The Ten Loves of Nishino

by Hiromi Kawakami

  From time to time, I would crawl into a clay sewer pipe. Near a spot in the field where the grass grew especially dense, there were several weather-beaten clay sewer pipes. They were each at least a meter in diameter. The first time I saw them, I had thought, I bet it’s relaxing to crawl inside, and then I promptly crawled into one of them. I know I’m repeating myself, but I like to obey my curiosity.

  That Sunday too, I was inside a clay sewer pipe. I was sitting with my back leaning up against the curve, with a photo album I had brought with me open, gazing at the black and white photographs. I had climbed in further than usual, so it was dark. The page I had had open for a while showed a beach with dozens of cats. This photograph had the highest contrast between dark and light, and so it was easy to see, even in the murky twilight.

  At some point I must have fallen asleep.

  “Is that you, Misono?” Hearing this voice, I sat up with a start. Doing so, I bumped my head against the wall of the pipe.

  Yow! I cried out.

  Oh, sorry, said the voice of the speaker. Though I guess that makes us even, the voice went on. As I rubbed my head, I looked toward the opening where the speaker had stooped down and was trying to come inside. I could not see his face in the backlight. But I had a pretty good guess who it was.

  The speaker, his voice tidy and lacking any edge, was none other than Nishino.

  It’s really nice in here, isn’t it? Nishino said, from right beside me.

  The sun had almost completely set. My eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and I could clearly make out Nishino’s silhouette, but for him, having just crawled inside, it must have been practically pitch dark. As he groped his way along, Nishino came to lean up against the curve.

  I like clay sewer pipes too. I often spend my Sundays going around looking for them, Nishino said.

  You mean you’ve liked clay sewer pipes for a long time? I asked with surprise. You’re an oddball.

  We were right up beside each other. I could feel the warmth from Nishino’s body. Even with the two of us there, it was still very relaxing. Just like when I was alone. It didn’t feel like I was in there with a stranger. It reminded me a bit of when you’re in the midst of having sex.

  “Sorry about that, before,” Nishino said as he peered at my face. His eyes seemed quite well adjusted to the darkness. His fingers suddenly touched my bangs.

  “Before, what?”

  “For asking that strange question.”

  That strange question aside, I replied, what seemed weird to me was that you—someone I had never met before—would presume to know anything about my sex life.

  “I heard it from Minakawa.”

  Is that right? I said. Minakawa was the guy from last Monday. Or was it Tuesday? I couldn’t remember exactly. He was one of the two guys I knew who were in the economics department. I had always suspected Minakawa of being a little on the careless side, and it turned out I had been right.

  “But still, why did you seek me out to ask me that question for yourself?” I asked after a few moments of silence.

  “I wanted to know,” Nishino replied. His eyes were wide open. He wore the same expression as when he had first asked me that question.

  “What was it you wanted to know?”

  “How can you love someone?”

  What? I sputtered. Of all the things to ask, inside a clay sewer pipe! Only what might be the most important question in life. Just who was this guy?

  Amidst my surprise, I started to hiccup. My hiccups went on, several times fiercely, and then more softly, every few seconds, like a geyser.

  “They won’t stop,” Nishino said, holding back his laughter.

  “Nope, they won’t stop,” I replied, in between hiccups.

  “Shall we stop them?”

  No sooner had he said this than Nishino lifted my chin and brought his lips in close. His tongue probed deeply around the inside of my mouth.

  For the next few moments, Nishino tried this and that.

  “But they still haven’t stopped, have they?” I exclaimed, once Nishino let go of my face. Nishino puffed out his cheeks.

  I guess I’m no good after all, he said. I can’t even stop a single hiccup. His tone was terribly sad. At first I thought he was kidding, but on the contrary, he seemed to be speaking with unexpected seriousness.

  You’re too much, I laughed, as I tapped Nishino on his puffed-up cheeks.

  I realized that, just this moment, I had developed a tremendous curiosity about this guy.

  Wanna come over tonight? I asked swiftly.

  Sure, Nishino said. We crawled toward the opening. Once we were outside, we saw that it was completely dark. At some point, my hiccups had stopped without my noticing.

  Nishino and I did not have sex that day.

  I made dinner for Nishino. I cooked ham and eggs to go with the potatoes I had boiled earlier in the day. I also served miso soup with tofu. I may have unconsciously avoided sex since Sunday was, after all, my Sabbath day.

  Instead, I got to hear Nishino’s life story.

  I’m aware of how unusual it is to have this kind of conversation with a woman I’ve practically only just met, Nishino prefaced his story with this statement.

  “But we haven’t just met,” I said. Nishino nodded, opening his eyes wide.

  I know, he said. But as far as you’re concerned, Misono, you barely know me. It’s just that . . .

  Nishino broke off there and tilted his head.

  He’s a strange guy, I thought to myself. I was intrigued. Something about him didn’t add up.

  It’s just that, to me, it doesn’t feel as though we’ve just met. You seem close already, like an old friend I’ve known a long time, Nishino went on softly.

  What? I sputtered again. We might have shared something in the clay sewer pipe, but how can you just go off into your own world like that?

