Yuki chan in Brontë Country (8 page)

I
n her first year at high school Yukiko fainted on two separate occasions. At the time she worried it was a habit her body might get into – something it might grow to like. Even now, in the right circumstances, she’ll be convinced that whatever momentarily removed her from this world has finally managed to find her. That it’s in her vicinity and about to throw its awful cloak back over her.

On the first occasion, she was standing in assembly. Mrs Muroya was up on stage, delivering some speech with that odd little stammer of hers, and Yuki remembers becoming aware of how many other girls were packed into the hall around her. Thinking that if there was a fire, say, or if she were to suddenly decide that she just wanted to get out of there, how much time it would take to get to the door. She continued to dwell on this, and even when she felt she’d dwelt on it sufficiently and would quite like to move on to something else, she found herself being drawn back to it, again and again, as if she’d started up some little inner motor that now refused to stop.

Then it was as if one of the girls over by the light switches started playing about with them. Yuki remembers thinking, Someone’s going to get herself in
trouble. And she was about to turn, to try and see what was going on back there, when something happened – as if something new and unusual had been introduced to her bloodstream. As if she was suddenly halfway back to the place where she did her dreaming. And the girl over at the light switches decided, Oh, what the hell, and turned the whole lot out.

When she came round Miss Ueno was crouched beside her looking, it has to be said, pretty irritated. Presumably, at the inconvenience of having to deal with this feeble little girl. She helped Yuki to her feet, then slowly led her through the others. It was good to see everyone give her so much space, though Yuki later concluded that they probably did this through some fear of contamination. Then she was led over to Miss Tanaka’s office, where she was given a seat, a glass of water and all the time in the world to consider the complete weirdness of what had just gone on.

Two or three months later she passed out on the subway, which was even more troubling since she was among complete strangers and far from home. She remembers standing on the platform, the train pulling in and the doors slowly opening to reveal all the passengers squeezed inside. As she stepped into the carriage she looked down and noticed the thin strip of darkness between the train and the platform. And it was as if, having been acknowledged, that crazy darkness decided to come on up from under the train to be with her. She had just enough time to think, Hey,
I remember this from last time. Then she was gone.

When she came round, the train was rattling along between the stations, with Yuki being gently shaken from side to side and a bunch of people staring down at her. The fact that the train was moving seemed incomprehensible to her. Surely, she thought, if I’ve fallen apart and ceased to function, then the rest of the world should have ceased to function too.

The next morning her mother took her to see the doctor. He asked her three or four rather mundane questions and took her blood pressure (which he noted was a little low) but his general attitude seemed to be that girls Yuki’s age were prone to over-excitement and occasional fainting and that her most important consideration should be to ensure she had a decent breakfast before venturing out into the world, or risk surrendering herself to more blackouts in the weeks to come.

There have been plenty of times since, when she’s been stressed or emotional, and she’s worried that she was about to go back under. But some telling element was always missing: a bitterness at the tip of her tongue … some vague sense of a fizzing, electrical aura. And, not least, the girl over by the light switches, threatening to get herself into trouble again.

N
ow she’s got her clothes back on Yuki’s hoping she’s going to start feeling a little warmer but her teeth are chattering and she can feel her shirt and trousers getting damp against her underwear. She thinks maybe moving about might generate a little heat so she pulls her rucksack up onto her back and marches up and down. Then she and the girl decide to head back and they’re halfway down the steep bank when the girl grabs Yuki’s arm and says she has an idea and knows exactly where they should go.

They drive out along the same track they came in on, but when they reach the road the girl pulls them round to the left and they race along it for a couple of minutes, then turn onto a wider road and follow that for a while. Yuki’s hair cracks and flaps in the wind. She thinks, Maybe she’s trying to dry me out by taking me up and down the roads of Northern England. She spots the garage up ahead before the girl starts slowing down for it – nothing more than a forecourt with a couple of cars filling up. But as they near it she sees the cafe beyond it – a bright block of light, a little like an American diner, but wider, with a luminous sign around the edge of the roof.
All that light looks pretty warm and inviting. They park the bike and climb the steps, but instead of turning left towards the cafe the girl leads Yuki down a corridor and into the women’s bathroom where she rests a hand on top of an old-fashioned hand-drier, about the same size as a small refrigerator, as if she’s modelling it at a hand-drier fair. Waves Yuki over, then hits the big silver disc on the front and the thing starts chugging and whirring away.

