Microsoft Word KoboAbe-WomanInTheDunes doc

part of the floor, and cradled his head in his arms. Without raising his 
voice he began to groan. He tried to swallow the saliva that had 
gathered in his mouth, but it stuck in his throat and he gagged. The 
mucous lining of his throat had become hypersensitive to the presence 
of the sand; he would never get used to it no matter how long he stayed 
there. His saliva had become a brownish scum that oozed from the 
corners of his mouth. When he had finished spitting he could feel the 
harshness of the sand even more. He tried to dislodge it, running the tip 
of his tongue over the inside of his mouth and repeatedly spitting, but 
there was no end to it. His mouth was parched and hot, as if some 
inflammation had set in. 
It was no use. Anyway, he would talk to the woman and try to get her 
to explain things more precisely. If the situation were clarified, perhaps 
he could decide on an attack. He could not be without a plan of action. 
Such a stupid situation was unbearable. But what would he do if she 
would not answer? That, indeed, would be the most ominous response 
of all. And there was ample possibility of it. Her stubborn silence! The 

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way she seemed like a defenseless victim, crouching there with her 
knees drawn up under her! 
The sight of her naked back was indecent and animal-like. She looked 
as though she could be flipped over just by bringing his hand up her 
crotch. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he caught his 
breath, ashamed. He had the feeling it would not be long before he 
would see himself as an executioner, torturing the woman, standing 
over her sand-spattered buttocks. Yes, eventually it would happen. And 
in that movement he would lose his right to speak. 
Suddenly a piercing pain stuck his belly. His bladder, apparently 
swollen to the breaking point, cried out for relief. 
8
HE finished urinating and, stupefied with despair, remained standing as 
he was in the heavy air. There was no hope that things would be better 
as time went by. Yet he could not bring himself to go back into the 
house. When he left the woman's side he realized all the more how 
hazardous it was to be with her. No, he thought, the problem was not 
she herself, but that crouching position. He had never seen anything 
quite so indecent. It was out of the question to go back in to her. In 
every way that position of hers was exceedingly dangerous. 
Certain types of insects and spiders, when unexpectedly attacked, fall 
into a paralytic state, a kind of epileptic seizure… an airport whose 
control tower has been seized by lunatics… a fragmented picture. He 
wanted to believe that his own lack of movement had stopped all 
movement in the world, the way a hibernating frog abolishes winter. 
As his thoughts ran on, the rays of the sun had become even more 
intense. He made a sudden bending movement as if to protect himself 
from the spear thrusts of light. Abruptly lowering his head, he grasped 
his shirt collar and pulled with all his might. The three top buttons flew 
off. Scraping away the sand that clung to his palms, he remembered 
once again the words of the woman the night before—to the effect that 
the sand was never dry but always moist enough to cause the gradual 
disintegration of anything it touched. When he had taken off his shirt, 
he loosened his belt and let the air circulate inside his trousers. But it 

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was nothing to make such a fuss about. The unpleasant feeling left him 
as quickly as it had come. The moisture in the sand evidently lost its 
magical powers as soon as it came into contact with air. 
At that instant it came to him that he had made a serious mistake. His 
interpretation of the woman's nakedness would seem to be too 
arbitrary. Though he could not rule out some secret wish on her part to 
seduce him, perhaps this nakedness was a very ordinary habit, made 
necessary by the life she led. After all, she did go to bed when it got 
light. Anyone is apt to perspire while asleep. Her nakedness was 
perfectly normal seeing that she had to sleep during the day and, what 
was more, in a bowl of burning sand. If he were in her position, he 
would certainly choose to be naked too if he could. 
This realization suddenly eased his feelings of tension, as if the 
fluttering breeze had visibly separated the sweat from the sand on his 
skin. There was no use stirring up groundless fears. Men have escaped 
through any number of concrete walls and iron bars. He would not 
quail simply at the sight of a padlock without finding out whether it was 
locked or not. He went slowly back in the direction of the hut, dragging 
his feet in the sand. This time he would be composed, and he would get 
the necessary information out of her. By getting himself in such a state 
and screaming at her, he could only expect her to clam up. Besides, her 
silence was probably only shame at having been careless enough to be 
caught sleeping naked. 
9
To his eyes, recently exposed to the burning sand, the interior of the 
hut lay in semi-darkness and felt cool and damp. The hot air had a 
stuffy, musty smell, quite different from the outside. But suddenly he 
was aware of what had to be a hallucination. 
The woman was not there. For a moment he was startled. He had had 
enough of guessing games. But there was no riddle to be solved. She 
was
there. She stood looking down, her back toward him, in front of the 
water jar by the sink. 
She had finished dressing. He had no fault to find with her. The color of 
her matching bluish-green kimono and work trousers gave him a sense 

