The Ark Sakura by Kōbō Abe Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t stand being stuck in some hole in the ground nose to nose with you every day.”
    “It’s hardly a hole in the ground,” I protested. “It’s a disused underground quarry—a small mountain of rock has been dug out of it. If you felt like it, you could easily go three or four days without seeing any signs of me, never mind my nose.”
    The insect dealer spat out his cigarette, which had broken in two from the moisture of his saliva. “A small mountain, eh? Sounds pretty impressive. How many people do you figure it can hold?”
    “You could visit every underground station and shopping center across Japan and not find anything to compare with it. The entire population of a small town would fit in comfortably.”
    “How is it administered? Is there any residents’ organization? Are you in charge of promotion?”
    “As of now, I’m the sole resident.”
    “That couldn’t be. There must be other people with tickets, anyway, even if they’re not living there yet.”
    “Nobody but you—not counting the shills.”
    “I can’t believe it.”
    “Then don’t.”
    I stepped on the clutch and put the engine in gear. A faint spasm, weaker than pain, ran through my knee.
    “Wait—it’s not that easy to believe. Why should you be the only one there?” His fingers tightened their grip on the hood. The tables had turned. I disengaged the gears and gave an exaggerated sigh.
    “The former owners want to forget all about it. Four different enterprises got together, swarmed over the mountain, and dug it all out. Then there was a series of cave-ins, and in the end—just eight years ago—they relinquished their mining rights. The tunnel entrances are all sealed, and housing developers are selling off plots of residential land on the surface. I’m certain nobody wants to be reminded of what’s belowground.”
    “Even if operations have been shut down, the place must still be registered in somebody’s name.”
    “Officially, it doesn’t even exist. I checked it out at the city hall. There’s no street number, no address of any kind.”
    “But it is Japanese territory, isn’t it?”
    In place of an answer, I put my foot back on the clutch.
    “Sorry.” He stuck his big head in the window and grabbed my arm, which was holding the wheel. “Wait, let me do the driving,” he said, adding sheepishly, “I suppose you knew all along I’d wind up coming in the end.”
    “Then you admit the disaster is at hand?”
    “Sure. The world is lousy with disasters, everybody knows that. But this is really amazing. I can’t get over it. You’re like—what should I say?—an emperor, or a dictator, or something.”
    “Yes, of a ghost country. But I don’t like dictators.”
    He swung into the driver’s seat, shaking his top-heavy head. “Funniest darned feeling. I am grateful for one thing, though. When I was a kid at school, no one ever picked me for anything. I guess I do owe this to the eupcaccia, when you think about it.”

5
    TRAVELS WHILE SQUATTING
ON THE TOILET
    His experience as a truckdriver had apparently stood him in good stead; soon after we left the parking lot, he was handling the jeep with assurance. It was rush hour, and near the expressway entrance ramp we got caught in a traffic jam. As long as we stayed moving, wind entering through the numerous crevices in the canvas top kept the interior of the jeep tolerably cool, but as we crawled though the rain it became unbearably steamy. Not only was there no air-conditioning, but the ventilation was poor, and we alternated between mopping our perspiration and clearing fog off the windows.
    “Is there gas in the tank?”
    “Yes. That gauge is off.”
    “If they took the same route as us, we’ll never make it in time, anyway; what say we stop somewhere for a plate of curried rice?”
    “It hasn’t even been half an hour,” I protested. “Besides, I know a shortcut that’s made for a jeep. It’s too soon to call it quits.”
    “Aye, aye, sir.