It takes a while to reach its full capacity but once it’s going it’s like standing next to a DC-10. Yuki dips her hand under, to check the temperature. Then bows and slowly moves in towards the jet of hot air, as if inserting her head into a lion’s mouth. It feels pretty good. She drops her head a little, to avoid actually setting her hair on fire, and has just about found the optimum distance when the motor cuts out. But before she looks up the girl hits the big silver button and the motor starts clanking and whirring away again.

It seems like they could be here for quite a while so Yuki slips off her rucksack and squats down on it so that her blouse billows in and out as the jet of hot air flies down her back. The girl leans against the drier and gives it a clank every time it cuts out, while Yukiko moves on from drying her hair to drying different parts of her clothing. At some point, a woman in a suit comes in – looks over at them, but just kind of ignores them. As if she sees this kind of thing all the time. Fixes herself up in the mirror, then strolls back out.

After five minutes Yukiko’s feeling pretty dry and a
whole lot warmer. She has a look in the mirror and finds her hair has gone super-static. She tries patting it down, but it just drifts back up, like she’s got a hold of a Van der Graaff generator. So in the end she gives up and the two of them head for the door.

They walk on down to the cafe and take a seat next to the window. All the tables and chairs are fixed to the floor and made from the same moulded red plastic. At the end of the day, Yuki thinks, they probably just clear away all the dishes and hose the whole place down.

Yukiko does her best to tell the girl that she’ll pay for the food, and that she should order whatever she wants. The menu actually has tiny photographs of what each meal looks like, which immediately bumps the place up in Yuki’s estimation. She orders a tea and a slice of apple tart, and the girl orders a tea and cake.

They’re sitting and staring out at the heavy sky when the girl says, You’re Japanese, aren’t you? Yuki nods and the girl tells her how they get a lot of Japanese visitors because of the Brontës. Yuki wants to say, I’m not like all the loonies. How hers is more of an investigative/spiritual visit, to do with her dead mother, but thinks there’s every chance the girl’s already worked that out for herself. So she just looks back out at the sky and remembers what it felt like to go right under the freezing water. To have the water seal itself over her head and to be momentarily lost down there.

The food and drinks arrive and the two of them attempt to have a conversation. Yuki asks the girl if she
shouldn’t maybe be in school but the girl shakes her head with such conviction – almost affronted – that she decides to leave it at that. Yuki’s still picking away at her pie when the girl asks if she can have another look at the photos. So Yuki takes the envelope out of her rucksack and hands her the one of her mother outside the parsonage. The girl leans in and studies it hard. And, perhaps to try and avoid having to talk about her mother, Yuki hands her the photo of the wind-bent tree and asks if she recognises it.

The girl frowns as she keeps on looking at it. She’s pretty sure she’s seen it, she says, but is having trouble remembering where. And for a while Yukiko watches her, appreciating all that teenage concentration. Then asks, very quietly, if she has a sister. The girl looks up and Yuki has to repeat the question a couple of times before she understands. She shakes her head. She has a brother, she says, and nods in the direction of the motorbike. And Yukiko sees how the bike must belong to an older brother, who quite likely has no idea his kid sister is out on it now, ferrying some Jap girl between possible psychic hotspots – and wonders how he might feel about this, if he knew.

They’ve almost finished eating when the girl says, Hey, and points out of the window. A few flakes of snow are falling – tiny outriders of some greater, yet gentle invasion. They both stop and stare for a couple of moments. Yuki’s sure she must have spent half her life thinking about snow, but when it starts, even now, it’s
still magical, bewildering. Each snowflake skating along its own invisible plane – circuitous, as if searching for a particular place to land.

Over the last four or five years Yukiko has read more about snow, its origins and its consequences than she could have imagined, not least the work of Ukichiro Nakaya. But though his research into the formation of snow crystals was pretty extensive he seemed to take very little interest in what happens to them as they fall. As far as Yukiko’s concerned a snow crystal has, in its brief existence, three significant periods: (i) its formation, way up in the ether, (ii) its actual descent, usually clustered together with other crystals in the form of a flake, and (iii) its existence after it has landed, among billions of other snow crystals. It seems to Yuki that a snow crystal is most itself in the second of these three stages, as it ranges through the air – sometimes sideways, sometimes back towards the heavens – in that stunning piece of collective theatre. Merrily eccentric and silent as the grave.