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of mintlike freshness. Indeed, he was worrying too much. Between lack 
of sleep and the strange environment, he could scarcely help but have 
wild fancies. 
The woman put one hand on the rim of the water jar and peered into itj 
with the tip of a finger she slowly stirred the surface of the water round 
and round. He vigorously swung his shirt in the air—it was heavy with 
the dampness of sweat and sand—and wound it firmly around his 
wrist. 
She looked around apprehensively, and her features tensed. Her 
solicitous manner was so natural that one would have thought she had 
spent her whole life with such an expression on her face. He decided to 
behave as casually as possible. 
"Hot, isn't it? Heavens, you can't wear a shirt when it's this hot!" 
Yet she still appeared suspicious and looked dolefully at him. She gave 
a timid and artificial laugh, and spoke hesitantly. 
"Yes, it really is. You'll get a sand rash right away if you leave your 
clothes on when you perspire." 
"A sand rash?" 
"Yes. The skin festers, like after a burn, and then scales off." 
"Hmm. I wonder if it really scales. It molders, I should say, with the 
humidity." 
"Yes… That's why…" Maybe she was beginning to relax at last, her 
tongue was loosening. "When we're likely to perspire, that's why we go 
around with no clothes as much as we can. After all, we live down in 
these holes, so we don't really have to worry about anybody seeing us." 
"Of course. Look, I don't want to put you to any trouble, but I would 
like to get this shirt washed." 
"Certainly, I'll be glad to. They'll be bringing our drum of water 
tomorrow." 

---

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow will be a problem," he chuckled. Actually he had 
cleverly maneuvered the conversation to his subject. "Incidentally, 
when in heaven's name are they going to let me out of here? I'm going 
to be in a real fix. If a salaried worker like me breaks his schedule even 
by a half day, he stands to lose a lot. I don't want to waste a minute. 
There are a lot of coleoptera hopping around in sandy soil like this. I 
wonder if you know of any. I wanted to find a new species on this 
vacation." 
She moved her lips faintly. But no words came out Perhaps she was 
just repeating the unaccustomed name. He realized that her mind was 
again closing. He went on instinctively. 
"Say, I wonder if there isn't some way of getting in touch with the 
villagers, like beating on a kerosene can or something." 
But she made no answer. She again fell into her passive silence as 
quickly as a stone sinks into water. 
"What's the matter with you? Damn itl Why don't you say anything?" 
Again his nerves were on edge, but he somehow stifled his desire to 
shout. "I don't get it. If there's some misunderstanding, all right! There's 
no use crying over spilt milk. This silence of yours is the worst thing. 
My pupils are always doing that, but I tell them that the most cowardly 
thing they can do is to clam up and pretend to take the blame 
themselves. If there's any explanation, out with it at once." 
"But…" Her eyes wavered toward her elbow, but in a surprisingly firm 
voice she said: "I think you already understand." 
"I understand…?" He gasped, unable to conceal his shock. 
"Yes, you must have understood by now." 
"But, I don't understand!" he finally shouted. "How should I 
understand? You can't expect me to understand when you never say a 
word, can you?" 
"Well, life here is really too hard for a woman alone." 
"What's that got to do with me?" 

