8



The Root of Desire
*
I n Room 208
*
Passing Through the Wall





Before dawn, in the bottom of the well, I had a dream. But it was not a dream. It was some
kind of something that happened to take the form of a dream.
I was walking alone. The face of Noboru Wataya was being projected on the screen of a
large television in the center of a broad lobby. His speech had just begun. He wore a tweed
suit, striped shirt, and navy-blue necktie. His hands were folded atop the table before him, and
he was talking into the camera. A large map of the world hung on the wall behind him. There
must have been over a hundred people in the lobby, and each and every one of them stopped
what they were doing to listen to him, with serious expressions on their faces. Noboru Wataya
was about to announce something that would determine people's fate.
I, too, stopped and looked at the television screen. In practiced-but utterly sincere-tones,
Noboru Wataya was addressing millions of people he could not see. That unbearable
something I always felt when I was face-to-face with him was now hidden in some deep,
invisible place. He spoke in his uniquely persuasive style-the carefully timed pauses, the
ringing of the voice, the variety of facial expressions, all giving rise to a strangely effective
sense of reality. Noboru Wataya seemed to have been growing more polished as an orator
with each day that passed. Much as I hated to, I had to grant him that.
"And so you see, my friends," he was saying, "everything is both complicated and simple.
This is the fundamental rule that governs the world. *We must never forget it. Things that
appear to be complicated- and that, in fact, are complicated-are very simple where motives
are concerned. It is just a matter of what we are looking for. Motive is the root of desire, so to
speak. The important thing is to seek out the root. Dig beneath the complicated surface of
reality. And keep on digging. Then dig even more until you come to the very tip of the root. If
you will only do that"-and here he gestured toward the map-"everything will eventually come
clear. That is how the world works. The stupid ones can never break free of the apparent
complexity. They grope through the darkness, searching for the exit, and die before they are
able to comprehend a single thing about the way of the world. They have lost all sense of
direction. They might as well be deep in a forest or down in a well. And the reason they have
lost all sense of direction is because they do not comprehend the fundamental principles. They
have nothing in their heads but garbage and rocks. They understand nothing. Nothing at all.
They can't tell front from back, top from bottom, north from south. Which is why they can
never break free of the darkness."
Noboru Wataya paused at that point to give his words time to sink into the minds of his
audience.
"But let's forget about people like that," he went on. "If people want to lose all sense of
direction, the best thing that you and I can do is let them. We have more important things to
do."
The more I heard, the angrier I became, until my anger was almost choking me. He was
pretending to talk to the world at large, but in fact he was talking to me alone. And he must
have had some kind of twisted, distorted motive for doing so. But nobody else realized that.
Which is precisely why Noboru Wataya was able to exploit the gigantic system of television
in order to send me secret messages. In my pockets, I clenched my hands into fists, but there
was no way I could vent my anger. And my inability to share this anger with anybody in the
lobby aroused in me a profound sense of isolation.
The place was filled with people straining to catch every word that Noboru Wataya spoke.
I cut across the lobby and headed straight for a corridor that connected with the guest rooms.
The faceless man was standing there. As I approached, he looked at me with that faceless face
of his. Then, soundlessly, he moved to block my way.
"This is the wrong time," he said. "You don't belong here now."
But the deep, slashing pain from Noboru Wataya now urged me on. I reached out and


