Ashes

Copyright © 2003 by Kenzo Kitakata All rights reserved. Published by Vertical, an imprint of Kodansha USA Publishing, LLC Originally published in Japanese as Bo no kanashimi by Shinchosha, Tokyo, 1990. ISBN 9781932234022 Ebook ISBN 9781647292447 Book design by Studio 5E First American Edition Kodansha USA Publishing, LLC 451 Park Avenue South, 7th Floor New York, NY 10016 www.kodansha.us a_prh_6.0_142455967_c1_r2 CONTENTS Part One THE MAN WITHIN WIND PIGEONS EIGHT YEARS HOURGLASS PROFILE TABLECLOTH ASHES Part Two WITHIN THE MAN PRISON OF WATER BATHING LIKE A DOG Part One THE HAN WITHIN WIND Inside, it was dark. A few scattered pools of light highlighted the darkness. The man walked straight across the room and headed for the bar. “Lose the jazz,” he said, in a low but penetrating voice. Apart from his voice, he seemed ordinary enough: gray suit, understated tie, close-cropped hair. To look at him, anyone would have assumed he was just another company man who’d dropped in for a quick drink. “I can’t stand jazz. Didn’t you know that?” The bartender smiled, but said nothing. The man rested an elbow on the counter and turned toward the billiard table, a faint smile on his lips. A shaded canopy light hung over the table, shining down on the green baize and the balls that rolled across it. The only other illuminated area was a 2-foot circle of light cast onto the counter from a spotlight in the ceiling. It was where the bartender mixed his drinks so that rainbow-colored concoctions would look dazzling. It gave away that the place was new. The bar counter and the stools in front of it were made of old recycled wood. Someone had gone to the effort of staining all the light bulbs brown with what may or may not have been real cigarette tar. The sharp crack of billiard balls echoed across the room, and music came on again as if to drown out the sound. “This all you got?” the man said. The air of ordinariness that hung around him vanished the second he opened his mouth to speak. “But this isn’t jazz, sir.” “No, it’s even noisier.” “You’d prefer something a little quieter, I take it?” “Something like that.” “I’ll put something slow on next, then, soon as this track gets done.” The man nodded, and deep lines appeared in the skin around his neck. The wrinkles in his face, too, were more pronounced when he spoke. “Bourbon soda,” he said, still looking over at the billiard table. The bartender fell silent, and placed a glass on the counter. From the billiard table there came the sound of balls sliding into pockets, followed by a smattering of applause. The man turned back to the counter and reached for his glass. “What bourbon do you use?” “Four Roses. Usually do, ’less the customer asks specifically for something else.” “Not bad.” Another ripple of applause drifted over from the billiard table, but this time the man didn’t bother to look. The bartender placed a cocktail glass on the counter, where it glinted in the spotlight that shone from the ceiling. He whipped down bottles, barely checking the label, and poured from each into a cocktail shaker. It was only when he poured that he seemed to take care. He got to work mixing the drinks, and for a while the rattling of the shaker drowned out the sound of clacking billiard balls. A pale blue liquid streamed down into the shimmering glass on the counter. “So that’s all there is to it, huh?” “To what, sir?” “Cocktails.” “I do something wrong?” “Nah. Just too damn fancy for me.” “Well, every place’s got its selling point, right?” “Should be about the taste.” “Well, we are known for that, too.” A waiter came over and put the cocktail on his tray, then carried it away. “Hey, I thought I told you I don’t like jazz.” The bartender looked up as if he’d just remembered, and changed the music. “What’s this?” “It’s from a movie. Pretty old one.” The man nodded, but didn’t prompt the bartender for further details. “Can’t stand jazz.” “I’ll try to keep that in mind from now on.” “What, you think I’ve never been here before?” “Isn’t that the case?” “I pass this way all the time.” “It’s the first time you’ve actually been inside, though, right?” “I don’t know. Could be.” “We only opened about two months back.” “What’re you talking about? This place’s been here for at least five years.” “I’m afraid not, sir.” “I’m sure it was here five years ago.” The bartender started to say something, but stopped himself short. The man leaned across the counter. “Listen. It’s been here five years, I’m telling you.” The bartender nodded slightly. Laughter from the pool table. The door opened and a woman came in by herself. She stood in the doorway for a while taking the place in and then walked over to the bar. “Bloody Mary,” she said, in a slightly high-pitched voice. Her long fingernails were painted silver. She tapped them lightly against the surface of the counter, as though she were scratching at something. “Bloody Mary, right?” the bartender said. He sounded much more relaxed and cheerful now than when he was talking to the man. “Not a bad place you got here,” she said. “Thanks.” “Never even knew of it.” “We just opened a couple months back,” the bartender replied, glancing over at the man as he spoke. “So billiards is the big thing these days, huh?” “Yeah, actually we wanted to have two tables, but—” “Takes up more space than you thought? The extra room to cue up and stuff.” “You play yourself?” “Not really. I only know eight-ball.” “Plenty of people here’ll give you a game if you feel like it.” The man pushed his empty glass over to the bartender. Silently, the bartender added ice and poured in some more bourbon, and soda. “Do it over,” the man said, peering into his