Grotesque

by Natsuo Kirino

  “Come on. It’ll be fun. Let’s party.”

  The students were young. They looked at me in disgust, turned away, and ran. I recalled how people at work tried to avoid eye contact with me, as if they’d seen something disgusting. Even my mother, my younger sister, all they had to do was look at me and they’d cringe. It seemed that whoever looked at me could not help but recoil.

  Was I completely out of bounds? I had no idea how I looked to others. I headed off in the direction the two boys had taken.

  “Let’s party our brains out. Come on. I’ll do you both. We can go to a hotel and I’ll do you both for fifteen thousand yen. What do you say?”

  The two were speechless. They practically started running when they saw me behind them. But I can’t let my prey get away! And then, at that instant, I heard someone call out, “Try me. I’ll do you each, one by one.”

  I couldn’t believe it. The woman on the street ahead of me, with her arms stretched out wide, was done up exactly like me. She tried to block the boys from going past her. The boys, completely taken aback, came to a halt.

  “I’ll give you a better deal—five thousand yen each.”

  Her black wig fell to her waist. She had a Burberry trench coat like mine, black high heels, and a brown shoulder bag. She’d painted her lids with thick blue eye shadow, and her lips were bright red. It was Yuriko. The boys, now completely panicked, ran past her. She looked back after them and then turned around and shrugged.

  “They got away.”

  “Well, of course, you terrified them.”

  I was angry, but Yuriko didn’t seem to care. “Don’t sweat it. The night is young. What do you think, Kazue? Do I look like you?”

  Yuriko opened her trench coat. Underneath she was wearing a cheap blue suit. It resembled the one I wore. I stared at the thick layer of white foundation Yuriko wore. She looked like a clown. It was hideous. Is that what I look like? I was furious.

  “Do you think I look like that?”

  “You do, Kazue. You look like a monster.”

  “Well, whatever happened to the beautiful half you used to be? You’re fat and ugly now.”

  Yuriko smiled scornfully, her lips curling up the way foreigners’ mouths do.

  “Laugh all you want but you’re no better.”

  “What do you mean, I’m no better?” I asked. “Don’t I look like a businesswoman?”

  Yuriko turned an unfocused gaze on me and snorted. “No. I don’t see it. You don’t look like a businesswoman or even a young woman. In fact, you don’t even look like a middle-aged woman. All you look like is a monster. M-o-n-s-t-e-r.”

  I stared at Yuriko, my mirror image. Both of us were monsters.

  “Well, if I’m a monster, you’re one too, Yuriko.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so. A pair of whores standing around in the same outfits must be terrifying. But you know, there are men in this world who like monsters. It’s weird when you think about it. On the other hand, I suppose you could say it’s men who made us into monsters. Kazue, when is it okay for me to stand here? If it’s going to be a problem I’ll go over and stand in front of Shinsen Station.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said, in no uncertain terms. “Shinsen Station’s included in my turf. I inherited the area from the Marlboro Hag, and if you don’t follow my instructions I won’t share any of it with you.”

  “The Marlboro Hag?” Yuriko asked, looking up at the Jiz statue, clearly with little interest in the question.

  “That’s the old woman who used to work this area. She died right after she retired.”

  Yuriko smirked. Her teeth were stained yellow from cigarettes.

  “What a shitty way to go. I suspect I’ll be killed by a john. Probably you too, Kazue. That’s the way it goes when you’re on the prowl. The minute a man turns up who likes monsters, you can be sure he’ll be the one who’ll do us in, you and me.”

  “Why the hell do you think that? You’ve got to have a more positive attitude!”

  “I don’t think my attitude is negative.” Yuriko shook her head in denial. “After whoring for twenty years, I’ve come to know men for what they really are. Or wait. Perhaps I should say I know who we really are. At heart, a man truly hates a woman who sells her body. And any woman who sells her body hates the men who pay her for it. You get two people together with all that hate, somebody’s going to kill someone before too long. I’m just waiting for my day to come. When it does, I don’t plan to fight. I’m just going to let myself be killed.”

