The Ten Loves of Nishino

by Hiromi Kawakami

  “Why the frog, when there are others like the prince and princess?” Yukihiko asked.

  “I just think it’s the frog for me, for whatever reason.”

  “Hmm.”

  Yukihiko left it at that. Then we saw a film (it was filled with action and tears and had a happy ending—those were Yukihiko’s favorite), drank some tea, wandered around, and when evening came, we ate some curry (Yukihiko said that he could eat curry morning, noon, and night, for days on end) and drank some beer. But the whole time, Yukihiko seemed preoccupied by something.

  “That question before, I asked it wrong,” Yukihiko said, all of a sudden. He had finished his curry, and had just ordered some spicy chicken, a salad with hard-boiled egg, and more beer.

  “Instead of ‘why the frog,’ I should have asked, why a mechanical doll? Whether it’s the frog or the princess or the prince—it doesn’t really matter.”

  I stammered a non-reply. I had already forgotten why I had said that I wanted to be the frog on the marionette clock. But Yukihiko was looking at me so earnestly, I desperately tried to remember.

  “Uh, well, a mechanical doll spends most of the time standing there in the dark, right?” I began tentatively.

  “Uh-huh.” Yukihiko nodded gravely.

  “And then, they come out once an hour, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Let’s see . . . when they come out, they dance and sing merrily, you know?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And then they go back to the dark, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “They repeat this, forever and ever—until they break down.”

  Yukihiko nodded again in reply, but with a slight frown. He picked up a piece of the spicy chicken that had arrived, and bit into it.

  “That’s all.”

  Uh-huh, Yukihiko said. He gnawed on the chicken, without saying anything else. Then he ate almost all of the egg out of the salad (when it came to eggs, whether they were hard-boiled, scrambled, fried, in an omelette, sunny-side up, or raw—Yukihiko liked them all). He drained the last of his beer. His cheeks flushed and he frowned again as he said, “I’m done for.”

  Yukihiko was now in love with me.

  I knew at that moment. With absolute clarity.

  “You’re done for what?” I asked, but Yukihiko didn’t answer me. What could he have said? Up until that point, Yukihiko had never really been in love with a girl. Yukihiko the fearful.

  Despite how graciously he treated women. Despite how savage he could be. Yukihiko was always afraid.

  Of what?

  Perhaps of everything related to the words “forever” and “ever.” Perhaps of the faint scent that a person gave off in the warmth of her breath. Perhaps even of the fragrant dew that came from the sky or the ground or running water.

  For Yukihiko, these kinds of things were to be feared, as were the women associated with them, and he certainly hadn’t fallen in love with any of them. It wasn’t that he tried so hard not to fall in love—rather it was perfectly natural for him not to feel love. He wasn’t capable of it.

  But now, he was in love with me.

  “Shall we go?” Yukihiko said quietly. Two pieces of spicy chicken remained on the plate, and the red leaf lettuce, mushrooms, arugula, and walnuts were still in the salad, but Yukihiko left it all as he quickly stood up. He paid at the register, took me to the nearest station, and then walked off. Into the night. Into the dark streets. Into the hard, unforgiving air (air so brittle that Yukihiko would need to be as serene as ever to maintain his calm).

  How long would Yukihiko’s inclination toward me last?

  “I hate it when you’re not around, Manami,” Yukihiko said. He seemed not at all happy. Genuinely troubled.

  “I’ll always be by your side,” I replied.

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Well, if you’re splitting hairs . . . ”

  “Manami, you’ll never age?”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “Manami, you won’t gain or lose weight?”

  “No doubt I’ll get fat. Over the next ten years.”

  “Manami, you’ll always accept me as I am?”

  “I’m not the Virgin Mary, am I?”

  “Manami, will you always have sex with me?”

  “Depending on the time and the place.”

  “When you say ‘time and place,’ you mean that it won’t always be OK?”

  “Because there are various times and places.”

  “Manami, will you get sick of me?”

  “Come, now.”

  “Maybe I’ll get sick of you?”

  Shut up, I said, flinging a cushion at Yukihiko. Sometimes I pushed him down. Or got up to make tea.

  The truth was, Yukihiko had become terribly annoying. Some of the time. While he inclined himself towards me.

  “I wonder if I’m in love with you,” Yukihiko would ask me.

  “Figure it out yourself.”

  “I get scared when I think about it on my own.”

  There had always been something awkward about Yukihiko. Despite how slick his actions, his words, his movements were. Despite how smooth and flawless he could be. There was something about Yukihiko, something about his being that had been awkward.

  “I’ve been awkward since birth,” Yukihiko sighed.

  “Since birth?”

  “Yes, since birth. Part of my brain, or some other part of me—my kidneys or my liver—must be artificial.”

  Is that true? I asked, and Yukihiko nodded deeply.

  “My mother and father and my older sister—they surrounded me with love. It was too much—they spoiled me. It must have been because I’m an artificial human, and they felt sorry for me.” Yukihiko said this very earnestly.

  “But what’s so bad about being artificial,” I murmured as I stroked Yukihiko’s cheek.

