The Ruined Map

by Kōbō Abe

  “How would you expect me to have such power? Personally, I hope Mr. Nemuro will come back. But I don’t think I’m entitled to say so. Supposing, for the moment, I saw him somewhere. I don’t know whether I’d go up to him or not. I don’t know whether I could do that even if I wanted to. If I had the chance, I would like to talk to him with the understanding that I would say absolutely nothing to anyone. It’s natural, because I’m very interested in the case. He’s great! I could never do what he did.”

  “He didn’t do anything so great.”

  “Well, could you do what he did?”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve never yet been the head of a section.”

  “I couldn’t. That stupid business. I’d like to put the torch to it when I think how they prostitute valuable human lives for a business like that. But I suppose it’s the same no matter where you go. As long as you work there, somehow or other you’ve got to try and rise to head clerk, then section head, then department head. At least it’s just too miserable if you don’t do something. You get ahead of your fellow workers and dance attendance on your superiors. Even fellows who don’t have any hope for advancement try to pull the others down. They’re all mixed up together like so much fluff.”

  “Then, unexpectedly, a fellow who has sought shelter by disappearing from another world slips in among them.”

  My companion looked at me in surprise. Since he was trying to see me through glasses that had slipped down his nose, his face was somewhat elevated, and some hairs left by the razor stood out like thorns above his pointed Adam’s apple.

  “Yes, indeed,” he said, lowering his voice somewhat, as if relieved and expectant. “Look. So many people all the time walking somewhere. Each one has some goal. A fantastic number of goals. That’s why I like to sit here and watch. If you cling to trifles, you’re left behind. They all keep on walking like that without resting. Whatever would they do if they lost their goals and were put in the position of just watching others walk? Just thinking about it paralyzes my feet. Somehow it makes me feel lonely and miserable. I really know how lucky they are to be able to be walking, no matter how insignificant their goals may be.”

  Suddenly, quite out of context, I was skeptical as to why my client had not tried to go to the crematorium after her brother’s funeral. Even though the syndicate had taken charge of everything, she was the only blood relative, and it would have been natural for her to insist on going along. Or did she wish to avoid facing her brother’s death? I wondered. I could understand how she felt, though it was unnatural. Under the circumstances I felt not the slightest suspicion about that unnaturalness precisely because she had acted so naturally. Or wasn’t it probably that she had come to think of her beloved brother as dead, as nonexistent, even while he was alive? It made sense, if you assumed that her almost unconditional way of trusting him was a kind of mourning for the dead one. I also felt that I understood the reason why she had not shed a tear as she so agitatedly talked about her brother at the foot of the hill when they were carrying out the coffin. In the living room filled with whispers and idle thoughts, there was no need to be formal even if a dead man had joined the company. The same went for the missing husband as well …

  “It’s already a long time ago, but I once had a terrible experience that still makes me shudder,” continued Tashiro, his gaze flitting regularly between me and the outside. I had the feeling he was quite off his guard. “At the time, I was relaxing on a bench in some park. On the bench right next to mine a beggar was stretched out asleep. He was over three yards away. Since the day was terribly hot, I was obliged to put up with him for a little. Meanwhile, it occurred to me that things had got pretty noisy around me, and then a huge demonstration came along from somewhere with a lot of red flags and blue flags. Groups singing songs, groups shouting threateningly through loudspeakers, groups imitating double time, their arms linked, streamed endlessly by. Before I realized it, the beggar had arisen and was looking at them. Suddenly he burst out crying. His lips were all contorted, and he was shedding great tears as he clutched the front of his torn shirt, his shoulders heaving. Never before or since have I witnessed such mournful sobbing. He was weeping for the demonstration, of course. Since the day was hot and he was covered with dust, beggar that he was, the teardrops falling from his chin were pitch black, like dirty water wrung from a mop. You’re pretty far gone if you get sad and lonely just watching people walking by.”

