Michael Hoffman
The four stories of Part I vary in setting from Shinobazu Pond to 19th-century Germany, where Dostoevsky toils in despairing, poverty-stricken exile on Crime and Punishment. The "Nectar Fragments" of Part II are linked short stories set in the fictional Montreal suburb of Nectar, where an aging recluse living like a prisoner in the house in which he grew up struggles to recast the story of Abraham and Isaac into modern form. Was Abraham a saint, or a murderer? No one suspected the recluse himself had a son – who one day appears, seemingly out of nowhere...
Michael Hoffman, born in Montreal, Canada, has lived in Japan most of his adult life. He is the author of The Coat that Covers Him and Other Stories (2004), Withdrawal (2003) and The Empty Café (2001). He and three other "old Japan hands" co-wrote the bestselling Tabloid Tokyo (Kodansha International, 2005), a collection of short pieces about some of the quirkier aspects of life in Japan.
His short fiction has appeared in various North American and Japanese magazines. As a freelance journalist he is a regular contributor of essays, book reviews and translations to Japan''s English-language media.
"O! Rumpdledee, rumpdledee, rumpdledoodledoo! Sit down, father, sit down, it was good of you to come. What can I offer you? A beer? Gin? Rumpdledee - wait, a better idea: how about some Japanese sake? Courtesy of young Peter''s roommate, the Zen priest in embryo. Bryo. Yo. Hm! Majoring in commerce, meanwhile. Go figure. He might drop by later, in which case you can ask him yourself. But tell me first, how did you find me? I mean, it''s not like I''m in the phone book or anything! On the other hand, your profession being what it is, I guess you''ve tracked down shadowier people than me, eh? ''Shadowier'' - ha ha!"
"What''s this ''rumpledeedee'' business?"
"No business. Song. Stuck to my brain like a fly to flypaper. Can''t dislodge it, though I''ve torn out a goodly portion of my remaining hair trying. Believe me, it''s not there at my invitation!"
"Sounds like Jingle Bells."
"Yes indeed."
"A little out of season, no?"
"Rumpdledee, rumpdledee... Out of season? I don''t know - what season is it? You lose track, in this flat Vancouver climate where every season is spring. Sounds ideal, but in fact... in fact... hm!"
"In fact?"
"You must be cold. I''m all bundled up in this thick woolen sweater, while you... hm."
"It is a little chilly. Don''t you have heat?"
"Only at night."
"But what are you doing here? What prompted you to move into a... a place like this?"
"A dive, a hole you meant to say. Oh, I don''t know. What prompts us to do what we do? I kinda like it, actually. It''s life stripped of all the superfluities, life stripped down to the bare essentials, you might say - eh? Mightn''t you? But you''re right, it''s hardly suitable for entertaining visitors. My only excuse is that I wasn''t expecting visitors. This sweater, by the way. You''ll never guess who knitted it for me."
"Your mother?"
"Right-o! I said you''d never guess, and... it just goes to show. Doesn''t it? Dad, look at me. Tell me the truth. Am I insane?"
"No."
Saul''s eyes met his father''s. His expression softened. His lower lip trembled slightly. He lowered his eyes. "Thanks. In all sincerity, thanks. I knew of course you''d say no, but I expected a millisecond''s hesitation. But no, you really mean it, you''re not just being tactful. You''re right, I''m not insane. I''ve never been more lucid in my life, never seen more clearly the fog that envelops us, the fog that before was obscured by insane clarity. Do you know who I''ve been reading lately? You''ll never guess. Go ahead. Try."
"Give me a hint."
"Starts with a T."
"Tolstoy."
"Thomas Aquinas. The angelic doctor, they called him. He believed the existence of God could be proved by means of Aristotelian logic - though come to think of it, if that''s true, how come Aristotle missed Him? Goddammit, that puts things in a whole new light! Doesn''t it?"
The look Saul now fixed on his father was so expectant, so childlike, that Lou, deeply stirred, could barely summon the voice to say that the question was beyond the range of his rather meager learning.
"Mine too, mine too. Every event has a cause, said Thomas. Event A is caused by event B, which is caused by C... but what caused Z? Answer: God, the Uncaused Cause. Simple, right? But father - what caused cause? Why is there such a thing as cause in the world? Is there such a thing as cause in the world? Why should there be? Where does it come from? It''s absurd! Order is absurd!"
"The argument for the existence of God proceeds from the evidence of order. How else would - "
"The evidence of order is incomplete! As a lawyer, you ought to know that! Order! Why, I could refute all your evidence of order with a gesture!" Leaping up onto the sofa, he smashed his fist into the little window above it. The window cracked but did not shatter. "Ow! Shit! Look, I''ve cut myself." Somewhat ruefully he showed his father the bleeding hand.
***