  He shook his head. “It’s no good.”

  “It’s fine—I still love you, even if you’re artificial.”

  “Nope, it’s no good.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, if I’m artificial, one day I’ll stop loving you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. It’s a known fact that artificial humans cannot mix with real humans.”

  You don’t have to say such things. I think that’s what I told him. Even if you were to stop loving me, I would still love you, Yukihiko.

  Yukihiko wore a forlorn expression. To make a woman say something like that, I must be a total jerk, he said, and took me in his arms. You really are a jerk, I had thought to myself. And I’m just as much of a jerk, I had also told myself.

  We held each other. Gently. Like water. But without actually turning into water.

  We were anxious. We were light. We had been rapturously happy. We had been in despair. We had been on the verge of loving one another. But, incapable of doing so, we found ourselves on the precipice, doomed to remain there forever.

  And so, Yukihiko got sick of me.

  It pains me to use those words, but they’re the ones that best fit.

  Yukihiko got sick of me.

  When Yukihiko said to me, “I love bean-paste doughnuts,” that’s when I knew.

  “I don’t care much for them,” I replied.

  Yukihiko had been leaning against the headboard, reading a magazine. I had been sitting on the carpet, half-watching a late-night movie. It was a sad movie, in black and white. Not the kind of movie that Yukihiko cared much for. There wasn’t enough action or dancing. That’s what he would have said about this movie.

  At some point, Yukihiko had regained his smoothness. That same smooth abstraction. He had at last gotten sick of me.

  “What about melon pan?”

  “For some reason, melon pan makes me
sad.” I had been blowing my nose as I said this. I had shed a tear or two. The realization that Yukihiko was no longer inclined towards me had thrown me into a panic. But maybe it wasn’t too late yet. There was no need for tears. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Too late? For what?

  “Manami,” Yukihiko said my name. In a calm voice.

  I did not want to hear whatever words would follow. Manami, let’s break up. Manami, it turns out this Sunday is no good for me. Manami, I’m not interested in you anymore. I wanted to cover my ears. But instead I slowly turned in Yukihiko’s direction, and just smiled at him.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s nothing sad about curry buns, is there?”

  No, there isn’t, I replied. I had to laugh (at Yukihiko’s beloved curry, stuffed in bread. At my beloved Yukihiko. At the Yukihiko who no longer loved me).

  Yukihiko did not yet know that he was sick of me. I wondered if I should tell him. But there was still a faint glimmer of hope—what if I was wrong?

  “Why are you crying?” Yukihiko asked. At some point I had started openly weeping. Heedlessly.

  “The movie, it’s so sad.”

  “I don’t know why you bother watching such sad movies,” Yukihiko muttered, and went back to his magazine.

  I blew my nose again. After that, I didn’t shed another tear. I turned and saw that Yukihiko had fallen asleep. With the magazine still open on his chest. Wake up, Yukihiko! You haven’t taken your nighttime vitamin B1 and C (Yukihiko believed that it was more effective to take individual supplements rather than a multivitamin) and your gingko biloba extract. I shook him awake as I said this.

  Hmm, what happened? Yukihiko murmured. I touched his arm. It felt much more muscular than it looked.

  Poor Yukihiko, I thought, as I stroked his arm. For whatever reason, I did not think, Poor me. Just poor Yukihiko. Soon Yukihiko might break up with me. Soon Yukihiko might be the one to leave me. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for how Yukihiko would be, after he broke up with me, after he left me. I was simply awash with pity for him.

  No matter how I tried, I couldn’t wake up Yukihiko, so on my own I took gingko biloba extract and a multivitamin (I believed multivitamins were just as effective). I turned out the lights, and slid into bed beside Yukihiko. I kissed him on the forehead, and closed my eyes.

  “Why do people have to change?” Yukihiko asked.

  It was raining outside. Perfect weather for this.

  Here it comes . . . I sighed. And then, a strange fighting spirit welled up in me. I didn’t know if it was a fighting spirit, or a sense of accomplishment?

  “It’s human nature to change,” I said, and Yukihiko snorted.

  “Manami, that’s such a logical thing to say.”

  “Well, after all, I am a logical, single, thirty-three-year-old woman who’s your superior!”

  Then I realized it was going on three years since I had first met Yukihiko. I was taken by surprise. I wasn’t sure whether three years was a long time, or no time at all.

  Yukihiko was looking out at the rain. It was falling in huge drops. The huge raindrops of early spring.

  “I love you, Manami,” Yukihiko said.

  “But, you want to break up, don’t you?”

  Yukihiko looked at me sharply. His cheeks were taut with nervousness. It seemed as though he hadn’t been expecting to hear that.

  “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” I repeated it.

  “Manami.” Yukihiko was clearly surprised. I was even more surprised to see him surprised.

  “Why are you so shocked?” I asked.

  “Because I just told you that I love you.”

  “But, Yukihiko, you’re not interested in me anymore.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “But it is true.”

