Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman Page 0,112

a dilapidated cake graced the table. It felt like time had skidded to a stop. On her desktop there was a dictionary and a chart of French verb conjugations. A calendar was taped to the wall in front of the desk, a pure white calendar without a mark or writing of any kind.

I gathered up the clothes that had fallen on the floor beside the bed. The front of my shirt was still cold and damp from her tears. I put my face to it and breathed in the fragrance of her hair.

I tore off a sheet from the memo pad on her desk and left a note. Call me soon, I wrote. I left the room, closing the door.

A week passed without a call. She didn’t answer her phone, so I wrote her a long letter. I tried to tell her my feelings as honestly as I knew how. There’s a lot going on I don’t have a clue about, I wrote; I’ll try my damnedest to figure it all out, but you’ve got to understand these things take time. I have no idea where I’m headed—all I know for sure is I don’t want to get hung up thinking too deeply about things. The world’s too precarious a place for that. Start me mulling over ideas and I’ll end up forcing people to do things they hate. I couldn’t stand that. I want to see you again very much, but I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do…

That’s the kind of letter I wrote.

I got a reply in the beginning of July. A short letter.

For the time being I’ve decided to take a year off from college. I say for the time being, but I doubt I’ll go back. Taking a leave of absence is just a formality. Tomorrow I’ll be moving out of my apartment. I know this will seem pretty abrupt to you, but I’ve been thinking it over for a long time. I wanted to ask your advice, many times I almost did, but for some reason I couldn’t. I guess I was afraid to talk about it.

Please don’t worry about everything that’s happened. No matter what happened, or didn’t happen, this is where we end up. I know this might hurt you, and I’m sorry if it does. What I want to say is I don’t want you to blame yourself, or anyone else, over me. This is really something I have to handle on my own. This past year I’ve been putting it off, and I know you’ve suffered because of me. Perhaps that’s all behind us now.

There’s a nice sanatorium in the mountains near Kyoto, and I’ve decided to stay there for a while. It’s less a hospital than a place where you’re free to do what you want. I’ll write you again someday and tell you more about it. Right now I just can’t seem to get the words down. This is the tenth time I’ve rewritten this letter. I can’t find the words to tell you how thankful I am to you for being with me this past year. Please believe me when I say this. I can’t say anything more than that. I’ll always treasure the record you gave me.

Someday, somewhere in this precarious world, if we meet again I hope I’ll be able to tell you much more than I can right now.

Goodbye.

I must have read her letter over a couple of hundred times at least, and every time I was gripped by a terrible sadness. The same kind of disconcerting sadness I felt when she gazed deep into my eyes. I couldn’t shake the feeling. It was like the wind, formless and weightless, and I couldn’t wrap it around me. Scenery passed slowly before me. People spoke, but their words didn’t reach my ears.

On Saturday nights I still sat in the same chair in the dorm lobby. I knew a phone call wouldn’t come, but I had no idea what else to do. I turned on the TV set and pretended to watch baseball. And gazed at the indeterminate space between me and the set. I divided that space into two, and again into two. I did this over and over, until I’d made a space so small it could fit in the palm of my hand.

At ten I turned off the TV, went back to my room, and went to sleep.

At the end of that month my roommate gave me a firefly in an