by Ryu Murakami
Kawashima exhaled deeply, unclenching his left hand and opening his eyes. Keeping them closed was no more defence against the images that accompanied the sparks than plugging his ears was against the voice from inside, the voice he heard echoing off the interior walls of his skin. Only voices and images from the external world could neutralise those from inside. That was why Kawashima’s greatest fear — far greater for him than the fear of death — was of losing his sight and hearing to some illness or accident. Cut off from actual sights and sounds, with the unchecked terror swelling inside him, he knew he’d go mad in no time. He looked at the girl, hoping she’d keep on talking.
‘Oh, that’s right,’ she said. ‘You’re hungry, aren’t you! I make really good soup. I mean, it’s just instant, but instant can be delicious if you know what to add.’
Chiaki was wondering what was wrong with the man. Had she offended him? She couldn’t think how. All she’d done was show him her new bandage, but he’d suddenly clammed up and closed his eyes and gone all pale in the face. The climate-control system kept the room at a pleasant temperature, but he was shivering. And he didn’t seem to notice that he’d been biting his lip so hard he’d left a mark and even drawn a little blood.
‘Like tonight, for example? I’m thinking I’ll use a package of cream consommé. Knorr makes a good one, but on a cold night like this, when you feel chilled to the bone, potage is better than consommé, don’t you think? You want something thick and hearty, right? So what I do is, I add a little curry powder, and milk of course, regular milk and also condensed milk, because it complements the sweetness of the corn? And besides, it’s more nutritious that way, right?’
Chiaki was glad to see that as she chattered away the man seemed to be listening closely, although there was something strangely vacant about the way he was nodding his head, focusing now on her bandaged thigh, now on her lips. The bandage must remind him of something, she thought. He’s probably thinking about what I did in his bathroom at the hotel.
Of course. What else could it be?
She knew she’d been bad, but what exactly had she done? Chiaki was never conscious of any pain when she was hurting herself, and never had much memory of the incidents afterwards. All she could recall of the incident earlier this evening were fragmentary images, but she decided to see if she could patch them together. She’d never tried that before, and didn’t really want to now but would do it for his sake. She remembered the way her thigh had looked, all chopped up and covered with blood. Now she had to retrieve the image of the man reacting to that. She concentrated on bringing the image into focus, and a field of little coloured dots of light separated and swirled and came back together and slowly began to set, like gelatine. The first image to resolve itself was the man standing by the bathroom door.
The door opens. The door opens. The bathroom door opens and this man is there. He’s standing there. Just standing there. And his face? His face looks. . scared. He looks so shocked, in fact, so horrified, that I can hardly keep from laughing. That must be it. He caught me being bad in the bathroom, and it scared him so much that just to think about it now makes the blood drain from his face.
‘I have two soup bowls I just bought,’ she said. ‘They’re Wedgwood, and I haven’t even tried them out yet. Don’t worry, it won’t take any time at all to make. I mean, all I have to do is boil the water and cut open the package and pour it in, and then basically just stir in the curry and milk.’
He got scared. Only natural, if you thought about it. After all, she’d been stabbing herself in the leg, right in front of him. How could she have forgotten that horrified look on his face, though? It must be because he didn’t run away, she decided. Yoshiaki had run away, and the guy she was seeing in junior college, Yutaka — he went off saying he was going to call an ambulance and never came back. Hisao tried to stop her and got a cut on his hand, and sure enough he left too. They all ran away. That was why whenever she woke up in the hospital she let herself fantasise that some mystery man had taken her there.
She knew it was just a fantasy, just something her mind had dreamed up. There never had been any such man, not really. There were lots of different men instead, men in white clothes and white helmets who would catch hold of her and give her a shot in the arm and load her into a white van. That was the reality. She knew the mystery man wasn’t real. . and yet she couldn’t help but wonder now. It just might be him, she thought. Because he didn’t run away, even though he was horrified. And even though I bit his hand he just kept whispering gentle words in my ear.
No one had ever treated her like that before.
There was something else, too, something important that she couldn’t quite recall. Another reason she’d thought he must be the mystery man. What was it? She reviewed the images from the bathroom one by one: the man’s horrified face, his gestures, his hands, his arms. What was she forgetting? It was something in the bathroom. Bath towels, soap, shampoo, handbag, blood on the floor, wastebasket, box of tissues, bidet, toilet, toilet paper. . Got it. The telephone.
‘Adding curry powder to soup is a different idea, don’t you think? Did you know that milk and curry go really well together? And sometimes they put corn in curry, right? You don’t want to use any meat or anything. But if you put in a little curry powder — just a little — it accentuates the sweetness of the corn and the milk. I bet you didn’t know that!’
He’d used the telephone in the bathroom. But the image of him standing there with his arms crossed, holding the phone, wasn’t the important thing. The important thing was what he was saying. And when she remembered what that was, she felt goose bumps rising on the insides of her arms.