  Oh, I see, sorry, Nishino apologized in a mild tone. It’s just that you—Nozomi Misono—you bring up a lot of memories for me. I mean, it’s not you yourself who I remember, and you’re absolutely right that it’s all of a sudden. But still . . .

  And with that “But still . . . ” Nishino told me a story, the gist of which I’ll recount here.

  Nishino had had a sister, twelve years older than him.

  When Nishino was in elementary school, his sister got married.

  A few years later, his sister gave birth to a little girl.

  Six months after that, the little girl died suddenly of congenital heart disease.

  His sister’s marriage, which had never been a happy one, worsened.

  After the child’s death, his sister’s physical condition deteriorated.

  His sister had moved back to her parents’ home.

  Three years ago, the summer after the spring when Nishino had started high school, his sister killed herself.

  Ever since then, Nishino had been wracked with guilt and regret over all the things he couldn’t do for his sister, and had begun to suspect that he might have been in love with her.

  And I—Nozomi Misono—looked exactly like his sister.

  Is that so? I said cautiously, after listening to his story.

  I never would have imagined that, beneath the veneer of his unblemished skin and vigorously healthy musculature, Nishino harbored a secret like this story.

  Nishino relayed all this as he voraciously ate the ham and four sunny-side-up eggs that I had made at his request. Nishino seemed so frank and open about it, I found myself wondering if he might be joking.

  That must have been awful, I said with even more caution.

  Counseling services fell outside my area of specialty. It goes without saying that this applied to general matters of incest as well.

  Hey, so do you wanna, maybe, have sex?

  I had ventured thi
s question because, after telling his story, Nishino had seemed quite indifferent. So indifferent, in fact, that maybe I found it a bit disturbing.

  No, I can’t have sex with you, Misono. Not now, at least. Like I said, I’m still trying to figure out whether or not I wanted to sleep with my sister, Nishino replied with all seriousness.

  I’m not your sister. I thought about saying this to him, but I chose not to.

  Nishino had picked up an apple that was in a basket on the dining table, and he spun it around in his hands.

  Shall I peel the apple? I asked, and Nishino said yes.

  Um, it would be nice if you could make rabbit ears, Nishino went on. You know, peel the skin in the shape of floppy rabbit ears.

  Sure. Though I’ll probably mess them up, I replied. Nishino seemed to enjoy watching the knife in my hand.

  My sister used to make rabbits for me a lot, Nishino said with a laugh.

  Huh? I drew in my breath, and Nishino opened his eyes wide.

  No, I’m perfectly aware of what’s going on. I don’t have any suspicious intentions.

  I waited a beat, and then I replied with deliberate cheer, You know, the fact that you said that in the first place is suspicious.

  In that moment of comic relief after breaking the tension, I almost dropped the knife. I held the knife more tightly, trying not to let Nishino notice, and fashioned two rabbits, which I set down in front of Nishino. I peeled the remaining two pieces of apple the normal way, and ate those myself.

  For a while, the sound of us munching on the apple slices filled the room.

  But why? Nishino asked.

  Nishino had sex with me the next day, after all. Still saying something about how he couldn’t do it, “Not now, at least.”

  Nishino had been lingering in my apartment for too long, and I hadn’t managed to figure out how to drive him away, so I finally gave in and let him stay over. Despite the fact that I had previously decided that only Munakata was allowed to sleep over—figuring that since he had a wife and kid, he wouldn’t make it a habit.

  Nishino’s sex drive was as voracious as his appetite.

  Munakata liked to say that twenty-year-old guys were all at their peak and always good-to-go, but actually, there was tremendous variation among them. Some guys were like Nishino, keen to express their desire, while some didn’t seem to want much sex at all. But among this horde, Nishino’s sex drive was superior. Nishino’s sexual appetite had a certain tenacity that the others lacked.

  Having sexual tenacity doesn’t always translate into good sex, but having sex with Nishino was, in fact, good.

  This guy might really turn out to be somebody, I had thought idly to myself. But just what kind of somebody? I chuckled a bit at this interior monologue.

  What are you laughing about, Nishino asked.

  Nothing at all, I replied, but Nishino seemed discontent. In this regard, he was no different from every other guy.

  “Why do you have to sleep with so many guys, Nozomi?” Finally spent, Nishino had posed this question slowly, having pulled the quilt up under his chin and assumed an excellent position for dozing off.

  “You’re one to talk—how are things with Kanoko, dear?” I tossed the question back at him.

  Oh, right, Nishino said with a note of surprise. Now that you mention it, I guess maybe this could be considered two-timing.

  Don’t say stupid things, I replied, furrowing my brow. I might have laughed as well, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to smile. Because I knew that Nishino’s surprise had been genuine. Just this once, Nishino had completely forgotten about “Kanoko, dear.”

  “We’re not close enough to each other for this to be consider two-timing,” I said dismissively. “Kanoko, dear” weighed on my mind. I certainly didn’t hate her. No, it wasn’t her. If there was anyone I hated, it was likely to be Nishino.

  “But Nozomi, I wish I had more with you,” Nishino said.

