Goatwriter could see no path up the rock face. He spoke to himself, but no sound came out. ‘I’m not a kid any more. I’m getting too old for symbolic quests.’ He considered turning back, even at this eleventh hour. Mrs Comb would be distraught when he failed to return – but she had Pithecanthropus to care for, and to care for her. The writer within the animal sighed. And he thought of his truly untold tale, and he jumped from the marble rock. The pool was as cold and sudden as death itself.
Wednesday 20th September
Tokyo
Dear Eiji Miyake,
I hope you will forgive the sudden, unusual and possibly intrusive nature of this letter. Quite possibly, moreover, you and its intended recipient are not the same person, which would cause considerable embarrassment. Nonetheless, I feel it is a risk worth taking. Permit me to explain.
I am writing in response to an advertisement which appeared in the personal column of Tokyo Evening Mail on 14 September. The advertisement was brought to my attention only this morning by a visiting acquaintance. I should perhaps explain I am recovering from an operation to the valves in my heart. You appealed for any relatives of Eiji Miyake to respond. I believe I may be your paternal grandfather.
Two decades ago my son sired a pair of illegimate twins – a boy and a girl. He broke relations with their mother, a woman of lowly occupation, and, as far as I know, never saw his twins again. I do not know where the children were brought up, nor by whom – the mother’s people, one presumes. The girl apparently drowned in her eleventh year, but the boy would now be twenty. I never knew their mother’s name, nor did I see a picture of my illegimate grandchildren. Relations with my son have never been as cordial as one would wish, and since his marriage we have corresponded ever less. I did, however, discover the names of the twins he fathered: hence this letter. The girl’s name was Anju, and the boy’s name is Eiji, written not in the commonplace manner (the kanjis for ‘intelligent’ plus ‘two’ or ‘govern’), but with highly unusual kanjis for ‘incant’ and ‘world’. As in your case.
I would like to keep this letter short for the reason that the ‘evidence’ of the kanji remains inconclusive. A face-to-face meeting, I believe, will clarify this ambiguity: if we are related, I feel certain we will find points of physical resemblance. I shall be at Amadeus Tea Room, on the ninth floor of the Righa Royal Hotel (opposite Harajuku station), on Monday 25th of September, at a table reserved in my name. Please present yourself at 10 a. m., with any concrete evidence of your parentage which you may have in your possession.
I trust you appreciate the sensitive nature of this matter, and understand my reluctance to provide you with my contact details at this time. Should you be another Eiji Miyake with identical kanji, please accept my sincerest apologies for raising your hopes unnecessarily. Should you be the Eiji Miyake I hope you are, we have many matters to discuss.
Yours faithfully,
Takara Tsukiyama
For the first time since I came to Tokyo I feel clean, clear happiness. My grandfather wrote a letter to me. Imagine, meeting my grandfather as well as my father. ‘We have many matters to discuss’! Here I was, despairing at the impossibility of it all, when contacting my father really was as straightforward as I always imagined. Monday – only two days away! My grandfather uses educated language – surely he holds more sway over family politics than my paranoid stepmother. I make myself a green tea and take it into the garden to smoke a Kent, Buntaro’s brand of choice now all the Marlboros are gone. Tsukiyama – cool name – uses the kanji for ‘moon’ and ‘mountain’. The garden hums with beauty, rightness and life. I wish Monday could start in fifteen minutes. What is the real time? I go back in and check the clock which Mrs Sasaki brought me mid-week. Still three hours until Buntaro gets here. My absentee host in her seashell frame catches my eye. ‘Your luck has turned, at last. Call Ai. It was her idea to place the personal ad, remember? Go on. Shyness at the break of day is attractive in a way, but shyness buried in its shell will never serve you very well.’
‘Was that supposed to rhyme?’
‘Stop changing the subject! Go out, find