“How did you know what I’d seen?”

  “It’s not the rock you saw. The shape is probably different.”

  “But it’s the rock I saw. I just know it.”

  “I drew a winter rock, that’s all.”

  When I said that, Oshita smiled happily.

  “Mr. Nomura, you’ll probably get mad at me and say there’s no way I can know, but this is the rock I saw. The shape is different, but it doesn’t matter. This is the rock I saw. When I saw sensei’s painting in the gallery, I thought I’d painted it. I have the same feeling about this.”

  I tore the drawing of the rock out of the sketchbook. I didn’t tear it very well and the edge was a bit crooked.

  “Here, it’s yours.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s just a little sketch I wanted to make.”

  “Well, thanks. When I get back to Tokyo I probably won’t want to look at it.”

  “Feel free to throw it away, then.”

  “What’s this? Are you two making fun of me?”

  Nomura got up, angry. I thought I might have teased him too much. Oshita gave no sign that he understood what was going on.

  I wasn’t as isolated as Oshita. I could understand Nomura’s feelings.

  “Would you mind leaving?”

  Still smiling, Oshita nodded.

  “Will we meet again?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer. Looking disappointed, Nomura let out a small sigh.

  3

  Snow fell on Christmas Eve.

  It started to snow in the afternoon. By evening, snow covered nearly everything.

  When I left for Akiko’s cabin the sun was almost down. Arriving, I went to her studio and faced the painting of her.

  She hadn’t set up the tree. For some reason neither of us mentioned it. Drinking wine, we ate the stew she had spent three days preparing.

  The snow muffled every sound outside the door, which made the clatter of silverware seem louder than usual.

  When we finished eating I went to the studio and stood in front of the canvas. Akiko’s face was nearly finished. The canvas was all blue, but Akiko could clearly see her own face. Whittled sticks. Twisting lines. What I was painting was Akiko, but not Akiko. My very thoughts had turned into colors and lines—and somehow, Akiko.

  Mixing this and that, I had finally arrived at one line and one color.

  I had felt fulfillment, but no strain, and no enthusiasm either.

  “It’s strange. You can express anything with just lines and colors.”

  “That’s abstract art for you.”

  “You ought to paint more.”

  I usually threw aside my sticks after one hour. Perhaps I was afraid that the feeling of fulfillment would last too long. When I went down to the living room Akiko followed after me quietly.

  “I’ll paint like this for another two days.”

  I would finish the nude in another two days. After that I probably wouldn’t paint for a while. Chances were, I would find nothing I wanted to paint.

  I sat down on the sofa and listened to the snow. Snow had a sound. It had a distinct sound, but one ears couldn’t hear. At times I could even sense the sound of fog.

  Akiko brought in the cognac—a bottle I had taken from the liquor supply of the cabin owner.

  “You’d better not drive tonight. Stay here.”

  “I intend to. Driving downhill is scarier than driving up.”

  “It sounds strange when you use a word like ‘scary.’ ”

  Akiko laughed.

  Listening to the sound of snow, I wondered whether Akiko’s feeling for me should be called passion or affection. You could use other words, but the two were different. In any case, I wasn’t used to thinking too deeply about words.

  Akiko sat beside me on the couch. Laughing to myself, I touched her hair. I felt something like nostalgia for my youth. I enjoyed the feeling for a moment.

  “I’m sleepy,” Akiko said.

  I wasn’t sleepy and Akiko probably wasn’t either.

  Getting up, we went to the bedroom. When I took off my clothes the chill air pricked my skin. The bed was also cold. We embraced. There was no light other than the glitter of the snow coming through the window, from which the curtains had been drawn. Even so our bodies became warm.

  The next day I spent two hours finishing the painting. The blue background was crisscrossed with red and reddish-brown lines. The Akiko inside me existed more definitely on the canvas than in words. Akiko examined the canvas carefully.

  “I want to finish another painting, so I’ll be going,” I said, but Akiko stood stock still in front of the canvas. Driving drowsily down the snow-covered road, I returned to my cabin.

  The nude of Akiko was waiting for me in the studio.

  I cut back on my daily run, then faced the canvas. I knew there was no need to work up a sweat.

  Fifteen minutes after I had picked up the brush I was sweating all over. After thirty minutes I was using a towel to wipe it off.

  Again and again I was assailed by the delusion that I was embracing Akiko’s naked body. In my frenzy I panted and moaned. My powers had returned; I overflowed with confidence. My breath came in gasps, and I cried out. My vision dimmed as sweat poured over my eyes. In my mind I held Akiko’s image, firmly and clearly.

  When I came to my senses it was already evening.

  The painting was finished.

  I threw aside my brush and palette and subsided into blankness. Instead of fulfillment, I felt emptiness. At the same time, I was satisfied in a way I hadn’t been since I first picked up a paintbrush.

  I smoked a cigarette. On the canvas, Akiko’s body was stirring in the dimness. I detected a smile on her face. I sat on the floor until I felt chilly.

