Kazufumi Shiraishi
THE PART OF ME THAT ISN’T BROKEN INSIDE
Translated from the Japanese by Raj Mahtani
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Originally published in Japanese by Kobunsha as Boku no naka no kowareteinai bubun in 2002.
Copyright © 2002 by Kazufumi Shiraishi
Translation copyright © 2017 by Raj Mahtani
First Dalkey Archive edition, 2017.
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Shiraishi, Kazufumi, 1958- author. | Mahtani, Raj, translator.
Title: The part of me that isn’t broken inside / by Kazufumi Shiraishi ; translated by Raj Mahtani.
Other titles: Boku no naka no kowareteinai bubun. English
Description: First Dalkey Archive edition, 2017. | Victoria, TX : Dalkey Archive Press, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017006165 | ISBN 9781943150250 (pbk. : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Meaning (Philosophy)--Fiction. | LCGFT: Philosophical fiction.
Classification: LCC PL875.5.H57 B6513 2017 | DDC 895.63/6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017006165
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Dalkey Archive Press publications are, in part, made possible through the support of the University of Houston-Victoria and its programs in creative writing, publishing, and translation.
Printed on permanent/durable acid-free paper
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Afterword
1
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 10TH. ERIKO and I went to Kyoto.
It had been very cold that day, and by the time we boarded the six p.m. Nozomi, my body was completely numb, exposed to a northerly wind while waiting for Eriko at the Shinkansen platform of Tokyo Station.
It was my twenty-ninth birthday that day.
But the trip wasn’t in any way meant to commemorate the beginning of the final year of my twenties. It just turned out that both our holidays as well as my birthday happened to fall on that weekend.
When we arrived at Kyoto Station it was 8:14 p.m.
We traveled by taxi to an old hotel in Kawaramachi, and after checking in there, we had drinks in a restaurant with a panoramic view of the city to celebrate our first trip together.
It was rather disappointing: to Eriko I was already twenty-nine years old; she’d already given me an expensive-looking summer sweater in the summer as a birthday gift, so there was no gift, let alone wishes, from her that day, the day of my actual birthday.
This regrettable outcome was thanks to my tendency to lie a little while shooting the breeze.
Back in the early days when I’d just met Eriko, we began having a conversation about each other’s star signs, as couples often do. On a whim, I declared my birthday to be this particular date in the summer because its zodiac sign was in perfect alignment with Eriko’s, giving her the impression that we were a match, astrologically speaking. While I’d been thinking about coming clean in the course of a casual conversation, I hadn’t been able to tell her the truth just yet, believing that it was rather useless to do so; after all, many people tend to get strangely worked up and broody once it comes to light that they’ve been lied to, even if that lie happens to be a white one.
At any rate, in addition to that little deception, there was an ulterior motive at play behind this trip; the excursion had, in fact, been the fruit of a small, spiteful maliciousness on my part.
I’d planned it entirely by myself and I’d also personally taken care of presenting the tickets to the attendant inside the train so that Eriko would remain clueless about our final destination throughout the railway journey. And so, as expected, when she stepped off the train at Kyoto Station she appeared slightly baffled—it was a subtle and momentary change in her demeanor, the kind of change I’d never ordinarily detect, but it didn’t escape my notice because I’d been observing her closely, anticipating.
What do you want to see tomorrow? I asked Eriko while dining at the hotel. Are you familiar with Kyoto?
Not at all, she said, turning her eyes away a little. You decide.
Right. In that case I’ll be happy to guide you on a complete, leisurely tour of Kyoto. The fall foliage is just around the corner. By the way, I often used to come to Kyoto in my school days for fun.
Is that right? I never heard you say that before.
Yeah, I guess not.
Truth be told, I never actually used to come to Kyoto for fun. How could I, when all of my school days were spent moonlighting?
But I thought you were more familiar with Kyoto than me, I said.
Whatever gave you that idea?
I was under the impression that you used to come down here often for film shoots and such.
Just occasionally, really, and since it was for work, I’d return on the same day. I hardly even had the chance to take a stroll through the city.
I see, I said, nodding.
Frankly, until recently, I’d suspected that Eriko had been visiting Kyoto frequently. That’s because her lover, with whom she broke up two years ago, lives in the city.
This ex is a popular graphic designer and in these past several years he’s been attracting much media attention for his art while lecturing at the Kyoto City University of Arts. Requisitioning an old townhouse somewhere around Fuyamachi and turning it into an atelier, he enjoys an elegant living as an artist. Since he often appears in magazines and TV shows to offer his expert views on life in Kyoto, I can’t help but take notice of his physical appearance and the aura he projects; he sports a goatee, even though he’s about my age, and he’s also slightly plump.
But it’s not that I particularly dislike him or anything. After all you can’t come to like or dislike someone you’ve never seen in person.
