Chapter 7
Our stay at Kamakura had been enjoyable, especially the Sunday, the last night.
From our conversation in the garden of the Kaihin Hotel that night, you will have seen how far relations between Mom Ratchawong Kirati and myself had reached.
You will probably have seen how close we were and you might guess what would happen before long.
But whatever your guess, I believe that it would be only partly correct, because even I myself, who together with Mom Ratchawong Kirati played a major role in this story, completely miscalculated the outcome of this strange yet true tale.
It was a miscalculation which has disturbed me right up to this very day. But let me continue with the story.
By the time we returned from Kamakura, the rapport between Mom Ratchawong Kirati and myself had blossomed.
We both felt as if we had been the closest of friends for years.
We forgot entirely that our friendship had been born and had matured within the span of a single summer.
We had never imagined that autumn would arrive to see our friendship in full bloom.
My initial position, which was merely as guide to Chao Khun and his wife when they went out on business or sightseeing, had rapidly changed.
I had become an essential part of the day-to-day life of Mom Ratchawong Kirati, perhaps even the most essential.
I do not mean to boast. I am merely telling the truth.
As far as I was concerned, I was increasingly aware that my own happiness had changed in a way that I could not understand.
In the beginning I had been content merely to be of some use to Chao Khun on the grounds that he was a friend of the family.
Subsequently, that satisfaction became a need to have as many opportunities as possible to be close to his wife.
Latterly, I have to confess, the reason I gave up so much of my time to be with him and his wife was not out of consideration for him, but rather out of consideration for myself.
But certainly, Chao Khun did not know this.
After returning from Kamakura, my need had reached the point where I asked myself how I would face up to it when the time came for Mom Ratchawong Kirati to leave Japan and return to Thailand.
How would I face an existence without Mom Ratchawong Kirati?
I was already certain that I would not be able to bear seeing her leave Tokyo Station, because the train would whisk her off so quickly, her tiny hand waving farewell to me as she disappeared from sight.
I had already understood that I needed to be with her until the last minute.
I would leave Tokyo with her when she went to catch the boat at Kobe.
I would have at least an extra ten hours to be near her and a last chance to wave a lingering farewell to her from the quayside.
The large ocean-going vessel would slowly and gradually carry her away into the distance, with none of the rapid, powerful movements of a train, which would have made it seem like she was being cruelly snatched from me.
And I believed Mom Ratchawong Kirati would also wish our farewells to linger as long as possible.
By now, the Mom Ratchawong Kirati I had first met at Tokyo Station, who, despite her sweetness and gentleness, was rather serious and proper, had vanished from my mind.
It was only by conscious effort that I could recall those first images of her.
The image of Mom Ratchawong Kirati that passed most frequently through my mind was of a young woman who behaved just like a close friend, a friend who was both highly intelligent and extremely kind towards me.
She was the nicest, sweetest woman I had ever known, someone who had brought so much joy to my empty life that it seemed almost impossible to think that she would have to leave me soon and I would have to remain in Japan for many years without her.
By now I had been let into almost all of Mom Ratchawong Kirati’s secrets, and if there was anything further that I wished to know, I could find out quite easily.
There was nothing I could not ask her and nothing she would not tell me.
This situation continued until the day we went alone together to Mitake.
Several days prior to that, I had begun to feel that my mind was frequently slipping away from my body and into another world.
It was a new world, which I saw for the first time in my life, a world glowing with beauty and happiness.
The strangeness of this world seized my mind and filled it with such joy that I almost completely forgot my past. At first, I tried to prevent my thoughts from straying into this unfamiliar world.
I was afraid I might find something frightening hidden there.
But then I gave up trying, telling myself that there was nothing I could do to stop myself.
I was incapable of resisting the allure and excitement of this new world.
I had to give my heart full rein. Finally, the day came when I stepped into that world myself, the day when my real life touched that world: I reached the summit of Everest in my relationship with Mom Ratchawong Kirati.
I do not know how I managed it. I do not even know whether I meant to or not.
I do not think I did. This moment of passion and intensity occurred at Mitake, in the cool, gentle breeze of autumn, amid the lovely surroundings of nature.
You probably recall the name ‘Mitake’. You probably remember the painting I described.
An ordinary-looking painting with nothing very striking about it at all.
But now you are about to encounter the true story behind that painting.