Kazuo Ishiguro (32 page)

For a few minutes, he led me on a path perpendicular to the one we had been taking. In time we came to another wall with a hole gouged out of it.

‘You should go this way for at least half a mile before turning east again. You may still meet soldiers, from either side.

Remember what I told you. Keep your revolver hidden, and always announce your neutrality. If you encounter any of the inhabitants, ask them to direct you to the East Furnace. I wish you luck, sir, and I regret I cannot assist you further.’

After I had been moving north for several minutes, I noticed the houses becoming less damaged. This did not, however, make my journey any the easier; the roofs being more intact meant I had to make do with a much murkier light - I had decided to save the torch till nightfall - and I would often have to feel my way along a wall for some distance before coming across an opening. There was, for some reason, far more broken glass in this vicinity, and also large areas submerged in stagnant water. I frequently heard the scuttling of large groups of rats, and once trod on a dead dog, but could not hear any sounds of fighting.

It was at around this stage of the journey that I found myself thinking again and again of Jennifer, sitting in the prefects’ room on that sunny afternoon we had parted - and in particular, of her face as she had made that curious vow, uttered so earnestly, to ‘help me’ when she was older. Once, as I groped my way forward, an absurd picture came into my head of the poor child struggling after me through this ghastly terrain, determined to make good her promise, and I suddenly felt a rush of emotion that all but brought tears to my eyes.

Then I came upon a hole in a wall through which I could see only pitch blackness, but from which came the most overwhelming stink of excrement. I knew that to keep on course I should climb through into that room, but I simply could not bear the idea and kept walking. This fastidiousness cost me dear, for I did not find another opening for some time, and thereafter, I had the impression of drifting further and further off my route.

By the time it grew completely dark and I began to use the torch, I was coming across many more signs of habitation. I would often stumble into a barely damaged chest of drawers or shrine, even whole rooms in which the furnishings were hardly disturbed, giving the impression the family had just gone out for the day. But then right next to such places I would discover more rooms utterly destroyed or flooded.

There were, too, more and more stray dogs - scrawny beasts I feared might attack me, but which invariably shrank away growling when I shone my beam at them. Once I came upon three dogs savagely tearing something apart, and drew my pistol, so convinced was I they would come for me; but even these animals meekly watched me pass, as though they had come to respect the carnage a man was capable of wreaking.

I was not so surprised, then, when I came across the first family. I found them in my torch beam, cowering back into a dark corner: several children, three women, an elderly man. Around them were the bundles and utensils of their existence. They stared at me in fear, brandishing makeshift weapons, which they lowered only slightly at my words of reassurance. I tried to enquire if I was anywhere near the East Furnace, but they returned only uncomprehending stares. I came across three or four more such families in the nearby houses - increasingly, I was able to use actual doorways rather than openings in walls - but found them no more responsive.

Then I entered a larger space, the far side of which was bathed in the reddish glow of a lantern. There were a lot of people standing about in the shadows - again, predominantly women and children with a few elderly men among them. I had begun to utter my usual words of reassurance, when I sensed something odd in the atmosphere, and stopping, reached instead for my revolver.

Faces turned to me in the lantern glow. But then almost immediately the gazes returned to the far corner where a dozen or so children had crowded around something down on the ground. Some of the children were poking with sticks at whatever it was, and then I noticed that many of the adults were holding at the ready sharpened spades, choppers and other improvised weapons. It was as though I had disturbed some dark ritual, and my first inclination was to walk on past. Perhaps it was because I heard a noise, or perhaps it was some sixth sense; but I then found myself, revolver still drawn, moving towards the circle of children. The latter seemed reluctant to reveal what they had, but gradually their shadows parted. I then saw in the dim red glow the figure of a Japanese soldier lying quite still on his side. His hands were tied behind his back; his feet too had been bound. His eyes were closed, and I could see a dark patch soaking its way through his uniform under the armpit further from the ground. His face and hair were covered in dust and speckled with blood. For all that, I recognised Akira with no difficulty.

The children had started to gather round again, and one boy prodded Akira’s body with a stick. I commanded them to get back, waving my revolver, and eventually the children retreated a little way, all watching carefully.

