Kisaragi agreed and took off his clothes as well. This the first time he and Kanesaki were having bare skin-on-skin contact. He could feel the man’s searing body heat directly on his skin. Kanesaki lifted Kisaragi’s hips, got up on his knees, and leaned backwards.
“I like moving like this. I can see myself go inside you clearly. See?” he said as he pulled out halfway and paused. Then, he inserted himself again all the way to the base and gyrated slowly.
Kisaragi felt his body grow hotter as his gaze remained glued to the movement of the thick shaft inside him. His back arched.
Their sweat mingled together and it was wet and slippery where their bodies joined, but Kisaragi did not feel any repulsion.
“I didn’t think you’d get so into it,” Kanesaki teased. Kisaragi turned his face away huffily.
“Only because I’ve gone without for so long.”
“If that’s the excuse you want to make,” Kanesaki laughed as he tousled Kisaragi’s hair with a rough hand. “You’re cute, doctor.”
Kisaragi looked up at the man, feeling the shaft within him grow in size.
“You’re making me want to go for a second round. And we are. No buts.”
By the time Kanesaki was satisfied enough to detach himself, Kisaragi could barely keep his eyes open.
“Stay the night,” Kanesaki said as he wiped Kisaragi’s lower regions with his bathrobe. Kisaragi nodded silently and fell into a slumber.
He awoke in the middle of the night to see the moonlight streaming through the large window. The room was bathed in silver light, and Kisaragi’s eyes fell on the figure in the middle of the room.
Kanesaki was sitting in an armchair and cradling his head in his hands. When Kisaragi squinted, he could see the man’s shoulders jerk irregularly. Once in a while, a low growl escaped his lips.
The man was crying.
Kisaragi had heard that people from that country wept loudly - that they expressed their sadness through the volume of their voices. He had read somewhere that that was why people hired “weeping women” to cry at funerals.
But the man wept silently.
Kisaragi closed his eyes. He knew that the man’s sadness was something he would never be able to understand.
unaju* Grilled eel served on a bed of rice.
Chapter 11
After that, Kanesaki continued to travel to Niigata Prefecture at least once a week. On one occasion, he brought back crab. On another, he brought back Botan shrimp. Once, he had bought a Russian matrosyhka doll — a doll with several smaller dolls nested inside.
“We usually pack drugs in here to bring them back,” he had said, and this time Kisaragi had thrown the doll back at him exasperation.
“I was just kidding, doctor. I won’t use you like that.”
Those kinds of interactions had become a part of Kisaragi’s daily life by then, when he met with Hasunuma one day at the end of November. Kanesaki had made an unusual suggestion to meet up in the hotel lobby this time for their usual appointment － the lobby of a luxury hotel that was fast-becoming a famous location in Roppongi.
Kisaragi was sitting in the coffee lounge, looking at his iPad while waiting for his coffee to arrive. He felt the atmosphere around him suddenly change. He looked up see two men in black suits, sporting stereotypical yakuza-style perms. They glared menacingly at the people around them as they approached. One man had a large cut on his cheek. They were Kanesaki’s subordinates.
Although Kisaragi was already familiar with their faces, they did indeed sorely stand out in the hotel lounge. He could understand why the prim and proper people around him would stiffen in astonishment.
“Doctor!” said the men loudly as they spotted Kisaragi’s face. They stomped noisily over and bowed deeply. “We’re sorry. The boss is going to be a little late. Something bad’s come up, but he says it’ll be cleaned up soon.”
“Sure. I’ll wait.”
The men went out the same way they had come in, throwing piercing glares at those around them. Kisaragi felt the eyes of the patrons gather on him, and hastily looked down at his iPad.
My goodness… they can’t act like they’re in Kabukicho.
“Kisaragi.”
He heard a familiar voice call his name, and for a moment Kisaragi forgot where he was. He looked up to see Hasunuma standing in front of him with a perplexed look. Kisaragi felt his heart beat faster. He swallowed hard.
Oh… will you look at me. He was still in love with Hasunuma. Not that it would make a difference, Kisaragi thought as he purposefully arranged his face to look cheerful.
“Hey,” he said raising his hand. “Hasunuma, what a coincidence! What brings you here?”
Hasunuma glanced in the direction that the men had gone. “Who were those guys? Your friends?”
“No, not friends. Acquaintances of an acquaintance, you might say.”