pushed the faceless man aside. He wobbled like a shadow and fell away.
"I'm saying this for your sake," he called from behind me, his every word lodging in my
back like a piece of shrapnel. "If you go any farther, you won't be able to come back. Do you
understand?"
I ignored him and moved ahead with rapid steps. I wasn't afraid of anything now. I had to
know. I had lost all sense of direction, but I couldn't stay like that forever.
I walked down the familiar-looking corridor. I assumed the man with no face would
follow and try to stop me, but when I looked back, there was no one coming. The long,
winding corridor was lined with identical doors. Each door had a number, but I couldn't recall
the number of the room to which I had been taken the last time. I was sure I had been aware
of the number back then, but now my attempts to recall it yielded nothing, and there was no
question of my opening every one.
I wandered up and down the corridor until I passed a room-service waiter carrying a tray.
On it was a new bottle of Cutty Sark, an ice bucket, and two glasses. I let the waiter go by,
then followed after him. Every now and then, the polished tray caught the light of a ceiling
fixture with a bright flash. The waiter never looked back. Chin drawn in purposefully, he
moved straight ahead, his steps in steady rhythm. Sometimes he would whistle a few lines of
music. It was the overture to The Thieving Magpie, the opening where the drums come in. He
was good.
The corridor was a long one, but I encountered no one else in it all the while I followed
the waiter. Eventually, he stopped in front of a door and gave it three gentle knocks. After a
few seconds had passed, someone opened the door and the waiter carried the tray in. I pressed
against the wall, hiding behind a large Chinese-style vase, and waited for the waiter to come
out. The room number was 208. Of course! Why hadn't I been able to remember it until now?
The waiter was taking a very long time. I glanced at my watch. At some point, though, the
hands had stopped moving. I examined the flowers in the vase and smelled each fragrance.
The flowers seemed to have been brought from a garden only moments before, so perfectly
fresh were they, retaining every bit of their color and aroma. They probably still hadn't
noticed that they had been severed from their roots. A tiny winged insect had worked its way
into the core of a red rose with thick, fleshy petals.
Five minutes or more went by before the waiter came out of the room, empty-handed.
With his chin pulled in as before, he went back the same way he had come. As soon as he had
disappeared around a corner, I walked over to the door. I held my breath and listened,
expecting to hear something. But there was no sound, no sense that anyone was inside. I took
a chance and knocked. Three times. Gently. As the waiter had done. But no one answered, I
let a few seconds pass and knocked three times again, this time a little more forcefully than
before. Still no response.
Next, I tried the knob. It turned, and the door opened soundlessly inward. The room
looked pitch dark at first, but some light was managing to find its way in around the thick
curtains on the window. With effort, I could just barely make out the window itself and a table
and sofa. This was the room in which I had coupled with Creta Kano. It was a suite: the living
room here and the bedroom in back. On the table were the dim forms of the Cutty Sark bottle,
the glasses, and the ice bucket. When I opened the door, the stainless-steel ice bucket had
caught the light from the corridor and sent back a knife-sharp flash. I entered the darkness and
closed the door quietly behind me. The air in the room felt warm, and it carried the heavy
scent of flowers. I held my breath and listened, keeping my left hand on the knob so that I
could open it at any time. There had to be a person in here, somewhere. Someone had ordered
the whiskey, ice, and glasses from room service and had opened the door to let the waiter in.





"Don't turn on the light," said a woman's voice. It came from the bedroom. I recognized it
immediately. It was the voice of the enigmatic woman who had made those strange calls to
me. I let go of the knob and began to feel my way toward the voice. The darkness of the inner
room was more nearly opaque than that of the outer room. I stood in the doorway between the
two and strained to see into the darkness.
I could hear the sound of bedsheets shifting. A black shadow moved in the darkness.
"Leave it dark," said the woman's voice.
"Don't worry," I said. "I won't turn on the light."
I kept a firm grip on the doorjamb.
"Did you come here alone?" the woman asked, sounding vaguely tired.
"Of course," I said. "I figured I'd find you here. You or Creta Kano. I've got to know
where Kumiko is. I mean, everything started with that first call from you. You opened
Pandora's box. Then it was one weird thing after another, until finally Kumiko disappeared.
That's why I'm here. Alone. I don't know who you are, but you hold some kind of key. Am I
right?"
"Creta Kano?" the woman asked in guarded tones. "Never heard of her. Is she here too?"
"I don't know where she is. But I've met her here more than once."
Each breath I took brought with it the strong smell of flowers. The air was thick and
heavy. Somewhere in this room was a vase full of flowers. Somewhere in this same darkness,
they were breathing, swaying. In the darkness filled with their intense fragrance, I began to
lose track of my own physicality. I felt as if I had become a tiny insect. Now I was working
my way in among the petals of a giant flower. Sticky nectar, pollen, and soft hairs awaited
me. They needed my invasion and my presence.
"You know," I said to the woman, "the very first thing I want to do is find out who you
are. You tell me I know you, and I've tried as hard as I can to recall you, but without success.
Who are you?"
"Who am I?" the woman parroted, but without a hint of mockery. "I'd like a drink. Pour
two on the rocks, will you? You will drink with me, I suppose?"
I went back to the living room, opened the new bottle of whiskey, put ice in the glasses,
and poured two drinks. In the dark, this took a good deal of time. I carried the drinks into the
bedroom. The woman told me to set one on the night table. "And you sit on the chair by the
foot of the bed."
I did as I was told, placing one glass on the night table and sitting in an upholstered
armchair some distance away, drink in hand. My eyes had perhaps grown somewhat more
used to the darkness. I could see shadows shifting there. The woman seemed to have raised
herself on the bed. Then there was the clink of ice as she drank. I, too, took a sip of whiskey.
For a long time, she said nothing. The longer the silence continued, the stronger the smell
of flowers seemed to become.
"Do you really want to know who I am?" the woman asked.
"That's why I'm here," I said, but my voice resounded uneasily in the darkness.
"You came here specifically to learn my name, didn't you?"
Instead of answering, I cleared my throat, but this also had a strange reverberation.
The woman jiggled the ice in her glass a few times. "You want to know my name," she
said, "but unfortunately, I can't tell you what it is. I know you very well. You know me very
well. But I don't know me."
I shook my head in the darkness. "I don't get it," I said. 'And I'm sick of riddles. I need
something concrete that I can get my hands on. Hard facts. Something I can use as a lever to
pry the door open. That's what I want."
The woman seemed to wring a sigh out of the core of her body. "Toru Okada, I want you
to discover my name. But no: you don't have to discover it. You know it already. All you have
to do is remember it. If you can find my name, then I can get out of here. I can even help you


