Eternity in Monochrome

Eternity in Monochrome

It was ten p.m. in the summer of 1975. The night that whirlpools would forever disturb my perception of reality. I had just finished work and was heading to Chao, my favorite snack bar, in Tokyo. My stomach was growling for their pizza, and my throat was dry from teaching English to tired salarymen.

I stepped light and quick up the steel steps outside the three story building to the second floor bar. I pushed open the door. Mama-san smiled and voiced the greeting, “Irashai.”

A young lady was next to her behind the bar. She smiled, tossed her red dyed hair, and waved. I raised my hand and smiled back. She was new. They never lasted long. They usually had another day job, so providing conversation while making and accepting drinks was tiring at these hours. I looked to the other end of the room about five meters away. Blue smoke was streaming into the fan built into the wall. My stomach growled, for Mama-san’s boyfriend was cooking. That meant I could have pizza, which he baked in a pan.

There were six patrons occupying the seven stools. The second one was vacant. The salaryman sitting on the one nearest to the door was hunched over, so I flattened myself against the wall to proceed and sat down beside him. Placing my pack of Mild Seven on the counter, I asked for a pizza. Mama-san placed my bottle of whiskey, a small bucket of ice, and spring water in front of me then made my drink.

I glanced left and recognized the lonely guy. Not remembering his name, I motioned to Mama-san, then mouthed what’s his name?

Mama-san silently replied, Watanabe.

I leaned back and half emptied my glass. Between puffs, Watanabe was rolling the tip of his cigarette on the rim of his ashtray; not very well, for the ashes were creating a circle on the counter. I played back a conversation we had one night. He worked at a parts supplier for a large electronics company, but he was also a writer who dreamed of making it big.

The couple on my right were having an animated conversation, so bending forward… “Long time, no see, Watanabe-san.”

He lifted his head and squinted his bleary eyes through his horn-rimmed glasses.

I realized he’d forgotten me. “I’m Arnie. We talked a couple of months ago. How’s your novel coming along?”

“Oh, how are you, Arnie-san? My novel is done and will be published soon.”

“Congratulations! What’s the title?”

“Eternity in Monochrome.”

“Sounds heavy. I have a feeling it’s going to make you famous.”

“Yeah, I know for sure it will.”

I put that comment down to alcohol’s effects. Puzzling was his unhappy state. Something was bothering him.

“What’s it about?”

“A young couple’s romance and hardships amid the evolution of a new society.”

“That’s a good recipe.” I raised my glass. “To your novel’s success.”

He sighed.

“What’s on your mind, Watanabe-san?”

“You won’t believe me. You’ll think I’m crazy.”

At that moment, I thought about Poe’s tragedies unhinging his perception of reality. “I promise to listen with an open mind.”

I grabbed, tilted his bottle of beer, and filled his glass.

He took a long drink and licked the froth from his lips. “I’ve always dreamed of becoming a popular writer of fiction. Since the nights my mother read stories at my bedside, I’ve dreamed of writing an immortal story. Sadly, this powerful ambition warped my sense of the happiness in an ordinary life.

“No matter the long hours I spent writing, I couldn’t create the story I desired. In my frustration I ripped to shreds the pages and tossed them onto the floor. I cursed the gods for the unattainable ambition that burned with an undying flame within my soul.

“One evening while walking home in Shinjuku a sidewalk fortune teller accosted me from her table. Saying she sensed a strong aura emanating from me, she begged me to sit down. I noticed that though her face was lined with age under a hot sun, her hands were as white and soft as a young woman. So, I sat and spread my palms. With a keen eye she studied the lines and twisted my hands to reveal hidden grooves. Occasionally, they surprised her, and she raised them closer to her eyes as she uttered sounds of content. Her body swayed like bamboo in a strong wind as she studied my face. Then, she abruptly stopped and sat rigidly upright.

“I vividly remember her warning. ‘You are on the cusp of a great change in your life. Take a wrong step and you will slide down to doom. Evil will entice you. Do not listen. Be content with your life, and you will find happiness.’

“Of course, I didn’t believe in such things, but so earnestly did she speak that I was impressed. I paid the fee, rose, and left as she bowed deeply.”

At this point, I refilled his glass as he lit another cigarette. “Is that it, Watanabe-san?”

Smoke came out of his mouth. “No, I’m just getting started.

