House of the Sleeping Beauties

by Yasunari Kawabata

  There had been his second visit, when, with that witch of a girl, he had come close to violating the rule of the house, and had pulled himself back in his astonishment at finding that she was a virgin. He had vowed then to observe the rule, to leave the sleeping beauties in peace. He had vowed to respect the old men’s secret. It did seem to be the case that all the girls of the house were virgins; and to what sort of solicitude did that attest? Was it the wish of the old men, a wish that approached the mournful? Eguchi thought he understood, and he also thought it foolish.

  But he was suspicious of the one tonight. He found it hard to believe that she was a virgin. Raising his chest to her shoulder, he looked into her face. It was not as well put together as her body. But it was more innocent than he would have expected. The nostrils were somewhat distended, and the bridge of the nose was low. The cheeks were broad and round. A widow’s peak came low over her forehead. The short eyebrows were heavy and regular.

  “Very pretty,” muttered old Eguchi, pressing his cheek to hers. It too was smooth and moist. Perhaps because his weight was heavy against her shoulder, she turned face up. Eguchi pulled away.

  He lay for a time with his eyes closed, for the girl’s scent was unusually strong. It is said that the sense of smell is the quickest to call up memories; but was this not too thick and sweet a smell? Eguchi thought of the milky smell of a baby. Even though the two were utterly different, were they not somehow basic to humanity? From ancient times old men had sought to use the scent given off by girls as an elixir of youth. The scent of the girl tonight could not have been called fragrant. Were he to violate the rule of the house, there would be an objectionably sharp and carnal smell. But was the fact that it came to him as objectionable a sign that Eguchi was already senile? Was not this sort of heavy, sharp smell the basis of human life? She seemed like a girl who could easily be made pregnant. Although she had been put to sleep, her physiological processes had not stopped, and she would awaken in the course of the next day. If she were to become pregnant, it would be quite without her knowledge. Suppose Eguchi, now sixty-seven, were to leave such a child behind. It was the body of woman that invited man into the lower circles of hell.

  She had been stripped of all defenses, for the sake of her aged guest, of the sad old man. She was naked, and she would not awaken. Eguchi felt a wave of pity for her. A thought came to him: the aged have death, and the young have love, and death comes once, and love comes over and over again. It was a thought for which he was unprepared, but it calmed him—not that he had been especially overwrought. From outside there came the faint rustle of sleet. The sound of the sea had faded away. Old Eguchi could see the great, dark sea, on which the sleet fell and melted. A wild bird like a great eagle flew skimming the waves, something in its mouth dripping blood. Was it not a human infant? It could not be. Perhaps it was the specter of human iniquity. He shook his head gently on the pillow and the specter went away.

  “Warm, warm,” said Eguchi.

  It was not only the electric blanket. She had thrown off the quilt, and her bosom, rich and wide but somewhat wanting in emphasis, was half exposed. The fair skin was slightly tinged in the light from the crimson velvet. Gazing at the handsome bosom, he traced the peaked hairline with his finger. She continued to breathe quietly and slowly. What sort of teeth would be behind the small lips? Taking the lower lip at its center he opened it slightly. Though not small in proportion to the size of her lips, her teeth were small all the same, and regularly ranged. He took away his hand. Her lips remained open. He could still see the tips of her teeth. He rubbed off some of the lipstick at his fingertips on the full earlobe, and the rest on the round neck. The scarcely visible smear of red was pleasant against the remarkably white skin.

  Yes, she would be a virgin. Having had doubts about the girl on his second night, and having been startled at his own baseness, he felt no impulse to investigate. What was it to him? Then, as he began to think that it indeed was something to him, he seemed to hear a derisive voice.

  “Is it some devil in there trying to laugh at me?”

  “Nothing as simple, I’m afraid. You’re making too much of your own sentimentality, and your dissatisfaction at not being able to die.”

  “I’m trying to think for old men who are sadder than I am.”