find your wife: help you find Kumiko Okada. If you want to find your wife, try hard to
discover my name. That is the lever you want. You don't have time to stay lost. Every day
you fail to find it, Kumiko Okada moves that much farther away from you."
I set my whiskey glass on the floor. "Tell me," I said, "where is this place? How long have
you been here? What do you do here?"
"You have to leave now," said the woman, as if she had suddenly recalled what she was
doing. "If he finds you here, there'll be trouble. He's even more dangerous than you think. He
might really kill you. I wouldn't put it past him." "Who is this 'he'?"
The woman didn't answer, and I didn't know what else to say. I felt lost. Nothing stirred
in the room. The silence was deep and thick and suffocating. My head felt feverish. The
pollen might have been doing it. Mixed with the air, the microscopic grains were penetrating
my head and driving my nerves haywire.
"Tell me, Toru Okada," said the woman, her voice suddenly very different. The quality of
her voice could change in an instant. Now it had become one with the room's thick, heavy air.
"Do you ever think you'd like to hold me again? That you'd like to get inside me? That you'd
like to kiss me all over? You can do anything you want to me, you know. And I'll do anything
you want... anything ... things that your wife ... Kumiko Okada ... would never do for you. I'll
make you feel so good you'll never forget it. If you-"
With no warning at all, there was a knock on the door. It had the hard, precise sound of a
nail being driven straight in-an ominous sound in the dark.
The woman's hand came out of the darkness and took me by the arm. "Come this way,"
she whispered. "Hurry." Her voice had lost the dreamy quality now. The knocking started
again: two knocks with precisely the same force. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't
locked the door.
"Hurry," she said. "You have to get out of here. This is the only way."
I moved through the darkness as the woman drew rne on. I could hear the doorknob
turning slowly. The sound sent chills down my spine. At the very moment the light from the
corridor pierced the darkness, we slipped into the wall. It had the consistency of a gigantic
mass of cold gelatin; I clamped my mouth shut to prevent its coming inside. The thought
struck me: I'm passing through the wall! In order to go from one place to another, I was
passing through a wall. And yet, even as it was happening, it seemed like the most natural
thing to do.
I felt the woman's tongue coming into my mouth. Warm and soft, it probed every crevice
and it wound around my own tongue. The heavy smell of flower petals stroked the walls of
my lungs. Down in my loins, I felt a dull need to come. Clamping my eyes closed, I fought it.
A moment later, I felt a kind of intense heat on my right cheek. It was an odd sensation. I felt
no pain, only the awareness that there was heat there. I couldn't tell whether the heat was
coming from the outside or boiling up inside me. Soon everything was gone: the woman's
tongue, the smell of flowers, the need to come, the heat on my cheek. And I passed through
the wall. When I opened my eyes I was on the other side of the wall-at the bottom of a deep
well.