The Isle of South Kamui and Other Stories by Kyotaro Nishimura Read Free Book Online Page A

realize that I had mistaken the true nature of what we call “god.” The fact was that god was merciless and always demanded a sacrifice. Had the Christian God not demanded that Christ himself be sacrificed? For the god of this island, which had a strong element of shamanism, it was probably even more natural that it would demand a sacrifice in revenge. How come I had not thought things through that far before?
    â€œHowever,” I said, concealing my dismay from the salesman, “there’s the officer here, remember? He can’t allow them to break the law.”
    â€œYou mean that policeman? But he’s one of them! He’s on their side. You saw how he kept quiet and let the mayor die, didn’t you? He believes the oracle. That’s why—”
    His face froze, and he rushed out of the dispensary. I too went out, as if drawn. He stood stock still outside the dispensary listening. Rain was still falling. Sheltering myself from the raindrops with my hands, I asked, “What’s the matter?”
    â€œListen! The drumming is faster than before. That means revenge is at hand,” he muttered hoarsely.
    The drumming had indeed taken on a tone of urgency.
    I looked towards Mount Kamui, and tried to imagine the three hundred-odd islanders waiting patiently in the rain for the oracle. They must all be drenched through. I was more afraid of those devout islanders than I was of any god.
    â€œDoctor, please help me!”
    â€œHelp? What can I do?”
    â€œWhen they come for me, just tell them that I wasn’t responsible for spreading that disease.”
    â€œAnd if they don’t believe me?”
    â€œYou’re a doctor. They’ll believe you, alright. Please help me! I don’t want to die on this island! The ferry will be here in eight days. You only have to keep it up until then. When they come, tell them it wasn’t me. I’m begging you!”
    I could not bring myself to answer. There were only two outsiders here. If I testified that the salesman was blameless, it would mean that I was admitting my own guilt. How could I be expected to do that? What was more, if this island god was omnipotent and able to see through everything, then I, not the salesman would be chosen as the sacrifice. If that happened, then it wouldn’t be the salesman who needed help. I myself was in danger.
    The drumming grew faster and faster. As we listened, the blood drained from salesman’s face as though he was a prisoner about to be condemned to death. I, too, must have been white as a sheet.
    There was a rent in the clouds, and the bright sun shone through once again.
    â€œThe drums—” The salesman’s voice caught in his throat.
    All sound had ceased. It felt as though the entire island was waiting with bated breath.
    I desperately wanted to break the silence. I fought back the urge to yell that it was not the salesman who had brought the disease, it was me ! I spread the germs. I wanted to shout it out. These words would be my death sentence, but if the silence had lasted a moment longer I doubt I would have been able to contain them. But just then the oppressive silence was broken by a low murmur that gradually became louder as it drew closer. The islanders were descending the mountain.
    The salesman looked at me. I averted my eyes. For a while he stood rooted to the spot, but as the islanders came into view, as if he could not stand the fear, he suddenly yelled, “I don’t want to die!” and sprinted off toward the beach.
    The islanders drew close to the dispensary. The four masked youths were at the head of the line. Even in the sunlight, the painted masks were ghastly. But the other islanders’ faces were hard, as if they too were wearing masks. Perhaps extreme exhaustion had robbed them of expression. Or maybe their faces had been frozen by their sense of mission as executors of the oracle.
    They came to a halt before the dispensary and