  “Scoundrel. Someone who puts the blame on others is not fit to be ranked with the scoundrels.”

  “Scoundrel? Very well, a scoundrel. But why is a virgin pure, and another woman not? I haven’t asked for virgins.”

  “That’s because you don’t know real senility. Don’t come to this place again. If by a chance in a million, a chance in a million, a girl were to open her eyes—aren’t you underestimating the shame?”

  Something like a self-interrogation passed through Eguchi’s mind; but of course it did not establish that only virgins were put to sleep in this house. Having visited it only four times, he was puzzled that all four girls should have been virgins. Was it the demand, the hope of the old men that they should be?

  If the girl should awaken—the thought had a strong pull. If she were to open her eyes, even in a daze, how intense would the shock be, of what sort would it be? She would probably not go on sleeping if, for instance, he were to cut her arm almost off or stab her in the chest or abdomen.

  “You’re depraved,” he muttered to himself.

  The impotence of the other old men was probably not very far off for Eguchi himself. Thoughts of atrocities rose in him: destroy this house, destroy his own life too, because the girl tonight was not what could have been called a regular-featured beauty, because he felt close to him a pretty girl with her broad bosom exposed. He felt something like contrition turned upon itself. And there was contrition too for a life that seemed likely to have a timid ending. He did not have the courage of his youngest daughter, with whom he had gone to see the camellia. He closed his eyes again.

  Two butterflies were sporting in low shrubbery along the stepping-stones of a garden. They disappeared in the shrubbery, they brushed against it, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. They flew slightly higher and danced lightly in and out, and another butterfly appeared from the leaves, and another. Two sets of mates, he thought—and then there were five, all whirling about together. Was it a fight? But butterflies appeared one after another from the shrubbery, and the garden was a dancing swarm of white butterflies, close to the ground. The down-swept branches of a maple waved in a wind that did not seem to exist. The twigs were delicate and, because the leaves were large, sensitive to the wind. The swarm of butterflies had so grown that it was like a field of white flowers. The maple leaves here had quite fallen. A few shriveled leaves might still be clinging to the branches, but tonight it was sleeting.

  Eguchi had forgotten the cold of the sleet. Was that dancing swarm of white butterflies brought by the ample white bosom of the girl, spread out here beside him? Was there something in the girl to quiet the bad impulses in an old man? He opened his eyes. He gazed at the small pink nipples. They were like a symbol of good. He put a cheek to them. The back of his eyelids seemed to warm. He wanted to leave his mark on the girl. If he were to violate the rule of the house, she would be in dismay when she awoke. He left on her breasts several marks the color of blood. He shivered.

  “You’ll be cold.” He pulled up the quilt. He drank down both of the tablets at his pillow. “A bit heavy in the lower parts.” He reached down and pulled her toward him.

  The next morning he was twice aroused by the woman of the house. The first time she rapped on the door.

  “It’s nine o’clock, sir.”

  “I’m getting up. I imagine it’s cold out there.”

  “I lit the stove early.”

  “What about the sleet?”

  “It’s cloudy, but the sleet has stopped.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve had your breakfast ready for some time.”

  “I see.” With this indifferent answer, he closed his eyes again. “A devil wi
ll be coming for you,” he said. He brought himself against the remarkable skin of the girl.

  In no more than ten minutes the woman had come again.

  “Sir!” This time she rapped sharply. “Are you back in bed?” Her voice too was sharp.

  “The door isn’t locked,” he said. The woman came in. Sluggishly, he pulled himself up. She helped him into his clothes. She even put on his socks, but her touch was unpleasant. In the next room the tea was, as always, good. As he sipped at it, she turned a cold, suspicious eye on him.

  “And how was she? Did you like her?”

  “Well enough, I suppose.”

  “That’s good. And did you have pleasant dreams?”

  “Dreams? None at all. I just slept. It’s been a long time since I slept so well.” He yawned openly. “I’m still not wide awake.”