Akira’s eyes remained closed while I looked him over. His uniform was torn away at the back, right down to his raw skin, suggesting he had been dragged along the ground. The wound near his armpit was probably caused by shrapnel. There was a swelling and cut on the back of his head. But he was so covered in grime, and the light was so poor, it was hard to ascertain how serious these injuries were. When I shone the torch on him, heavy shadows fell everywhere, making it even harder to see clearly.

Then, after I had been examining him for a few moments, he opened his eyes.

‘Akira!’ I said, bringing my face close. ‘It’s me. Christopher!’

It occurred to me that with the light behind my head, I would appear to him no more than an intimidating silhouette. I thus called his name again, this time turning the torch beam on to my face. It is possible this action only served to make me look like some hideous apparition, for Akira grimaced, then spat contemptuously at me. He could not summon much force and the saliva dribbled down his cheek.

‘Akira! It’s me! How fortunate to find you like this. Now I can help you.’

He looked at me, then said: ‘Let me die.’

‘You’re not dying, old chap. You’ve lost some blood, and you’ve had something of a rough time of it lately. But we’ll get you to some proper help and you’ll be fine, you’ll see.’

‘Pig. Pig.’

‘Pig?’

‘You. Pig.’ Again he spat at me, and again the spittle dribbled out of his mouth without force.

‘Akira. Clearly you still don’t realise who I am.’

‘Let me die. Die like soldier.’

‘Akira, it’s me. Christopher.’

‘I not know. You pig.’

‘Listen, let me get these ropes off you. Then you’ll feel much better. Then you’ll soon come to your senses.’

I glanced over my shoulder, thinking to demand some tool with which to cut his bonds. I then saw that all the people in the room had gathered in a crowd just a little way behind me - many holding weapons of one sort or another - as though posing for a sinister group photograph. I was somewhat taken aback I had for the moment forgotten about them - and felt for my revolver.

But just at that moment, Akira said with a new energy: ‘If you cut string, I kill you. You warn, okay, English?’

‘What are you talking about? Look, you blockhead, it’s me, your friend. I’m going to help you.’

‘You pig. Cut string, I kill you.’

‘Look, these people here will kill you just as quickly. In any case, your wounds will become infected soon. You have to let me help you.’

Suddenly two of the Chinese women began to shout. One appeared to be addressing me, while the other was shouting to the back of the crowd. For a moment confusion reigned, then a boy of around ten emerged holding a sickle. As he came into the light, I could see a piece of fur - perhaps the remains of a rodent - dangling from the point of the blade. It struck me the boy was holding the sickle with such care so as not to let this offering drop, but then the woman who had shouted at me grabbed the sickle and whatever it was fell to the ground.

‘Now look,’ I stood up and cried at the crowd. ‘You’ve made a mistake. This is a good man. My friend. Friend.’

The woman shouted again, indicating I should step aside.

‘But he’s not your enemy,’ I went on. ‘He’s a friend. He’s going to help me. Help me to solve the case.’

I raised the revolver and the woman stepped back. Meanwhile, everyone else was talking at once and a child began to cry. Then an old man was pushed to the front, a young girl holding his hand.

‘I speak English,’ he said.

‘Well, thank goodness for that,’ I said. ‘Kindly tell everyone present that this man here is my friend. That he’s going to help me.’

‘Him. Japanese soldier. He kill Aunt Yun.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t. Not him personally.’

‘He kill and steal.’

‘But not this man. This is Akira. Did anyone see him, this particular man, kill or steal? Go on, ask them.’

Rather reluctantly, the old man turned and muttered something.

This provoked more arguing, and another weapon, a sharpened spade, was handed round and grasped by one of the other women at the front.

‘Well?’ I asked the old man. ‘Aren’t I right? No one saw Akira personally do any wrong.’

The old man shook his head, perhaps to disagree, perhaps to indicate he had not understood. Behind me, Akira made a noise and I turned to him.

‘Look, you see? It’s just as well I came by. They’ve got you mixed up with some other fellow, and they want to kill you. For God’s sake, do you still not know who I am? Akira! It’s me, Christopher!’

