by Amy Yamada
This book is being published within the Japanese Literature Publishing Program, managed by the Japan Association for Cultural Exchange on behalf of the Agency for Cultural Affairs of Japan.
BEDTIME EYES. Copyright © 2006 by Amy Yamada. English translation copyright ©
2006 byYumi Gunji and Marc Jardine. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
"Bedtime Eyes" ("Beddo taimu aizu") copyright © 1985 by Amy Yamada, originally published by Kawade Shobo Shinsha in Tokyo, Japan.
"The Piano Player's Fingers" ("Yubi to tawamura") and "Jesse" (" Jeshi no sebone") copyright © 1986 by Amy Yamada, originally published by Kawade Shobo Shinsha in Tokyo, Japan.
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Yamada, Amy, 1959-
[Beddo taimu aizu. English]
Bedtime eyes / by Amy Yamada; translated by Yumi Gunji and Marc Jardine.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-35226-3
EAN 978-0-312-35226-4
I. Gunji, Yumi. II. Jardine, Marc.
PL865.A489B43 2006
895.6"35—dc22
2005052041
First Edition: May 2006
1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
C O N T E N T S
Bedtime Eyes 1
The Piano Player's Fingers 65
Jesse 141
Spoon made me feel fantastic—by that I mean he made my S body feel good, but not my mind. He could make love to me, but no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't make love to him. I wanted to know what other people did in the same situation, so I asked my friend Maria, but she wouldn't tell me. I wanted someone to tell me what to do, to give me a list of instructions to follow.
It took me too long to realize that it was far more difficult to lick his wounds than to suck his cock. Now I wonder why I didn't start practic-ing earlier.
Even now his empty bottle of Brut aftershave and his vitamin-E
tablets (without which he swore he wouldn't be able to fuck) are on the counter of my bathroom sink. I can't bring myself to throw his stuff away, I can't even put it in one of the suitcases he left behind and hide it away in the back of the closet.
When Spoon ran away from the Yokosuka Naval Base, he packed all his things neatly and came to my place, bags in hand. He rang the doorbell politely before coming in, so it almost felt like I had a semiperma-nent houseguest staying with me. In one of his suitcases were twenty I 6 A M Y Y A M A D A
Hershey bars he'd brought for me, but I felt strangely uneasy; it didn't seem right to accept them all just for putting him up.
The first time I saw him was at a bar on the base. For some reason he was wearing a tuxedo with a bow tie, and he looked cooler than cool among all the other guys playing pool in their jeans or overalls.
While my boyfriend was wrapped up in his pool game, a dollar bill in his cueing hand as he played, I kept stealing glances at Spoon. I remember the glass he was drinking his bourbon and 7-Up from, glitter-ing gold, like honey dripping between his black fingers. Now when I see a glass like that it just reminds me of one of those little cups you get at the hospital for a urine sample.
His other hand was thrust deep into his trouser pocket and he seemed to be touching something. I could see from the way his hand was moving that he had long, bony fingers. He seemed to be gently caressing the lining of his pocket with his fingertips, and I blushed as I wondered how it would feel to have those same lustful fingers probing my slit, him still wearing that cool expression on his face.
The moment our eyes met, I felt as though he had read my mind, and I looked down at the floor. When I looked up again, he caught my gaze and motioned toward the door. I stood up like I was possessed, told my boyfriend I was going to the ladies' room, and left the game room.
Spoon was waiting for me right outside the door, both hands thrust in his pockets now, leaning against the wall and looking like some kind of small-time gangster.
He took me by the arm and led me to a door at the very corner of the building. The sign on the door read: KEEP OUT! It was the boiler room. Inside, it smelled old and dusty, and bare pipes were sticking out everywhere.
As soon as the door closed behind us, I was alone with Spoon, the two of us in that room together.
I opened my mouth to speak. I guess Spoon took it as a sign of ur--
B E D T I M E E Y E S
5 5
gency, of my desire for him. Or maybe he simply thought there was no need to talk, I don't know, but he just forced his tongue between my Hps and into my mouth. His tongue was alive with passion and clearly intent on overwhelming me.
I clawed desperately at his jacket and tore at his shirt buttons. I couldn't wait to have his scent on me. But there was no letup from his hands or his tongue, and I was so excited that I couldn't stop my hands from shaking long enough to undo the buttons. I finally gave up and ripped the shirt open.
The black skin of his chest was thickly covered with hair and he wore a gold chain around his neck.
I pressed my lips to his chest, tugging at his chest hair and enjoying the smell of his body. It was a familiar smell, one I recognized from long ago. It was both pungent and sweet, like cocoa butter. A strange smell came from under his arms, too. It was musty, not offensive, but at the same time not pleasant either. It was the kind of smell that made me aware of our primal attraction. Maybe it had the same effect that the musk of wild animals had on each other when in heat.
In contrast to my raw aggression, Spoon was quite gentle as he skillfully undressed me.
There wasn't enough room to lie down, so I stood with one leg raised high, my high-heeled foot braced against the wall, my tiny panties hanging like a handkerchief around my ankle. His black arm was twined around my leg, and the light sparkled off my anklet.
