Chapter 30 A Circle of Ashes
A Circle of Ashes
It was now after eleven and I was following Mizuki through ever-darker alleyways.
I say “following” because she was striding along a couple of steps ahead of me, apparently not caring whether I was close behind her or dropping back.
As if concentrating hard on finding the way, she hadn’t said a word to me since we’d left the bar.
Lagging behind, I could watch her movements in the dim light. Her clothes may have been simple but with every step her hips swayed with a hint of sensuality. Even the way her ponytail swung back and forth across her straight back had something of a hypnotic, ancestral dance.
We left the neighborhood of old houses to walk through a more modern, chaotic part of the city, although the buildings were still low.
My guide stopped before a wooden door with a grille through which a soft orange light shone.
A few seconds after she rang the bell, the door slid open sideways, leaving just enough space for one person to squeeze through.
On the other side of the door, I could see the silhouette of a very thin man, who was speaking to Mizuki in Japanese.
He finally moved away from the slit in the doorway so that we could go in. It was a tavern-like space, furnished with four barrels with stools around them and lit by a couple of wall lamps. At that time of night, we were the only people there.
The owner pointed with both hands at one of the barrels and disappeared behind a red curtain which, I imagine, was there to separate the kitchen from the customers.
“I think he was about to close and now we’ve gone and ruined his plans to get some rest,” I said.
“Fuck him.”
“You sound like a rude little brat from Los Angeles,” I chided.
“Almost—except I’m from San Francisco and I’m not little. I’ll be thirty in a week.”
“Happy birthday in advance. Your uncle told me you’re going mountain-climbing.”
“Sort of. Does throwing yourself into a precipice off a very high mountain come under the heading of mountain-climbing?”
“I think so.” I wasn’t going to let her wind me up. “At least, people who throw themselves off mountains have to be good climbers.”
“Well, that’s how I’m going to celebrate the big three-oh. Nobody wants to turn thirty, however much people pretend they do.”
The owner-cook-waiter came out with two bowls of miso soup, thus putting an end to this cynical, rather dark conversation.
Mizuki asked for two beers and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers.
“Tell me about you. Why have you come to Kyoto all by yourself?” Before I could reply, she added, “And don’t tell me you’re here just because someone put a postcard under your door. You’d have to be a complete idiot!”
I took a mouthful of my Asahi, trying to resist the urge to slap her. Looking at her in the emptiness of the tavern, I suddenly saw her as a poor soul, lost between East and West. Since, in all likelihood, this would be the only time we’d meet, I didn’t mind opening up.
“Well, I’m helping my old friend Titus by looking for material on wabi-sabi. I’m reading about it now and hope to talk to some artists or philosophers who can tell me more.”
At that moment, the restaurant owner came over with a pot of broth and a pair of tongs.
He set them down on an empty stool before lifting the lid of the barrel that served as our table.
Inside was a layer of sand, on which he placed a ring of glowing charcoal pieces that he took from another container.
Once the circle of embers was ready, he set a grill on top, and placed the pot on the grill.
“Now he’ll bring fresh vegetables and three kinds of meat so we can cook them as we like,” Mizuki explained before returning to our conversation. “So . . . you’ve come here expressly to learn about the art of imperfection?”
“That’s my excuse. I don’t want to feel I’m wasting my time here. I’d like to think I’m doing something.”
“You’re always doing something,” she said, gazing into my eyes. “Now you’re having a barbecue with me.”
Instead of coming out with the riposte that was on the tip of my tongue—I mean doing something useful—the result of my addled, jet-lagged state and the weird situation of being in this place with a beautiful stranger, I took on a confidential tone.
“The truth is I had to get away from Barcelona for a while. The woman I’ve been with for eight years has left me, and now I’m trying to find my place in the world. You know what I mean?”
“Absolutely.” Her soft, cold hand covered mine. “I’m in the same situation but in reverse. I’ve just left the love of my life in San Francisco—now I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”
“It’s better to be in your situation than mine. You can always go back to him. I’m sure he’s still in love with you.”