I took my eyes off the crowd, and turning fully to him, shone the torch into my face again. Then when I clicked it off, I saw for the first time the beginnings of recognition on his face.

‘Christopher,’ he said, almost experimentally. ‘Christopher.’

‘Yes, it’s me. Really. It’s been a long time. And not a moment too soon, it would seem.’

‘Christopher. My friend.’

Rising, I looked through the crowd, then gestured to a young boy holding a kitchen knife to come closer. When I took the knife from him, the woman with the sickle moved threateningly towards me, but I raised the revolver and shouted to her to keep her distance. Then kneeling down again beside Akira, I went about cutting his bonds. I had imagined Akira had said ‘string’ because of his limited English, but I now saw he was indeed tied with old twine that yielded easily under the blade.

‘Tell them,’ I said to the old man, as Akira’s hands came free, ‘tell them he’s my friend. And that we’re going to solve the case together. Tell them they’ve made a big mistake. Go on, tell them!’

As I turned my attention to Akira’s feet, I could hear the old man muttering something and arguments starting again in the crowd. Then Akira sat up cautiously and looked at me.

‘My friend Christopher,’ he said. ‘Yes, we friends.’

I sensed the crowd moving in and sprang to my feet. Perhaps in my anxiety for my friend, I shouted in an unnecessarily strident tone: ‘Don’t any of you come any nearer! I’ll shoot, I really will!’ Then turning to the old man, I cried: ‘Tell them to get back! Tell them to get back if they know what’s good for them!’

I do not know what the old man translated. In any case, the effect on the crowd - whose belligerence, I now realised, I had much overestimated - was utter confusion. Half of them appeared to believe I wished them over by the wall to our left, while the remainder assumed I had commanded them to sit down on the ground. They were all of them clearly alarmed by my demeanour, and in their anxiety to comply, were stumbling over one another and shouting in panic.

Akira, realising he had to seize his chance, made an attempt to climb to his feet. I hoisted him up by his arm, and for a moment we stood swaying together unsteadily. I was obliged to tuck the revolver back in my belt to free my other hand, and we then tried a step or two together. A putrid smell was coining from his wound, but pushing this out of my mind, I shouted over my shoulder, no longer caring how many of them understood: ‘You’ll see soon enough! You’ll see you made a mistake!’

‘Christopher.’ Akira murmured in my ear. ‘My friend. Christopher.’

‘Look here.’ I said to him quietly. ‘We have to get away from these people. That doorway in the corner over there. Do you think you can manage it?’

Akira, leaning heavily on my shoulder, looked into the dimness.

‘Okay. We go.’

His legs appeared unhurt and he walked reasonably well.

But then after six or seven steps together, he stumbled, and for a moment, in our efforts to keep from collapsing in a heap, we must have looked to the onlookers as though we were wrestling one another. But we managed to find a new arrangement, and recommenced our walk. Once, a small boy ran forward to hurl some mud at us, but was immediately hauled back. Then Akira and I were at the doorway - the door itself had disappeared - and staggered through into the next house.

Once we had come through two further walls and there was still no sign of our being pursued, I felt for the first time a kind of exhilaration at being finally reunited with my old friend. I found myself laughing a few times as we staggered on together; then Akira too gave a laugh, and the years seemed to melt away between us.

‘How long has it been, Akira? It’s been such a long time.’

He was moving painfully by my side, but he managed to say: ‘A long time, yes.’

‘You know, I went back. To the old house. I suppose yours is still next door.’

‘Yes. Next door.’

‘Oh, have you been back too? But of course, you’ve been here all the time. You wouldn’t see it as anything so special.’

‘Yes.’ he said again, with some effort. ‘Long time. Next door.’

I brought us to a halt and sat him on the remnants of a wall.

Then carefully removing the ragged jacket of his uniform, I examined his wounds again, using the torch and my magnifying glass. I was still unable to ascertain a great deal; I had been afraid that the wound under his arm was gangrenous, but it now struck me the foul smell might be coming from something smeared on his clothes, perhaps from where he had been lying on the ground. On the other hand, I noted that he was alarmingly hot and utterly drenched in sweat.