Touring the Land of the Dead (and Ninety-Nine Kisses)

by Maki Kashimada

  So, if he tried to kiss me, I might not be able to stop myself just with slapping him. No, I would kiss him back, I would give my whole body to him over and over again, I would give him more than he could possibly bear, and then I would cast him aside, just like that. I mean, wouldn’t that be so fitting? And then I would say: Sex? I’d do that with any man. I never once thought you were special. Yes, if only my sisters would do that. But they’re different. The three of them have really fallen for him, from the deepest depths of their hearts. Just thinking about it makes me so frustrated. It was like these New Women, born and raised in this neighborhood of mine, were about to end up getting stained by some outsider. Like they would cease to be my sisters who had hauled the mikoshi through the streets rather than riding docilely on top.

  * * *

  “Hey, Mom, what was it like having sex with Dad, before you broke up with him?” Moeko asked between sips of her Denki Bran.

  Mom was drinking a glass of Denki Bran as well. She turned red and let out a laugh.

  That night, my sisters and I all went with Mom to this cinema-themed jazz café, a place called Eigakan. Us sisters are all pretty big on the atmosphere here, the walls all covered with posters for films like Hiroshima mon amour and Last Year at Marienbad. Mom has always been a big fan of Alain Resnais, and when we were young, we would all watch videos of his films together. And so the five of us were practically regulars, and had been ever since I was a kid. Sitting in this jazz café, drinking Denki Bran.

  “Well, your father, you know, he wrote about it, the first time we did it, in his diary, and then, one day, I stumbled across it, and he’d written all this stuff about finding the delta zone, it was so funny!”

  We were all drunk, and immediately burst into laughter. Mom always talks about sex when she’s drunk. And we all keep giving her one glass after another, all the while showering her with questions to get her to keep on talking.

  “So, like, was it good, having sex with him?” Meiko asked.

  “Well, you know, he wasn’t exactly well-endowed, but his technique wasn’t half bad.”

  She was laughing along with the rest of us, but Yo¯ko still hadn’t asked anything, so I thought that I would take a turn.

  “Mom, how old would he have to be, a guy you’d want to have sex with? Younger than you?”

  “Ah, a young guy would be wonderful. I wouldn’t even mind if he were young enough to be my son. Yeah. A guy around your age would be nice.”

  At that moment, a deafening clang rang out.

  “The same age as Nanako? You mean, someone like Tamura?” Moeko asked.

  Right, I realized. If it were a classmate or someone like that, he would be around Tamura’s age.

  “Who’s Tamura?” Meiko asked.

  “One of Nanako’s college friends,” Yo¯ko answered. “I’ve seen them walking around town together every now and then.”

  “What kind of friend?” Mom asked.

  “He’s just a friend,” I said. “We aren’t dating or anything.”

  “You know, girls, I’m fine with you all having boyfriends, but you shouldn’t hang out with guys who want to take you to bed straight away, you know.”

  “I know,” I responded flatly.

  “But Mom, that kind of thinking is really old-fashioned, you know?” Meiko said. “If two people really love each other, they should be able to have sex whenever they feel like it. That’s what I think.”

  “That’s how all young people think. Believe me, I know. But you mustn’t give yourselves away like that.”

  Moeko turned toward Meiko. “Oh? Do you have someone in mind?” She was clearly thinking about S, but Meiko said nothing in reply.

  I was starting to feel embarrassed that someone might overhear us, and glanced furtively around the room. The barkeeper was standing in silence behind the counter, cooking up a Spanish omelet.

  “What do you think, Yo¯ko?” Moeko asked.

  “I don’t know,” was all she said.

  “By the way, they were showing Hiroshima mon amour at the Mad Hat,” I said, trying to change the subject.

  “Why?” Mom demanded. “I thought all they had was a TV? But I guess they do play videos of the Beatles every now and then . . .”

  “One of the regulars really wanted to see it, so they had a screening party.”

