"Leaves" Chapter 4
In the newspaper, nearly two months after they'd found the girl in the river, Paul read about how it had been solved. The newspapers told of how a man named Sagawa had walked into the police station in the old town and turned himself in. Based on his confession, he was quickly tried and convicted. The authorities in this country have a remarkable rate of conviction, being based largely on confessions made when no lawyers are present. In this case, the police also didn't mind that Sagawa had a history of mental illness. Quite the contrary, it reinforced their sense that this must be the guy.
Actually, it was only the English language paper that mentioned his past. Mental illness being something that just isn't talked about in this culture. Of course, if his family was rich enough, he might be freed after a little time in an institution. He might even become a sort of minor celebrity and get his own column in a lifestyle magazine or something.
But unfortunately for Sagawa, he had no family to speak of and was quickly hanged and his body cremated and the ashes entombed in an unmarked grave at the prison. Continued...
And noone bothered to take the ashes in the dead of night to a shrine so that he could become a "kami" and enter heaven.
I digress.
It was interesting for Paul to read all of this, but as I said before, it was very much in the past for him. In the mountains near his new home, he found trails to wander and explore. The trails wound through broadleaf forests and were rich in life. Sometimes he chanced upon deer and stood still, watching them gallop away. He could feel the ground resonate under the thud of their hooves until they stopped at the top of the next hill and cried out with that piercing call of theirs, warning the other deer in the forests. There were wild boar trails, and pheasants thundering away and when spring came, warblers calling from the treetops. It was grand country.
And Paul had been together with Shizuka since nearly that first night they met at the "welcoming party". Well, actually, it was a week or so after that, after Shizuka had called Mrs. Kawai and asked for his telephone number.
Shizuka had been lonely for a long time and his coming into her life had made her happy almost to the point of feeling sick when she thought of it. And as for Paul, Shizuka took his mind off of the worries. A woman is wonderful for that. Sure, she brought with her her own set of problems: the requests to see musicals in the city, the constant photographs to document their trips together, the random and unexplained crying. But she was a fine girl and it seemed worth the few troubles to Paul.
She taught him many things about the country. He was amazed that a girl like her would be living in the mountain village there. There was something very forceful but still fragile about her. And he taught her many things, too - answered her many questions about his language, explained his odd (to her) sense of humor, taught her how to undo button-fly jeans...
In a way, he was living a fantasy. He'd come to this country to get away from his own. But he never felt comfortable explaining to people just why he'd done it.
So perhaps I should explain for him, since I know him better than he does himself. Perhaps I should. Or perhaps I shouldn't.
He'd been away for seven years in all. Sometimes people asked him about his life before. Sometimes they didn't see for several minutes that he preferred not to talk about it so much.
During these seven years in this country, he was living simply. He was getting by. In times of introspection, he felt a tinge of guilt, as if he was postponing the inevitable. This living in another country. This avoiding his own.
It was fear.
There were many things that Paul was not afraid of that other people feared. When he went camping alone he didn't fear bears or wolves or other wild animals. He never thought much about what might happen if he slipped and turned an ankle a day's hike out on a snowy camping trip. He didn't fear the cold, the elements, the darkness of night in the forest, nor the sounds that carried over the dead leaves those nights in the hills.
Paul didn't fear being alone. He didn't fear death.
But still it was there - the postponing. And the reason was fear. Or more precisely, dread.
Actually, it was only the English language paper that mentioned his past. Mental illness being something that just isn't talked about in this culture. Of course, if his family was rich enough, he might be freed after a little time in an institution. He might even become a sort of minor celebrity and get his own column in a lifestyle magazine or something.
But unfortunately for Sagawa, he had no family to speak of and was quickly hanged and his body cremated and the ashes entombed in an unmarked grave at the prison. Continued...
And noone bothered to take the ashes in the dead of night to a shrine so that he could become a "kami" and enter heaven.
I digress.
It was interesting for Paul to read all of this, but as I said before, it was very much in the past for him. In the mountains near his new home, he found trails to wander and explore. The trails wound through broadleaf forests and were rich in life. Sometimes he chanced upon deer and stood still, watching them gallop away. He could feel the ground resonate under the thud of their hooves until they stopped at the top of the next hill and cried out with that piercing call of theirs, warning the other deer in the forests. There were wild boar trails, and pheasants thundering away and when spring came, warblers calling from the treetops. It was grand country.
And Paul had been together with Shizuka since nearly that first night they met at the "welcoming party". Well, actually, it was a week or so after that, after Shizuka had called Mrs. Kawai and asked for his telephone number.
Shizuka had been lonely for a long time and his coming into her life had made her happy almost to the point of feeling sick when she thought of it. And as for Paul, Shizuka took his mind off of the worries. A woman is wonderful for that. Sure, she brought with her her own set of problems: the requests to see musicals in the city, the constant photographs to document their trips together, the random and unexplained crying. But she was a fine girl and it seemed worth the few troubles to Paul.
She taught him many things about the country. He was amazed that a girl like her would be living in the mountain village there. There was something very forceful but still fragile about her. And he taught her many things, too - answered her many questions about his language, explained his odd (to her) sense of humor, taught her how to undo button-fly jeans...
In a way, he was living a fantasy. He'd come to this country to get away from his own. But he never felt comfortable explaining to people just why he'd done it.
So perhaps I should explain for him, since I know him better than he does himself. Perhaps I should. Or perhaps I shouldn't.
He'd been away for seven years in all. Sometimes people asked him about his life before. Sometimes they didn't see for several minutes that he preferred not to talk about it so much.
During these seven years in this country, he was living simply. He was getting by. In times of introspection, he felt a tinge of guilt, as if he was postponing the inevitable. This living in another country. This avoiding his own.
It was fear.
There were many things that Paul was not afraid of that other people feared. When he went camping alone he didn't fear bears or wolves or other wild animals. He never thought much about what might happen if he slipped and turned an ankle a day's hike out on a snowy camping trip. He didn't fear the cold, the elements, the darkness of night in the forest, nor the sounds that carried over the dead leaves those nights in the hills.
Paul didn't fear being alone. He didn't fear death.
But still it was there - the postponing. And the reason was fear. Or more precisely, dread.
© 2006 by PA Casey (ryecatcher)
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