“The next day, I was introduced to a new employee. My boss asked me to train her to be my assistant. I was a little surprised, for she was the first woman to be hired for other than clerical work. As the weeks went by, we got to know each other from the office drinking forays. One evening, she confided to me that she was into arcane art. I reciprocated and told her I was slowly writing a novel. Perhaps, she sensed I was struggling to write it from the embarrassment in my voice, for she said she knew someone who could help me. I was quite skeptical, but feeling jaded with life I wanted to experience something new. I asked her to introduce me.

“Several weeks later, she took me to meet this person in Hakone. On the long trip there, she refused to talk about the event. This made me more curious and eager. The last part of the trip was by bus up the mountains, then an hour hike on a shaded snaking trail.”

Watanabe paused. He seemed to be looking at something far away. “The house… it had walls of polished stone: pink, grey, lavender, and turquoise. The roof was covered with moss, but strange was the thin stream of ice cold water coming out from under the front wall. We walked up the steps. My companion opened the door without knocking or otherwise announcing our intrusion. I stepped in after her. I noticed right away how cool the interior was though it was summer. Stepping further in was a room dimly lit with candles. A small raised fountain, like for dipping a cup, was in the center. Water was overflowing onto the stone floor into a depression, to the wall, and under it. Behind the fountain was a chimney.

“Going to the chimney, she removed a stone, and placed a hand where it had been. The floor at the chimney opened. She then went to the fountain, and cupping her hands scooped up water and dropped it down the hole. A great flame shot up with the stench of rotten eggs. I heard a deep laugh and saw a crimson demon standing in the flames. The hair on my neck stood and my heart thundered in my ears. I was desperate to escape, yet my legs were like jelly.

“I can still hear her words; ‘Master, here is the man who yearns above all else for fame.’”

Beside me, someone laughed. Then another hissed at them to be quiet. So, some others at the bar were listening. Watanabe didn’t seem to have heard and went on with his narration.

“The demon spoke in a strange tongue. My companion said I could have the fame I desired if I gave my soul to her master upon my death.

“I asked how I could know if my novel would be a masterpiece of literature for all time.

“The demon roared and spat red hot spit which smoldered on the stone floor. My companion replied her master would transport me a hundred years into the future to the National Hall of Literary Fame where I would see my novel and name enshrined. She then warned me not to doubt his words again.

“To be in the Hall of Fame next to the names of Kawabata, Mishima, and other great writers was a dream I couldn’t turn down. I agreed to the terms, then asked to be sent into the future to the Hall of Fame.”

Watanabe stopped. He glanced at his cigarette. It was a long piece of ash. Taking out another one, he lit it and took a long drag.

“Don’t keep us holding our breath, Watanabe-san. Please, continue with the story.”

“I thought so! You don’t believe me. It’s not a story. It’s the truth.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply disbelief.”

There was a chorus. “We want to hear what happened.”

Watanabe put down his cigarette. Staring straight ahead at the liquor bottles on the wall, he spoke.

“Suddenly, everything went white. I was falling…falling…falling. It seemed to go on for hours. Then, I was outside in a forest or jungle. The air was heavy with humidity. Trees and vines were everywhere. The cries of wild animals and the song of birds assaulted my ears. Gradually, the smell of flowers calmed my nerves. I looked around and noticed a building overgrown with foliage. Walking towards it, I saw that parts of the walls were gone as were all the glass from the windows.

“Huge blocks of masonry had demolished the stairs leading to the entrance. I climbed over them and entered the building. The walls were covered with books; priceless books that were ruined, for I realized I was inside the library of The National Hall of Literary Fame. In confused sorrow, I proceeded deeper into the building and found the hall. It was in ruins. I searched among the fallen plaques and discovered mine awarded for Eternity in Monochrome. The date of the first edition and my birth and death were at the bottom. The next instant I was on my bed at home.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “What about the woman who took you to the demon house?”

“I went to work the next day. The boss said she had quit. I asked for her phone number and address, but he wouldn’t allow it. Days later, I sneaked into his office and got them, but she had disappeared.”

It was then that an alarm went off. The pizza was on fire. Mama-san took the fire extinguisher from under the bar and handed it to her boyfriend. The bar was half filled with white clouds of carbon dioxide. When the fan sucked out all the smoke, I turned around. Watanabe was gone. None of us ever saw him again.