Kazuo Ishiguro (27 page)

She was followed by a man who sang unaccompanied a few verses of Gilbert and Sullivan, and I surmised that the majority of those around me had come ready to perform. Guests went up one after another, sometimes in twos and threes; there were madrigals, comic routines. The tone was invariably frivolous, sometimes even bawdy.

Then a large red-faced man - a director of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, I learnt later - made his way to the front wearing a kind of tunic over his dinner jacket, and began to read from a scroll a monologue satirising various aspects of Shanghai life.

Almost all the references - to individuals, to the bathroom arrangements at particular clubs, to incidents that had occurred on recent paper chases - were entirely lost on me, but very quickly every section of the room became filled with laughter.

At this point I looked around for Sarah, and saw her sitting over in a corner amidst a group of ladies, laughing as heartily as any of them. The woman beside her, who clearly had had a fair amount to drink, was roaring with almost indecent abandon.

The red-faced man’s performance had been going for perhaps five minutes - during which time the level of hilarity seemed only to rise - when he delivered a particularly effective volley of three or four lines which set the room virtually howling.

It was at this point that I happened to glance over once more to Sarah. At first the scene appeared much as it had before: there was Sarah, laughing helplessly amidst her companions.

If I went on watching her for several more seconds, it was simply because I was rather surprised that after barely a year, she was already so intimate with Shanghai society to the extent that these obscure jokes could reduce her to such a state.

And it was then, as I was gazing at her, pondering this point, that I suddenly realised she was not laughing at all; that she was not, as I had supposed, wiping away tears of laughter, but was in fact weeping. For a moment I went on staring at her, unable quite to credit my eyes. Then, as the uproar continued, I rose quietly and moved through the crowd. After a little maneuvering, I found myself standing behind her, and now there was no further doubt. Amidst all the gaiety, Sarah was crying uncontrollably.

I had approached from behind, so that when I offered her my handkerchief, she gave a start. Then looking up at me, she fixed me - for perhaps as long as four or five seconds - with a searching gaze in which gratitude was mixed with something like a question. I inclined my head to read better her look, but then she had taken my handkerchief and turned back towards the red-faced man. And when the next burst of laughter seized the room, Sarah, too, with an impressive show of will, let out a laugh, even as she pressed the handkerchief to her eyes.

Conscious that I might draw unwanted attention to her, I then made my way back to my seat, and indeed, did not go near her again that evening other than to exchange rather formal goodnights with her in the entrance hall alongside the many other guests taking their leave of one another.

But I suppose, for a few days afterwards, I entertained a vague expectation of hearing something from her concerning what had occurred. It is, then, a measure of how much I had become engrossed in my investigations that by the time that note was brought to me in the dining room of the Cathay Hotel, I failed to make any connection with the earlier incident, and made my way up the grand staircase, wondering why it was she wished to see me.

What Sarah described as the ‘half-landing’ is in fact a substantial area strewn with armchairs, occasional tables and potted palms. In the morning particularly, with the great windows open and the ceiling fans whirring, I imagine it is a pleasant enough place for a guest to read a newspaper and take some coffee. At night, though, it has a rather abandoned atmosphere; perhaps owing to the shortages, there is no lighting other than that coming from the staircase, and whatever leaks in through the windows from the Bund down below. On that particular evening, the area was deserted aside from Sarah, whose figure I could see silhouetted against the huge panes, gazing out at the night sky. As I made my way towards her, I knocked into a chair, and the sound made her turn.

‘I thought there’d be a moon,’ she said. ‘But there isn’t. There aren’t even any shells being fired tonight.’

‘Yes. It’s been quiet the last few nights.’

‘Cecil says the soldiers on both sides are exhausted for now.’

‘I dare say.’

‘Christopher, come over here. It’s all right, I’m not going to do anything to you. But we have to talk more quietly.’

I moved closer till I was beside her. I could now see the Bund below, and the line of lights marking the waterfront promenade.

‘I’ve arranged everything,’ she said quietly. ‘It wasn’t easy, but it’s all done now.’

‘You’ve done what exactly?’

‘Everything. Papers, boats, everything. I can’t stay here any more. I tried my best, and I’m so tired now. I’m going away.’

‘I see. And Cecil. Does he know of your intentions?’

