The Isle of South Kamui and Other Stories by Kyotaro Nishimura

face as hard as I could. On the headland I had beaten up a man towards whom I felt absolutely no anger or hatred. But now I hit him with the full force of my loathing.
    His skinny frame flew back against the window. The glass shattered with a tremendous crash. A shard pierced his arm, and I saw blood spurt out.
    â€œStop this idiocy now!” he screamed. I paid no attention, and grabbing his shirt I shoved him up against the wall, banging his head against it with dull thuds.
    â€œStop that!” I heard her voice behind me. As if repelled, I let go of him.
    Glaring at me with fierce eyes, she went over to him and helped him up.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” she demanded accusingly.
    Consumed with fierce jealousy, I stared at her as she gently stroked his forehead and cheeks.
    â€œShinichi and I were just play boxing,” he said, puckering his cheeks. So, did he mean to cover up for me? I felt so humiliated, I wanted to throw up.
    â€œWell it’s going too far.” She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at the stream of blood on his arm. The fulfilment of a moment ago, when I had touched her lips and felt she was at last mine, had been swept away without trace. So it had been nothing more than a momentary illusion after all.
    Was that really all it was?
    I looked for the spot of blood on her breast. That vivid red spot of blood was the proof that in that moment she and I had been one. It had been a reality, not a dream.
    It was still there, but it had already dried up, and had lost the beauty of that moment. Instead, blood from his arm was staining her breast and dress.
    â€œGet me a bandage, would you?” she said, as if she was ordering me. I bit my lip and ran out of the room. Get a bandage for him? You must be joking!
    I fled to the twilight beach.
    The sky was dark, and the sea surging. The breeze, too, was cold. The empty beach reflected in my eyes was as bleak as a desert.
    Subconsciously I was searching for the little blonde girl, her hair glinting in the rays of the setting sun, her cute pouting mouth, and her small hands. I wanted to see her again. It would be enough just to see her. If I could just see her cute figure and serious eyes, perhaps I could get some respite from this crushing sense of despair.
    I carried on walking along the beach.
    The rain started with a thunderous roar, like a horse abruptly taking the bit and bolting.
    Sheaves of raindrops beat against my face, my shoulders.
    The surroundings grew darker and the headland and the villa were only dimly visible in the rain. The beach looked like an ink painting. I walked slowly along, still hoping for a glimpse of the little blonde girl. I knew she could not be out in this downpour. I knew that, but I still searched for her. What I wanted now was probably not the child herself, but rather the fantasy of seeing her. Of course, this was nonsense. I know that. But I believed then that I would not mind even just the fantasy.
    The rain persisted. I carried on walking. I did not find the little blonde girl.
    Little by little I grew tired, and the distinction between reality and illusion became hazy. I was losing my grip.
    I was just seventeen, so why was reality so indistinct? Was it because I was still young? Or was it equally vague and unreliable for everybody? I would never find that little blonde girl I had seen yesterday playing with the crab, who had shouted fiercely, “ My crab!” My blood had stained her breast a vivid red, but in the next moment it had become just one small dirty stain. Everything was hazy. Had I really beaten up a young man on the headland? I could no longer be confident of anything. The pain in my hand from having hit him had already gone. Plus I would never see those guys or their car on the headland again. There was no proof that the fight had ever happened, and I could no longer vouch that it had.
    I was even beginning to think that dreams were more certain than reality. In my