Y
ukiko pays and the two of them head back out into the cold. The snow has stopped, leaving a fine white dust across the ground, and as they pull away the bike’s tyres cut cleanly through it, revealing the road, black and wet beneath. The girl tells Yuki her name is Denny and that she thinks she may know where to find the bent-over tree – which she believes may have been struck by lightning. And as they fly along, Yuki thinks how she’d like to organise an exhibition of lightning-struck objects, each one mangled and dumbfounded in its own individual way.

They’re on the main road a little longer this time before pulling off onto another dirt track, which they wind along for half a mile or so. Then Denny stops, rests the bike on its stand and leads Yukiko up a rocky gulley, which slowly swings round to the right and finally comes out into a tiny valley, similar to the one with the Brontë Sitting Stone and Daydreaming Bridge in it. Yuki follows Denny, quite content to have someone else take the lead for a while, and they’re halfway up the valley when Denny suddenly stops, raises her arm and points off to the right. And once Yuki comes up alongside her
and looks where Denny’s pointing she sees the sheep’s bloody remains.

They walk slowly over towards it, as if taking care not to disturb the scene of a crime. The ribs reach up out of the meat. Some of the intestines are strewn over the ground, the wool smeared with blood. The sheep’s head is untouched and turned to one side, as if to look away from the dreadful things being done to it.

Denny peers in at the guts, still wet, and says that this must’ve happened in the last hour or so. Then she turns and studies the ridge above them. Takes Yuki by the arm and leads her quickly, quietly away.

At the top of the bank Denny drops down and pulls on Yuki’s sleeve till she crouches beside her. Tells her not to move. Then she scuttles away – back towards the motorbike, but straight over the moor this time, rather than along the gulley, running with her head down, as if there might be snipers training their sights on her. Yuki watches as she grows smaller and smaller, reaches another ridge, then drops down over it. Keeps on watching – occasionally glancing around in every other direction, without quite knowing what she might be looking out for. Until finally Denny reappears, just along from where Yuki last saw her, and starts heading back across the moors.

She’s out of breath when she finally squats back down beside Yukiko, but is fairly beaming. She slips a hand inside her jacket and pulls out something bulky, wrapped in an oily rag. Peels back the cloth, one corner at a time,
until a gun is revealed – right there in her hand. A jetblack pistol. She looks up at Yuki, smiles and hands it to her.

It’s heavy, like a lump of solid steel. Above the barrel is a second, narrower barrel. The handle, cross-hatched on both sides, is rough against Yuki’s palm. And as she stares at it Denny dips her hand into her jacket pocket and pulls out half a dozen metal pellets – picks one out, between finger and thumb, and takes the pistol back from Yuki.

She flips a catch. Lifts the upper barrel so that it pivots at the tip. Pulls it back, straining as she does so, until it clicks and settles, inserts a pellet, then folds the barrel back into place.

Yukiko has never been especially keen on guns, even in the movies. The one in Denny’s hand may be little more than an air pistol, but you don’t make a gun that heavy and apparently powerful without intending it to hurt or possibly kill someone.

Denny lifts her head, sizing up the landscape, then crawls over to a large flat rock which juts out over the valley. Yukiko follows, pulling her rucksack along beside her, until they’re both peering over the edge. Denny tells Yuki she thinks it’s either a dog or maybe a wolf that killed the sheep and that their arrival may have scared it away. She nods towards the bloody carcass. There’s still plenty of meat left on it, she says.

Yuki stares down at the sheep, then round at Denny. We’re going to see if it comes back? she says.

Denny nods.

Yuki looks a little incredulous.

And we’re going to shoot it?

Denny smiles and nods again.

Yukiko looks up the valley. Tries to picture a dog creeping back towards the bloody sheep. What if Denny shoots and misses? What if she hits the dog but it’s not quite killed?

But Denny seems to be settling herself down for a sustained period of waiting, and Yuki knows that she’s not going to get back to the B & B without the girl. So she tries to make herself comfortable and for a while they both lie with their chins resting on their forearms. He’s coming back, Denny says. I know he is.