  I wondered if Yoshizaki and Arai hated me. What about the sadist Eguchi? I couldn’t understand Yuriko’s perspective. Had she seen into the future? Had she looked at the hell that lay ahead of her? It was different for me, wasn’t it? I frequently enjoyed selling my body, though it was true that there were times when it was little more than a miserable moneymaking scheme.

  The neon lights over the love hotel were flickering. At that instant Yuriko’s profile floated in the dark like some kind of heavenly visage. I was reminded again of the ethereal beauty she possessed in high school. It was as if I’d slipped back in time.

  “Yuriko, do you really hate men? I always thought you liked men so much you could never get enough of them.”

  Yuriko turned back to look at me. When I saw her face straight on, she looked like a dumpy middle-aged woman again.

  “I hate men, but I love sex. It’s the opposite for you, isn’t it, Kazue?”

  I wonder. Do I love men and hate sex? Do I walk the streets just so I can get close to men? That’s the wrong way of going about it. Yuriko’s question shocked me.

  “If you and I became one, we’d be perfect. We’d be able to live the ultimate life. But on the other hand, if it’s the perfect life you want, best not to be born a woman.”

  “So, Kazue? When are you going to let me work your corner?”

  “Come after I’ve gone home. I always take the last train to Fujimigaoka at twelve-twenty-eight. If you want to come by after I’ve left, that’s fine with me. You can stand the rest of the night if you want.”

  “You are too kind. Thank you so very much,” Yuriko said sarcastically.

  She walked off toward Shinsen Station, the hem of her coat flapping in the breeze. I looked up at the Jiz statue in irritation. I felt Yuriko had soiled me and the ground I stood on with her presence.

  “Saint Jiz, am I a monster? How was it that I became this monster? Please teach me, I pray.”

  Of course, the Jiz does not speak. I looked up into the night sky. The neon signs along Dogenzaka had dyed the sky pink. I could hear the sound of the wind rushing high above my head. It was growing colder by the minute. Seeing the tips of the treetops shivering brought an end to the bright mood I had enjoyed earlier. A bitter winter chill had crept into the night air. The minute a man turns up who likes monsters, you can be sure he’ll be the one who’ll do us in, you and me. Yuriko’s prophecy echoed over and over in my head, but I wasn’t frightened. I wasn’t afraid of men; I was afraid of the monster I had become. I wondered if I could ever go back to my old self.

  I heard a voice behind me. “Is that statue a god?” Embarrassed to be caught unaware, I quickly adjusted my wig and turned to look around. A man wearing jeans and a black leather jacket stood there. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was muscular. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. I felt a rush of excitement. Recently most of my customers had been either old men or homeless bums.

  “You’ve been here to pray before, haven’t you? So I’m assuming this is a god.”

  He was a foreigner. I stepped out of the shadows and peered at the man’s face. His hair was thinning but he was not unattractive. He looked like he’d make a good customer.

  “A god, yes. It’s my god.”

  “Really? Well, it certainly does have a nice face. I walk past here fairly often and always wonder what kind of statue this is.”

  The man had a very polite and calm way of speaking. Very calm. But I had a difficult time understanding what
he meant.

  “Do you live nearby?”

  “Yes, in an apartment building beside Shinsen Station.”

  We could use his room and save on hotel fees. I began making the calculations in my head. He didn’t seem to realize I was a prostitute. Curious, he continued to question me.

  “What were you praying for?”

  “I was asking the god to tell me whether or not I look like a monster.”

  “Monster?” The man seemed startled by my response and peered into my face. “I think you look like a pretty woman.”

  “Thank you. In that case, do you want to buy me?”

  Startled, the man backpedaled several steps.

  “I can’t. I don’t have much money.”