It’s just that in my mind I felt there was something wrong with Eriko, that she was a very strange woman to have had an affair with such a man for nearly three years.
Before we began to sleep together I’d asked her once about the guy. I said goodbye to that part of my past a year ago, she’d answered before adding, We went out for nearly three years though.
When I went on to ask about her ex’s line of work, she snapped and said, Don’t call him ex!! I hate that word. Besides, I don’t want to remember anymore.
Of course I didn’t poke my nose any further, and since then I’ve managed never to ask about her ex-boyfriend again.
However, just because I didn’t ask her about the guy, I hadn’t lost all my interest in him, her former partner. On the contrary, the very fact that I’d simply withdrawn at the drop of a hat should’ve been enough for her to suspect that my interest in the affair was genuine, that it remained alive and well with a single-minded focus.
We work in similar business circles, she and I. So I’m sure she must have been fully aware of the fact that I was capable of easily discovering the existence of another man in her
life.
And even though I expressly chose Kyoto as the destination of our first trip to make my point, to make insinuations that were for the most part venomous … Eriko was just relishing her food, appearing blissfully ignorant.
But I’m perfectly confident that she was fully aware.
I was sure that in her heart of hearts she was breaking out into a cold sweat at that moment, and come tomorrow morning, she’d take pity on me, for the state of mind I was in.
Eriko was tenderhearted like that.
The next day, we didn’t embark on a sightseeing tour around Kyoto. Instead, I rented a car from a company near the hotel and we headed for Hikone in Shiga Prefecture.
Hey, we’re not in Kyoto anymore! Eriko said in a perplexed tone once we reached the Yamashina area after leaving Kyoto city.
I’ve changed my mind. Let’s forget about Kyoto and see Hikone Castle instead.
Why?
Why? Well, there’s a chance you’ll get sentimental if we hang around in Kyoto. I really wouldn’t know what to do if you got sentimental. That’d be a problem.
I suddenly swerved the car, parked it at the shoulder of the road, and turned to face Eriko in the passenger seat.
And besides, it’d be awkward if you ran into your old lover, right?
She fell silent for a while and stared back at my face. You know, it did occur to me that you were up to something like that, she said, sighing. Wow! I guess you picked Kyoto on purpose after all. Why would you do such a thing? Why would you come up with a ruse like that? Why would you go to such lengths?
I slammed on the horn abruptly. Eriko was surprised, to say the least.
You never talk to me honestly about your ex, so I just thought I’d honestly let you know that I knew, okay?
What are you getting so worked up about? she said, laughing. I think nothing of that creep anymore and even if I did run into him I couldn’t care less really. Come to think of it he was a really dull and absurd man. I realize now how utterly foolish it was to have gone out with him. It was such a waste of my time.
I let go of the steering wheel and edged toward Eriko. She held me in her arms and calmly stroked my hair.
Don’t you think worrying about exes is entirely pointless? I for one am not the least bit interested about the women you dated before me.
I moved back to my original position and took a good look at Eriko again.
It’s not pointless. Not if your interest in a person is genuine, if it’s something that wells up from your heart. It’s only natural to want to know everything about that person’s past. If you’re telling me that you have no interest in my past relationships with women, well then, you’re practically saying that you’re not into me. That’s what I think!
Eriko beckoned, so I leaned my body toward her again. There, there, she said, laughing again. But then she said, Let’s say I ask about your past. You wouldn’t tell me a thing, would you?
Of course I wouldn’t!
So what are you getting mad at me for?
I straightened myself up again.
Look, you’re free to snoop without my permission.
Just like you snooped?
Precisely.
What good would that do? Do you want me to investigate and report what I dig up and then cross-examine you, interrogate you? Would that make you happy?
Look, it’s not about what happens or what doesn’t. It’s about the act itself; the very act of going to the lengths to investigate and examine. That’s what’s important.
But how can I even begin to investigate when you’ve never even taken me to your room?
She was sidestepping the issue, but this time it was my turn to sigh.
You’re such a tiresome person, she went on. But you know something? I’m willing to fully appreciate who you are to me: you’re my lover, the person who associates with me, the man who keeps me company. I’ve made up my mind to believe in my eyes, you see, to believe in what they see, she asserted flatly in her characteristic tone.
We crossed the Lake Biwa Bridge and arrived at Hikone before noon. In stark contrast to the day before, the sunlight was warm and the wind was blowing gently. We left the car in the parking lot of Hikone’s city hall and—after passing through the gateway beside the Gokoku Shrine and walking a path that ran alongside an inner moat—we entered the castle. The maple and ginkgo trees in the courtyard had already changed color. I led the way and turned left at the Tamon Tower to head for the site of the Umoreginoya ruins. The place used to be the palace where Naosuke, the fourteenth male heir to the House of Ii, spent his fifteen ill-fated years, from seventeen to thirty-two. It also served as one of the principal settings in Seiichi Funahashi’s novel, A Flamboyant Life.