As they lie there Yukiko can feel the cold from the rock reach right up into her. Denny lifts the gun, closes one eye and tracks up and down the valley. Then puts it to one side and rests her face against her crossed hands.

Your mum, she says. Did she die a long time ago?

Yukiko nods. Thinks, Ten years sounds like such a long old time, but most days she’s right there with me.

And did she die in England?

Yuki shakes her head. In Japan.

For a while they gaze out over the valley. Then Yuki studies the clouds above the horizon, trying to work out whether it’s likely to snow again.

A minute or two later Yukiko reaches over and carefully takes the gun. Examines it, then holds it out before her, with one eye closed, just as Denny did. She sweeps it up and down the length of the valley. Picks out
the sheep, still dead, and considers pulling the trigger. Thinks, What the hell am I doing – lying on a rock in England in the middle of winter, contemplating shooting a dead sheep? This cannot be a healthy way to be.

She puts the gun down. You said a wolf, she says.

Denny turns to her – doesn’t understand.

Yuki says, Said it could be a wolf. What’s a wolf?

Denny has a think. Then explains how a wolf is like a regular dog, but wilder. One that lives out in the fields and trees.

Yukiko is beginning to wish she hadn’t asked.

Mostly up in Scotland, Denny says. But some of them get this far south in the winter – when there aren’t that many people about.

Yukiko stares down into the valley. Then she turns and reaches for her rucksack, takes out her notebook, finds an empty page and passes the book and pen over to Denny.

Well, OK, Denny says. But I’m not much good at drawing.

She gathers her thoughts for a moment, then begins to outline a simple profile, with a rectangular head, pointy snout, broad haunch and shoulder, a tapered waist and a scrawny tail. She adds a single triangular ear, a mean oval eye and a zig-zag of sharp teeth along the open mouth. Makes a dozen or so individual scratches to represent its fur. Then looks at her work – apparently quite pleased – and slides the book back over to Yukiko.

She asks if these British wolves have ever been known to attack people.

Oh, sure, Denny says. And she tells Yukiko about a woman who was walking along the edge of the moors one evening maybe four or five years ago and how a wolf grabbed her by the coat and dragged her off into the darkness.

Yuki says, And she was killed?

Denny nods enthusiastically. All they found was her coat with a few old bones in it.

Yukiko whistles, tucks her notebook back into her rucksack and the two of them look back down into the valley with the dead sheep lying in it.

Yuki can feel the cold begin to take a firmer grip of her. But, despite this, she rests her head on her arm and closes her eyes. She thinks about wolves, where they might live – in secret caves and moorland tunnels – and whether they’re ever tempted to creep into the villages, after food from the garbage, or to snack on domestic pets. She’s slipping steadily towards sleep when she gets a nudge in the ribs. And she lifts her head to find Denny pointing the gun up to the top of the valley. It takes Yuki a second or two to spot the dog trotting down the path – a large, thick-haired creature, and not a breed with which she’s familiar. Perhaps something between a dog and a wolf. But with its nose down, sweeping the ground and its head full of its own powerful imaginings – pausing here and there to sweep and sniff with more intensity, then moving on. Its mouth hangs open, and even from this distance Yuki can see how it is in possession of quite a set of teeth. If Denny does decide to take a shot at
it Yuki sincerely hopes the animal is killed outright, or so comprehensively incapacitated that it won’t come bounding after them.

Twenty metres from the sheep Yuki and Denny see how the dog suddenly stops and locks onto something. Turns sharply and is drawn right up to the carcass as if on a track. And in a second it has its head right in among all the bones and gore, tail flapping. About as happy as a dog can be.

Denny has one eye closed now, with both arms out at full stretch. Yuki looks down, thinking, No, not a wolf. Ears and snout not sufficiently pointy. And, given the thickness of its fur, she wonders if Denny’s gun will make much of an impression. But the more the dog dips its head into the sheep’s blood and bones, the more Yukiko finds herself thinking, Just do it. Just shoot the damned dog.

Then, out of nowhere, three or four voices come rattling down the valley. Women chatting and laughing. Denny and Yuki look back up the path to see a group of six women blundering into view. English women, but not much younger than Yuki’s own Elders. The same new boots. The same determined heartiness. Their waterproof trousers flapping like flags around their ageing limbs.