  “So did they all watch it?” Meiko asked, sipping at her Denki Bran.

  “Well, apart from that one guy, no one else was really bothering to pay attention. But you know that bathroom scene? Just before it started, one of the other regulars shouted out: ‘They’re getting it on!’”

  We all broke out into laughter.

  “I’ll bet you whoever said that doesn’t even know what it’s about,” Meiko chuckled.

  “Obviously,” I answered.

  “We’re probably the only people who would watch that movie together, as a family, don’t you think?” Moeko asked as she cut a piece from her omelet.

  “That’s right, you’re pretty weird, Mom,” Meiko said.

  “Do you think so?” Mom asked.

  We were all getting pretty excited by our dirty conversation. I felt vaguely relieved that no one had mentioned S. The dirtier the conversation, the more excited us women would all get. Which is why the next time we come here, the four of us will no doubt shower Mom with yet more Denki Bran.

  * * *

  I was watching TV with Moeko, idling away some free time, when we decided to go to the local bathhouse. We messed around like a couple of puppies as we changed out of our clothes, playing with each other’s breasts. Out of all my sisters, I like Moeko’s breasts the most. Meiko is too skinny, and her breasts are meager and swarthy. Yo¯ko’s are plump and nicely pale, but their areolas are too big. Moeko, though, is slim and fair-skinned, and her breasts are close to perfect circles, like steamed meat buns.

  Moeko had stripped stark naked, standing there unabashed without even covering herself with a towel.

  “Nakedness is nothing to be ashamed of,” Moeko said to me. “I mean, we’ve been coming to this bathhouse ever since we were kids, you know? We’ve all already seen everything there is to see.”

  When I thought about it, I couldn’t help but agree. The counter had been occupied by a woman whom we had nicknamed Mitchan for as long as any of us could remember. She knew. Even when our bodies started changing during puberty. I can remember it so clearly. That day, my nipples had gone really hard—they had hurt so much, like someone had gone and hit them with a hammer. “It means your breasts are going to get bigger from now on,” Moeko said to me. “When your nipples go hard like that, it means that your breasts are starting to swell.”

  “I know,” I answered.

  “You might end up big-chested before long, like Yo¯ko,” Moeko said, laughing.

  I was overjoyed when she said that to me. I was so happy that I had brought it up with her. I wonder why I chose her to confide in, not Meiko, not Yo¯ko, not Mom? The more I thought back on it, the more mysterious it now seemed.

  That was what was going through my head, when all of a sudden Moeko called out to a young boy who had come wandering into the women’s dressing room. On instinct, I covered myself with my towel. He looked like he was about ten years old and had come into the dressing room with his mother. I had instantly assumed that he had snuck inside hoping to catch a glimpse of our naked bodies, that he was old enough to be thinking about the opposite sex. And then, to my surprise, Moeko walked right up to him, without even trying to cover herself in the slightest.

  “Hey. You didn’t want to go into the men’s bath alone, did you?” she asked confidently.

  The boy didn’t respond. He looked instead as if he were completely overwhelmed by Moeko’s presence.

  “Can’t you talk?” she laughed.

  The boy remained silent, averting his gaze.

  “What a dull child,” she said, laughing again.

  How wonderful it would be if all women could be like Moeko! I wish that I c
ould be like her. This sister of mine, who even as a kid had never seen anything wrong with people from around the neighborhood looking at her body. This sister of mine, who was so proud of her physical beauty, without ever letting herself feel even the slightest hint of shame. Me though, I can’t stand this bathhouse. No sooner would I take off my clothes than my piano teacher might walk in, or a distant relative. Everyone can see me naked here, everyone can monitor my growth. And not just my body. Because when they see me, they always ask about my plans for the future. Moeko though, she’s unmoved, no matter what people ask her. She might not have graduated from a prestigious university or anything, she might have already passed the usual age of marriage, but still she doesn’t shy away, or try to hide anything, no matter whom she happens to bump into.