He said my name. I’m with Chiaki right now, that’s what he said, my real name. That’s what made me think he knew all about me. It must be him after all. And he probably does know all about me, too. I bet he’s been watching me from afar. He didn’t know how to approach me, so he pretended to be a client and asked the office to send me to him, and then all that stuff happened and he was scared but even so he didn’t run away but stayed and helped me. That’s why it didn’t turn him on when I masturbated for him. He doesn’t like me doing things like that. I hated it when he asked me right at the beginning if I’d take off my clothes and let him tie me up, but he didn’t mean it, he wasn’t going to do any such thing to me. If he were just another S&M freak he wouldn’t have taken me to the hospital, and he never would have waited for me out in the freezing cold.
‘Tell the truth,’ she said, smiling at him.
Kawashima’s heartbeat quickened at her sudden change in tone.
‘What?’ he said.
‘The reason you sent for me. It wasn’t really for S&M play, right?’
He was aware of his own face freezing in an oddly lopsided expression. Chiaki noticed it too and thought: He’s embarrassed. He’s so surprised I guessed his secret he can’t even speak.
Why the hell would she say something like that, Kawashima was thinking. Why, after babbling on and on about curry-flavoured cream soup, would she suddenly hint that she’s read the notes and knows all? Was she taking pleasure in watching his reaction? How do you enjoy someone’s reaction when you know it could result in your own death? Had she told the doctor everything after all? Did the doctor call the cops, and were the cops surveilling them at this very moment?
‘About the hospital. .’ His voice was trembling a little.
Chiaki thought: He’s embarrassed, so he’s trying to change the subject. What a bashful person. He’s quiet, and he doesn’t like to talk about himself or ask people questions, and he’s so shy and bashful that he couldn’t find the nerve to approach me, so he pretended to be a client.
‘Didn’t the doctor say anything?’ he asked her.
‘About what?’
‘You know, how did you get the wound, or—’
‘I told him I fell off my bicycle.’
‘Your bicycle?’
‘Uh-huh. Bicycles nowadays, they hav
e all sorts of attachments and things sticking out all over? A thing to hold your water bottle, gear-shift levers, things like that. I mean, I’m not a cyclist or anything, but I read about this in one of those outdoors magazines? That a lot of people get cuts on their legs when they fall.’
‘So you told him you fell off a bicycle.’
‘I don’t think he believed me, but I guess he didn’t care.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There were a lot of patients waiting, and he looked really busy, so even though he probably knew it wasn’t a bicycle accident because of the other scars, I guess he couldn’t be bothered.’
‘The other scars?’ the man said, and Chiaki showed him the four long stripes on the inside of her left wrist.
‘I have a lot more on my leg, too, but you can’t see them because of the bandage.’
I should have known, Kawashima thought. She’s a chronic suicide case. Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? The scars on the wrist were right where the skin wrinkled, and her thigh had been covered with blood — but still, he should have recognised the signs. A chronic case, with a powerful drive to destroy herself. Maybe she wants me to kill her, he thought, staring at the scars on her wrist and feeling his heartbeat quicken again. Maybe she’s just waiting for me to pull out the knife.
The girl took his hand and stood up. She signalled with her eyes and a tilt of the head that she wanted him to follow, and led him across the room to the semi-double bed in the corner. She sat him down on the edge of the bed, then sat beside him, still holding his hand. Her moist eyes looked down at the scars on her wrist, and the corners of her mouth twisted upwards in a smile.
It must have been such a shock for him, Chiaki thought. She reached over and softly stroked the man’s hair. He’s not over it yet. And besides, he’s super-shy, so I’ll have to do the inviting. I need to let him know now, before even making the soup, that it’s OK to touch me, and kiss me, and have sex with me if he wants.
She could feel her libido squirming to life somewhere deep inside.
‘Isn’t there something you want to do to me?’ she said. The question made Kawashima dizzy. ‘You don’t have to be afraid.’
So it’s true, he thought. She read the notes and decided she’d found exactly the right person to help her die. That’s why she was all over him, clinging to him like a frightened child and luring him to her room, and now that she’d got him here she was just waiting for it to happen. But suicides like to leave a record of the act. For all he knew, there could be a video camera hidden somewhere in the room, taping them. Or she might have contacted a friend, an accomplice, who was training a telephoto lens on those glass doors at this very moment. Which would explain why she hadn’t closed the curtains.
‘Does it bother you that the curtains are open?’ Chiaki said when she saw the man staring at the glass doors. ‘I can see why you might want me to close them, but I don’t really want to, OK? I like to look at all the tall buildings. See the red lights blinking on top? That’s so aeroplanes and things don’t crash into them, but don’t you think they make the buildings look like they’re alive? Like they’re breathing or something? ’
Glancing from the cluster of skyscrapers in the distance back to the girl’s face, Kawashima began to feel a little sick to his stomach. She was wearing a smile, and her liquid eyes shone with the reflection of the bedside lamp. She’ll probably die wearing that same goofy simper on her face, he thought with disgust. He could see her covered in blood, ecstatically moaning More! More! as he slashed her neck and wrists and belly. He’d be nothing more than a tool for her.
