Yuriko nodded slightly, taking care that her coworkers not notice. Tetsuyuki motioned to her, then, setting his dish and bowl down on a table, left the cafeteria in the direction of the laundry room. He asked Yuriko, who came trotting up after him: “What time are you off today?”
“I came in early, so I’ll finish at eight.”
“Then I’ll be waiting at the north entrance of Osaka Station at eight thirty.”
“. . . Why?”
Not giving the obvious response to her question, Tetsuyuki went on. “I’ll wait ten minutes, and if you haven’t come, I’ll consider myself stood up and leave.”
With that, he returned to the cafeteria with a quick pace. Picking with his chopsticks the sparse meat, carrots, and onion out of the sauce consisting more of clumps of starch than anything else, he downed his meal and then went up to the lobby to stand in his prescribed place near the front desk.
Most of the employees knew that next spring he would graduate and begin work as a permanent employee. Tsuruta, who until now had shown a spiteful attitude toward him, did a complete turnaround and began paying him compliments, sometimes even giving him cigarettes he had won at pachinko.
When Tsuruta returned to the lobby from showing some guests to their room, Tetsuyuki asked: “Please let me off early at eight. An uncle of mine is ill, and it seems he only has another two or three days. I’d like to meet with him while I still can.” He had an aunt, but no uncles.
“That’s going to be a bit of a problem. Today, we have two groups arriving: one American and one Taiwanese. But under the circumstances, I suppose it can’t be helped.” Tsuruta really did seem to be at a loss, but agreed anyway. Then, still standing abreast, he moved closer to Tetsuyuki and said, “Starting next month, Isogai will be moved to the general affairs office.”
Tetsuyuki had been thinking that he should pay a get-well visit to Isogai, who had been suffering from his bad heart condition and had taken nearly a month off work.
“Is he better now?”
“Probably a bit better than he was. But in moving him to General Affairs, the management must have determined that work as a bellboy was too demanding physically.”
It occurred to Tetsuyuki that perhaps Tsuruta would then be promoted to head of bellboys.
“Actually, in terms of years of service, he shouldn’t have been made head, but they made him head in order for him to avoid strenuous work.”
“Who has the most years of service?”
“I do.” The expression on Tsuruta’s face seemed to say that the headship should have been his, but he had yielded it to sickly Isogai.
“Yes, but Isogai is older than you, isn’t he?”
“True, but he was hired later.” Then, twisting his acne-scarred face into an obsequious expression, he whispered, “You know, Iryō, you and I are the same age, so we ought to stick together after this.”
Tetsuyuki thought to himself, Don’t worry. Even if I become a regular employee of this hotel and occupy a position above you, I won’t repay your bullying. Then he said, “No matter if we’re the same age, you’ll always be my senior.” Pleased at that, Tsuruta smiled and gave Tetsuyuki’s shoulder a congenial pat.
At seven thirty, a large tour bus arrived and seventy Americans crowded into the lobby. Tetsuyuki busied himself with the task of efficiently unloading the heavy travel bags from the bus. Foreigners’ luggage—especially that of Americans—was always heavy, and although they lifted them easily with one hand, at first Tetsuyuki was barely able to move them with both. By now he had learned the knack of it—or perhaps he had developed a bit more strength in his arms—and he was able to take care of the luggage much more quickly than before.
At eight on the dot, Tsuruta informed him of the time. He changed his clothes and headed to the north entrance of Osaka Station. Standing by the stairs leading to the ticket gate of the Hankyū Line, he waited for Yuriko. An elderly man with large rosary beads wrapped around his neck was dancing to the peculiar rhythm of what seemed to be some kind of sutra. Hardly anyone paid attention, but just gave him a glance that registered neither pity nor surprise.
The man suddenly pointed at Tetsuyuki and shouted, “You are a kindhearted egoist.” He began to approach as if wanting to say more. Pretending not to have heard, Tetsuyuki escaped inside the station. He looked back to see that the man had abandoned his pursuit and was again dancing in the same place as before. Taking care not to be noticed, Tetsuyuki stealthily returned to wait and saw Yuriko coming toward him over the crosswalk.