  “Let’s go someplace else and have a drink, shall we? It’s on me.”

  “You don’t have to do that … really …”

  “That’s all right. Besides, I have two or three more things I’d like to ask about.”

  “Ah. You mean blackmailing retailers and that sort of thing?”

  “Where’s a good spot? Some place not very expensive … one that’s interesting.”

  “Then let’s go to the bar next door to the studio where Saeko is. The models on call spend their time drinking there while they wait. It’s not exactly regular, but the management’s in on it and they give a discount to customers waiting to be called. In any case, you’d like to meet Saeko, wouldn’t you?”

  “Are you a regular customer?”

  “Absolutely not. How much do you think my salary is?”

  FROM EVENING on, the cold was not so biting, perhaps because it had become cloudy. But the wind had ceased and apparently the fog was coming in; it was like looking through wet glass. The neon lights and the street lights fused, clinging together like cheap water-soaked gumdrops. The commercial main street was making preparations for closing, but the minute we turned into a side street we found ourselves in a section where the most animated hours of the day were just beginning. Coffee houses large and small, arcades with pinball machines, drinking stalls, eating stalls … and mixed in among them all, second-hand camera shops and book shops, shops with materials for Western clothes, and somewhat more elegant record shops. Last of all there was a whole block of nothing but bars and coffee houses and one pharmacy. We crossed another main street and there was a block of bars, small drinking stalls, and nightclubs. Buildings were sharply etched against the evening sky colored by the light of the neon tunnel behind us, but the sky where we were was strangely black, and men loitering in groups filled the street; gradually their contours began to fade. Beyond lay another block of brilliant neon, lighting a concentration of Turkish baths and ambiguous hotels. Just before them we turned left and entered a quiet alley behind a dilapidated movie theater. “When you think about it, the men walking around here so feverishly are like temporary missing persons. The difference being a few hours or a lifetime.”

  “It’s quite true. I was going to say exactly the same thing a moment ago in front of the pinball arcade. The mental attitude of someone playing pinball is the same as that of a person who disappears. God, that music’s annoying. Look. See that place over there just before the telephone pole, with the entrance at an angle and a little set in from the street? You can’t get in unaccompanied. I suppose people feel guilty because they’re playing the game of missing persons.”

  There was a door made of narrow strips of wood with a knocker and creaking hinges. The old-fashioned lighting made the shadows stand out. Besides the bar with high stools there were three tables—a very utilitarian atmosphere. But the unfriendly attitude of the bartender, shaking his leg as he stood behind the bar, went somewhat beyond the bounds of the practical. Leaving me seated on an uncomfortable bar stool, Tashiro went out the rear door to open negotiations with Saeko. He was strangely sure of himself for someone who wasn’t a regular customer.—“A double rye-and-water.” The bartender continued to jiggle his leg without answering, but his movements as he mixed the drink were agile and skilled. There were only two other customers, their heads close together, at the table near the entrance, and judging from the animated tone of the conversation, one of them was not a customer but a shopman involved in business negotiations. The drink was placed before me. The bartender, looking back over his s
houlder, turned the knob of the jukebox. At once ear-splitting, frenetic music began, shutting the rest of the bar off from me.

  “We’re in luck. They say she’ll be here right away. I’ll have a rye-and-water too,” Tashiro said, rubbing his hands with glee and laughing broadly. He took off his coat and clambered up on the stool next to mine.

  “While we’re waiting I’d like you to tell me something. About blackmail … Supposing for the moment some small fuel supplier was being shaken down … what could be the circumstances for blackmail?”

  “You have some actual case in mind? For instance, could Mr. Nemuro be involved in it, maybe?”

  “No. I swear it has absolutley nothing to do with Mr. Nemuro. It’s only a question based on an assumption. But any world has its underside, invisible to outsiders. Like the door you just passed through. If you didn’t know what it led to, you wouldn’t have any idea of what was inside. At this point, I have to know something about the circumstances. Maybe the blackmailers are swarming like cockroaches at the back door. What are the possibilities of blackmail? If we attack a case theoretically, we can frequently find its real nature in no time at all; it’s a method we use a lot.”