‘It won’t come entirely as a surprise to him. But I suppose it’ll be a shock, all the same. Are you shocked, Christopher?’

‘No, not really. From what I’d observed, I could see something like this might be on the cards. But before you take such a drastic step, are you sure there aren’t…?’

‘Oh, I’ve thought of everything there is to think about it. It’s no good. Even if Cecil were willing to go back to England tomorrow. Besides, he’s lost so much money here. He’s determined not to leave until he’s won it all back.’

‘I can see this trip out here’s rather fallen short of your hopes.

I’m sorry.’

‘It’s hardly just the trip out here.’ She gave a laugh, then went quiet. After a moment she said: ‘I tried to love Cecil. I tried very hard. He’s not a bad man. You probably think he is, the way you’ve seen him here. But that’s not how he always was. And I realise a lot of it’s to do with me. What he needed at this stage of his life was a good rest. But then I came along and he felt he had to do a little more. That was my fault. When we came out here, he did try at first, tried awfully hard. But it was beyond him, and I think that’s what it was, that’s what broke him. Perhaps once I’ve gone, he’ll be able to pull himself together again.’

‘But where will you go? Will you return to England?’

‘Just now, there’s not enough money to return. I’m going to Macao. Then after that, I shall have to see. Anything might happen then. In fact, that’s why I wanted to talk with you. Christopher, I’ll confess, I’m rather frightened. I don’t want to go out there all by myself. I did wonder if you’d go with me.’

‘Do you mean go with you to Macao? Go with you tomorrow?’

‘Yes.

Go with me to Macao tomorrow. We can decide after that where to go next. If you wanted to, we could just drift around the South China Sea for a while. Or we could go to South America, run away like thieves in the night. Wouldn’t that be fun?’

I suppose I was surprised when I heard her utter these words; but what I remember now, overwhelming anything else, was an almost tangible sense of relief. Indeed, for a second or two I experienced the sort of giddiness one might when coming suddenly out into the light and fresh air after being trapped a long time in some dark chamber. It was as though this suggestion of hers - which for all I knew she had thrown out on an impulse - carried with it a huge authority, something that brought me a kind of dispensation I had never dared hope for.

Hardly had this feeling swept over me, however, than I suppose another part of me grew quickly alert to the possibility of this being some test she had set for me. For I remember that when I at last responded, it was to say: “The difficulty is my work here. I’ll have to finish here first.

After all, the whole world’s on the brink of catastrophe. What would people think of me if I abandoned them all at this stage?

Come to that, what would you think of me?’

‘Oh, Christopher, we’re both as bad as each other. We’ve got to stop thinking like that. Otherwise there’ll be nothing for either of us, just more of what we’ve had all these years. Just more loneliness, more days with nothing in our lives except some whatever-it-is telling us we haven’t done enough yet. We have to put that all behind us now. Leave your work, Christopher.

You’ve spent enough of your life already on all of that.

Let’s go away tomorrow, let’s not waste a single day more, let’s go before it’s too late for us.’

‘Too late for what, exactly?’

‘Too late for… oh, I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve wasted all these years looking for something, a sort of trophy I’d get only if I really, really did enough to deserve it. But I don’t want it any more, I want something else now, something warm and sheltering, something I can turn to, regardless of what I do, regardless of who I become. Something that will just be there, always, like tomorrow’s sky. That’s what I want now, and I think it’s what you should want too. But it will be too late soon. We’ll become too set to change. If we don’t take our chance now, another may never come for either of us. Christopher, what are you doing to that poor plant?’

Indeed, I realised I had been absent-mindedly stripping leaves off a palm standing next to us and depositing them on to the carpet.

‘I’m sorry’ - I let out a laugh - ‘rather destructive.’ Then I said: ‘Even if you’re right, what you were saying just now, even then, it’s not so easy for me. Because, you see, there’s Jennifer.’

When I said this, a vivid image came back to me of the last time she and I had spoken, the time we had said our goodbyes in the pleasant little sitting room at the rear of her school, the sunshine of a gentle English spring afternoon falling across the oak-panelled walls. I suddenly remembered again her face as she first took in what I was saying, the thoughtful nod she gave as she thought it over, and then those quite unexpected words she came out with.