They’re halfway down the valley before one of them spots the dog at the sheep and alerts the others. And suddenly there’s a terrible commotion, and one woman bursts through, shouting, with a dog’s lead swinging from
her hand. She makes a grab for the dog – for its collar – but the smell of the sheep’s blood has filled its head right up. So that each time she makes a lunge for it, it jerks back, skips around the carcass and plunges back in from the other side.

Denny and Yuki are finding the whole thing more than a little irritating. Just a couple of minutes ago there had been peace and quiet, and the prospect of a wolf to be shot at. But the likelihood of that near-mystical experience has been driven away by these stupid women running around and bumping into each other in their stupid boots and rucksacks.

As Yuki looks on she’s vaguely aware of Denny slowly withdrawing, but decides to have one last glance before going after her. The woman has the dog by the collar now, but the creature’s so excited it’s yanking her every which way.

Yuki thinks, Don’t English people bother to train their dogs?

She turns to leave, but instead of seeing Denny creeping off across the moors, Yuki finds her standing right beside her, with the gun at arm’s length pointing down into the valley, with one eye tightly shut.

If she’d had the time Yuki might’ve asked if she was sure this was such a good idea. But she sees Denny grit her teeth and narrow her open eye a little. Hears a ‘schtack’, sees the gun recoil and Denny’s arm kick back with it.

A terrible shriek comes up from the valley. Yukiko
turns and looks. The woman with the dog has her back to Yuki and Denny, but is standing straight as a post, clutching her backside. Yuki ducks down, expecting Denny to do the same. But Denny just stands on the rock, defiant, with the pistol hanging from her hand.

Below, half the women are fussing and flapping while the rest turn to see where the shot came from. The woman clutching her ass pushes the others aside and looks up. Stares at Denny, who’s laughing now. And the more the woman stares, indignant, the harder Denny laughs.

Yuki is still trying to come to terms with the fact that Denny actually shot the woman when Denny says, C’mon. And when she looks over her shoulder Denny is gone – flying over the heather, back towards the bike. Yuki stumbles to her feet and grabs her rucksack, so now all the women in the valley get a good old look at her. She sees the woman who got shot lift her hand from her ass and point right up at her. Her other hand still has a hold of the dog’s collar. She keeps her eyes on Yuki, but drops her head towards the dog. Says something like, Go on, boy – get ’em. Then lets it go.

For the first twenty metres or so Yuki’s still trying to get the rucksack up onto her shoulders. Then she just gives up and carries it by the straps, so that it clatters against her thigh as she charges along.

Denny is a pretty good runner, but halfway back to the ridge she stops and rests her hands on her knees, which allows Yuki to catch her up. As Yuki comes alongside she
sees that she’s stopped not because she’s out of breath but because she’s laughing so hard. Then Yuki looks back and sees the dog clamber up onto the rock where they’ve just been lying. Sees that big head turn with its ears up, sharp – find them, then set off after them.

No one’s laughing as they race across that last stretch of heather. At the ridge Yuki allows herself another quick glance over her shoulder. The dog’s still thundering in their direction. Has already managed to halve the distance between them. Then she and Denny go scrambling down towards the bike.

They both trip and fall on the slope – it’s impossible to do otherwise. They join the track at the bottom, and for those last few steps before they reach the bike they can hear the dog barking somewhere behind them. Yuki has to wait for Denny to climb on. Desperately wants to join her, but knows she won’t be able to start the bike with her on the seat. Denny flips the lever out. Kicks it once … twice … with the dog at the foot of the slope now. Kicks it a third time before the engine catches. Then pulls back on the throttle, hard.

Get the fuck on, she says.

The bike pulls away before Yuki is properly settled. The dog is right down the path now and hammering along behind. So when Yuki does finally drop onto the seat the fact that Denny is pulling so hard on the throttle brings the front wheel up off the ground and throws Yuki backwards. And, for what feels like an hour, they seem to float along on that back wheel. Seem to have entered
their own slow and silent world. Until finally Denny releases the throttle long enough to bring the front wheel back into contact with the ground. And at that moment – when the dream suddenly seems to evaporate and the motorbike bursts back into reality – Yukiko sees the dog’s great head come up alongside her, its snout all clotted with blood. She wants not to look, but its eyes glint up at her. Its ears fold back, its lips peel away from that great row of teeth. Then it lunges towards her and takes a nip.