  “I’ve been thinking of a lot of things since I received your call. But they’re all specifics and not generalities. There are possibilities, but …”

  “Well, fine. Tell me.”

  “In the business world there are brokers who buy and sell rights to chain-store orders and blenders who water down gasoline. There’s a big difference in tax rates depending on the type of oil. It’s a thieves’ business where they make money on the difference in mixture. So even retailers, if they’re big enough and if they’re favored geographically, privately go in for blending. Or they actually overorder lamp and spindle oil for diluting and then sell the watered sales slips to the blenders. I wonder if it’s not something like that.”

  “We’re getting off the subject. Do you know Mr. Nemuro’s wife’s brother?”

  “Her brother? Well, I’ve met her two or three times, but …”

  “Somehow he gives you the impression of being a good-for-nothing. A broad-shouldered, lanky fellow. Did he ever visit Mr. Nemuro in the office?”

  “Well, that doesn’t give me much …”

  “Actually, he was killed last night.”

  “Killed?”

  “Moreover, barely a mile or two from the fuel supplier in F—Town.”

  “Why would such a man … we all lead different kinds of lives. I wonder if I’m the only one who knows nothing.”

  His suspicious, probing eyes, filled with amazement, opened wide behind his glasses; he seemed like an unsteady pot. He looked as though he would fall over with the slightest push. Apparently I could believe him. As for the brother’s blackmail, perhaps the objective was purely and simply to make money. If he had even the slightest connection with Dainen Enterprises this timid, suspicious office clerk would not have spoken, even inadvertently, of the possibility of black-market dealings.

  Suddenly a rather dry, businesslike voice broke in: “Sorry to keep you waiting.” It was a girl with a bad complexion and a prominent chin. She had on a long, loose, purplish-red gown with a dark blue border. Except for her long hair, there was nothing to suggest the girl in the photos. Bits and pieces of a girl have no connection at all with a complete woman. Except for the slightly upturned nose, the thick, stubborn lips, the traces of faded pimples on both cheeks, and the puffy eyelids that looked as if one could squeeze pus from them were rather too vulgar for commercial pictures. One would have to explain away the face by saying the photographer was interested in her back. All her various parts would do if you just took the face away. And as far as the face was concerned it might have been possible to turn her into another person by adding another expression and getting her to assume that cooperative pose.

  “It’s all right if you want to come back to my room.”

  “Let’s have a drink. It’s on me.” I drew a stool aside, opening a space between Tashiro and myself. “Would you like a beer … or something stronger?”

  “It won’t be any cheaper … time-wise. Is that all right?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Giving a derisive, nasal laugh, she climbed onto the bar stool; the front of her gown gaped open and her leg was bared to the fleshy part of her thigh. A beautiful leg, quite unexpected after the face and from the photos which had been distorted by the lens. It was a shapely, well-developed leg, which would have made one think of an athlete’s if it had not been so white. One could only say that his bias for backs, which had made him exclude even such legs, bordered on eccentricity. Doubtless a professional, she left her long naked leg uncovered, tapping in time to the music against the bar with the sandal hanging suspended from her toes.

  “Well then, bartender, watch the time. I guess I’ll have a gin fizz. I’ll restrain myself.”

  “You were especially recommended by a man named Nemuro.”

  “Oh? Who’s that?”

  “I think you know him. He showed me some pictures of you a while back. They covered you inch by inch.”

  “Someone who took pictures … that must be a customer on the outside. You probably know that we don’t let customers take pictures in the studio.”

  “Well, what do you do in the studio?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? They like to see me naked … but they only look.”

  “But the poses in those pictures were something. Terrific. They really got you.”