---

"It does have something to do with you. I'm afraid I've acted wrong 
toward you." 
"What do you mean, 'acted wrong'?" he said, stumbling over his words 
in his eagerness. "In other words, why tne conspiracy? You baited the 
trap. You thought I'd spring at once if a woman was there, like some 
dog or cat." 
"It's getting to be the season now when the winds come from the north 
and we worry about the sand storms," she said, glancing at the wooden 
door, which was standing open. There was a foolish confidence in her 
quiet, monotonous voice. 
"It's no joke! There's a limit to absurdity. This is illegal detention pure 
and simple. A fine crime! You don't have to do such senseless things. 
Any number of men out of work would be glad of the chance for daily 
pay." 
"Maybe. But it would make trouble if they knew outside about things 
here." 
"And do you people think you're safe with me? Indeed you're not! 
You've made a real mistake if you think you are. I'm no tramp—
unfortunately for you. I pay my taxes, and I'm a registered resident. 
There'll soon be a request out for an investigation, and then you'll see. 
Don't you people even understand that? Just how do you expect to 
justify yourselves? Now, go and call whoever's responsible. I'll tell him 
exactly what I think about this whole stupid situation." 
She lowered her eyes and sighed faintly. Her shoulders drooped, but 
she made no further attempt to move; she was like a dejected, unjustly 
abused puppy. Yet her attitude made him even more angry. 
"What are you hesitating for? Come on, I'm not the only one 
concerned. You're as much the victim as I am, aren't you? Well, aren't 
you? You said yourself that if they knew on the outside about life here, 
there'd be trouble. That shows you yourself recognize how 
unreasonable this life of yours is. Stop being a mouthpiece; stop being 
treated like a slave. Nobody has the right to keep you shut up here. Go 
on and call somebody now. We're going to get out of here… Ah, so 

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that's it. You're afraid, aren't you? But that's foolish! What's there to be 
afraid of? I'm here. And I've got friends who work for a newspaper. 
We'll give the story a social angle. What's wrong? Why don't you say 
something? I tell you there's nothing to be afraid of!" 
After a moment the woman suddenly spoke, as if to console him. 
"Shall I start fixing dinner?" 
10
Out of the corner of his eye, he followed her figure as she began silently 
to peel some potatoes. Should he docilely accept the food she was 
preparing or not? His thoughts were completely taken up by the 
problem. 
Now was the time to be calm and cool. Since her intentions were clear, 
it would be better to face the facts instead of shilly-shallying—better to 
lay some concrete plans for escape. He could call them to account for 
their unlawful treatment later. But his empty stomach weakened his 
will. He could not concentrate his faculties. But if he didn't want to 
recognize, officially, the predicament he was in, then he should 
probably refuse all food too. It would be ludicrous to eat the meal when 
he disapproved. Even a bristling dog will drop its tail as soon as it gets 
a bone. 
But best not jump to conclusions. As long as he did not know just how 
far the woman would go, there was no need to be so passive. It was not 
a question of her doing something for nothing. He would certainly pay 
for his food. If he paid his money there would be no reason to feel 
indebted to her—not a bit. The announcers of boxing matches on 
television were always saying that attack was the best defense. 
With this inspiration, he was relieved to have found a good excuse for 
not refusing the food. Suddenly his mind cleared and he saw 
everything. Only the sand was his enemy. Yes, that was it. There was 
no particular need to pose unreasonable problems, to be broken 
through like iron bars. They had taken away the rope ladder—very 
well, he would make a ladder of wood. If the sand wall were too steep, 
then he would make the incline more gentle by scraping away the sand. 

---

If he would only use his head a little, it would all be easy. The plan 
seemed overly simple, but as long as it fitted his purpose, the simpler it 
was the better. The best solution—take Columbus and his egg—is often 
ridiculously simple. If he did not mind the trouble, if he really would 
fight, well, the game was not over yet. 
The woman had finished peeling the potatoes; she diced them and put 
them into a big iron pot over the hearth, along with a large sliced 
radish, leaves and all. She carefully took a match out of a plastic bag, 
and after using it she wrapped up the bag tightly again and fastened it 
with a rubber band. She put rice in a sieve and poured water over it, 
probably to wash away the sand. The pot began to make a bubbling 
sound, and the pungent smell of radish hung in the air. 
"There's some water left over. Would you like to wash your face?" 
"No, I'd rather drink it than wash my face in it." 
"Oh, I'm sorry, but I keep the drinking water separate." From under the 
sink she took a large kettle which was swathed in plastic. "It's not very 
cold, but it's been boiled, so you don't have to be afraid…" 
"By the way, if you don't leave a little water in the jar, you'll be up 
against it when it comes to washing up later, won't you?" 
"Oh, no. I clean off the dishes just by rubbing them with sand." 
As she said this, she grabbed a handful of sand by the window and 
threw it into a plate she was holding. She swirled the sand around and 
covered the plate, to demonstrate the actual process. He wasn't sure 
whether the plate was really clean or not, but he had the feeling it 
probably was. The sand in this operation, at least, conformed very well 
with the idea he had had of it all along. 
Again the meal was served under the umbrella. Lightly broiled fish and 
the cooked vegetables. Everything was slightly gritty with sand. They 
could eat together, he thought, if she would hang the umbrella from the 
ceiling, but he didn't want to make an express suggestion. The coarse, 
common tea was dark enough in color, but it had little taste. 

