer - perhaps someone behind him had pushed him - so that his face was only inches from mine, and said: ‘To be quite truthful, I was a little surprised you didn’t feel compelled to make an intervention. All this talk of a crisis in Europe. You say you were tired; perhaps you were being polite.’

All the same, I’m surprised you let it go.’

‘Let it go?’

‘What I mean to say, forgive me, is that it’s quite natural for some of these gentlemen here tonight to regard Europe as the centre of the present maelstrom. But you, Mr Banks. Of course, you know the truth. You know that the real heart of our present crisis lies further afield.’

I looked at him carefully, then said: ‘I’m sorry, sir. But I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at.’

‘Oh come, come.’ He was smiling knowingly. ‘You of all people.’

‘Really, sir, I’ve no idea why you think I should have any special knowledge concerning such things. It’s true, I’ve investigated many crimes over the years, and perhaps I’ve built up a general picture of how certain forms of evil manifest themselves. But on the question of how the balance of power might be maintained, how we can contain the violent conflict of aspirations in Europe, on such things I’m afraid I have no large theory as such.’

‘No theory? Perhaps not.’ Canon Moorly went on smiling at me. ‘But you do have, shall we say, a special relationship to what is, in truth, the source of all our current anxieties. Oh come, my dear fellow! You know perfectly well to what I’m referring! You know better than anyone the eye of the storm is to be found not in Europe at all, but in the Far East. In Shanghai, to be exact.’

‘Shanghai,’ I said lamely. ‘Yes, I suppose… I suppose there are some problems in that city.’

‘Problems indeed. And what was once just a local problem has been allowed to fester and grow. To spread its poison over the years ever further across the world, right through our civilisation.

But I hardly need remind you of this.’

‘I think you’ll find, sir,’ I said, no longer trying to hide my irritation, ‘that I’ve worked hard over the years to check the spread of crime and evil wherever it has manifested itself. But of course I’ve been able to do so only within my own limited sphere. As for what occurs in faraway places, surely, sir, you can hardly expect me to…’

‘Oh come! Really!’

I might well have lost my patience, but just at this point another clergyman came squeezing through the crowd to greet him. Canon Moorly introduced us, but I quickly took the opportunity to slip away.

There were a number of other such incidents which, if they were not quite so overt, nevertheless built up over a period of time to push me steadily in a certain direction. And then of course, there was the encounter with Sarah Hemmings at the Draycoats’ wedding.

It is now already over a year ago. I had been sitting near the back of the church - the bride was not expected for several more minutes - when I saw Sarah come in with Sir Cecil Medhurst on the other side of the nave. Certainly, Sir Cecil did not look appreciably older than when I had last seen him on the evening of the Meredith Foundation banquet in his honour; but the many reports that he had been hugely rejuvenated by his marriage to Sarah appeared to be something of an exaggeration.

He looked happy enough, none the less, as he gave jovial waves to people he recognised.

I did not speak to Sarah until after the service. I was strolling around the churchyard amidst the chattering guests, and had paused to admire a flower bed, when suddenly she appeared at my side.

‘Now, Christopher.’ she said. ‘You’re virtually the only one here not to have congratulated me on my hat. Celia Matheson made it for me.’

‘It’s splendid. Really very impressive. And how are you?’

It was the first time we had spoken for some time and I believe we chatted politely for a while as we moved slowly around the fringes of the crowd. Then when we paused again, I asked: ‘And Sir Cecil is well? He’s certainly looking very fit.’

‘Oh, he’s on splendid form. Christopher, you can tell me.

Were people utterly horrified I married him?’

‘Horrified? Oh no, no. Why should they be?’

‘I mean, about his being so much older. Of course, no one will say so to us. But you tell me. People were horrified, weren’t they?’

‘As far as I was aware, everyone was delighted. Of course, people were surprised. It was all so sudden. But no, I believe everyone was delighted.’

‘Well then, that only proves what I feared. They must have seen me as an old maid. That’s why they weren’t horrified. A few years ago, I’m sure they would have been.’

‘Really…’

Sarah laughed at my discomfort and touched my arm.

‘Christopher, you’re so sweet. Don’t worry. Don’t worry about it at all.’ Then she added: ‘You know, you must come and visit.

Cecil remembers meeting you, at that banquet. He’d love to see you again.’

‘I’d be delighted.’

‘Oh, but it’s probably too late now. We’re going away, you see. Sailing for the Far East in eight days’ time.’

‘Really. Will you be gone for long?’

‘Might be months. Perhaps even years. Still, you must come and see us when we get back.’

I suspect I was a little lost for words at this news. But just at that moment, the bride and groom came into view across the grass, and Sarah said: ‘Don’t they look so handsome together? And they’re so suited.’ For a moment she gazed at them dreamily. Then she said: ‘I was asking them just now what they wished of the future. And Alison said they just want a little cottage in Dorset, from which neither of them need emerge for years and years.

Not until there are children, and they’re getting grey hairs and wrinkles. Don’t you think that’s so wonderful? I do so wish it for them. And it’s so wonderful, the way they happened to meet just by chance like that.’

She went on gazing at them as though hypnotised. Eventually she came out of her trance, and I believe we spent a few minutes exchanging news of mutual friends. Then others came to join us, and after a while I drifted away.