Thinking that my friend, who had stayed at this spa frequently for long
periods of time, must sometimes have seen the dunes and sunsets when
they were beautiful, and gazing out at the sea, I noticed that the horizon
between the water and the sky was unusually dark. Compared with the
horizon I was accustomed to seeing—on the ocean to the west and south of
Tokyo—the horizon of this northern region was unquestionably odd.
Judging by the green of the trees I had seen on my trip, it seemed that the
seasons here lagged about a month behind Tokyo’s, but even so it was June:
the guests at the spa were wearing light cotton kimonos—the sea should not
be wintry. Or perhaps seas in the north were like this? Not only the horizon,
but the color of the ocean itself was oppressive. I was amazed that my
friend had been able to bear it, looking out on an ocean like this from his
room at the spa, and I began to feel lonely. It occurred to me that the
relative proximity of the aurora borealis might make the sunset beautiful.
When I asked the maid at dinner, however, I was told that my departed
friend had disliked rooms facing the sea, that he had always chosen one
from which the ocean could not be seen. It struck me as odd that he would
come to a spa on the shore and then choose a room with no view of the
ocean—1 was a little surprised at first, but then decided that it made perfect
sense.
“If you like I can show you his room later on,” said the maid. “There’s
an actor staying there now, but...”
“If there’s someone there—no, I don’t really need to see it.”
“The man likes novels. As a matter of fact, he was delighted when I told
him that Mr. Kishiyama used to stay in the room. I’m sure he wouldn’t
mind.”
I had signed the spa’s guest book, and the maid had recognized that I was
a friend of Kishiyama’s, a fellow novelist. It seemed this maid had served
Kishiyama whenever he visited the spa. He had frequented the place more