  The man pulled one neatly folded ten-thousand-yen bill from his pocket. I stared at his honest-looking face, wondering what type he’d be. In my experience, there are two types of customers. The majority are boastful, hide their true feelings, and tell all kinds of lies. They act like they have money and pretend to be willing to dole it out. But they’re really flat broke and you have to be careful they don’t take you for a ride. However they play the game, they are liars and expect you to lie about being in love with them. The other type is much less common, and that’s the honest type. They tell you from the very beginning that they don’t have much money, and then they negotiate tenaciously on the price. This type usually just wants straight-up sex and doesn’t want anything to do with love or passion or any of that. I’m not very good at handling the honest type. I’m just a prostitute who’s good for an old-fashioned lay.

  “Is that all you have?” I asked the man.

  “I have ten thousand yen, but I can’t spend it all. I have to have money to get to Shinjuku tomorrow.”

  “Well, let’s see. To get to Shinjuku from Shibuya and back will take three hundred yen round trip.”

  The man shook his head. “I’ve got to have money for lunch and for smokes. And if I meet up with a friend I’ll want to buy him at least one bottle of beer. I mean, that’s the right thing to do.”

  “Well, you should be able to do all that on a thousand yen.”

  “No way. I’d need at least two thousand.”

  “Okay, then let’s say eight thousand. I’ll do you for eight thousand yen.”

  I quickly linked my arm through the man’s before he could change his mind. The man looked at me in shock and shook his arm free.

  “You’d sell your body for just eight thousand yen? I can’t believe it.”

  I can’t believe it. The man repeated this over and again. Well, I was having a hard time believing it myself. After I’d done the homeless man for the same amount it was as if something inside me had begun to crumble. I was willing to take any man as a customer; I would do it anywhere and at almost any price. Once I hadn’t wanted to go below ¥30,000 but now I was willing to do it for anything. I’d fallen to just about the lowest rank of prostitute possible.

  “This will be the first time for me to buy such a cheap woman. I wonder if it’s safe,” the man said.

  “What are you talking about, safe?”

  “I mean, you aren’t that old. And even though you’re wearing heavy makeup, you’re not that ugly. So why would you charge so little? I just think it’s odd, that’s all.”

  I detected a glint of derision in the man’s eyes. I fished my corporate ID out of my purse.

  “Well, then, let me set the record straight. I’m employed as a staff member at one of the biggest firms in the nation. I graduated from Q University, so you know I have to be intelligent.”

  The man walked over to a streetlamp and studied my ID card. After he pored over it, nodding as he did so, he brought it back.

  “I’m impressed. The next time you try to pick up a customer you should show him your ID. I’ll bet a lot of men would be drawn to a woman who’s employed at such a distinguished firm.”

  “I do show them.”

  When the man heard my response he laughed, flashing his white teeth. The way he laughed took my heart away. I hardly ever saw men laugh like that, and I found myself drawn to him. I enjoy it when men make a fuss over me—especially men who are my superiors. It was like this with my father. It was the same when I first joined the firm. All my superiors there treated me to praise and I loved it. And now here I was, wrapped in nostalgia. I peered up into the man’s face and said in a little-girl voice, “Did I say something funny? Why are you laughing?”

  “God, you’re so cute. I thought you were doing this to raise your value. But things aren’t what they seem, are they?”

  I could not understand what he was trying to say. There were men out there, like Yoshizaki, who got off on the fact that I was a graduate of Q University and an employee at a top-rate firm. And that’s why I made a habit of showing my ID card to all potential customers. So what was this guy going on about?

  “Why do you say things aren’t what they seem?”

  “Forget it.”

  He brushed my question aside and turned to leave.

  “Hey, wait. Where’d you like to do it? I’ll do it wherever you want. I’ll even do it outside, if you want.”