“What time do you have to be back at your dormitory?”
“The curfew is ten, but nobody keeps it.”
“Nobody?”
“Yeah. The caretaker shuts the gate and goes to bed. But it’s easy to get in and out by ducking under the shrubs, and we’ve secretly hidden a master key to the front door in three places.”
“In three places?”
A vaguely coquettish smile—one she would definitely not show at work—had gradually stolen over Yuriko’s face. “All of us are accomplices in this crime.”
“I see. So I guess you all colluded to make three copies of the master key?”
Walking abreast, they descended into the subterranean mall. As they were making their way through the crowds Tetsuyuki began to regret having put this strategy into action, sensing that this was likely to take a much more troublesome course than he had anticipated. He had no idea what kind of religion influenced the man he had just encountered, but it was amazing how accurately the guy had described his nature: “You are a kindhearted egoist.” That was right on target; there could have been no more accurate analysis. But he sensed that within that brief phrase lay countless invectives: petty punk, hypocrite, show-off, coward, dimwit with balls smaller than a mite’s, idiot who is easily blown about by anger, pain, jealously, and disappointment . . .
Tetsuyuki realized that his feelings of revenge toward Yōko were born from his own makeshift sense of self-esteem. He loved her deeply and more strongly than ever even as he walked with Yuriko. But for that very reason he wanted to inflict brief torment on Yōko. The words she spoke on that day when he confronted Ishihama in the tea lounge of the hotel were justifiable: “I’m only twenty-one. And I like it when a man makes a fuss over me. Is there anything wrong with that?” Now if she were to have those same kinds of words thrown back at her, even if she recognized that her partner’s excuse was justifiable, she would know how depressing and wounding they were. So, I’m a ‘kindhearted egoist,’ huh? Tetsuyuki muttered in his mind with self-scorn. Then it occurred to him that Kin probably also held the same estimation of him.
Tetsuyuki and Yuriko went into a coffee shop. At first, she seemed awkward and ill-at-ease, but as they exchanged rambling chatter she loosened up. When he asked her if she would like to go see a movie on her day off, she nodded slightly.
“When is your next day off?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Friday, the day after tomorrow, he had three classes he absolutely had to attend. But two of those were with Yōko, and if she saw he was absent, she would probably ask some other male student to answer the roll call in his stead. She always did that for him. As he so conjectured, he looked at Yuriko, who suddenly appeared grave and aloof, nervously gazing down at her coffee cup.
Now that he had a closer look at her, he could see that she possessed far more beautiful features than he had noticed with the stolen glances at her from the entrance to the grill or in the hallway. Her eyes had a brownish cast, and her nose was well defined. Once in a collection of photographs from the Silk Road he had seen a picture of a Chinese girl who had a slight admixture of Western blood, and Yuriko reminded him of that image. As they talked, he learned that she had been orphaned when she was in middle school. She explained that her mother had died when she was five years old, and that her father was killed by a tornado.
“A tornado?”
“Yeah, a tornado. Behind the paddy, there was a shed for insecticide a
nd fertilizer. A typhoon was approaching, so Dad went out to drive stakes to keep the shed from falling over. And then a tornado rushed in and smashed the shed to pieces, and a splinter of wood pierced his neck . . .”
“The typhoon hadn’t hit yet, had it?”
“It hadn’t, but a tornado suddenly formed. From the window I watched as it advanced directly toward the shed where Dad was.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“No, none.” She mentioned that her father had remarried three years after her mother died, but no children came. “I couldn’t stand my stepmother, and she didn’t seem to like me either. After I came to Osaka, she went back to her parents’ house. I’ve never so much as sent her a postcard, and have heard nothing from her either.”
“You don’t look like a farm girl from Shimane Prefecture.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you have the face of someone with some Russian ancestry: light-skinned, well-defined features, and very pretty.”