  Slowly getting up, I went down to the living room and started a fire in the fireplace. The flames slowly grew. The dried logs made a pleasant crackling sound.

  I filled the tub with water.

  Stripping in the living room, I went to the bath and soaked for a long time in the lukewarm water. The snow had started falling again. I could sense it, without looking.

  Getting out of the bath, I put on fresh underwear and a clean shirt, sweater and pants.

  The room had become warm. Outside, as I had thought, it was snowing. I took some sausage and cheese from the refrigerator and opened a can of sardines. I put everything next to the fire in the fireplace.

  I started to drink cognac.

  The phone rang.

  “It’s snowing again.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve been looking at the painting all day. It’s a painting of me, no matter how I look at it. It’s totally different from looking at myself in the mirror, though. It’s like looking at a me I don’t know. It’s kind of creepy.”

  “That’s because it’s not you. It’s my Akiko.”

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “At what?”

  “I want to paint you this time. I want to paint my sensei. I’ll use the sticks you whittled.”

  “Who’s laughing?”

  “I thought you would.”

  Akiko was silent for a moment. I also didn’t say anything.

  She was still in transition from girl to woman. But now I saw clearly that it wasn’t this quicksilver quality that had attracted me to her. Akiko was somehow sick. She had what I had—but she, being young, didn’t know.

  “I won’t go tonight.”

  “I knew it. Just from hearing your voice, I knew it. You sound totally exhausted but completely alive.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  The sardine oil was bubbling inside the can. I picked up the can with one hand and put it on the table. The heat made my whole body stiffen.

  “Good night,” I said.

  “I think I can go to sleep—because I heard your voice.”

  “You’ll sleep.”

  I hung up the phone.

  I put a big log in the fire and watched the flames move toward it.

  Every so often I popped a slice of cheese or a sausage or a sardine in my mouth. I washed it down with cognac.

  This time I wasn’t slightly or deeply drunk. I was simply drunk, in a way I hadn’t been in a long while, not since I had gotten out of prison.

  I fell into a stupor. When the cognac bottle was half empty I came to my senses. Somehow all the food had disappeared.

  Instead of going to bed, I gazed at the fire. Thoughts about painting seldom entered my head. I realized that I painted simply to be painting.

  Every so often I heard a log break. I moved it and rearranged the pile.

  After a bit, new flames flared up.

  When only one third of the bottle was left I finally got up.

  4

  To sweat out the alcohol I had to run more than usual. I didn’t quite have a hangover, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had water on the brain. My running course was covered with snow, up to my knees in the deeper places. I didn’t usually breathe hard, but today I was panting, blowing out white mist.

  I returned to the cabin.

  A car approached from the distance, as though it had been waiting for me. Two men got out and struggled through the snow to the door of the cabin. I hadn’t bothered to sweep the path.

  Ignoring them, I went into the cabin, built a fire in the fireplace and took a shower.

  When I came out in my bathrobe, the two men were standing on the porch in front of the door, looking a little angry.

  “What is it? You kept ringing the bell.”

  “There’s no way you didn’t see us coming, Nakagi.”

  One was in his mid-twenties. The other was middle-aged. Both had a distinctive air about them. I knew the air quite well.

  “I have a routine. I don’t like anyone to disturb it. Also, I’m here in the mountains for a reason.”

  “You may not have any use for us, but we’ve got some for you.”

  The older one flashed his badge at me. Ignoring him, I went into the kitchen and took a beer out of the refrigerator.

  “We know you’ve got a record. Stop trying to bullshit us.”

  I shrugged and yanked the tab. In a bathrobe the room was bone-chilling cold. I changed into a shirt and sweater while drinking the beer. The young one started to say something, but the older one stopped him.

  When I went out on the terrace, the two detectives circled around from the front porch. On the terrace, snow was piled on the chairs and tables. They walked over, right up under the eaves where I was standing.

  “Are you acquainted with a writer named Yoichi Nomura?”

  The older detective’s voice was calm and gentle.

  “Did he screw up somehow?”

  “We believe he came here.”

  “Once. I don’t remember how many days ago. Other than that, I usually only met him in Tokyo, though he did come to the town here.”

  “What are you trying to hide?”

  The young one was insulting by intent. They were trying to provoke their suspect with their good-cop-bad-cop act.

  “You’re disrupting my daily routine, kid.”

  “Say ‘kid’ again.”

  I could hear the sound of chained tires approaching. The two detectives also noticed; it was Natsue’s Mercedes. She got out, wrapped in a Siberian sable coat. I saw that she was wearing rubber boots. Carrying her high heels, one in each hand, she walked through the snow. The two detectives watched this spectacle, looking flummoxed.

  “I thought you might not clean the walk, so I bought rubber boots. Turns out I was right.”

  Natsue climbed up to the terrace, breathing white mist.

  “Guests?”