---

When he had finished eating, the woman returned to the sink and, 
putting a piece of plastic over her head, quietly began to eat her own 
meal under it. She looked like some kind of insect, he thought. Did she 
intend to go on living like this forever? From the outside, this place 
seemed only a tiny spot of earth, but when you were at the bottom of 
the hole you could see nothing but limitless sand and sky. A 
monotonous existence enclosed in an eye. She had probably spent her 
whole life down here, without even the memory of a comforting word 
from anyone. Perhaps her heart was throbbing now like a girl's because 
they had trapped him and given him to her. It was too pitiful! 
He was tempted to say something to her; for the time being, however, 
he decided to have a smoke, and he lit a cigarette. It would certainly 
appear that plastic was a necessity of life here. He got the match to 
light, but the cigarette had become unsmokable. He took strong drags 
on it sucking in his cheeks between his teeth. Yet no matter how he 
puffed he got only the taste of smoke, an extremely greasy smoke that 
irritated his tongue; the cigarette was worse than useless. The 
experience quite spoiled his frame of mind and took away any desire he 
might have had to speak to the woman. 
She attended to the dirty dishes, placing them on the earthen floor and 
slowly heaping up sand on them. Then she said hesitantly: "I'm going 
to have to begin right away getting the sand down from the ceiling." 
"Getting the sand down? Oh. Well, that's all right with me." He 
wondered indifferently why that should have anything to do with him 
now. It didn't concern him if the beams rotted and the roof fell in. 
"If I'm in your way, do you want me to move somewhere else?" 
"I'm sorry, but would you mind…?" 
She needn't pretend! Why didn't she show even a little of her real 
feelings? In her heart she probably felt as if she had bitten into a 
spoiled onion. But she was expressionless as she swiftly, with an 
accustomed movement, wrapped a towel folded in two around the 
lower part of her face and tied it behind her head. She put a whisk 
broom and a small piece of wood under her arm, and climbed up on 
the partition of the closet, which had only half a door remaining. 

---

Abruptly, he exclaimed: "Frankly, I'm convinced we'd both feel much 
better if this house fell to pieces!" 
He was surprised himself at his peevish outburst, and the woman 
turned and looked at him with an even more startled look. Well, 
apparently she had not yet turned quite into an insect. 
On he went: "No, I'm not particularly angry at you. It's the whole 
business. I don't like this scheming where you people think you can put 
a man in chains. Do you realize what I'm talking about? No, it doesn't 
make any difference whether you do or not. I'll tell you an amusing 
story. I used to keep a worthless mongrel at my boardinghouse. He had 
a terribly thick coat that scarcely shed even in summer. He was such a 
sorry sight that I finally decided to cut his hair. But just as I was about 
to throw away the hair that had been cut off, the dog—I wonder what 
could have been going on in his mind?—suddenly let out a pitiful howl, 
took a bunch of hair in his mouth, and ran into his house. He probably 
felt that the hair was a part of his own body and he didn't want to be 
separated from it." He furtively observed the woman's expression. 
However, she made no attempt to move, remaining bent over in an 
unnatural position on top of the partition. "Well, let it go. Everyone has 
his own philosophy that doesn't hold good for anybody else. Go on 
working your fingers to the bone with your sand sweeping or whatever 
else you will. But I can't stand it I've had enoughl I could get out of 
here easily if I wanted to. And I've just run out of cigarettes." 
"Oh… I wanted to say… about the cigarettes…" she said, awkwardly 
and submissively, "when they deliver the water, later…" 
"Cigarettes? Do they bring you cigarettes too?" He laughed in spite of 
himself. "That's not the question. I'm talking about the tufts of hair. 
Tufts of hair. Don't you understand? What I'm trying to say is that 
there's no sense in such futile concern over a tuft of hair." 
She was silent. She showed no sign of offering any explanation. She 
waited a moment, and when it was evident he had stopped speaking, 
she slowly turned as if nothing had happened and resumed her 
unfinished work. She slid back the cover over the top of the closet and 
crawled up, working the upper part of her body into the aperture with 
her elbows and wiggling her legs clumsily. The sand began to fall in thin 