Mizuki stroked her ear, then said, “I’m still in love with him too, but it’s impossible to go back. Things happened and they can’t be undone. That’s why I want to disappear. Forever.”
An expert at dealing with students falling apart because of their difficulties with German, I patted her hand a couple of times.
“Things always happen. The only time things stop happening is when you’re dead.”
Mizuki mouthed something inaudibly in Japanese before she switched to English.
“There are some things that should never have happened. That’s why I left America and have been living with my uncle for the last three months.
He’s the person I love most in the world, and I wanted to say goodbye to him. ”
“Say goodbye?”
“Yes, before putting an end to it all.” She took a deep breath.
“I’m not as great a mountain climber as I’ve led him to believe.
I’ve never done a solo climb of any mountain over a thousand feet.
I’ve decided to go to the mountains in Hokkaido because a lot of the land there is uninhabited. I’ve planned it carefully.”
“What have you planned?” I was alarmed.
The cook had placed beside us a tray with different types of meat and a bowl with mushrooms, onion and halved corn cobs.
Without looking up from the circle of glowing coal, which lit up the chalk-white skin of her face, Mizuki continued, “Before my final excursion I’ll destroy all my documents and anything that might identify me.
Then I’ll climb up to the highest peak I can find, sing a song and then jump into the abyss. The End.”
“Don’t be silly. Let’s eat,” I said, picking up some bits of meat and vegetables and placing them over the embers.
Mizuki clutched my free hand to make me understand that she was serious. Her tense expression showed suffering and determination.
“My uncle will never know I’ve died. I’ll just be one of those mountain climbers who disappear without trace and nobody ever hears from them again.
He will think I have decided to stay on the mountain to live in a little hut, or that I have met a man and run away with him without a word to anyone. That would be very much in character.”
“They’re all possibilities.” I turned the bits of meat over so they wouldn’t burn. “But it would be very stupid to kill yourself on your thirtieth birthday. It’s in a week’s time, right?”
“Yes—it seems a good time to get out of here. What’s stupid about that?”
I tried to think while I shifted vegetables around the grill to stop them from charring. “You can get out whenever you want, but you have to put your affairs in order first. When people love you, you can’t just go leaving them in the lurch.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your uncle said he’s making good progress with his English thanks to you. Learning the language has been keeping him going since he lost his wife,” I said. “If you jump off the mountain before you finish your classes, you won’t be showing much consideration for your pupil.”
That said, I used my chopsticks to pick up a cluster of tiny mushrooms and dip them into soy sauce. When I put them in my mouth they were crisp and tender.
Mizuki bit her bottom lip, apparently deep in thought. You didn’t have to be a genius to realize that, however good-looking she was, she was quite unstable.
“OK. I’ll give him a few more classes,” she said. “But on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“You have to promise not to leave until I come back from Hokkaido.”
I raised my arm to ask for another beer. I’d fallen into my own trap. She was about to scupper my plan—see a couple of temples and then go home. Then I came to my senses.
“I can’t hang around here for ten days waiting for you to come back, Mizuki.”
“Ah, no?” She pouted—the perfect brat.
Juggling plans I didn’t have, I said, “I can promise to wait if you come back on your birthday. I’ll use the week to visit a few places and collect material for my friend.”
“Done.”
I was surprised that she should agree so readily.
Then again, it was simply further proof that she was quite unhinged, showing how her thinking swung wildly from one idea to another.
I dipped a bit of meat into the sauce as she gazed at the circle of glowing coals, as if mesmerized by them.
She’d hardly even tasted the vegetables.
“Let’s do that, then . . .” I was being very patient. “We’ll meet at Samuel’s Bar next Thursday and celebrate your thirtieth birthday with your uncle. Then we can come back here, if you like.”
“I’m only going to do a couple more classes. You need to understand that.” Her tone had turned unexpectedly cold. “I’m like this circle of coals, which will soon turn into ashes. My body’s not yet cold, but the fire that used to warm my soul went out a long time ago.”