The Thief

by Fuminori Nakamura

“Not bad, but you should stop. I mean, it’s still just for fun and you’re not used to it. Anyway, you really do it like this, with two or three fingers. You don’t use your thumbs like that. I guess you can’t help it, though, since your fingers are short and you still don’t have much strength.”

  I finished my beer.

  “You could use a tool. It’s got a tip like a fish-hook to snag the wallet.”

  “Have you got one?”

  “I don’t use tools. But there’s a famous pickpocket who did.”

  “Who?” he asked, staring at me.

  “A man called Barrington. An Irishman who lived in England a long time ago. He was in a theater company that was invited to noblemen’s houses, and he picked those rich people’s pockets like there was no tomorrow. He made the tools himself and was really good with them. He stole from ambassadors and Members of Parliament, even disguised himself as a priest. They call him the Prince of Pickpockets. He was brilliant, they say.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Well, you probably don’t need to know about them.”

  “Huh?”

  He looked at me in surprise. Then he seemed embarrassed, as if he’d chattered too much, even though I was the one who’d been doing all the talking. His skinny legs poked out from his shorts and his shoes were covered with dirt.

  “There was also this eccentric who’d put a card with his own name on it in the wallet he’d lifted and then put it back. A famous American pickpocket called Dawson. And an amazing man, Angelillo, who’s estimated to have stolen a hundred thousand wallets. A woman called Emilie was arrested for picking pockets and in the middle of her trial she pinched the judge’s glasses case. Apparently the whole court burst out laughing.”

  The boy’s mouth twitched slightly.

  “What about in Japan?”

  “There was a really good one called Koharu. In the old days coin purses were popular. They had a clasp that would snap shut like this. Some people wore them hanging on a cord around their neck. This woman Koharu could undo their coats and take the money from inside the purse. A technique called ‘nakanuki.’ What’s more, the story goes that after she emptied the purse she’d close it again and button up their coat. Incredible skill.”

  “Really?”

  “Surrounded by misery, those people laughed at the whole world.”

  Seeing the time on the big clock, the kids put away their games and left the park. A young couple went by, walking a dog. A little girl holding her mother’s hand was looking at us and saying something.

  “There’s also someone who took ten million yen in one day.”

  “Ten million yen?”

  “Yeah, a guy I know. He’s dead, probably.”

  The boy looked up at me. I remembered my last glimpse of Ishikawa’s face nodding at me, and the van’s red tail lights disappearing down the street.

  “People like that generally come to a bad end. So don’t follow them. It’s not worth it.”

  I showed him the 220,000 yen I’d taken from the old man with the grandson.

  “I’m going to give you all of this. Next time you’re told to go to the supermarket and steal, use this cash to buy the stuff. Don’t come and see me again.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m busy.”

  I stood up from the bench. The boy walked in silence, moving closer to me and then moving away. When we parted he still didn’t say a word. By the time I got home I felt a chill. Even getting under the duvet didn’t warm me up, and I figured I’d caught a cold. Going out to buy medicine froze me even more, but I took some drugs and tried to sleep.

  I spent most of the next two days huddled under the covers. The ringing of the doorbell woke me from a dream of Saeko. I ignored it but it didn’t stop. I couldn’t tell if it was early evening or the middle of the night. I lit a cigarette, though I couldn’t taste it. When I opened the door the boy’s mother was standing there.

  10 She was wearing a short skirt with black patterned stockings. She stared at me suspiciously and then peered into my room, her gaze moving back and forth in bewilderment, even though she had come here of her own accord. She fiddled with the button on her bag, her right eye twitching fiercely, and finally looked up at me searchingly. When she did that she looked just like her son.

  “What do you want?” I said.

  “Um.”

  Her eye closed tightly once more.

  “You live in a place like this?”

  “What?”

  I realized it was raining outside and she was carrying an umbrella. In the drizzle a foreigner in work clothes was smoking a cigarette as he crossed the dimly-lit alleyway.

  “I’m here because my boy said you gave money to him. A hundred thousand yen!”

  Suddenly I’d had enough.

  “You’ve come to give it back?”

  “No way. I’m not giving it back. But why’d you do it?”

  “No reason.”

