Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

A Bridge

"You can talk, it seems."

"Yes, it seems I can talk. I am more surprised you can." I can't tell if I'm hearing its voice in my head or through my ears. It's a casual, lazy, singsong voice, probably typical of a cat if they could speak. I ponder the significance of cats in the world. T. S. Eliot published a collection of poems about cats, and Soseki wrote an entire book from a cat's perspective, Miyazaki and Murakami features many cats - talking cats - in their work. "Listen, I obviously can't do it myself, so you might as well," it says.

"Where do I get the water?"

"Come with me." It starts to walk away as if it knows I will follow. Small graceful steps. I realize it's the same cat from the bus stop.

"Were you at the bus stop by any chance? Shin-Akinoseki?" I say, as we walk. I watch its tail swishing back and forth in the air. In the light of my torch, its eyes glint.

"Bus? What's a bus?"

"I believe I saw you the other day at the bus stop. I was supposed to get off but the doors remained closed. When you came up to it, they opened."

"I know a lot of cats look the same, but that probably wasn't me, unless it's another of my nine lives."

"You have nine versions of yourself?"

"It was a joke, human. Don't get all ruffled up now," it seems to smile but I doubt it was just a joke. "I don't have many visitors here, it's amusing to find a human walking and talking."

"Where exactly is here?"

The cat remains silent for a while. We walk on. "Here is here," it says. "Since the beginning of time, til the end of time."

"The Collective?"

"Is that what you want to call it?"

We arrive at a small well. It's surrounded by grass like the rest of the land it seems, and one small dandelion flower and a bunch of weeds grow on the side. The lip is barely a foot off the ground constructed with tiny stone bricks. There's nothing special about the well and it appears small, much too small to be for full-grown adults. Here, the well seems to glow a little by the light of the stars.

"Well, have a go at it." The cat meows and yawns, stretching its plump body out. It circles around the well once and settles down casually on the far side opposite of me as if watching a show.

"Have other people done this before?"

But it doesn't answer.

I take the rope lying there on the ground and tie it to the handle of the bucket and start to lower the bucket into the well. I do so slowly, holding the rope with two hands, letting down a little at a time. It seems to go on forever. The well doesn't seem to have a bottom. The longer it takes the more convinced I am that this is not an ordinary well. My body starts to tingle. Every muscle perspires under the heat of the summer evening, while anticipation pools at the base of my spine. There must be some meaning in this.

As I think that, there is a tremendous jerk of the rope from something deep below. Something violent. And I tumble in, swallowed by the darkness.

*

I still experience the sensation of falling throughout the day after I've woken up. Every now and then my heart would pound and blood would rush to my head in an abrupt and alarming fear, and I would feel the urge to hold onto something. I had fallen right through the well into a ray of morning sunlight when I woke up. The curtains had been open - either Shirayuki had thrown them apart or I had left them as is last night. She had been nowhere to be found, until I was eating a quick breakfast with the fourteen year-old girl. Mizuki Watanabe was in full sailor scout uniform, ready for school. Like most teenage girls, she avoided anyone's gaze and preferred to attach to her phone like a parasite. She would provide one-word answers and force a smile as pleasantly as she could if anyone should speak to her. So I never bothered. When I sat down, I had found Shirayuki copying Watanabe's every motion. I was tempted to tell her to stop but instead, finished as soon as I could.

It's a day on which I happen to have no classes. Though I ought to be on campus according to Etiquette, and I would be attracting attention I'm sure, I had to accomplish the errand as soon as possible so there wouldn't be any more hindrance to finishing my hunt for answers – if there is an end in sight at all.

At nine I board a packed train heading for Chiba Prefecture, under an intense morning sun, as if the middle of spring had already settled into place like the Great Sphinx slouching down to rest. People are physically aware of the heat, yet don't seem to find it odd. Not once do they stop to ponder: why is it so warm in February? Or why are there flowers on trees? As far as I know, not even the news or weather channels ever stopped to think. They report the temperature and forecast for the next five days from whatever data they receive. Whoever is sending the data probably isn't understanding what they're studying either. It all works like clockwork, efficient enough that each component no longer needs to be aware of its motions or activity. It's warmer so they all merely shed their coats like dogs and cats - a natural primitive instinct.

Shirayuki is nowhere to be found. I've discovered that she seems to disappear in throngs of people when there is no space left. She might as well be one of the black haired women squeezed against one of the black haired men, for that's all I can make out from between the old man and the middle-aged woman in front of me. Or perhaps someone is standing directly on top of her, through her, without knowing. I can't truly understand if she has actual physical mass or not. To me she does - I can feel her touch - but to others she might not. She can sometimes interact with tangible objects yet no one would be able to see it. I never reached a proper hypothesis, and neither did she seem to know. I leave it at that: a riddle, an oxymoron, a metaphor, just as everything else is. The universe is in constant flux, I hear a voice say, we just follow the rhythms and wash along in the current. There's a need to ask questions but no need for certain answers.

As sure as the sun rises – which might not be very sure at all – there's the familiar tingling at the back of my neck. Someone is watching me as usual. They could probably hear every one of my thoughts. At Chiba station, I change trains and look for anyone following me. The motion is entirely out of procedure's sake. There's no one as far as I can see - nothing out of the ordinary. There are significantly less people here. No one heads this deep into the outskirts of a prefecture in the middle of the week.

Shirayuki is next to me once again as if she had always been there. She keeps up a constant cheerful banter now, talking about her excitement to see the seashore. It's been a while since she's seen the ocean or gone fishing, she says, but she doesn't know how long it's been. I tell her probably at least more than seven years ago. I ask if she realizes she's a projection of a dead person. But she grows silent.

The address leads to a small town entirely out of the way at the southern peak of Chiba. It is quite a trip, but I suppose I may as well enjoy the sights and the quieter side of life. With me I had packed the empty glass jar, three bottles of water and an umbrella in case it rains. I'm wearing a light high-collared navy blue spring jacket and a simple denim button up underneath. Shirayuki has on a tan-coloured oversized waist jacket that I had bought a little while ago over a graphic SUM41 t-shirt and shorts. We're both wearing Converse.

We pass Tateyama and make it to Chitose without incident. The scenery quickly changes to smaller run down houses and traditional shingle rooftops, before disappearing into open forests and farmland. Not too long after, we arrive at the modest seaside town. We are the only ones who get off. It seems to struggle and battle against changes in elevation and trees that sweep in like floodwater. The little houses here hide and blend with nature all around, barely visible at times, some lifted on concrete, and others that decline down slopes, and tiny narrow streets cut secretly through the land in hushed grey ribbon strips. Surprisingly, the paved surfaces are spotless and smooth as a baby's skin. No rocks or cracks. Grass and cables lay strewn all over carelessly like a rough sketch. There is more green than grey, and no one is around. It takes a while but I realize total silence has descended on us when my ears start ringing. There's the rustle of the leaves and grass, and the wind from the sea, every now and then the sound of a sputtering car or a creaking bicycle, maybe a bird call or two, but for all it's worth, these sounds quickly fade away into the deafening silence. I can smell the ocean in the distance even from the station. Above, the sky is infinitely blue and opens up without hindrance. Nature and solitude has its reign here. I realize I've emerged into a different world.