---

rivulets here and there. He had the feeling that there was some strange 
insect inside the ceiling. Sand and rotted wood. No, thank you, he had 
had enough of strange things! 
Then from one corner of the ceiling the sand began to pour out dizzily 
in numerous tapelike streams. The strange quietness was in eerie 
contrast to the violence of the flow of sand. The holes and cracks in the 
ceiling boards were quickly raised in exact relief on the straw matting. 
The sand burned in his nose and irritated his eyes. He fled out of the 
house. 
Suddenly he felt as though he were melting away from his feet upward 
into a landscape of flame. But something like a perpetual shaft of ice 
remained in the center of his body. He felt ashamed in some way. An 
animal-like woman… thinking only in terms of today… no yesterday, 
no tomorrow… with a dot for a heart. A world where people were 
convinced that men could be erased like chalk maiks from a 
blackboard. In his wildest dreams he could not have imagined that 
such barbarism still existed anywhere in the world. Well, anyway… if 
this was a sign that he was beginning to regain his composure and 
recover from his initial shock, his qualms of conscience were not a bad 
thing. 
But he must not waste time. If possible, he would like to finish before it 
got dark. Squinting, he measured the height of the sand wall quivering 
behind a film of heat waves like molten glass. Every time he looked at 
it, it seemed to grow higher. It would be hard to go against nature and 
try to make a gentle slope abrupt—he only wanted to try to make a 
steep one more gentle. There was no reason to hang back. 
The best way to do it, of course, would be to shave it down gradually 
from the top. Since this was impossible, he had no choice but to dig 
from the bottom. First he would scoop out a suitable amount of sand 
from below and wait for the sand above to cave in, then he would 
scoop more out and again let the top fall in. If he repeated this again 
and again, the ground level he stood on would gradually rise and 
ultimately reach the top. Of course, he might also be carried away by 
the flowing sand in the midst of the operation. But no matter how much 
sand flowed, it still wasn't water, and he had never yet heard about 
anyone being drowned in sand. 

---

The shovel was standing with the kerosene cans against the outside 
wall that went around the earthen floor. The dented edge of the shovel 
gleamed white like a piece of cracked porcelain. 
For some time he concentrated on digging. The sand was exceedingly 
tractable, and his work appeared to be progressing. The sound of the 
shovel as it bit into the sand, and his own breathing, ticked away the 
time. However, at last his arms began to grow weary. He thought he 
had worked for a considerable time, but his digging had apparently had 
no results at all. Only a little bit of sand had fallen from right above 
where he was digging. Somehow, it was working out very differently 
from the simple geometric process he had evolved in his head. 
Rather than worry further, he decided to take advantage of a rest period 
and put his theory to the test by constructing a model of the hole. 
Fortunately, materials were plentiful. He chose a spot in the shade of 
the eaves and dug a hollow about a half yard wide. But the incline of 
the slope did not make the angle he had anticipated; it was only forty-
five degrees at the most, about like a wide-mouthed mixing bowl. When 
he tried scooping sand from the bottom, the sand flowed down the 
sides, but the incline remained the same. There would appear to be a 
fixed angle for sand. The weight and resistance of the grains seemed to 
be in perfect balance. Supposing this were true, did the wall he was 
trying to overcome have about the same degree of incline? 
No, that could not be. It might be 
an illusion, but it could not be true. 
When you looked at any incline 
from below it obviously appeared 
less than it actually was. 
Then, shouldn't he perhaps 
consider it to be a question of quantity? The pressure would naturally 
change with different amounts of sand. If the pressure changed, a 
variation in the balance of weight and resistance would naturally occur. 
Perhaps it depended on the nature of the sand grains. Clay that has 
been packed down and clay from a natural deposit have completely 
different resistance to pressure. Furthermore, he had to consider the 
question of moisture. In short, another law was probably functioning, 
different from the one that applied to the model he had made. 

---

Despite his failure, the experiment was not completely in vain. The very 
fact that he now realized that the slope of the wall was in what he 
might call a superstable state was an important find. Generally it is not