  When my breasts started to swell, I felt like I was filled with sin. But Moeko wiped that stain away for me. Just because your breasts have started getting bigger doesn’t mean you’ve become a woman. Those were the words that she used to wipe away my feelings of self-disgust. Maybe Moeko’s different. Maybe she’s never felt this way about womanhood. She’s probably the only person in this whole neighborhood who can act so freely. Even though everyone here is watching on with abject curiosity, all wondering to themselves when this girl or that girl, girls who aren’t their own daughters or family, will grow into women.

  Moeko soon lost interest in the boy, and we went into the bath.

  “Your nipples are such a beautiful color, you know,” I said.

  “People who have dark nipples, it’s because they touch them too much, don’t you think? It’s all that heat from the friction,” Moeko said.

  I broke out into laughter. What she was saying was just so strange.

  “Maybe it’s a man who’s been touching them,” I joked.

  * * *

  One afternoon, Meiko came home in a really good mood, carrying a freshly cooked taiyaki. She set the fish-shaped cake down on the table oh-so-carefully, humming to herself as she went to boil some water.

  “I’m making tea. Do you want some?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “Where did you get that?”

  “I was walking by that place, you know, Kasenke, the one that makes the golden taiyaki? S was there. He gave it to me.”

  “Oh?” I murmured curtly.

  I often went to Kasenke with Meiko, just the two of us. Out of all us sisters, Meiko is the biggest sweet-tooth. She would often buy things for me when I was a kid. She must have thought, since she liked sweet things, that everyone else must too. I wasn’t particularly fond of taiyaki, but I was so happy whenever she would buy me one.

  “Oh, I picked up this map outside the shop,” Meiko said, unfolding it and passing to me. It was a literature-themed map of the Shitamachi, pointing out where this or that famous author used to live around Bunkyo¯ Ward.

  Did S take one of those maps too? That’s what I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He had almost certainly taken one. After all, he had only just moved here, so of course he would want a map of the neighborhood.

  My sister, my beloved Meiko. Were all her memories of going to buy taiyaki with me being painted over by this new one, of this one time that she had been given one from S? Was he in love with her? Was that why he had given it to her? I don’t know. I just wish that he would stop, that he would stop acting like he’s hinting at something else. I mean, he might have just been seeing the sights. He might have just been in a good mood, having stumbled upon a local taiyaki store. But my sister, my dear sister—she’s in love with him, and now that he has gone and done this, she’s probably going to end up thinking that he’s in love with her too.

  Strange visions kept racing through my mind. Of my sister, her body stuck to mine. We were being pulled apart. Why did he have to be so nice to her? It isn’t like he’s in love with her or anything. I’m the one who has always been in love with her. So why does he have to go and do that, like he’s trying to hint at something more?

  Meiko, I thought we had agreed, as a family, that none of us would ever fall in love? After Dad left, Mom and us four sisters—we had all been doing so well as a family of women. Isn’t that the future that we were all looking forward to? Didn’t we promise each other that we would all go to the same neighborhood old people’s home?

  I turned toward her. I want her so badly. I remembered us often getting into the same bed together, naked. When I told Tamura about it, he called me a pervert. Your love for her is sexual, he said. But he’s wrong. I’m not lusting after some stranger I barely know. I mean, she’s my sister. They’re all my sisters. We were all one body to begin with. But then we were born, cut away from each other one by one. That’s why I want him to stop, this S—to stop planting these seeds of love inside them. We don’t need all that. But the visions kept racing through my head. I was teasing Meiko, sexually. Not by penetrating her with a penis or anything, but by whispering in her ear, filling her up with a poem that I had written to embarrass her. So Meiko, you don’t need a man. In this community, this body just of women, any one of us can play that role. I wouldn’t even mind playing it all the time. Because I don’t need sexual pleasure. Because I’m not interested in that. It would be enough for me just to give you all pleasure. You see, we’re all one person. So long as one of us sisters played the role of the man, it would be all self-contained. We ought to be able to do that. We’re a perfect whole. Like Adam before Eve. Or like a hermaphrodite.

