Grotesque Read online

  I have said, haven’t I, that I preferred a nondescript life. But in truth that’s not quite correct. All I ever wanted was not to be compared to Yuriko. And since I was going to lose whatever competition we had, I decided to withdraw from the game altogether. I was very strongly aware of the fact that I lived to be Yuriko’s other side, her negative image. A person like me—a negative image—is profoundly sensitive to the existence of shadows in those who live in sunlight. Those radiant creatures carry their black thoughts furtively, not wanting others to see. But they get no sympathy from me. I am immediately aware of their blackness, having lived so long as a negative myself. Far from sympathizing, it would be more accurate to say that I survive off the dregs I manage to collect from the shadows cast by those who live in the sun.

  Kazue’s record of her life as a prostitute was so sad it gave me new will to go on living. The sadder she was, the more I resented her. I enjoyed her failures. Do you understand? And for the very same reason, Yuriko’s diary gave me nothing. Beneath it all, Yuriko was really a strong cunning woman. This much became obvious to me. She was absolutely hateful. And I had nothing I could use against her.

  I was imprisoned by Yuriko. I had no choice but to trail after her all my life as though I were her shadow. Zhang’s deposition, therefore, held no surprises for me. It was a tedious affair. That’s because Zhang, a villain through and through, did not possess even a mote of shadow. There are villains, you see, who live in the sunlight.

  Kazue’s journals were different. Zhang’s deposition may have been predictable, but not Kazue’s. The dissolute loneliness she depicted was awful. When I finished reading her words, I felt a change come over me—something I’d never felt before. Before I was even aware of it, I started to weep in sympathy. Me! I couldn’t hold back the tears as I thought about how completely alone Kazue had been: her outward appearance so grotesque she was like the Incredible Hulk. The reverberations that echoed through Kazue’s empty heart made my own heart tremble, paralyzing me so I couldn’t speak. I’ve never experienced an orgasm, but I wonder if this feeling was not similar?

  Her journals fill two large notebooks, one bound in brown leather, the other black. Each is lined with neat precise handwriting, reminding me very much of the notebooks she used to keep in high school. Kazue recorded the amount of money she received from her customers with absurd vigilance. She had a personality that was so honest, so meticulous, she could not bear to go without writing about the encounters she had. Kazue, the excellent student who only wanted to be praised for her intelligence, the nice girl who longed to be admired for her proper upbringing, the professional who aimed for a career at the top levels. Even at her best, Kazue was always somehow lacking—and here she had unintentionally revealed herself and her spirit in the pages of her journals.

  I suddenly recalled Mitsuru’s words: “You and I are the same. And Kazue too. We all had our hearts wrested away by an illusion. I wonder how it looked to others.” No, she was wrong. That’s wrong! I cried out in my heart. Don’t you see? “Hatred and confusion.” That’s what Yurio had said when he touched Kazue’s journals, and that’s what I held in my heart. It couldn’t be otherwise. I was a woman sensitive to the shadows in others. So where was the hatred and confusion in me? The dregs that I lived off were only what I gleaned from other people, their hatred and confusion. I was not like Kazue. I was not a grotesque monster.

  I swept Kazue’s journals off the tabletop. And in an effort to calm myself, I touched the ring on my left hand, the one Mitsuru had made fun of. It is the source of all my feelings. What’s that? Yes, I am contradicting myself. I did make fun of the classist nonsense at Q High School for Young Women. But at the same time I liked that society. Don’t you suppose everybody lives a contradiction in one form or another?

  “Is something wrong?”

  Yurio, sitting beside me, could sense that I was trembling. He put his hands on my shoulders. Such a sensitive boy. He covered my shoulders with his strong young hands. I could feel the heat from his palms sinking into my skin. I wondered if sex was like this. I nervously pressed my cheek to those hands. Yurio sensed the dampness of my tears and asked in alarm, “Aunt, are you crying? Was there something in those notebooks that upset you?”

  Alarmed, I pulled Yurio’s hands from my face.

  “They’re sad. And they contain a few items about your mother too. But I don’t want to tell you what they say.”

  “That’s because it describes hatred and confusion, right? But what? Tell me. I want to know. I want to know every single thing that’s written in those notebooks, from A to Z.”

  Why did Yurio want to know? I wondered. I gazed up at the boy’s beautiful eyes. His irises were brown with flecks of green, the most exquisite color I’d ever seen. They were like perfectly clear pools, reflecting nothing. And yet, Yurio was like me. He too was sensitive to the dark shadows that others cast, wasn’t he? If he were able to perceive instantly the darkness in others and turn it into something that he himself could enjoy, then I most definitely wanted to share the contents of the journals with him. I had so sated myself on the remains of all the others that my heart had begun to throb. I wanted to sully Yuriko and Kazue with the poison of words and fill Yurio’s ears with those words so that he might grow up with the truth. I wanted to leave behind my genes. It was the same as wanting to give birth, was it not, because if I were able to fill Yurio with the poisoned truth, then wasn’t it likely that he too—this beautiful boy—would become just like me?

  “Kazue’s journals depict an absolutely sublime struggle, the struggle between an individual and the rest of the world. Kazue lost the battle, ended up completely alone, and died hungry for some measure of kindness from another person. Don’t you think it’s a sad story?”

  Shock flashed in Yurio’s face. “Was it the same for my mother?”

  “It was. Yes, you’re right. You were born of a woman just like that.”

  I lied. Yuriko was far from being like Kazue. From the very start, Yuriko had never believed in the rest of the world—in other people. Yurio lowered his eyes, took his hands off my shoulders, and pressed them together as if he were praying.

  “Your mother was weak. She was worthless.”

  “It’s just so sad. If I’d been there, I could have helped her.”

  “How?”

  No one could have done anything, I thought. Besides, you were just a child, you couldn’t possibly have understood. I wanted to challenge Yurio’s idealism, but he continued with determination.

  “I don’t know what I would have done, but I would have done something. If she was lonely, I would have lived with her. I would have selected music for her and let her listen to it. And I would have made music for her that was even more beautiful. That way I would have helped to make her at least a little happier.”

  Yurio’s face glowed as if he’d thought of the most wonderful solution. I could not get over how beautiful he was, and how tender. His notions were childish and yet weren’t they particularly sweet? Was this a man’s true form? Before I was even aware of it, a new emotion began to bud within me: love. But that’s impossible. Yurio is your nephew! So? What’s wrong with that? I could hear the angel and the devil inside me doing battle.

  “You’re exactly right, Yurio-chan. Your aunt is too easily discouraged. I wonder why Yuriko didn’t take you in. I just can’t imagine.”

  “I was strong enough not to need my mother.”

  “Are you saying I’m weak?”

  Yurio pressed his hands to my shoulders and back, as though to understand how I was built. I trembled under his touch. It was an entirely new feeling. I was being evaluated by someone else. No, not evaluated. I was being experienced by another.

  “Aunt, I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re poor.”

  “Poor, you say? More like impoverished. There’s no doubt that I’m impoverished.”

  “No. What I mean is that your heart has grown thin. It’s a shame. It’s just as that woman