It had not been meant as a compliment; Tetsuyuki simply spoke his mind. Yuriko’s eyes moistened, and her gestures meant to conceal her pleasure only made it all the more obvious. This aroused his desire, and it occurred to him that, if he wanted to, she could be his in a few more hours. But he smothered his desires. Yuriko was simply a prop in his strategy, to be used as well as any woman other than Yōko. As such thoughts ran through his mind, Yuriko broke the silence.
“Farm girls from Shimane would be furious to hear you say something like that.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s like saying that there are no beauties among them.”
Having agreed to meet at the same coffee shop two days hence, they parted at the intersection of two subterranean arcades.
He arrived at Suminodō Station forty minutes earlier than usual. Ordinarily, he boarded the 11:03 train bound for Shijōnawate at Kyōbashi, and immediately called Yōko from the pay phone in front of the station at Suminodō. But he decided that, for the time being, he would not place those calls, which her mother had dubbed “scheduled service.” The first matter of business for him was to take a suspicious course of action and raise doubts in her mind. Tomorrow at the university, she would probably ask why he hadn’t called, and he would tell her in an unnatural tone of voice something that would be an obvious lie. For example, that the pay phone was broken, or that he didn’t have any change on him. Yōko would be sure to think: “If the pay phone in front of the station was broken, there’s one in the shopping arcade, isn’t there? Or one just before you cross the tracks, or one in front of the little grilled chicken shop just beyond that? And if you don’t have small change, you could just use the change machine by the ticket-vending machines in the station. Isn’t that what you always do?” And maybe she wouldn’t just think those things; she might say them in reproach. If she did, then he would again assume an unnatural expression and make an excuse. Just as he had sniffed out the existence of another man in her life by observing her behavior, she would also be filled with the same kind of anxiety. Tetsuyuki turned down the dark country lane, blown by chilly winds, and arrived at the lane lined with jerry-built two-story houses.
When he turned on the light, Kin thrashed his legs about. For a few minutes this morning before setting out, Tetsuyuki had trained the infrared lamp on the lizard, and it seemed that perhaps Kin had regained some strength. He patted Kin’s head. As he switched on the lamp again, there was a knock at the door. Tetsuyuki tensed.
“Yes?” Gooseflesh down his spine had become a conditioned response for Tetsuyuki when he heard a knock at the door in the middle of the night.
“This is Kurachi, from next door. Sorry to bother you so late.” It was a thin, female voice. Tetsuyuki stuck his head out the kitchen window. His neighbor who lived alone again apologized for troubling him at such an hour, but wondered if he could lend her a hand.
“What is it?”
“My refrigerator tipped over, and I can’t set it back up by myself.”
Tetsuyuki turned off the infrared lamp and stepped out in front of the woman’s apartment. She was so thin as to arouse pity, walked with an awkward gait, and both wrists were swollen and bent. Her neatly arranged room was filled with the smell of medicinal infusions. A white cat was curled up on a red cushion.
She had purchased a new cupboard and wanted to put it where the refrigerator was, and to move the refrigerator over beside the stove. But the wheels on the bottom of the refrigerator were rusted and would not move, and as soon as she gave it a strong push it ended up tipping over. It wasn’t very large, and Tetsuyuki was able to set it up without her assistance.
Bending over and pushing it from the bottom, he moved it next to the stove. While he was at it, he also moved the cupboard to the refrigerator’s former place. Blinking her beadlike eyes, she thanked him profusely. Though he demurred, she poured a cup of tea, brought out some cookies, and placed them on a round table. Tetsuyuki reluctantly sat on the cushion she set out for him and sipped the tea, but did not touch the cookies.
“What Chinese medicine are you making an infusion of?”
The woman responded that she had been suffering from rheumatism for nearly ten years. She asked where he was from, apparently supposing that he had moved to Osaka from the countryside in order to attend college.
“I was born and raised in Osaka.”
After some hesitation she asked as she looked at her pet, “Has my cat ever relieved itself in your room?”
“In my room?”
“During the summer, I sometimes saw my cat coming out your back window. It seems that it got in by following the water pipes from my apartment to yours.”