His dick wasn't the kind of disgusting, red cock that white men have, nor was it the pathetic, infantile thing of Japanese men, the kind that doesn't do a thing for you until it's inside you. With Japanese men, anyway, I always worry that I'm going to get myself tangled up in their pubic hair because it looks so much like seaweed floating on the surface of the sea.
With Spoon, maybe it was just that his pubic hair was the same color I 6
A M Y Y A M A D A
as his skin, but I was totally in awe of his dick. It was gorgeous, like a big chocolate bar, and as I stared at it excitedly I couldn't stop my mouth from watering.
We spoke only in gasps and sighs. I was too excited even to call out.
In the midst of this wonderful mixture of pleasure and pain, all I could do was cling tightly to his jacket. My hand brushed against his pocket and touched whatever it was he had been caressing at the end of the pool table. It seemed to be made of metal; a familiar, everyday object... but then my orgasm began to build and I lost all sense of what was going on around me.
I stared at him, still standing with one leg raised high against the wall.
He brushed the hair stuck to my sweaty forehead away from my eyes, and said, "From now on I'll probably feel like jerking off whenever I think of you."
It was kind of sad to think of him masturbating with a picture of me in his mind.
"What's your name?"
"Spoon."
I remembered the cold, hard object in his pocket, and the English phrase about children born into wealthy families: "born with a silver spoon in his mouth." Friends probably nicknamed him Spoon from a mixture of affection and derision for his comical habit.
Why would anyone born with a silver spoon i
n their mouth want to walk around with it in their pocket? It seemed so unfair that God would make someone like him, with such a wonderful body, so unsure of himself that he couldn't help overdressing and clinging to a spoon.
"You've been sad sometimes, haven't you?"
"No, I'm always happy."
I knew he was lying.
B E D T I M E E Y E S " J
"Come home with me," I said.
I wonder whether, at that time, I wanted to be a martyr or something. Perhaps I had some wacky idea that I could make him happy. But he soon put me right on that score.
"Put your leg down! Doesn't that make you tired? You've had it up there the whole time. If you want to fuck some more, let's do the second round between the sheets."
He winked at me the way only black guys can, one eyebrow slightly raised and his eye shut tight. It felt like a flame leaping between us. The feeling started in my mouth and settled down inside me, then gradually melted and spread, sweet and warm, throughout my whole body.
I aria kept pigs in her dressing room. There were lots of I them and they were all really fat. There were always a few I sprawled out on the tatami floor, their flabby, white legs spread wide, stuffing themselves with curry rice. Maria told me I shouldn't call them pigs, but the resemblance was striking. They were nothing like Maria at all. But I shut up about it when she told me to cut it out.
Maria walked around the dressing room in stylish slippers, wearing a black silk dressing gown. When she did her makeup, she would tie the sash around her waist, let the upper half of the dressing gown fall, and sit cross-legged, half-naked, in front of the mirror. The lining of the gown was scarlet.
"After I've done my spot, I'd like to go out for a drink. What about you, Kim? If you want to watch me onstage, go up to the lighting box and ask the guy in there to let you watch. Or would you rather wait here?"
"No, I'll watch."
Although I enjoyed being around Maria and the other Filipino dancers, chatting with them in English and swapping funny stories, I 10 AMY YAM ADA
felt out of place when I was alone with all those women dressed only in |
their underwear, half sitting, half kneeling, sprawled out on the floor. 1
Anyway, they were probably thinking I was out of place, too, just a kid.
Maria stubbed out a cigarette in her black ceramic ashtray and began |
to change into a long, white dress with a back slit running all the way |j up to her ass. I watched her from the corner of my eye as I moved to-1|
ward the dressing room door. As I waited for Maria's turn onstage, I began to get excited—like I was the one who was going on, not her.
Of all the women milling around in the dressing room, for me she was the only one who had the ability to create a really horny atmosphere onstage. She was the only one who could drive the men wild with lust.
Watching Maria onstage, swaying to the sound of blues music and spreading her legs, I was overwhelmed by the sheer presence of her pussy. Sometimes I sold mine cheap; the pitiful thing between my legs was nothing compared with Maria's—mine could never be art. Sometimes I wallowed in self-pity just thinking about it, but then I would remember the graffiti Spoon had sprayed on our bathroom wall: PUSSY IS
GOD!!!
Maria came back onstage wearing nothing but high heels and a soft hat. Her supple body writhing slowly, she began her masturbation routine. Her expression was one of ecstasy, but underneath she was completely cool. I wondered what it must be like to be able to perform like that in bed. Not to be absorbed in my own feelings, but to drive a man to ecstasy. I wanted to drive the cool look out of Spoon's eyes with my own private peep show. I wanted to perform just for him, and like Maria did onstage, I wanted to push him away when he came close to me. I started to get hot with anticipation, just thinking about the next time we would make love. But I was always the one to lose myself first, and I was always the one to cry out, "I want you!"