  “It’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?”

  No doubt it did seem creepy, but I couldn’t believe that was her only reason for coming all this way.

  “It’s OK. Go home.”

  “Let me in. Or I’ll scream.”

  She twisted her lips, trying to force a smile. I went back inside and she took off her boots, grumbling to herself. The way her right eye flickered, her nervous tension, reminded me of Saeko. When she removed her white half-length coat she was wearing a close-fitting white sweater that emphasized her breasts.

  I swept aside a tangle of clothes with my foot, planning to sit down, but she planted herself in the space before me. Money was scattered on the ironing board in the corner, mixed with scraps of paper. I went and sat on the bed.

  “What do you do for a living?” she asked, still inspecting my room.

  “None of your business. Now what do you want?”

  “Why did you give him that much? Was it for that?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, you must have done something to him. If I went to the cops you’d be in trouble.”

  She screwed up her face and glared at me as hard as she could. I grinned in amusement. She was too upset even to blackmail me properly.

  “I’d never do anything like that.”

  “But there must be a reason. You can’t fool me.”

  “It’s because he looks like my dead son,” I lied.

  She looked away for a second, uncertain. I continued, saying the first thing that came into my head.

  “He’s the spitting image of my dead boy. I’ve got money, but houses and stuff don’t mean anything to me so I live here. I rent a bunch of places all over Japan. For me, a hundred thousand yen is nothing. I saw this poor kid shoplifting, so I gave him some money on an impulse. Like a donation. I was drunk. Anyway, you’re the one who can’t afford to go the cops.”

  “But….”

  She seemed to be thinking about something. She looked at the money tossed carelessly on the ironing board, then at the clothes in the closet.

  “So you didn’t….”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But still…. Um, well, I wasn’t absolutely sure that’s what it was.”

  She looked down and then faced me again, as if she’d decided to take the plunge.

  “In that case, be my client. Business has fallen off lately. My boyfriend spends money like water and I’m really in the shit. I need cash by tomorrow. I know I said before that ten thousand yen would do, but I need about fifty thousand straight away. He looks like your dead son, doesn’t he?”

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  For some reason I sounded disgusted. She looked at me blankly, her right eye firmly closed. She was breathing heavily through her mouth.

  “Are you kidding?” she shouted suddenly. “Don’t you fucking make fun of me!”

  I was taken by surprise but tried not to show it. Unnatural wrinkles appeared on her face. She pounded the floor and made unintelligible gasping noises as if she couldn’t control herself. Her emoti
ons didn’t seem to follow any predictable pattern. When I looked closely, I saw that her chin and shoulders were too thin for the rest of her body. Her neck and the backs of her hands were covered with red marks like she’d scratched herself.

  “You were laughing at me. Like you can’t have sex with a pro. It’s not like I enjoy it. I haven’t done anything wrong. You suck.”

  As I listened to her I felt something stirring inside me. My breathing quickened.

  “No, I don’t think like that. For one thing, I’m a pickpocket. Can a pickpocket laugh at a hooker? Look, I—”

  She was staring at me in amazement. I realized I was acting a bit strangely, so I lit a cigarette and tried to calm down.

  “I really am a pickpocket, so I know what I’m talking about. If the kid carries on shoplifting like that, he’ll get arrested. If that happens the cops will be knocking at your door. Then you’ll be in trouble too. So don’t make him do it any more.”

  “But….”

  “If you need money, I’ll give you what I’ve got here. About two hundred thousand yen. If I’m lucky, I can get that in one day. So don’t make him.”

  “Really?”

  Her tired eyes shone and she turned slowly to stare at the money as if I wasn’t even there. At that moment she seemed to be lit by an overhead spotlight. Looking at her narrow shoulders, the curve of her body, the gentle gleam of her eyes, I felt a sense of panic.

  “Take your clothes off. I’ve changed my mind. As payment.”

  She smiled faintly in satisfaction. Then she looked at my face.

  “Okay, I won’t make him steal anymore. And I’ll make sure he eats properly.”

  Without hesitation she moved closer, taking off her sweater and undoing the hook of her skirt. Then she reached into her bag and took out some pills.

  “These are great.”