  “I’m different from the beginners. But recently I haven’t been going out. I am going to be married soon. If I go out all sorts of things happen … it’s bad for my fiancé.”

  “Congratulations. But if it’s true, there’ll be a lot of disappointed customers, won’t there?”

  The bartender, his face perfectly expressionless, placed the gin fizz in front of the girl. The surface of the drink, with the bursting bubbles, seemed like a deep lake spewing forth a white mist. Tashiro’s rye was already gone and he had popped the huge ice cube into his mouth. Perhaps he was listening to our conversation, perhaps not; he stared absently at nothing. It was as if he was gazing at a crowd of unfeeling pedestrians who passed him by and ignored him. I gulped down what remained in my glass and ordered another round. Nervously bracing himself, Tashiro looked at me.

  “Mr. Nemuro particularly will be one of those who are going to be disappointed,” he said, raising his voice above the record, but judging from the manner of his answer—he had not got the point at all—the music had made a wall unexpectedly thick, and apparently he had heard almost nothing of our conversation.

  “Shall I turn down the sound further?”

  “No. It’s fine. It’s best this way.”

  The girl smiled sarcastically. Placing both hands on the counter, she drew herself back and, raising her naked leg, crossed it in a large arc. Her thick gleaming thigh completely filled the space between the counter and the bar stool. Putting her weight on the arm that held the glass, she turned the upper part of her body toward me, reducing the distance separating us by half. “Is the customer you were talking about the man next to me?”

  “No. He’s not the one. But it doesn’t seem to be the first time here for him either. Do you remember him?”

  “I can’t remember the face of every single customer. The light’s right in my eyes and the customers are as black as crows at midnight.”

  “But Mr. Nemuro’s pictures were terrific,” I said, gently caressing the girl’s leg with my fingers. Seeing she put up no resistance, I boldly placed my palm on the curve of her large white thigh, while over her shoulder I could see Tashiro averting his gaze in confusion, clamping his lips on his second drink, which had just been brought, as if he could bite the glass. “Letting someone go so far in taking pictures of you is proof you were rather intimate, isn’t it?”

  “What sort of work does he do?”

  “He’s a section head.”

  “Office workers run out o
f money. My fee for working outside is high. In return, I do what the client wants.” Suddenly she finished off her gin fizz, which she had been sipping slowly and, holding up her glass, ordered a second without requesting permission. “But I’m going to be married in a little while. I want a big ceremony. My bridal gown is definitely not going to be a rented one. I’m going to put up all my friends at the most expensive hotel and have a party where everyone can drink as much as he wants, all night long, free.”

  “By ‘friends,’ you mean model friends? In that case, your fiancé must know about your work, doesn’t he?”

  “None of your business.” I seemed to have touched a sensitive spot; she peevishly brushed my hand away. “I don’t do this work for the fun of it or to show off. Of course, I’ve had my dreams too. But I wasn’t lucky. I’ll never take second place to anyone. If the others think they do better than I, let’s just compare bankbooks. Your purse is empty if you play the lady and do bathing-suit ads for discount houses. For my kind of work twenty-five or twenty-six is the peak, and after that the only thing left is what’s in your bankbook.”

  “Then you can look your fiancé in the face.”

  “It’s true. Nobody has to spend money on me. I’m the one who provides all the expenses for the ceremony and the down payment on an apartment. I’m not going to buy anyone to marry me.”

  “If that’s so, then those pictures are pretty valuable articles.”

  “What pictures, for heaven’s sake? You’re so secretive.”

  “The ones of only your back and buttocks. Don’t you remember? The fellow who specialized in backs and buttocks. The charming dimples about the cleavage in your buttocks. Look. This one.”

  Grasping a photo I had ready in my pocket, I held it in front of her eyes. Suddenly her expression changed and even her voice took on an uncompromising severity.

  “How can you know it’s me?”

  “Because I do.” Again I placed my hand on her thigh, absorbing her through my palm. “First of all, your hair, for instance.”