Hasunuma sat down in the open seat next to Kisaragi’s.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I’m pretty sure all of the other customers in this lounge heard it, too. Look at the way they were talking to you! They almost sounded like yakuza. Don’t tell me you’re associating with the wrong kind of people.”
Hasunuma’s face was serious, and Kisaragi was starting to feel pained. “It’s nothing. There’s nothing for you to be worried about.”
“If you say so.” Hasunuma reached for Kisaragi’s knee and gave it a firm clap. “You’ve got yourself together and you’re smart. I trust you won’t make any mistakes.”
Kisaragi averted his eyes, barely able to restrain the heated feelings that threatened to spill over. Hasunuma, I haven’t got myself together at all.
Suddenly a deep voice spoke from above.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, doctor.”
The two of them looked up at the same time to see two men in black suits staring down at them.
“Let’s go, doctor. I’ve reserved us a suite in this hotel. Let’s hurry up and get down and dirty, shall we?”
Kisaragi felt his cheeks burn. “Mr. Kanesaki!” he hissed unwittingly. Kanesaki grabbed his arm roughly and made him stand up, deftly scooping up the iPad that had slid out of Kisaragi’s hands.
“Let’s get going. A good day to you, sir,” he said to Hasunuma. Hasunuma, who had been staring in astonishment, came to his senses and bolted up.
“Kisaragi!” he exclaimed.
Kisaragi did not want to be the target of attention any longer.
“I’m sorry. Excuse us,” he said shortly, brushing Kanesaki’s hand away. “Mr. Kanesaki, please stop.”
“As you wish, princess.” Kanesaki’s tone was light, but his smile did not reach his eyes. As they walked side by side, he opened his mouth again. “Was that him?” he muttered.
“What are you talking about?”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
Kanesaki had been telling the truth when he said he had reserved a room. The suite was on the topmost floor of the hotel. Once they stepped inside, Kanesaki popped the cork on the welcome champagne left on the table.
“Have a drink.”
Kisaragi remained silent as he drank. Kanesaki drank with him, also silent. On their way out of the lounge, Kisaragi had thrown a glance over his shoulder. Hasunuma was in the midst of returning to his own table, and a young woman had been seated there. She was wearing a cream-colored suit. Her long hair, parted down the middle, was glossy.
Kisaragi was certain that it was Hasunuma’s fiancé.
“That should be enough,” Kanesaki sa
id once they had emptied the champagne bottle, and invited Kisaragi to the bedroom. As always, once Kanesaki climbed on top of him, he launched into conversation about the negotiation he had been having earlier, and TV dramas that he had been hooked onto lately. He spoke not a single word about Hasunuma.
Kisaragi felt as if the man had seen right through him, and felt himself choke up.
Once they had relieved themselves of their pent-up desires a few times, Kanesaki finally disentangled himself from Kisaragi. He ruffled the man’s head.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Kisaragi’s voice shook in spite of himself, and he turned his back to the other man.
“Why aren’t I saying anything? You’re the one who’s clammed up, doctor. I’ve been blabbering nonstop.” The man’s hand continued to stroke Kisaragi’s head as if to soothe a small boy. “Doctor, let me tell you something. There are some things you can’t have, no matter how hard you try. And there isn’t anything you can do about it. But if you want it and you can’t help it, there’s nothing I can do.”
The man’s voice was gentle and carried no hint of reproach. Kisaragi felt the man’s warmth against his trembling back, and desperately tried to hold back the sobs that were about to burst out of him.
He suddenly knew why he was so drawn to this man.
He’s the same. He’s….
The image of the man crying in the middle of the night rose in his mind. Kisaragi turned back to face the man and twined his arms around his neck.
“Doctor?”
“Take me again.”
The man’s large hand stroked his back, and Kisaragi heard the sound of his own throat rumble.
Once December rolled around, Kanesaki suddenly called Kisaragi out and invited him to go away.
“Where?”
“Well… two men together would probably stand out, so… Karuizawa would be good. I have a summer house there.” He went on to explain that it was a summer house that a certain financing company had repossessed from a debtor.
“Let’s go this weekend,” he suggested.
Kisaragi had no plans, and no reason to refuse.
On Saturday afternoon, Kanesaki was the one in the driver’s seat as they headed to Karuizawa in his white Mercedes. The Mercedes stopped in front of a house that was in an area of Old Karuizawa where there were many luxury villas. The property was vast, and the house itself was a stately Western-style mansion with a towering chimney.
The oak trees and white birches had all shed their leaves. There were no signs of people, and it was quiet all around. The wine cellar in the basement and the refrigerator in the kitchen were bursting.