Last summer, seeing how desiccated and wilted Kin looked, Tetsuyuki sometimes left the back window open. Even if a thief broke in, there was nothing worth stealing anyway.
“No, nothing like that ever happened.” The moment he answered, he realized that the cat had entered his room aiming for Kin. As far as he could recall, he had left the back window open about twenty times, and each time Kin was no doubt paralyzed with fear. That thought made his heart feel heavy.
Returning to his room and switching on the infrared lamp, he glanced up at Kin, about even on the pillar with his own head. The cat no doubt jumped many times, aiming for the lizard, and probably even tried climbing. Inspecting the pillar closely, there remained definite claw marks. In his absence, Kin, unable to move and helpless, endured persistent attempted assaults by a cat. How terrified he must have been. The words of that man at the station came to mind: “You are a kindhearted egoist.” Those words turned into a shower of accusations raining down on him. The terror Kin must have felt resonated in Tetsuyuki’s heart, turning him into a lizard nailed to a pillar.
That white cat slipped in through the back window, and Tetsuyuki struggled, trying to flee, but was unable to move. The cat’s claws reached almost to his tail. Digging its claws into the wood, the cat climbed after him, sliding down and then repeating its attempt. After the cat gave up and left, Tetsuyuki despised the guy who had nailed him there, who had left him there like that and given him food and water, which he had no choice but to accept. He thought of himself suffering from thirst and fear in this suffocating room, and yet unable to die. Why was he alive?
Coming back to his senses, Tetsuyuki opened the box of larvae. Kin finally ate one.
“I’m going to save you if it’s the last thing I do. When spring comes, I’ll pull that nail out. You might die, but I’m going to pull it out. If you die, you’ll never come back as a lizard. Next time, you’ll be reborn as a human.”
Tetsuyuki meant every word of what he said, though it espoused neither logic nor any scientific principle of the genesis of life. Only a vague sense of the mysteriousness of life produced in him that absurd conviction, one that told him of the existence of a thick nail piercing his own back.
Images of his mother, Yōko, Isogai, Yuriko, the lady next door, Mr. and Mrs. Lang, Sawamura Chiyono . . . all e
merged in the back of his mind. And all of them were smiling at him with nails piercing their backs. All of them were suffering from these nails but knew of no way to pull them out, and moreover were afraid of the pain if they were extracted. A sense of nihilism and resignation sapped all of his energy. Sluggishly he spread out his futon and lay down in bed without even brushing his teeth. He turned off the infrared lamp, and then the light in the room, mumbling to himself a few phrases from Lamenting the Deviations, which so infatuated Nakazawa:
“Since I could never succeed in any austerities, hell will surely be my final abode.
“We, who are so completely in the thrall of our passions, cannot free ourselves from the cycle of birth and death through any sort of austerities. Amida took pity on us, and the intention of his Original Vow was to bring buddhahood to the wicked, and thus the wicked who plead for his grace are the real reason for the Vow to bring salvation.
“But even if we are reluctant to part from it, when our bonds to this earthly existence are severed and we are bereft of all strength, we shall go to that Pure Land. Amida takes special pity on those who feel that they are in no rush to get there.”
“So, ‘I could never succeed in any austerities,’ huh? I’m one of ‘the wicked who plead for his grace,’ huh? So he ‘takes special pity on those who feel that they are in no rush to get there,’ huh?” Tetsuyuki was not able in these phrases to sense any encouragement to live. If one peeled away their veneer, even words that at first spoke to a perfect enlightenment seemed to be only the sophistries of someone who has given up on life. Tetsuyuki harbored a hatred for whatever incited people toward death. In that case, there’d be no point in struggling to live. We should all just die, shouldn’t we? And what exactly is ‘that Pure Land’? Where is it? Show it to me. Even if you went to the far reaches of the universe, would you find such a place? It’s right here inside me. I’ve seen it many times. No matter how many times I try to escape, no matter how many times I die, I can’t go beyond this universe.
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