  When I came back to my senses, I realized that Meiko had taken a bite out of that taiyaki as she waited for the water to boil. If I had been my usual self, I would have wanted to put that taiyaki that had been in her mouth between my own lips. But not now, not something that S had given her.

  * * *

  I went shopping one evening, to the Yanaka Ginza, when I saw Yo¯ko and S sitting on the steps at the end of the street where you can see the sun setting over the town, smoking together. I should have just called out to her, to my beloved sister, like I normally would. But instead, and I don’t really know why, the moment I saw them, I went and hid.

  Yo¯ko was petting a stray cat. I knew that she didn’t have any real interest in animals. Normally, if us sisters were to go out for a walk and happened to see a dog, Yo¯ko wouldn’t want to pet it. Not at all. But S, he didn’t know that. He didn’t have the faintest clue. He just sat there, watching her pet that stray cat so joyfully, watching her with that content little smile of his. Did he like women who were fond of animals? I don’t know. But that must have been what Yo¯ko was thinking. She was quizzing out what made him tick.

  She had decided that he was the kind of guy who likes women who dote on animals, that was why she was playing with the stray cat. Even though she didn’t really like it herself. It was a calculated move. She had no taste for cats, but even so, she was willing to act as if she did in front of him. If another woman were to see her, they would probably be disgusted. But Yo¯ko doesn’t care what other women think of her, whether they’re put off by what she does. She doesn’t let things like that bother her. She doesn’t think that there’s anything wrong with her actions. For her, it was nothing more serious than petty fraud. She isn’t particularly feminine, but she was willing to act feminine in front of this guy. Playing hard-to-get, pretending to be aloof. The loveliness of a peach-colored handkerchief, makeup applied so lightly that men wouldn’t notice it. My sister was laying her traps, one after the next, all in an effort to make this man her own. My sister, chatting with S, sitting there smoking with him, pretending to act cool. That must be it, that’s the kind of woman that he likes. Yo¯ko had worked him out, right down to the smallest detail, and was busy now reeling him in.

  I tried to ask her about it once: How do you do it, how do you see through all these men, how do you know how to act to get them interested? And she responded, with a completely expressionless face: How do I get them interested? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  Liar. You lied to me. You can see
through them, through all these men, you know how to draw them in. I can see through you, Yo¯ko, I can see through all my sisters, just like you can see through all these men. That’s what I wanted to say. But by the look of things, no one else in my family understood her the way I do. They don’t know exactly why, but they know that men like her. And they haven’t realized anything deeper than that.

  My other sisters have a complex about this. Especially now that S has popped up. Why is it only Yo¯ko who gets all the guys? Meiko asked with a troubled look. These men, all they ever talk about is Yo¯ko this, Yo¯ko that, Moeko said bitterly. They must have both thought that all women needed to be as popular as Yo¯ko.

  I’m the only one who knows just how much effort she puts into it, into getting guys to like her. I’m the only one who can see through that seemingly carefree attitude of hers. I felt like I could do something cruel to her, holding onto her secrets like that. I could take all her secrets, bit by bit, filing them all away—and then, one day, maybe I would expose her in front of the whole family. I kept trying to imagine what would happen. But then, her reaction probably wouldn’t be as straightforward as my other sisters. If I exposed Meiko’s darkest secrets, she would just end up breaking down into tears. And if it were Moeko, she would see straight through what I was doing and get angry right back at me. But Yo¯ko, if it were Yo¯ko . . . For some reason, picturing how she would react made me feel better. She would probably feign ignorance. You think I’m trying to get men to like me? I don’t know how to do that. If there’s a way, I’d love to know it. She would probably just say something like that.