“Looks like we won’t have to go out to eat,” Kanesaki said contentedly as he looked through them.
“What?” Kisaragi exclaimed. “I can’t cook, you know.”
“I will. I may not look like a chef, but I do have a chef’s license.”
Kisaragi looked at him skeptically.
“If that’s what you want to think,” said Kanesaki, laughing loudly.
Nevertheless, when it came time to serve dinner, Kanesaki presented him with a full course of steak done rare, Italian salad, and French onion soup. After dinner, they started a fire in the fireplace and enjoyed wine and cheese. Then, they rid themselves of their clothes until they were as naked as when they were first born, and made love on the Persian rug in front of the fireplace.
As always, Kanesaki talked nonstop. But that night, he talked about his days in his homeland. He rolled Kisaragi’s nipple with his finger as he spoke.
“It was 1953 when the war ended,” he said. He sucked on the nipple for a while, then his lips drew away. “But I was born after that, so I don’t know anything about it.” He pinched the nipple between his fingers.
The battle drew to a close, and the nation was divided. Torn asunder. Even then, the turmoil continued, and many people went missing. My father was one of them.
They called people who had been abducted to the North the nabbugja － the abductees. But the nation did not admit it. They called the missing wolbukja － people who had gone willingly to the north. The family of the wolbukja who were left behind were discriminated against and seen as traitors.
I was still a newborn. My mother took me and my older brother around to various relatives, where we managed to feed ourselves. But supporting the family of a wolbukja meant being called a traitor as well.
We had no place to belong.
I was twelve when my older brother disappeared. I heard later on that my brother had been in contact with a spy from the North. It was to gain information about my father.
I don’t know if my brother went to the North on his own will, or because he had been tricked by the spy. There’s no way to know now.
I was caught by the authorities, the public safety organization, as you’d call it here － and tortured. They burned the soles of my feet, and stabbed knives into both of my palms. They pressed a hot brand to my ribs.
How does a twelve-year-old know any better? I don’t even remember whose name I gave. But I heard later that brother’s friends from university had been hauled in. They took advantage of a kid to ensnare people who were arguing for democratization.
I was released. I was a broken mess when I came home. I was greeted with the cold stares of my neighbors.
Traitor, they all said. They said my father, my brother, and even his younger brother － me － had been agents for the North. They threw rocks at my mother and I.
After that, my brother’s friends from his university came and beat me up. They said their comrades had been hauled in because of me. They told them I had to help overthrow the current government to make up for it.
I’d had enough of it. The North. The South. All of it. I left my mother and headed for Japan.
Kanesaki spoke of such things between their acts. Eventually, he released the last of his sperm and rolled over on his back. Kisaragi took Kanesaki’s hand and pressed his lips against his scars.
“Doctor?”
“Shh.”
He kissed his ribs next, then the soles of his feet.
“These are your stigmata.” Five hideous sores. Kisaragi shed tears at the idea of a twelve-year-old boy enduring these.
“Are you crying for me?”
Kisaragi latched onto the man’s lips, this time of his own will.
The two of them spent the two days cooped up in the summer house, deeply immersed in the act of arousing each other.
“No more,” Kisaragi would say, but he would find his strength returning after a time. He felt more exasperated than impressed.
“I don’t know how it can get hard after all of this.”
Kanesaki who had burrowed between Kisaragi’s legs was[m1] fondling him with his tongue as he laughed.
“It’s because I’m that good, doctor.” He then straddled Kisaragi’s face and thrust his manhood in his face. “Will you get it up for me, doctor?”
Kisaragi did not resist as he took the man in his mouth, savored it, and caressed it. They released themselves into each other’s mouths over and over.
They did not return to Tokyo until past midnight, when the new week had already begun. Kanesaki pulled up to the curb of Kisaragi’s condo in his Mercedes.
“See ya,” he said. He then took a key case out of his suit pocket and tossed it to him. “You dropped this in the car.”
Kisaragi thought nothing of it as he took it and climbed out.
Chapter 12
On Monday morning Kisaragi made h
is way on foot toward the Crest Hotel and the clinic inside. He drew closer to find a swarm of police cars in front of T. Medical School next door.
Kisaragi had not looked at the paper or watched the news this morning; he had come home in the wee light of the morning, caught what sleep he could, and come straight to work. He wondered what it could be.
“What’s going on?” he asked the clinic receptionist.
The Sundered Page 5