We were beginning to get too used to each other, me and Spoon. I was always left with a sense of sweet defeat after we made love. Watch-B E D T I M E E Y E S 5 5
ing Maria perform was similar to the way I used to study for exams in the days when I still had some small hope for the future. Each time I was sure that this time I was going to get a good grade. But for some reason I was always so nervous when I saw the exam that my hands would shake so badly I couldn't even hold a pencil. And then my confidence would take another blow when the graded tests were returned.
"Spoon? You've picked a guy with a strange name this time. Is that his nickname?"
We were sitting at a nearby bar. Maria took a cigarette from her gold cigarette case and lit up. She carried the cigarette case with her everywhere, filling it from a can of Peace cigarettes.
"Has he got a good body, this guy?"
I looked up at her nervously—she seemed to have read my mind.
She looked at me, smiling, from beneath the brim of the soft, black hat she used for her show.
"Are you going to ask me to make love to this one, too?"
I grimaced involuntarily. Which wasn't like me. Whenever I wanted a relationship with a man, I always asked her to get involved with him, too. I would have been too frightened otherwise. I'd run to her for help whenever I thought I'd found the real thing. I knew I was a bad girl, really bold, but I also knew I was a coward.
Maria always had the same quick response.
"Well, I can't."
But then she would add, "Of course, if you only need help in bed, that's no problem."
And so I would ask her to do it. It always gave me the sense of security I needed before I could love a man, but it also made me feel a little freaky to depend on her this way.
When she said it this time, though, my response surprised even me.
I 6 A M Y Y A M A D A
"Oh, my God! I've never seen you look at me like that before! Does this mean you won't be needing me this time?"
"I don't know. I'm confused. Usually whatever you say calms me down like some kind of tranquilizer, but for some reason I feel nervous '
this time. I don't know what's wrong...."
"Well, girl, something tells me this is different—you can't even imagine me going to bed with this one, can you?"
Sure, I could imagine it. I could imagine Spoon leaving bite marks .
all over another woman's body the same way he did with me. But then I felt hot tears rolling down my cheeks. I was crying!
Maria brushed away my tears with her finger.
"What's all this? Crying with jealousy over something that's only in your imagination? Aren't you the sweetest thing! Come on now, Kim, don't cry—it's just a waste of time. Nothing has actually happened, right? Listen, why don't you tell me about this guy, huh? I'm really interested. Hell, if he can do this to you . . . "
"He's run away from the navy."
"You mean he's UA? A deserter?"
I nodded. I knew it meant I would lose him someday. He would be taken away, put in jail on the base, and then sent back to the U.S. And if he was, would I follow him, go all the way to America for him? I couldn't say. But what if I did, and then waited for his release, what then? If he was just UA, it wasn't really such a big deal—he'd probably just get kicked out of the navy. Then he could get a job, get married and have kids, and settle down with a family. Damn! What was I thinking?
I couldn't imagine Spoon as a father! No way! How could his hands ever change from groping at my pussy to stroking a baby's head?!
"Jesus." I sighed.
"It seems to me like you've picked a guy with a lot of problems. He's a sailor, right? He's also a deserter. The next thing you know, he'll be living off of you."
B E D T I M E E Y E S 5 5
"Don't say that. He's nothing like that. He's not weak that way."
"Is he the kind of guy who makes you feel like he's a part of you?"
"Yeah. I don't know how, but he does."
"Well, you stop worrying about what might ha
ppen then. The reason I asked if you feel like he's a part of you is 'cause that's the most important thing. You should be thinking about how you can keep what you've got-—that'll put some sparkle back in your eyes."
I felt relieved. "Thanks, Maria. I love you."
"Who do you love the most? Me or Spoon?"
I was completely lost for words. For some reason I suddenly felt nervous. Maria raised her glass of gin to her lips and smiled. It was sort of a friendly little smile that didn't suit her beautiful face at all.
"I'm only joking! I just love to see the look on your face when you're confused."
She downed the gin in a single gulp, pulled on her black gloves, and stood up,
"Well, I'd better get ready for my next spot. So, anyway, you won't be needing any 'advice' from me this time, right?"
"I'm not sure . . . I might need—"
She just stood up, picked up the check, and left the bar. It was like she hadn't even heard me.
I was confused. My heart was pounding and I put my hand up to my chest to calm myself down. I had never felt so alone. It felt like the dice had been rolled and the game had already begun. But I'd never played a game as serious as this before. I picked one of Maria's cigarette stubs out of the ashtray, lit it, and inhaled hard. This brought on a violent fit of coughing; Maria's cigarettes were much stronger than what I was used to.
What the hell was going on? I was only living with him after all. ft was ridiculous to get so serious about it. Absolutely ridiculous.
I heard a key in the door and the sound of the lock turning. For the I first few days it had really bothered me. Until then, I had never I heard the sound of someone else unlocking the door while I was in the apartment. I just sat there, petrified, waiting for the door to open. It was such a relief when Spoon's big, black face appeared. He saw my frightened expression and looked puzzled.
"I'm not a monster," he told me seriously.
I realized just how much I loved him when he came out with things like that.
That day, he came in with a thick envelope full of papers. I was curious about what they were. The room was littered with sheet music—