‘You see, there’s Jennifer.’ I said again, aware that I was in danger of drifting off into a daydream. ‘Even now, she’ll be waiting for me.’

‘But I’ve thought of that. I’ve thought about it all very carefully.

I just know she and I can be friends. More than friends.

The three of us, we could be, well, a little family, just like any other family. I’ve thought about it, Christopher, it could be wonderful for us all. We could send for her, as soon as we’ve settled on a plan. We might even go back to Europe, to Italy, say, and she could join us there. I know I could be a mother to her, Christopher, I’m sure I could.’

I went on thinking quietly for a moment, then said: ‘Very well.’

‘What do you mean, Christopher, “very well”?’

‘I mean, yes, I’ll go with you. I’ll go with you, we’ll do as you say. Yes, you might be right. Jennifer, us, everything, it might turn out well.’

As soon as I said this, I could feel a massive weight lifting off me, so much so that I may well have let out a loud sigh. Sarah, meanwhile, had come another step closer, and for a second gazed deep into my face. I even thought she would kiss me, but she seemed to check herself at the last moment, and said instead: ‘Then listen. Listen carefully, we must do this correctly. Pack no more than one suitcase. And don’t send on any trunks.

There’ll be some money waiting for us in Macao, so we can buy what we need there. I’ll send someone to come and get you, a driver, tomorrow afternoon at half past three. I’ll see to it he’s someone to be trusted, but all the same, don’t tell him anything you don’t need to. He’ll bring you to where I’ll be waiting.

Christopher, you look as if something heavy just hit you on the head. You’re not going to let me down, are you?’

‘No, no. I’ll be ready. Half past three tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll… I’ll follow you anywhere, wherever you want to go in the world.’

Perhaps it was simply an impulse; perhaps it was the memory of how we had parted that night we had brought Sir Cecil back from the gaming house; in any case, I suddenly reached forward, grasped one of her hands in both of mine, and kissed it. After that, I believe I looked up, still clutching her hand, uncertain what to do next; it is even possible I let out an awkward giggle. In the end, she freed the hand gently and touched my cheek.

Thank you, Christopher,’ she said quietly. ‘Thank you for agreeing. Everything suddenly feels so different. But you’d better go now, before someone sees us here. Go on, off you go.’

I went to bed that night somewhat preoccupied, but awoke the next morning to find a kind of tranquillity had come over me. It was as though a heavy burden had been removed, and when, as I dressed, I thought again of my new situation, I realised I was rather excited.

Much of that morning has now become a haze to me. What I recall is that I became seized by the idea that I should complete, in the time remaining to me, as many as possible of the tasks I had planned for the next few days; that to do otherwise would be less than conscientious. The obvious illogic of this position somehow failed to trouble me, and after breakfast, I set about my work with much urgency, rushing up and down staircases, and urging my drivers on through the crowded city streets.

And although today it makes little sense to me, I have to say I took considerable pride in being able to sit down to lunch a little after two o’clock having more or less fulfilled all I had set out to do.

And yet at the same time, when I look back on that day, I have the overwhelming impression I remained peculiarly detached from my activities. As I hurried around the International Settlement talking with many of the city’s most prominent citizens, there was a part of me virtually laughing at the earnest way they tried to answer my questions, at the pathetic way they tried to be of help. For the truth is, the longer I had been in Shanghai, the more I had come to despise the so-called leaders of this community. Almost every day my investigations had revealed yet another piece of negligence, corruption or worse on their part down the years. And yet in all the days since my arrival, I had not come across one instance of honest shame, a single acknowledgement that were it not for the prevarications, the short-sightedness, often the downright dishonesty of those left in charge, the situation would never have reached its present level of crisis. At one point that morning, I found myself at the Shanghai Club, meeting with three eminent members of the ‘elite’. And faced anew with their hollow pomposity, their continued denial of their own culpability in the whole sorry affair, I felt an exhilaration at the prospect of ridding my life of such people once and for all. Indeed, at such moments, I felt an utter certainty that I had come to the right decision; that the assumption shared by virtually everyone here - that it was somehow my sole responsibility to resolve the crisis - was not only unfounded, but worthy of the highest contempt. I pictured the astonishment that would soon appear on these same faces at the news of my departure - the outrage and panic that would rapidly follow - and I will admit such thoughts brought me much satisfaction.