From noon on, my fellow jail birds and I are entertained with live radio broadcasts. There’s a news bulletin at twelve, followed by a short fifteen-minute program called Hiru no Inaka no Koe, (昼の田舎の声, Midday Words from the Countryside), featuring the letters of elderly listeners who apparently have little better to do than write to NHK and describe the changing seasons.
At half past, a sprightly jazz guitar melody introduces the next program, Hiru no Sampo Michi (昼の散歩道, A Midday’s Walk). The sublime enka singer, Sayuri Ishikawa, belts out a number of songs, her warbling voice soaring to an unbelievable height, raising the rafters and letting the sun shine in on us.
At five minutes to one there’s a weather update: partly cloudy tonight with the possibility of thunder. Tomorrow will be even hotter than today, with a high of thirty-two degrees.
When the tone announces the hour, I push myself off the zabuton and go have a look outside the rear window to see where the shadows lie. A few feet beyond the window, the railing casts a shadow on the concrete ledge. Just as a sundial might, the shadow of the railing falls against a crack in the ledge, pointing to one in the afternoon. Not having a clock or a watch on me, this will have to do.
The manual says from twelve thirty to three we can nap, if we like. I lie down, my head resting on the rolled-up futon and my feet touching the wall below the small window and try to sleep. Before long, Digger next door is sawing logs.
It’s really no use trying to sleep. Still, I don’t have the energy to get up. My body feels heavy, lead sinkers attached to my shoulders, waist, and arms. I can’t sit up, can’t even lift my arms . . . can’t move my . . . can’t . . .
The first posting/chapter in this series can be found here.
Rokuban: Too Close to the Sun and other works are available in e-book form and paperback at Amazon.