  “I imagine you were tired last night.”

  “It was her fault. Does she come here often?”

  The woman looked down, her expression severe.

  “I have a special request,” he said. His manner was serious. “When I’ve finished breakfast, will you let me have some more sleeping medicine? I’ll pay extra. Not that I know when the girl will wake up.”

  “Completely out of the question.” The woman’s face had taken on a muddy pallor, and her shoulders were rigid. “You’re really going too far.”

  “Too far?” He tried to laugh, but the laugh refused to come.

  Perhaps suspecting that Eguchi had done something to the girl, she went hastily into the next room.

  5

  The new year came, the wild sea was of dead winter. On land there was little wind.

  “It was good of you to come on such a cold night.” At the house of the sleeping beauties, the woman opened the door.

  “That’s why I’ve come,” said old Eguchi. “To die on a night like this, with a young girl’s skin to warm him—that would be paradise for an old man.”

  “You say such pleasant things.”

  “An old man lives next door to death.”

  A stove was burning in the usual upstairs room. And as usual the tea was good.

  “I feel a draft.”

  “Oh?” She looked around. “There shouldn’t be any.”

  “Do we have a ghost with us?”

  She started and looked at him. Her face was white.

  “Give me another cup. A full one. Don’t cool it. Let me have it off the fire.”

  She did as ordered. “Have you heard something?” she asked in a cold voice.

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh? You heard and still you’ve come?” Sensing that Eguchi had heard, she had evidently decided not to hide the secret; but her expression was forbidding. “I shouldn’t, I know, after having brought you all this distance—but may I ask you to leave?”

  “I came with my eyes open.”

  She laughed. One could hear something diabolical in the laugh.

  “It was bound to happen. Winter is a dangerous time for old men. Maybe you should close down in winter.”

  She did not answer.

  “I don’t know what sort of old men come here, but if another dies and then another, you’ll be in trouble.”

  “Tell it to the man who owns the place. What have I done wrong?” Her face was ashen.

  “Oh, but you did do something wrong. It was still dark, and they took the body to an inn. I imagine you helped.”

  She clutched at her knees. “It was for his sake. For his good name.”

  “Good name? The dead have good names? But you’re right. It’s stupid, but I imagine things do have to be patched over. More for the sake of the family. Does the owner of this place have the inn too?”

  The woman did not answer.

  “I doubt if the newspapers would have had much to say, even if he did die beside a naked girl. If I’d been that old man, I think I’d have been happier left as I was.”

  “There would have been investigations, and the room itself is a little strange, you know, and the other gentlemen who are good enough to come here might have had questions asked. And then there are the girls.”

  “I imagine the girl would sleep on without knowing the old man had died. He might toss about a little, but I doubt if that would be enough to wake her up.”

  “But if we had left him here, then we’d have had to carry the girl out and hide her. And even then they’d have known that a woman had been with him.”

  “You’d take her away?”

  “And that would be too clear a crime.”

  “I don’t suppose she’d wake up just because an old man went cold beside her.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “So she didn’t even know he was dead.” How long after the old man died had the girl, put to sleep, lain warming the corpse? She had not known when the body was carried away.

  “My blood pressure is good and my heart is strong and you have nothing to worry about. But if it should happen to me, I must ask you not to carry me away. Leave me here beside her.”

  “Quite out of the question,” said the woman hastily. “I must ask you to leave if you insist upon saying such things.”

  “I’m joking.” He could not think that sudden death might be near.

  The newspaper notice of the funeral had but mentioned “sudden death.” The details had been whispered to Eguchi at the funeral by old Kiga. The cause of death had been heart failure.

  “It wasn’t the sort of inn for a company director to be found in,” said Kiga, “and there was another he often stayed at. And so people said that old Fukura must have died a happy death. Not of course that they know what really happened.”

  “Oh?”