  Yukihiko had turned pale. He had underestimated me. All along. Even though I had not underestimated him. But, how do you love someone without blinding yourself? Don’t we all have to indulge each other, let our guard down, and—ever so slightly—lower ourselves, in order to love someone else? Yet I had never allowed myself to underestimate Yukihiko—not for a single moment.

  “Manami.” Yukihiko called my name. In a plaintive voice. “Why are you saying these things, Manami?”

  But Yukihiko had already realized it. That I was aware of his smooth indifference. There was no going back. Now it really was too late. I had led Yukihiko to the point where there was no longer a glimmer of hope.

  The rain grew heavier. It really was the perfect weather.

  I left Yukihiko’s apartment alone. I closed the door quietly behind me. Yukihiko had followed me to the door. Like a faithful dog. There wasn’t a shred of the savagery of that first time. Just as if I had been the one to break up with him.

  “Goodbye,” I said, but Yukihiko wouldn’t say goodbye.

  “Why?” he said. This time I was the one who remained silent. And then I went out into the rain.

  Even while I was walking through the rain, a strange feeling—which felt like a sense of accomplishment—remained in my body. The rain swept in at a sharp angle under my umbrella.

  I told myself I was okay with not belonging to Yukihiko anymore, and I kept walking, taking long strides.

  There’s more to the story of Yukihiko and me.

  For a while, Yukihiko called me every day. Needless to say, I never called him. (My resolution, from before. I kept it, fiercely. To the end.)

  How did you know, Manami, that I didn’t love you anymore? Yukihiko always asked. And every time, my reply was, Yukihiko, you never loved me in the first place, did you?

  But Manami, I could say the same about you, Yukihiko said.

  Perhaps, I replied, but it wasn’t true. Yukihiko had given me no choice. Yukihiko, so stubborn about being loveless. And me, always second-guessing him. We were a poor match.

  After that, for a while, I took great care to make sure that the two of us were never alone together.

  A few months later, Yukihiko was transferred to a different floor. Soon after, he became assistant head of his department (a position just slightly above deputy head—my title).

  Let’s celebrate! he said when he invited me out that evening. By now, it should be alright, I thought to myself. By now, things had simmered down.

  “Why can’t I love a woman?” Yukihiko said, resting his elbows on the counter.

  We were sitting on stools in a small bar.

  “I wonder why,” I replied softly, sipping a gin and tonic.

  “Is there something wrong with me?”

  “Isn’t it a good sign, that you can recognize there might be something wrong with you?”

  “You’re so mean, Manami.”

  Yukihiko exhaled cigarette smoke. Apparently he had started smoking after we broke up.

  “The sushi was tasty.”

  “And kind of expensive.”

  “I’ll get this,” he offered.

  Yukihiko put out his cigarette. In the short time since we had broken up, Yukihiko seemed a bit more mature. I realized in that instant that I still loved him. I was filled with intense regret, wondering why I had let Yukihiko go. And yet, I knew that it was wrong to think about it in terms of letting him go or being the one to end things. It was simply over. Everything was.

  So when Yukihiko invited me to his apartment that night, I nodded without hesitation. Not because I was happy. Quite the contrary. Because I wasn’t particularly happy at all.

  It’ll be alright, I reassured myself. It would be madness to want to belong to Yukihiko again. Don’t even think it, okay?

  Okay, I replied to the version of myself in my head. I’d known as much sadness as I could bear. I had dwelled on it long enough.

  Yukihiko took my hand with his usual smoothness.

  You smell good, he murmured as he b
rought his face to my chest. Yukihiko’s apartment was almost unchanged. As if it were perfectly natural, I let him undress me (Yukihiko had always hated for me to take my own clothes off), and then, following a precise routine, we had sex. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. And I think Yukihiko did too.

  Afterward, when I went to put on my underwear, Yukihiko grabbed my arm.

  “Stay over!”

  “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

  “Hey . . . marry me!”

  “You fool.”

  Don’t joke about it, I said as I fastened the hook on my bra. I was already running through tomorrow’s list of things to do in my head. I heard a strange sound. Like the noise of a radio that wasn’t tuned to a station.

  Yukihiko was moaning.

  “Why am I so messed up?” he said through his groans. I had never seen his face look like this before. Yukihiko’s expression was different from the graceful savagery of the early days, different from the anxiety-ridden days of when he used to incline himself towards me.

  “Messed up?” I repeated slowly, as I buttoned my blouse.

  “I wanted to stay in love with you always!”

  I finished buttoning up my blouse and started putting on my stockings.

  “I planned to be with you for the rest of my life!”

  “You don’t have to say that.” Quietly, I fastened my skirt.

  “Why can’t I love someone properly?”

  It’s just not in your nature, I was about to say, but I stopped myself. Because I felt sorry for Yukihiko now. It was just like that time when I had watched his face, while he was sleeping. Poor Yukihiko. Whether it was his own fault, I wasn’t sure.

  “Someday there’ll be someone you can love,” I said tenderly, slipping on my blazer. Even though you don’t really want someone to love, I was thinking.

  Manami. Yukihiko called my name in a low voice.

  What is it, I replied. I looked at my wristwatch with an exaggerated gesture.