  “If there was anything between us,” I said flatly.

  I had remembered Nishino’s question, How can you love someone? I cursed him in my mind—how could he ask that, when he was the one so easily capable of love?

  When he is so easily capable of anything, I thought. Right at that moment, I was sick of Nishino, him all neat and tidy. I was completely sick of his good sex too, for that matter. Get out of here, I was about to say. But I didn’t say it, of course. Because I knew very well that my frustration with Nishino was nothing more than frustration with my own self.

  Nishino was cool. But his coolness was lined with warmth. That’s what was difficult to reconcile. How was it any different from me, with my pretense of loving every guy I intended to have sex with, when it was more likely that I didn’t love any of them. I knew these things were one and the same.

  “Your sister would be sad,” I said.

  Nishino turned pale. Nozomi, you’re mean, he murmured.

  You’re right, I replied with a grin.

  Nishino got dressed and left. I didn’t hear from him for a long time after that.

  One by one, I replaced my sexual partners.

  Minakawa was out—having confirmed his carelessness, I was the one who put distance between us—then Kaneko graduated and we drifted apart. Munakata was busy with work, so Hakozaki, Taisho, and Nozue took their places. Once Nekoda and Minakata joined the lineup, I now had the highest-ever number of “boys I loved,” and by the time I started my fourth year, my roster was in good working order.

  I was forthright about having multiple lovers with some of my partners, but there were others who were uninformed—although they may have had their suspicions. The decision whether or not to tell each of them depended on their temperament and disposition.

  Among the ones I determined it was okay to tell, not a single one demonstrated a strong opposition to me dating anyone other than himself. Perhaps this indicated a lack of attachment to me on their part, or else an uninhibited and free-thinking spirit—I wasn’t sure which—but I could say, at the very least, that my ability to judge people was quite impressive. Though it might also be fair to say that Minakawa, who had disenchanted me with his carelessness, had been a slight miscalculation.

  I had been passing the days like this, without incident. I had practically forgotten about Nishino. Which is why I was surprised when I ran into him, about a year after that day when he and I had had sex.

  We bumped into each other in the unisex bathroom of an izakaya near our university.

  “Nozomi, I don’t know what it is, but I feel so empty,” Nishino said as soon as he saw me. The tone of his voice implied that we had just seen each other the day before.

  He was, as always, the kind of guy who was easily lost in his own world.

  “Do you really,” I replied coolly.

  Nishino was quite drunk. His breath reeked of alcohol.

  I’m such a lightweight, Nishino mumbled, and the next moment, without hesitation—I didn’t even have a chance to dodge him—he kissed me, right in front of the sink.

  “Quick, let’s make our getaway,” Nishino said, a string of saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth. It was silky and transparent.

  “No way,” I replied.

  “Well then, be my girlfriend instead.”

  “You say ‘instead,’ but isn’t running away together and being your girlfriend exactly the same thing?”

  I guess you’re right, Nishino said, opening his eyes wide. He thought about it for another moment.

  Ready to be done with this sloppy drunk and go back to my seat, I turned my back on Nishino. The instant I did so, to my surprise, he burst into audible sobs.

  “Waah,” Nishino cried.

  Nishino cried his heart out. It was not the typical crying of a male university student. It was more like that of a five-year-old child.

  “Nozomi, I’m so
sad,” Nishino stammered through his tears.

  You’ve got to stop, I muttered. But of course my words didn’t reach Nishino. He was too busy crying.

  “Tell me, how come this world is so relentless,” Nishino asked.

  Who knows, I replied. Those words too were lost on Nishino, drowned out by his sobs.

  “I can’t take it anymore, the relentlessness.”

  I know, I responded gently. I supposed it was the least I could do.

  “Nozomi, you’re going to be a scientist, aren’t you? So then, can’t you explain to me why this world is the way that it is?”

  I’m probably not going to be a scientist. I’m probably not good enough.

  “So then, the world will just keep on going, ceaselessly.”

  Yeah, I said. The world really is endless. But that’s because, in the beginning, there was the Big Bang, and ever since then, the universe has continued to expand, and there’s nothing we can do about it, right? I responded with seriousness, in an attempt to comfort Nishino.

  “The universe, you say it’s expanding?” Nishino asked, his eyes opening wide.

  That’s what I’ve been told.

  “So then, what’s on the other side of the expanding universe?”

  The other side?

  “Yeah. On the outermost edge of the expansion, further beyond, where it’s not yet the universe.”

  I was at a loss for words. This thought had never occurred to me. The thing that was in the empty space outside this universe? Was that a void? But could there really be a void on the other side of this universe? And just what did that mean anyway, a “void”?

  “There’s definitely nothing on the other side,” I replied, at last.

  There’s nothing on the other side. Nothing whatsoever. I faced Nishino with heartfelt solemnity. He would have been devastated unless I addressed him with the same level of gravity as if I were consoling an overwrought five-year-old child.

  I see. So you mean, the randomness is because there’s nothing on the other side? Nishino said quietly, after a slight pause. His voice finally sounded like his own. He wasn’t even crying anymore.