  “A kind of euthanasia, you might say. But not the real thing. More painful. We were very close, and I guessed immediately, and went to investigate. But I haven’t told anyone. Not even the family knows. Do those notices in the newspapers amuse you?”

  There were two notices side by side, the first over the names of his wife and son, the other over that of his company.

  “Fukura was like this, you know.” Kiga’s gestures indicated a thick neck, a thick chest, and especially a large paunch. “You’d better be careful yourself.”

  “You needn’t worry about me.”

  “And they carried that huge body away in the night.”

  Who had carried him away? Someone in an automobile, no doubt. The picture was not a pleasant one.

  “They seem to have gotten away with it,” whispered old Kiga at the funeral, “but with this sort of thing going on, I doubt if that house will last long.”

  “Probably not.”

  Tonight, sensing that Eguchi knew of old Fukura’s death, the woman of the house made no attempt to hide the secret; but she was being careful.

  “And the girl really knew nothing about it?” Eguchi was unnecessarily persistent.

  “There would be no way for her to know. But he seems to have been in pain. There was a scratch from her neck over her breast. She of course did not know what had happened. ‘What a nasty old man,’ she said when she woke up the next morning.”

  “A nasty old man. Even in his last struggles.”

  “It was nothing you could call a wound, really. Just a welt with blood oozing out in places.”

  She now seemed prepared to tell him everything. He no longer wanted to hear. The victim was but an old man who had been meant to drop dead somewhere some day. Perhaps it had been a happy death. Eguchi’s imagination played with the picture of that huge body being carried to the hot spring inn.

  “The death of an old man is an ugly thing. I suppose you might think of it as rebirth in heaven—but I’m sure he went the other way.”

  She had no comment.

  “Do I know the girl who was with him?”

  “That I cannot tell you.”

  “I see.”

  “She will be on holiday till the welt goes away.”

  “Another cup of tea, please. I’m thirsty.”

  “Certainly.
I’ll change the leaves.”

  “You managed to keep it quiet. But don’t you suppose you’ll be closing down before long?”

  “Do you think so?” Her manner was calm. She did not look up from the tea. “The ghost should be coming out one of these nights.”

  “I’d like to have a good talk with it.”

  “And what about?”

  “About sad old men.”

  “I was joking.”

  He took a sip of tea.

  “Yes, of course. You were joking. But I have a ghost here inside me. You have one too.” He pointed at the woman with his right hand. “How did you know he was dead?”

  “I heard a strange groaning and came upstairs. His breathing and his pulse had stopped.”

  “And the girl didn’t know,” he said again.

  “We arrange things so nothing as minor as that will wake her.”

  “As minor as that? And she didn’t know when you carried the body out?”

  “No.”

  “So the girl is the awful one.”

  “Awful? What is awful about her? Stop this talk and go on into the other room. Have any of the other girls seemed awful?”

  “Maybe youth is awful for an old man.”

  “And what does that mean?” Smiling faintly, she got up, went to the cedar door, opened it a crack, and looked in. “Fast asleep. Here. Here.” She took the key from her obi. “I meant to tell you. There are two of them.”

  “Two?” Eguchi was startled. Perhaps the girls knew of the death of old Fukura.

  “You may go in whenever you’re ready.” The woman left.

  The curiosity and the shyness of his first visit had left him. Yet he pulled back as he opened the door.

  Was this also an apprentice? But she seemed wild and rough, quite unlike the “small girl” of the other night. The wildness made him almost forget about the death of old Fukura. It was the girl who had been put to sleep nearer the door. Perhaps because she was not used to such devices for the aged as electric blankets, or perhaps because her warmth kept the winter cold at a distance, she had pushed the bedding down to the pit of her stomach. She seemed to be lying with her legs spread wide. She lay face up, her arms flung out. The nipples were large and dark, and had a purplish cast. It was not a beautiful color in the light from the crimson velvet curtains. Nor could the skin of the neck and breasts have been called beautiful. Still it had a dark glow. There seemed to be a faint odor at the armpits.