  “Intruders. I’m telling them to go away.”

  “Cut the crap, Nakagi, or we’ll put you in cuffs so fast your head will spin. Ex-con like you makes a big mistake getting smart with us.”

  “All right, kid. State your business.”

  “Yoichi Nomura has been murdered.”

  “Interesting. Where?”

  “His body was found in Tokyo, in his car. It looks to be the car he drove back from Nagano. He wrote in his notebook that he met you.”

  “So I’m the murderer?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  I hadn’t expected Nomura’s death, but I wasn’t surprised. People often die, even if they aren’t always murdered.

  I remembered the face of Koichi Oshita.

  “You know why we came here, don’t you? We pay special attention to people with records. We also know Nomura was in Nagano just before his death. By ‘Nagano’ I mean he was with you.”

  “Briefly.”

  Natsue bit her lower lip.

  “Where do you get the nerve calling him an ex-con?”

  “Who are you?”

  It was the middle-aged cop.

  “We’re on public business here.”

  “Your idea of public business is calling this man an ‘ex-con’?”

  “He’s young. When he gets mad his language gets a little rough.”

  “So you just stand there and don’t try to stop him.”

  Natsue pointed at the older detective.

  “You know what he was sent to prison for. It was a crime that should have gotten him a suspended sentence for excessive self-defense. You people say he had an intent to kill, but investigating the incident and finding proof of that intent was your job—and you didn’t do it. You know that, don’t you? This man has a pure heart. When he saw what he’d done, he said he’d intended to kill. You were too lazy to find out the truth.”

  “We haven’t come about that earlier case, ma’am, we’ve come about a new one.”

  “Then stop calling him an ex-con and all the rest of it. You say you’re detectives, but if you speak that way you have no right to investigate him.”

  “That would indeed pose a problem, ma’am. I don’t know what you are to him, but an investigation is an investigation.”

  “I’m just defending this man’s rights. I never said I want to interfere with your investigation. In any case, I’m his agent. Please address your questions to him through his lawyer.”

  I drained the beer. I didn’t think, though, that I would drink a second.

  “That puts us in a jam.”

  “You put yourself in a jam, letting that boy call him an ex-con. But I’ll let our lawyer deal with those statements.”

  “We’re just asking a few preliminary questions. We’re not conducting a formal investigation.”

  “Nomura came here. I think it was the twenty-third.”

  They were all getting on my nerves, so I spoke.

  “He brought a man who said he was interested in my paintings.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t pay any attention to him. Nomura and I just shot the breeze—we didn’t talk about anything important.”

  “In his notebook Nomura wrote that he was going to Nagano with a person named O. that he wanted you to meet. We found a toll ticket for the Chuo Expressway in his car that confirms he came here.”

  “I already told you he came here. I was busy with a painting, so I didn’t want to see him.”

  “Mr. Nomura seemed to be interested in the crime you committed.”

  “He said he wanted to write a book about it.”

  “Tell us about the man he came with.”

  “He was about thirty or thirty-five. Thin. I don’t remember anything else.”

  “What did you talk to Mr. Nomura about?”

  “He asked me what it felt like to kill somebody.”

  “Is that enough?”

  Natsue inserted herself into the conversation again.

  “Ask any other questions you have through his lawyer. This man is not just a public figure, he’s an internationally renowned artist. First let’s settle this problem of your intimidating methods, of calling him names. Then we can cooperate with your investigation.”

  Natsue gave her business card to the older detective.

  “He’s a bit unworldly. That’s how he ended up going to prison. He even seemed to enjoy the experience, which is something I don’t expect you to understand.”

  Natsue pushed me into the room.

  The fire in the fireplace was guttering low. I brought in some dried logs to build it up again. I shifted the logs on the fire and, when the flames became bigger, added two fresh logs.

  Natsue was speaking with the two detectives in a low voice; I couldn’t hear what she was saying. When they finished whatever they were talking about, the two detectives left.

  Natsue stepped into the entryway and took off her fur coat. Underneath she was wearing a tailored suit that made her look every inch the professional businesswoman. She put a check on the table.

  “Six million yen. I found a buyer for that new painting. I took two million for myself. I’d better do that if we’re to have a solid business relationship. But I’ll give you the two million if you want it.”

  “Even six million is too much. I gave that painting to you.”

  “Anyway, take it. I know you’re not interested in money, but it’s good to have around.”

  Natsue sat down on the sofa and crossed her legs. She lit a cigarette. I squatted by the fireplace.

  “Tell me what really happened,” said Natsue, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “Did you kill him, or did you not?”

  I laughed. Natsue just looked at me, without even trying to smile.

  Chapter Six

  The Color of Ice

  1

  A stack of bills was on the table.

  Natsue had cashed the check. I’d shown no interest in it. She may have feared I’d forget about it and lose it.

  After leaving the money, Natsue had returned to Tokyo, without either having sex, talking about my next painting, or even seeing the one in the studio.

 

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