  The man waved for me to follow and I rushed after him awkwardly. I was willing to do it for ¥8,000 and do it anywhere. I didn’t want this man to get away. I’m not sure I understood why. The man turned left at a dark intersection and followed the road that dipped down before ending at Shinsen Station. I wondered if he was taking me to his room. I could feel the damp night air on my cheeks as I followed him, full of nervous excitement. The man turned down a narrow road in front of Shinsen Station, walked about three hundred feet, and stopped in front of a four-story apartment building. The building was old and the entry hall looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in ages. Torn newspapers and empty cans lay scattered about. But it was close to the station and the individual units themselves didn’t seem particularly small.

  “You live in a nice place. Which room do you rent?” I asked.

  The man pressed his finger to his lips, signaling for me not to speak. Then he headed up the stairs. There was no elevator, and the stairs were strewn with garbage.

  “What floor are we going to?”

  “I’ve got friends staying in my apartment, so we can’t go there,” the man muttered, in a low voice. “So I thought we’d go to the roof. Okay?”

  “I don’t mind. It’s warm tonight.”

  I was going to do it outside again after all. Being in the open air had its advantages. But it also seemed so dirty, like going to the bathroom in the woods. My feeling of freedom did not really overcome the filthiness. I climbed the stairs in a state of confusion. The flight of stairs from the fourth floor to the roof was littered with all kinds of stuff, as if someone had dumped the contents of their dresser drawers there. There were sake bottles, cassette tapes, stationery, photographs, sheets, torn T-shirts, and English-language paperbacks. The man picked his way through the junk, kicking it to the side as we went. I glanced at one of the photographs that he kicked aside. It was a picture of a white man surrounded by young Japanese men and women. They were all smiling. There were other photographs of this man too.

  “That’s a Canadian language teacher. He defaulted on his rent and ended up living on the roof for a couple of months. He said he didn’t need this stuff so he just left it behind. It’s all garbage.”

  “Photographs and letters are garbage? A Japanese person would never throw away a letter someone had sent him or pictures of himself.”

  I could hear the man laugh in the darkness.

  “If you don’t need it anymore, it’s garbage.” He turned back to look at me. “I suppose Japanese people don’t like to see this kind of thing. But as a foreign laborer myself, let me tell you that I’d like to forget all about Japan. I’d leave it as a big empty gap in my life if I could. It wouldn’t bother me. The most important things are in our home country.”

  “I suppose it’s nice to have a home country.”

  �
��It is.”

  “Are you Chinese? What’s your name?”

  “I’m Zhang. My father was a government official from Beijing, but he lost everything in the Cultural Revolution. I got sent down to a small commune in Heilongjiang Province. Once I got there, I’d get picked on if I even mentioned my father’s name.”

  “So I guess you were a member of the intelligentsia.”

  “No. I was a smart kid, but I was always prevented from advancing my education. Someone like you wouldn’t be able to understand.”

  Zhang offered me his hand. I grabbed it and he helped me onto the trash-strewn roof. It was surrounded by a concrete wall about three feet high, and in one corner a refrigerator stood alongside a mattress—just as if it were a room without walls or ceiling. The mattress was soiled and torn in places so that the springs showed through. There was a rusty toaster oven and a suitcase with a smashed lid. I looked over the wall at the street below. There wasn’t a person in sight, but the cars whizzed past at an immoderate speed. I could hear a man and a woman talking in one of the second-floor apartments of the building next door. I saw a train on the Inokashira Line bound for Shibuya pull into Shinsen Station.

  “No one can see, so let’s do it here,” Zhang said. “Please take off your clothes.”

  “All of them?”

  “Of course. I want to see what you look like naked.”

  Zhang crossed his arms and sat on a corner of the filthy mattress. With little choice I stripped until I was completely naked. While I stood there shivering with cold, Zhang shook his head, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you’re too skinny. A skinny body like yours just doesn’t turn me on. I’m not going to pay you eight thousand yen.”

  I yanked my Burberry coat over my shoulders, furious.

  “How much will you pay?”

  “Five thousand yen.”

  “Okay then, five thousand.”

  When he heard me agree, Zhang asked incredulously, “Why? I don’t believe it!”