Once we passed through the front gate with a large sign above it that read, The Imperial Family School of Naosuke Ii, we beheld a range of simple and elegant one-story houses. The place was terribly quiet, except for three or four tourists gazing over a bamboo fence into a room whose sliding fusuma paper doors and shoji screens were left open.
How marvelous! Only someone as honorable as Naosuke Ii could live in a place like this, Eriko said, impressed.
But I knew better and said, laughing, By the living standards of those days this amounts to nothing more than the mansion of a middle-class clansman.
There was a life-sized panel replica of Naosuke installed in the living room, and Eriko was enthusiastically reading the explanatory note attached to it. I was watching her from behind, wondering whether she had any real interest in subjects like the Treaty of Amity and Commerce or the Ansei Purge or the Sakuradamon Incident.
"Have you read A Flamboyant Life?" Eriko asked suddenly, turning around.
Yes I have, I answered.
My, you’re really well-read, aren’t you?
Not really.
What’s the story like?
Well, it hasn’t left much of an impression in my mind, but the protagonist, rather than being Naosuke, was this person named Suzen Nagano, his aide who was responsible for carrying out the Ansei Purge, the mass executions that took place in the Ansei period. The lives of these two revolve around Taka Murayama, a woman of unsurpassed beauty; in a way I suppose it was a novel about a love triangle.
How about that!
I then recalled my most favorite lines from A Flamboyant Life and recited them from memory.
There is an old saying, is there not, that says that there is nothing in this world more confusing to the human heart than carnal desire. The hermit of Kume loses his magical powers at the sight of the whiteness of the legs of a washerwoman; in the entwining net of a woman’s hair can often be found entangled even the mighty elephant; and by playing the flute made from the clogs worn by a woman, an autumnal deer is said to approach always. Verily, the woman herself is a thing of the evil spirit. The heart can rarely forgive.
Eriko was eyeing me, looking absolutely shocked. I wonder how your head works, really. I always wonder about that.
"It’s a scene where Kazusuke, the owner of an inn in Kyoto speaks his mind to Shuzen Nagano, who’s getting carried away by his lust for Taka Murayama. Put simply, he’s saying that a woman with the kind of hair you have
can even catch a whale with it, and if you hold those shoes you’re wearing at this moment and begin to bang them together repeatedly, you’ll probably attract panda bears as well."
Since I’d strained to pull this data from the library of my memory, I felt as if the core of my brain was worn out, but having mused on this passage for the first time in a long time, I was struck by the truthfulness of the words, by how remarkably they hit the bull’s-eye.
Woman, a diabolical spirit, an enchantress. Nothing seduces man more than the allure of sex …
Ichiro, the pro baseball player who got transferred to the Mariners a few years ago, had a falling-out with a mistress he was seeing during his time with the Orix, and when she ended up revealing his affair with her in a tell-all exposé in the magazines, the mistres
s in question said that Ichiro had aptly uttered something like, You can’t hold down a man with sex alone.
Reading the news story about the affair, I was deeply impressed, convinced that this genius, who had impeccable control over the baseball bat, had no control whatsoever over his own bat; that is, the one hanging down between his legs. But now I’m even more convinced that a beautiful woman can indeed be a thing of terror, just like Eriko must surely have been at that time, standing before me.
That reminds me, I had some drinks this Monday with the managing director of a certain publishing house with whom I co-represent a certain writer, and he’d said, Every morning I have to masturbate. I can’t come to the office if I don’t. It’s been like that for years now.
So you watch some porn videos or something while doing it? I asked him. Sometimes, he said. But I do it in bed when I’m about to wake up, losing myself in wild fancies of this and that nature.
This man was a managing director, but he was still thirty-eight. When I thought about ending up like him in another ten years, I felt slightly blue. Haruki Murakami’s novel Norwegian Wood came up, how the main character in the story also masturbates before going out on dates. It occurred to me that I masturbated on nights I didn’t sleep with Eriko, and in addition, on those days when I didn’t meet Tomomi or Onishi.
Still, for married men, it must be a major hassle to hide that habit from their wives. I wonder how they manage. As for the wives, if they’re in the house all the time they must be taking care of the urge by themselves whenever they like, and in some cases—in a desperate attempt to cope with the dissatisfaction of their faded married lives—become prostitutes or join one of those dating sites trending nowadays.
Why, just last week I came across an elderly man in his fifties who was driving the taxicab I hailed at Urawa Station—where I’d gone to collect a manuscript. He was repeatedly checking text messages on his cell phone. When I asked what he was doing, he said with pride, Well, two housewives, see. Both of them in their twenties. One’s twenty-four, the other’s twenty-six. They tell me they’re scared of young guys, so they’re happy to go out with me.
I said, Matchmaking site, eh? The success rate must suck though.
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