An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro Page B

efforts of Mr Kyo" before bowing and making his way to the exit. As usual, many people crowded on at the stop after the bridge, and the rest of our journey was rather uncomfortable. When we got off just in front of the cinema, I could see the poster prominently displayed at the entrance. My grandson had achieved a close likeness in his sketch of two days earlier, though there was no fire in the picture; what Ichiro had remembered were the impact lines--resembling streaks of lightning--which the artist had painted in to emphasise the ferocity of the giant lizard. Ichiro went up to the poster and burst into loud laughter. "It's easy to see that's a made-up monster," he said, pointing. "Anyone can see that. It's just made up." And he laughed again. "Ichiro, please don't laugh so loudly. Everyone's looking at you." "But I can't help it. The monster looks so made up. Who"d be scared of a thing like that?" It was only once we were seated inside, and the film had begun, that I discovered the true purpose of his raincoat. Ten minutes into the film, we heard ominous music and on the screen appeared a dark cave with mist swirling about it. Ichiro whispered: "This is boring. Will you tell me when something interesting starts to happen?" And with that, he threw the raincoat over his head. A moment later, there was a roar and the giant lizard emerged from the cave. Ichiro's hand was clutching at my arm, and when I glanced at him his other hand was holding the raincoat in place as tightly as possible. The coat continued to cover his head for more or less the whole duration of the film. Occasionally, my arm would be shaken and a voice would ask from underneath: "Is it getting interesting yet?" I would then be obliged to describe in whispers what was on the screen until a small gap appeared in the raincoat. But within minutes--at the slightest hint that the monster would reappear--the gap would close and his voice would say: "This is boring. Don't forget to tell me when it gets interesting." When we got home, though, Ichiro was full of enthusiasm for the film. "The best movie I"ve ever seen," he continued to say, and he was still giving us his version of it when we sat down to supper. "Aunt Noriko, shall I tell you what happened next? it gets very scary. Shall I tell you?" "I"m getting so frightened, Ichiro, I can hardly eat," Noriko said. "I"m warning you, it gets even more frightening. Shall I tell you more?" "Oh, I"m not sure, Ichiro. You"ve got me so frightened already." It had not been my intention to make heavy talk at the supper table by bringing up Dr Saito, but then it would have been unnatural not to mention our meeting when recounting the day's events. So, when Ichiro paused a moment, I said: "Incidentally, we met Dr Saito on the tram. He was travelling up to see someone." When I said this, my two daughters both stopped eating and looked at me with surprise. "But we didn't talk about anything significant," I said, with a small laugh. "Really. We just exchanged pleasantries, that's all." My daughters seemed unconvinced, but they began to eat again. Noriko glanced over to her elder sister, then Setsuko said: "Dr Saito was well?" "He appeared to be." We ate on quietly for a while. Perhaps Ichiro began to talk about the movie again. In any case, it was a little later in the meal that I said: "An odd thing. It turns out Dr Saito met a former pupil of mine. Kuroda, in fact. It seems Kuroda's taking up a post at the new college." I looked up from my bowl and saw my daughters had again stopped eating. It was clear they had just exchanged glances, and it was one of those instances last month when I got a distinct impression they had at some point been discussing certain things about me. That night, my two daughters and I were sitting around the table again, reading our newspapers and magazines, when we were disturbed by a dull thudding noise coming rhythmically from somewhere within the house. Noriko looked up in alarm, but Setsuko said: