House of the Sleeping Beauties

by Yasunari Kawabata

  For Eguchi when he came to this house, there was nothing more beautiful than a young face in dreamless sleep. Might it be called the sweetest consolation to be found in this world? No woman, however beautiful, could conceal her age when she was asleep. And even when a woman was not beautiful she was at her best asleep. Or perhaps this house chose girls whose sleeping faces were particularly beautiful. He felt his life, his troubles over the years, fade away as he gazed at the small face. It would have been a happy night had he even now taken the tablets and gone off to sleep; but he lay quietly, his eyes closed. He did not want to sleep—for the girl, having made him remember the woman in Kobe, might bring other memories too.

  The thought that the young wife in Kobe, having welcomed her husband back after two years, had immediately become pregnant, and the intense feeling, as of the inevitable, that it had to be the case were not quick to leave Eguchi. It seemed to him that the affair had done nothing to sully the child the woman had carried. The pregnancy and the birth were a reality and a blessing. Young life was at work in the woman, telling him all the more of his age. But why had she quietly given herself to him, without resistance and without restraint? It was, he thought, something that had not happened before in all his near seventy years. There had been nothing in her of the whore or the profligate. He had less sense of guilt, indeed, than he now had in this house, beside the girl so strangely put to sleep. Still in bed, he had watched with pleasure and approval as the woman quietly hurried off to the small children awaiting her. Probably the last young woman in his life, she had become unforgettable, and he did not think that she would have forgotten him. Though the affair would remain a secret throughout their lives, leaving no deep cuts, he did not think that either of them would forget.

  But it was strange that this small girl in training as a “sleeping beauty” should have brought back the Kobe woman so vividly. He opened his eyes. He stroked her eyelashes gently. She frowned and turned away, and her lips parted. Her tongue shrank downwards, as if withdrawing into her lower jaw. There was a pleasing hollow down the precise center of the childlike tongue. He was tempted. He peered into the open mouth. If he were to throttle her, would there be spasms along the small tongue? He remembered how, long before, he had known a prostitute even younger than this girl. His own tastes were rather different, but she was the one who had been allotted to him by his host. She used her long, thin tongue. It was watery, and Eguchi was not pleased. From the town came sounds of drum and flute that made one’s heart beat faster. It seemed to be a festival night. The girl had almond eyes and a spirited face. She rushed ahead, despite the fact that she obviously had no interest in her customer.

  “The festival,” said Eguchi. “I imagine you’re in a hurry to get to the festival.”

  “Why, you’re exactly right. You’ve hit the nail on the head. I was on my way with a friend, and then I got called here.”

  “All right,” he said, avoiding the cold, watery tongue. “Be on your way again. The drums are coming from a shrine, I suppose.”

  “But the woman here will scold me.”

  “I’ll make excuses.”

  “You will? Really?”

  “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  She was not in the least afraid of men. There had been no suggestion of shame or fear. Her mind had been elsewhere. Scarcely putting herself in order, she hurried off to the festival. Eguchi smoked a cigarette and listened for a time to the drums and flutes and the hawkers at the night stalls.

  How old had he been? He could not remember, but even if he had been of an age that could send the girl off to the festival without regrets, he had not been the old man he was now. The girl tonight was perhaps two or three years older than the other, and her body was more a woman’s. The great difference was that she had been put to sleep and would not awaken. If festival drums were echoing tonight she would not hear them.

  Straining his ears, he thought he could hear a faint late-autumn wind blowing down over the hill behind the house. The warm breath from the girl’s small parted lips came to his face. The dim light from the crimson velvet curtains flowed down inside her mouth. It did not seem to him that this girl’s tongue would be like the other’s, cold and watery. The temptation was still strong. This girl was the first of the “sleeping beauties” who had shown him her tongue. The impulse toward a misdeed more exciting than putting his finger to her tongue flashed through him.

  But the misdeed did not take clear shape in Eguchi’s mind as cruelty and terror. What was the very worst thing a man could do to a woman? The affairs with the Kobe woman and the fourteen-year-old prostitute, for instance, were of but a moment in a long life, and they flowed away in a moment. To marry, to rear his daughters, these things were on the surface good; but to have had the long years in his power, to have controlled their lives, to have warped their natures even, these might be evil things. Perhaps, beguiled by custom and order, one’s sense of evil went numb.

  Lying beside a girl who had been put to sleep was doubtless evil. The evil would become clearer were he to kill her. It would be easy to strangle her, or to cover her nose and mouth. She was asleep with her mouth open, showing her childlike tongue. It was a tongue that seemed likely to curl around his finger, were he to touch it, like that of a babe at its mother’s breast. He put his hand to her jaw and upper lip and closed her mouth. When he took it away the mouth fell open again. In the lips parted in sleep, the old man saw youth.

  The fact of her being so very young may have caused the impulse to flash through him; but it seemed to him that among the old men who secretly came to this “house of the sleeping beauties,” there must be some who not only looked wistfully back to the vanished past but sought to forget the evil they had done through their lives. Old Kiga, who had introduced Eguchi to the house, had of course not revealed the secrets of the other guests. There were probably only a few of them. Eguchi could imagine that they were worldly successes. But among them must be some who had made their successes by wrongdoing and kept their gains by repeated wrongdoing. They would not be men at peace with themselves. They would be among the defeated, rather—victims of terror. In their hearts as they lay against the flesh of naked young girls put to sleep would be more than fear of approaching death and regret for their lost youth. There might also be remorse, and the turmoil so common in the families of the successful. They would have no Buddha before whom to kneel. The naked girl would know nothing, would not open her eyes, if one of the old men were to hold her tight in his arms, shed cold tears, even sob and wail. The old man need feel no shame, no damage to his pride. The regrets and the sadness could flow quite freely. And might not the “sleeping beauty” herself be a Buddha of sorts? And she was flesh and blood. Her young skin and scent might be forgiveness for the sad old men.

  Old Eguchi quietly closed his eyes as these thoughts came to him. It seemed a little strange that, among the three “sleeping beauties” he had been with, the one tonight, the smallest and youngest, quite inexperienced, should have called them up. He took her in his arms, enveloped her. Until then he had avoided touching her. Drained of strength, she did not resist. She was pathetically slight. She may have felt Eguchi even from the depths of sleep. She closed her mouth. Her hips, thrust forward, came against him roughly.

  What sort of life would she have, he wondered. Would it be a quiet and peaceful one, even though she achieved no great eminence? He hoped that she would find happiness for having given comfort to the old men here. He almost thought that, as in old legends, she was the incarnation of a Buddha. Were there not old stories in which prostitutes and courtesans were Buddhas incarnate?

  He took her loose hair lightly in his hand. He strove to quiet himself, seeking confession and repentance of his misdeeds; but it was the women in his past that floated into his mind. And what he remembered fondly had nothing to do with the length of his affairs with them, their beauty, their grace and intelligence. It had to do with such things as the remark the Kobe
woman had made: “I slept as if I were dead. I really slept as if I were dead.” It had to do with women who had lost themselves in his caresses, who had been frantic with pleasure. Was the pleasure less a matter of the depth of their affection than of their physical endowments? What would this girl be like when she was fully grown? He extended the arm that embraced her and stroked her back. But of course he had no way of knowing. When on his previous visit he had slept with the witchlike girl, he had asked himself how much of the depth and breadth of sex he had known in his sixty-seven years, and he had felt the thought as his own senility; and it was strange that the small girl tonight seemed to bring sex back from the past. He touched his lips gently to her closed lips. There was no taste. They were dry. The fact that there was no taste seemed to improve them. He might never see her again. By the time the small lips were damp with the taste of sex, Eguchi might already be dead. The thought did not sadden him. Leaving her mouth, his lips brushed against her eyebrows and eyelashes. She moved her head slightly. Her forehead came against his eyes. His eyes were closed, and he closed them tighter.

  Behind the closed eyes an endless succession of phantasms floated up and disappeared. Presently they began to take on a certain shape. A number of golden arrows flew near and passed on. At their tips were hyacinths of deep purple. At their tails were orchids of various colors. It seemed strange that at such speed the flowers did not fall. Eguchi opened his eyes. He had begun to doze off.

  He had not yet taken the sleeping tablets. He looked at his watch, beside them. It was twelve-thirty. He took them in his hand. But it seemed a pity to go to sleep tonight, when he felt none of the gloom and the loneliness of old age. The girl was breathing peacefully. Whatever she had taken or had an injection of, she seemed to be in no pain. Perhaps it was a very large dose of sleeping medicine, perhaps it was a light poison. Eguchi thought that he would like at least once to sink into such a deep sleep. Getting quietly out of bed, he went to the room next door. He pressed the button, thinking to demand of the woman the medicine the girl had been given. The bell rang on and on, informing him of the cold, inside and out. He was reluctant to ring too long, here in the secret house in the depths of the night. The region was a warm one, and withered leaves still clung to the branches; but, in a wind so faint that it was scarcely a wind at all, he could hear the rustle of fallen leaves in the garden. The waves against the cliff were gentle. The place was like a haunted house in the lonely quiet. He shivered. He had come out in a cotton kimono.

  Back in the secret room, the small girl’s cheeks were flushed. The electric blanket was turned low, but she was young. He warmed himself against her. Her back was arched in the warmth. Her feet were exposed.

  “You’ll catch cold,” said Eguchi. He felt the great difference in their ages. It would have been good to take the small girl inside him.

  “Did you hear me ring last night?” he asked as the woman of the house served him breakfast. “I wanted the medicine you gave her. I wanted to sleep like her.”

  “That’s not permitted. It’s dangerous for old people.”

  “You needn’t worry. I have a strong heart. And I wouldn’t have any regrets if I went.”

  “You’re asking a lot for someone who has only been here three times.”

  “What is the most you can get by with in this house?”

  She stared back at him, a faint smile on her lips.

  4

  The gray of the winter morning was by evening a cold drizzle. Inside the gate of the “house of the sleeping beauties,” Eguchi noticed that the drizzle had become sleet. The usual woman closed and locked the gate behind him. He saw white dots in the light pointed at his feet. There was only a scattering of them. They were soft, and melted as they hit the flagstones.

  “Be careful,” said the woman. “The stones are wet.” Holding an umbrella over him, she tried to take his hand. The forbidding warmth from the middle-aged hand seemed about to come through his glove.

  “I’m all right.” He shook her away. “I’m not so old yet that I need to be led by the hand.”

  “They’re slippery.” The fallen maple leaves had not been swept away. Some were withered and faded, but they glowed in the rain.

  “Do you have them coming here half paralyzed? Do you have to lead them and hold them up?”

  “You’re not to ask about the others.”

  “But the winter must be dangerous for them. What would you do if one of them had a stroke or a heart attack?”

  “That would be the end of things,” she said coldly. “It might be paradise for the gentleman, of course.”

  “You wouldn’t come through undamaged yourself.”

  “No.” Whatever there might have been in the woman’s past to account for such composure, there was no flicker of change in her expression.

  The upstairs room was as usual, save that the village of the maple leaves had been changed for a snow scene. It too was without doubt a reproduction.

  “You always give me such short notice,” she said as she made the usual good tea. “Didn’t you like any of the other three?”

  “I liked all three of them too well.”

  “Then you should let me know two or three days in advance which you want. You’re very promiscuous.”

  “Is it promiscuous, even with a sleeping girl? She doesn’t know a thing. It could be anyone.”

  “She may be asleep, but she’s still flesh and blood.”

  “Do they ever ask what sort of old man was with them?”

  “They are absolutely forbidden to. That’s the strict rule of the house. You needn’t worry.”

  “I believe you suggested it wouldn’t do to have a man too fond of one of your girls. Do you remember? We spoke about promiscuousness, and you said to me exactly what I said to you tonight. We’ve changed places. Very odd. Is the woman in you beginning to show through?”

  There was a sarcastic smile at the corners of her thin lips. “I would imagine that over the years you’ve made a great many women weep.”

  “What an idea!” Eguchi was caught off balance.

  “I think you protest too much.”

  “I wouldn’t be coming here if I were that kind of man. The old men who come here still have their attachments. But struggling and moaning won’t bring anything back.”

  “I wonder.” There still was no change in her expression.

  “I asked you last time. What is the worst they can get by with?”

  “Having the girl asleep, I should think.”

  “Can I have the same medicine?”

  “I believe I had to refuse you last time.”

  “What is the worst thing an old man can do?”

  “There are no bad things in this house.” She lowered her youthful voice, which seemed to impose itself upon him with a new force.

  “No bad things?”

  The woman’s dark eyes were calm. “Of course, if you were to try to strangle one of the girls, it would be like wrenching the arm of a baby.”

  The remark was distasteful. “She wouldn’t even wake up then?”

  “I think not.”

  “Made to order if you wanted to commit suicide and take someone with you.”

  “Please do, if you feel lonely about doing it by yourself.”

  “And when you’re too lonely even for suicide?”

  “I suppose there are such times for old people.” As always, her manner was calm. “Have you been drinking? You’re not making a great deal of sense.”

  “I’ve had something worse than liquor.”

  She glanced at him briefly. “The one tonight is very warm,” she said as if to make light of his words. “Just right for a cold night like this. Warm yourself with her.” And she went downstairs.

  Eguchi opened the door to the secret room. The sweet smell of woman was stronger than usual. The girl lay with her back to him. She was breathing heavily, though not quite snoring. She seemed to be a large girl. He could not be certain in the light from the crimson velvet
curtains, but her rich hair may have had a reddish cast. The skin from the full ears over the round neck was extraordinarily white. She seemed, as the woman had said, very warm, and yet she was not flushed.

  “Ah!” he cried out involuntarily as he slipped in behind her.

  She was indeed warm. Her skin was so smooth that it seemed to cling to him. From its moistness came the scent. He lay still for a time, his eyes closed. The girl too lay still. The flesh was rich at the hips and below. The warmth less sank into him than enveloped him. Her bosom was full, but the breasts seemed low and wide, and the nipples were remarkably small. The woman had spoken of strangulation. He remembered now and trembled at the thought, because of the girl’s skin. If he were to strangle her, what sort of scent would she give off? He forced upon himself a picture of the girl in the daytime, and, to subdue the temptation, he gave her an awkward gait. The excitement faded. But what was awkwardness in a walking girl? What were well-shaped legs? What, for a sixty-seven-year-old man with a girl who was probably for the one night only, were intelligence, culture, barbarity? He was but touching her. And, put to sleep, she knew nothing of the fact that an ugly old man was touching her. Nor would she know tomorrow. Was she a toy, a sacrifice? Old Eguchi had come to this house only four times, and yet the feeling that with each new visit there was a new numbness inside him was especially strong tonight.

  Was this girl also well trained? Perhaps because she had come to think nothing of the sad old men who were her guests, she did not respond to Eguchi’s touch. Any kind of inhumanity, given practice, becomes human. All the varieties of transgression are buried in the darkness of the world. But Eguchi was a little different from the other old men who frequented the house. Indeed he was very different. Old Kiga, who had introduced him, had been wrong when he thought Eguchi like the rest of them. Eguchi had not ceased to be a man. It might therefore be said that he did not feel the sorrow and happiness, the regrets and loneliness, as intensely as the others. It was not necessary for him that the girl remain asleep.