Kojo Suzuki - Spiral

Mitsuo Ando awoke from a dream in which he was sinking into the sea. The trilling of the telephone insinuated itself into the sound of the surf, and the next minute he was jerked into wakefulness, as though the waves had taken him.

He stretched his arm out over the side of the bed and picked up the receiver.

Hello.

He waited, but no sound came through the line.

Hello, he said again, sternly this time, urging the caller to reply. There came a womans voice, so morose it made him shudder.

Did you get it?

The voice filled Ando with fatigue. He felt as if he were being dragged into a dark ditch. The dream from which hed just awakened flashed before his eyes. A huge wave had suddenly sucked him up off a beach: as he sank to the bottom of the sea he lost all sense of up or down, right or left, until he was helpless against the current As always, hed felt a tiny hand grasping at his shin. Every time he had the dream, he felt on his feet the touch of that little hand, those anemone-like fingers slipping away to vanish into the depths of the ocean. There was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it, and it tortured him. He stretched out his arms, sure that he should be able to reach the body, but he just couldnt get a grip on it. It eluded his grasp every time, leaving behind only a few soft, fine strands of hair.

The womans voice reminded him with unpleasant vividness of the soft feel of that hair.

Yes, it arrived, Ando answered, annoyed.

The form for their divorce. It had arrived two or three days ago, with his wifes signature and seal already affixed. All Ando had to do was sign it and stamp his own seal on it, and the paper would have fulfilled the purpose of its existence. But he hadnt done it yet.

And? There was weariness in his wifes voice as she prodded him. How could she be so blase about putting an end to seven years of married life?

And what?

I want you to sign it, stamp it, and return it to me.

Ando shook his head. How many times had he tried to make it clear to her? He wanted to start over. But every time he told her so, she would set terms he couldnt meet, as if to prove to him the strength of her determination. Hed been perfectly willing to give up all self-respect and grovel, but lately, he was getting a bit tired of even that.

Alright. Ill do what you want. Ando surprised himself, giving in so easily.

His wife was silent for a moment, and then rasped, I think you owe me an explanation.

About what? It was a stupid response.

About what you did to me.

Still clutching the receiver, Ando squeezed his eyes shut. Is she going to harangue me every morning even after she gets her divorce? It was a crushing thought.

It was my fault. But he said it too easily, without putting feeling into the words, and that set her off.

You never cared for him.

Youre talking nonsense. Listen to yourself!

Well, then, why

Dont ask. You already know the answer.

How could you do such a thing? Her voice trembled, a harbinger of the frenzy she was warming up to. He wanted to tell her never to call again and then slam down the receiver, but he restrained himself. This was the least he could do. The only reparation he could offer was to silently bear his wifes recriminations, to allow her to vent her grief.

Say something. She was in tears now.

Like what? For a year and three months now, weve talked about nothing else. Theres nothing left to say.

Give him back to me!

It was a cry of pain totally devoid of reason. He didnt need to ask whom she wanted back. Ando wanted him back, too. It was what hed been praying for every day knowing full well how useless it was. Bring him back, I beg you! Give him back!

I cant, he said simply, trying to calm her down.

I want him back!

He couldnt bear to hear his wife like this, wrapped up in past misery, unwilling to start a new life. Ando was trying, at least, to live a little more constructively. There was no recovering what was lost, and hed done his utmost to repair their marriage-to convince her to think about the new life theyd have, if they could. He didnt want to get divorced over this. He was prepared to do anything. It would be worth it, if only they could again be the happy couple theyd once been. But his wife didnt want to look to the future, and she blamed him for everything.

Give him back!

What more do you want me to do?

You dont know what youve done!

Ando sighed, loudly enough to be heard on the other end of the line. She was repeating the same barren phrases; her nerves were clearly fraying. He wanted to introduce her to a psychiatrist friend of his. But his wifes father was a doctor, the head of a hospital; shed just take it as meddling.

Im hanging up now.

Thats it, run away like you always do.

I want you to forget this. To get over it. He knew it was useless, but he couldnt think of anything else to say.

Ando started to put down the receiver. As he did so, a cry of desperation came from the earpiece. I want you to bring Takanori back

Even after hed hung up, the name kept spilling from the receiver until its echo filled the room. Without knowing it, Ando was now muttering it himself.

Takanori, Takanori, Takanori.

Ando lay unmoving on the bed for a while, curled up in the fetal position, head in his hands. Then he glanced at the clock and knew he couldnt stay that way forever. It was time to leave for work.

Ando unplugged the phone from the socket so she couldnt call back, then went to stand by the window. When he opened it to get rid of some of the gloom, he heard the cry of a crow. They always flew over from Yoyogi Park to perch on the power lines, but this one sounded closer than usual-it gave him a start. But the avian cry, airy and expansive, also lightened his mood. It was such a contrast to the black depths of the ocean of his dream, and to the desperate cries of his wife for their son. It was Saturday morning, a clear autumn day.

Maybe it was the wonderful weather rubbing him the wrong way, but tears welled up in his eyes. He blew his nose. He was alone in his studio apartment. He collapsed back onto the bed. He thought hed managed to fight back the tears, but now they came streaming out of the corners of his eyes.

Soon he was sobbing, hugging his pillow and calling his sons name. He hated himself for falling apart like that. Griefs visits werent regular; it waited until something set it off, and then it kept on coming. He hadnt wept for his son for a couple of weeks. Although the hiatus between his crying spells was getting longer, when the sadness did come, it was just as deep as ever. How long was this going to continue? He could hardly bear to wonder.

Ando took an envelope out from between two books on a shelf and withdrew from it several tangled strands of hair. They were all that was left, physically, of his son. His hand had brushed the childs head, and when hed tried to pull the boy toward him, these strands had come off. It was some kind of miracle that theyd stayed stuck to his hand all the while hed been thrashing about in the ocean. Theyd gotten twisted around his wedding ring. The body never surfaced. They had been unable to have a proper cremation. The lock of hair was Andos only relic of his boy.

Ando held the strands to his cheek and recalled the touch of his sons skin. When he closed his eyes, Takanori came back to life in his mind. Ando could almost believe the boy was right there

When he finished brushing his teeth he just stood in front of the mirror, naked from the waist up. He put his hand to his jaw and rubbed it lightly. He felt the back of his teeth with his tongue: there was still a little plaque clinging to them. He saw a spot on his neck, just below his chin, that the razor had missed. He brought the straight razor to his neck and shaved off the little stumps of beard, and then froze, arrested by his own reflection. He raised his jaw and looked at his pale neck outstretched in the mirror. He shifted his grip on the razor and brought the back of it to the base of his throat, then slowly lowered it from his neck to his chest and then down to his midriff, finally resting it near his navel. A white line ran along the surface of his flesh, between his nipples and down his belly. Imagining his razor was a scalpel, he pictured dissecting his own body. Ando spent his days cutting corpses open, so he knew perfectly well what hed find inside his chest. His fist-size heart sat cradled between his two pink lungs and was beating firmly. If he concentrated, he could almost hear it. But that persistent pain in his chest-where in his innards did sorrow lodge? Was it the heart? He wanted, with his bare hands, to scoop out the clump of remorse.