Grotesque Read online

  “Feet on the eighth beat; hands on the seventeenth.”

  One of the students was of slight build with a nicely symmetrical figure. She looked very agile. She danced with amazing precision, as if not even thinking of what she was doing. It seemed she had even greater agility in reserve.

  “That’s Mitsuru. She’s best in the school. She always wins. Everyone knows she’s aiming for medical school.”

  “And the other girl?”

  I pointed to a skinny girl who was moving jerkily like a puppet on a string. Her hair was thick and heavy, and the expression on her face and the way she moved her body made it look like she had reached the limits of her ability. She seemed to be in pain.

  “That’s Kazue Sat. She’s an outsider student. She wanted to join the cheerleading squad but was shot down. She made a real stink about it too.”

  The skinny girl looked over at us as if she had heard what Kijima said. When she saw me she froze. Applause welled up from the onlookers. Mitsuru had won.

  • 7 •

  I suspect there are lots of women who want to become prostitutes. Some see themselves as valued commodities and figure they ought to sell while the price is high. Others feel that sex has no intrinsic meaning in and of itself except for allowing individuals to feel the reality of their own bodies. A few women despise their existence and the insignificance of their meager lives and want to affirm themselves by controlling sex much as a man would. Then there are those who engage in violent, self-destructive behavior. And finally we have those who want to offer comfort. I suppose there are any number of women who find the meaning of their existence in similar ways. But I was different. I craved being desired by a man. I loved sex. I loved sex so much I wanted to screw as many men as I could. All I wanted were one-night stands. I had no interest in lasting relationships.

  I wonder why Kazue Sat became a prostitute. How strange that I met her last night for the first time in twenty years. And on a hotel-lined street in Maruyama-ch at that.

  I admit that when money got tight, I took to the streets on my own. I’d stand on the corner and call out to anyone passing by. But the streets along Shin–Okubo with their bars and clubs had been claimed for whores shipped in from Central America and Southeast Asia. The competition there was fierce. The area was cordoned off by an invisible line and if you happened accidentally to cross into their territory you were in for a beating. Police enforced the law in the Shinjuku area, and it wasn’t easy to get away with walking the streets there. Times were tough. I was on my own with no one to watch my back. And that’s how I ended up at Shibuya that night—in an area I had rarely trolled.

  I selected a street in front of a row of hotels near Shinsen Station and stood in the gloomy shadows on the corner in front of a statue of Jiz waiting for a man to come by. It was a cold night and a sharp wind was blowing from the north. I clutched at the collar of the red leather coat that I had pulled on over my silver ultra-minidress. I wore a thin slip under my dress and that was it. An outfit like this would allow me to get down to business without a lot of fuss, but it offered no protection from the cold. I took a drag of my cigarette and shivered, waiting.

  I had my sights set on a group of drunks on their way home from an end-of-year party when a skinny woman stumbled down the narrow road sandwiched between cheap hotels. She looked like she was being blown along by the wind. Her black hair hung down her back nearly to her waist and swung from side to side with each step she took. She’d cinched the belt tightly around her flimsy white trench coat. Her legs, swathed in cheap flesh-colored nylons, were so skinny they looked as if they might snap in two. What was most remarkable about the woman was her appallingly impoverished body. She was so thin as to be nearly one-dimensional, a skeleton covered in skin. Her makeup was applied so thickly I at first thought she was on her way home from a costume party, and then I wondered if perhaps she was crazy. Under the glare of the neon light I could see the heavy black of her eyeliner and her bright blue eye shadow. Her lips glittered a deep crimson. The woman raised her hand and waved to me.

  “Who gave you permission to stand there?”

  I was startled by her words.

  “Is it off limits?” I threw my cigarette down and crushed it with the toe of my white boot.

  “I didn’t say it was off limits.”

  The woman wore a strange expression. She spoke with such force that I worried she was with a yakuza gang. I looked around me to be sure. I saw no one else. The woman was staring at me.

  “Yuriko.” Her voice was so low and muffled it sounded like a curse. But there was no mistaking what she’d said.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Her features were distinct but nevertheless somewhat graceless. She looked like someone I knew but I couldn’t remember who, and it was driving me crazy. I stared at her carefully. Of all her features, her long thin horselike face was most prominent. Her skin was dry. Her teeth protruded. Her hands were like little bird claws. She was an ugly woman, a middle-aged woman not unlike myself.

  “Don’t you remember?”

  She laughed gaily. When she laughed the smell of stewed foods wafted up around her, a nostalgic smell. It lingered briefly in the cold winter air and then was snatched away by the northern wind.

  “Might we have met at a club somewhere?”

  “Guess again. My, you’ve grown old. Look at the lines on your face! And all that flab! I hardly recognized you at first.”

  I tried to remember the face I found behind the layers of makeup.

  “When we were young we were like night and day, you and me. But just look at us now: we’re not that different. I suppose you could say we’re the same—or we might even put you a peg or two lower. What I’d give to show you to your friends now!”

  The gloating words that spewed from her red mouth were tinged with bitterness. The black eyes beneath the layers of smeared eyeliner darted brightly. They resembled eyes that had glanced over at me one time long ago. Eyes that revealed—even as they tried to conceal—that their owner was at the end of her rope. I could tell that meeting me made the woman nervous by the way she sucked in her breath and chattered away. I realized that the disgusting-looking woman standing in front of me now was the student who had tried her hardest to keep up with the rhythm contest. Despite the years that had passed since then, I could still recall her name: Kazue Sat. She was in my older sister’s class. A strange girl who had had some interaction with my sister. Kazue had had a bizarre interest in me, following me around like some kind of stalker.

  “You’re Kazue Sat, aren’t you?”

  Kazue gave my back a sharp push. “You got it! I’m Kazue. It took you long enough. Now get out of here! This is my turf, you know. You can’t be picking up men here.”

  Her words were so unexpected they made me laugh bitterly. I repeated her own words. “Your turf?”

  “I’m a hooker.”

  Her words pulsed with pride. I was so taken aback to learn that Kazue was a streetwalker that I didn’t know what to say. Naturally, I thought I was special. Ever since I had reached the age of self-awareness I was convinced that I was different from other people. And I have to say the realization left me feeling somewhat superior.

  “Why you of all people?”

  “Well, why you?” Kazue shot back without hesitation.

  I stared at her long hair, unable to answer. I could tell at a glance it was a cheap wig. Men don’t go for women who try to turn tricks in wild getups. There was no way Kazue was going to get a good customer that way. But then, there weren’t many good customers heading my way either. Even though they said nothing, I could tell by their expressions that they weren’t interested in me. Quite a contrast from when I was young. Now we lived in a world where young amateurs played at being prostitutes. A professional like me or Kazue was practically worthless. Kazue was right: I was nothing like I was twenty years ago, and she and I weren’t much different.

  “Bu