serious, strained voice that my father had died of gastric ulcers at the end of the previous month. "We won't ask any questions about your past and we'll see to it that you have no worries as far as your living expenses are concerned. You won't have to do anything. The only thing we ask is that you leave Tokyo immediately. I know you undoubtedly have all kinds of attachments here, but we want you to begin your convalescence afresh in the country." He added that I need not worry about my various commitments in Tokyo. Flatfish would take care of them. I felt as though I could see before my eyes the mountains and rivers back home. I nodded faintly. A reject, exactly. The news of my father's death eviscerated me. He was dead, that familiar, frightening presence who had never left my heart for a split
second. I felt as though the vessel of my suffering had become empty, as if nothing could interest me now. I had lost even the ability to suffer. My brother scrupulously carried out his promise. He bought a house for me at a hot spring on the coast, about four or five hours journey by rail south of the town where I grew up, an unusually warm spot for that part of Japan. The house, a thatch-covered rather ancient-looking structure, stood on the outskirts of the village. It had five rooms. The walls were peeled and the woodwork was so worm-eaten as to seem almost beyond all possibility of repair. My brother also sent to look after me an ugly woman close to sixty with horrible rusty hair. Some three years have gone by since then. During this interval I have several times been violated in a curious manner by the old servant.