What is with this guy, Chiaki was thinking. She was doing everything she could to help him relax, and all he did was tense up even more. Just how hard did he plan to make her work? Maybe he’d never even had a woman before. Maybe if I put his hand down there, she thought, he’d be so thrilled that blood would shoot out of his nose. I need to be patient, and lead him along gently. First I’ll tell him about my sex drive. Guys always seem to like it when I do that.
‘I’m the type of person that when I lose my sex drive? Sometimes? It makes me feel really insecure,’ she said. She turned back the corner of the duvet and placed Kawashima’s hand on the sheet. ‘Feel that. You can tell what it is, right? Silk. I bought these sheets two weeks ago. Run your hand over them. It’s nothing like the silk from Korea or Taiwan that you buy in department stores, right? Even cheap silk is smooth to the touch, but this is different. It’s like milk or something, only dry. Imagine me lying here, and you looking down at me, and these sheets getting wet with, well, all sorts of stuff. Just think what that could be like. You know, I’ve never let anyone else even sleep on these sheets before.’
Listening to the girl talk and studying her face, Kawashima began to feel a very specific old fear. The fear of feeling manipulated by outside forces. He remembered the terrifying story his mother used to tell him after a beating. He couldn’t have been more than four or five the first time, barely old enough to understand the words. But she told him the story many times in the years that followed, whenever her beatings failed to produce the desired tears.
You’re a weird kid, she’d say, and when you get older you’ll be a crazy person, a nutcase. I know because I had a classmate like that when I was a girl, and I visited him at the loony-bin once. He was in a narrow little room with no windows, and all he did all day long was stand with his ear pressed against the wall, listening to a voice only he could hear and laughing and crying. When he was in my class, whatever you asked this lunatic to do, he’d do the exact opposite. If you told him to shut up he’d start gibbering like mad, and if you told him to eat he’d clamp his mouth shut and grit his teeth and wouldn’t open up for anything. Obstinate and contrary, just like you. Wait and see — someday you’ll end up in a little cell with no windows, listening to the voice in the wall like that classmate of mine. He used to twist his neck to one side so he could press his ear against the wall, and finally he got so he couldn’t straighten it out and had to walk around with his chin touching his shoulder and only his ear facing forward.
In later years Kawashima had read up on mental illness. People like the one his mother had described were called schizophrenics. And one of the symptoms of a schizophrenic breakdown was the delusion that someone or something was manipulating you, making you say things or do things against your will.
I didn’t plan to kill her, officer. It was beyond my control. The girl started stabbing her own leg, and after that she begged me to kill her. She lay down naked on the bed, and when I planted the knife in her she was very happy and died smiling.
Imagine saying something like that, Kawashima thought. They’d put me in the nuthouse for sure. If anyone’s manipulating me, though, it isn’t this girl. She’s just a servant, a slave. Some random suicidal erotomaniac sent by whoever it is that wants me to go insane. I need her to squeal and weep and plead for her life — and look at her: sitting there with her eyes all misty, smiling like the masque of comedy as she imagines me stabbing her to death. She’s wet up to her eyeballs with lust and chatting away as if this were the happiest moment of her life.
‘Think about it,’ she said, moving his hand. ‘First you touch the sheets like this, and then, after that, you touch my skin.’ She put his hand on her left thigh, the one without the bandage. ‘Nobody’s ever done this before.’
And that’s the truth, she thought. Nobody else has ever touched these sheets — not Yoshiaki or Yutaka or Atsushi or Hisao or Kazuki or anybody. To be able to enjoy the feel of them and then the feel of my body, that’s a very special thing. And basically what I’m telling you, Mister, is that it’s OK for you to ejaculate all over my new sheets.
Ejaculate, she thought, and felt her smile drain away. I wonder what sort of face he’ll make when he comes. Will it be different from the others? How? Take it in your mouth. That’s what You-know-who used to say. But why do I have to remember him now? He made me take it in my mouth. We can’t have you getting
pregnant, Chiaki. You-know-who would make me take it in my mouth, and then right away the stuff would come out. But this man is different. Isn’t he? He helped me in the bathroom, and he waited for me in the cold. That’s why I thought I’d do whatever he wanted, let him have his way with me, even lick me down there if he wants to. He licks me, and then I take it in my mouth. Take it in my mouth. Then the stuff comes out. Maybe I’m falling in love. Because even when I bit his finger he didn’t do anything but kept whispering softly in my ear, and because he stood out in that freezing cold waiting for me. Falling in love with him. Because he didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything. Didn’t try to do anything. He’s different from You-know-who, completely different. You-know-who. Take it in your mouth. Take it in your mouth, Chiaki, take it in your mouth. Take it in your mouth.
The girl still had hold of Kawashima’s hand but had stopped sliding it up and down her thigh. She was about to say something, then clenched her jaw and seemed to swallow the words. Peering down at the hand that held his, she untwined her fingers and withdrew it. She raised her fingertips to her upper lip, as if smelling them, and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, and it looked as if she were whispering to her hand. When Kawashima gently removed his own hand from her thigh, she opened her eyes and glared at him.
