Authors: Kenzaburo Oe

Somersault (99 page)

BOOK: Somersault

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“So that’s what it was like.… That’s enough, you must be cold.”

“No, I’m okay,” Ikuo said, but, concerned about his shriveling genitals, he was relieved to put his clothes back on.

“Actually, I can’t see too well. That’s enough,” Kizu said. After a while, he turned to the now-dressed Ikuo and kidded him with a question. “So—the two of you are pretty close now? I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Ikuo said.

He was afraid Dancer was going to deny it, but she merely glanced up, saliva glistening around her half-opened mouth.

After dozing for an even longer time, Kizu woke again and said, in the same tone as before, “Ikuo—is it really so bad that you can’t hear God’s voice? You don’t need God’s voice, do you? People should be free.”

Ikuo couldn’t just say what popped into his head. A dark yet gentle emotion permeated him, as if the darkness covering the black lake had risen up and seeped inside him.

“You say . . . God’s voice . . . told you that. . . but I think . . . even without God, I want to say
rejoice
. To me, and to . . .”

Kizu let out a ragged breath, fell asleep, and then suddenly sat up and vomited dark blood and began to writhe. His upper body, supported by his strong waist, trembled like a caterpillar searching for a leaf. Ikuo was flustered, unable to react. Kizu’s head fell heavily onto the window frame, and he nearly fell off the bed in the space between it and the window.
“Professor Kizu!”
Dancer shouted, as if scolding him. Kizu stopped moving and turned in their direction; his head plopped down on his chest, and he breathed his last.

Dancer called out again, leaning forward with her thin shoulders, but Ikuo had already made certain that Kizu was dead. He walked around the bed, pushed open the window, stuck the floor lamp outside, and waved it a couple of times. Because this was what Kizu had been most concerned about.

The light illuminating the wild cherry trees above the crags went out. What looked like a black smudge appeared in the center of the now pale grove of cherry trees. Once again the top of the forest was under the moonlight, the smudge was soon gone, and a wind they couldn’t feel down low rustled the light-reddish and milky-white heaps of flowers.

“The last thing he asked was whether it was really so bad not to be able to hear the voice of God,” Ikuo said. “And just before he died he used the word
rejoice
. To himself, and to . . .
something else
, he said.”

Ikuo scowled fiercely. Perhaps irritated at his own vague words, Ogi thought, large teardrops began to course down his face.

Ikuo shook his huge head, wiped back the tears, and said, “That was half a year ago.… It’s been a long year since the summer conference. I’ve thought about it a lot since then, and I agree with what Patron said. Gii’s taken by this idea of a millennial reign, but Patron said he would lead the church as an antichrist. As a free man, I plan to stand beside Gii until he takes over the church.”

“I’ve no doubt Gii is the sort of young man who can become a New Man, but he never told me he believed in God or stood on the side of the antichrist,” Fred said. Then he closed his notebook and asked very calmly, “Has this become a church without God, then?”

On Ikuo’s brawny features a truly beautiful expression arose as he pondered this. From the bottoms of the domes on the ceiling, snow melted in the sun and fell off with a thud. The large cylindrical space was surrounded by the sound of water. Between the question and the reply enough time passed that the direct relationship between the two grew fuzzy. When just enough time had passed for Ogi to feel this, Ikuo finally replied.

“For us, a church is a place where deeds of the soul are done.”

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Contents

Prologue: Beautiful Eyes in a Doglike Face

Part I