  I held up my hand in refusal. She looked like she was about to say something so I lied again.

  “Pickpockets can’t do drugs.”

  AS I PUSHED her down on the bed I was thinking of Saeko. I’d spent a lot of time with her until four years ago. Even though she had a husband and a child, she frequently came to my place. She often told me she should never have gotten married. When we had sex Saeko used to cry.

  Sobbing, panting, shaking, grabbing my hair, repeatedly sticking her tongue in my mouth. Thin but beautiful, her body would catch the light, seeming to pulsate all over. Her mouth opened in a swallowing motion as she cried, and then unexpectedly she would laugh fit to burst, as if she was expelling some unspecified emotion.

  “Sometimes I want to destroy everything around me that has any value. I wonder why. I know it doesn’t do me any good. Sometimes I don’t understand what I’m trying to do. Is there anything you wish for?”

  Saeko never looked at me when she spoke.

  “You’re a pickpocket, right? That’s cool. But you don’t do it for the money, do you?”

  “Maybe the end,” I said abruptly.

  “The end?”

  “What will happen to me in the end. What happens to people who live the way I do? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  That time Saeko didn’t laugh. For some reason she climbed on top of me without a word and starting making love to me again.

  “I HAVE THIS dream. Even when I’m daydreaming, it’s always the same.”

  Saeko told me this one month before she left me. We were lying on a bed under the red lamp of a hotel room, too lazy to get dressed, looking up at the walls and ceiling.

  “It’s somewhere way, way underground. I’m surrounded by old rotting walls and it’s unbelievably damp. I’m falling, deeper and deeper, and at the very bottom there’s a bed. A bed with no one in it. Since someone’s put a bed there I know there’s nothing beneath, that it really is the bottom. The bed has a hollow, and my body fits that hollow perfectly. As I lie there the hollow slowly starts to squeeze me, like you guys wrap me in your arms. As the hollow in the bed squeezes me, like it’s comforting me, how can I put it, I get incredibly turned on. All sorts of conventional values are trampled and my body grows hot, like a flame, and I come again and again. I’m crying, laughing, smashing things, sticking out my tongue, and even though my body won’t stop spasming it’s like I’m still not forgiven. I pass out, then wake up again straight away. My outline becomes vague. I’m like gray smoke. But even in that state I’m still conscious. I can still feel every single one of those tiny gray particles and even beyond them so intensely that it hurts. And then I turn white with the heat. But at that moment this tall thing appears.”

  I looked her in the face.

  “Long, glistening, towering. It’s like I’m outside somewhere. Then as I’m looking at it I’m thinking, ‘What is that?’ It’s pure, higher than the clouds, the top hidden from sight. And then I realize that I can’t go there, that this hot smoky whiteness is my high point. But just because it’s my peak, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll reach it. What I mean is, it’s my limit. It feels wonderful. I destroy all those values and I exist solely as sensation. I become unbearably hot and then vanish. That tall, shiny tower is a long way off, but I die happily under its ruins. Of course it’s high and beautiful, and I can’t help longing for it, but that’s because it represents my greatest desire.”

  PERHAPS BECAUSE OF the pills, the woman cried out several times, digging her fingernails into my back, my shoulders, my stomach. After we finished she kept her tongue in my mouth for a while. I was still thinking about Saeko.

  “Actual ruins, though,” she had said to me once, “aren’t abstract like that. Ruins are always boring. Solid, concrete and boring.”

  When the woman finally got off me, she lit one of my cigarettes and inhaled deeply. She moved close again and put her hand on my heart. The rain had stopped and everything was quiet. In the distance I could hear a shrill siren.

  “Um, will you see me again?” she said, resting her nose on my shoulder. “It wouldn’t have to cost this much, less would be fine.”

  “No.”

  “It was good, wasn’t it?”

  Her voice grew louder. For a second it seemed to blend into Saeko’s voice and I looked away.

  “It was good, wasn’t it? I bet it was. Absolutely.”

  “It’s not that it wasn’t good,” I said. “You know they say that prostitution is the oldest profession?”

  “The oldest? Hm. What’s the second oldest?”

  “Pickpocket. Stealing. That’s the truth.”

  “Picking pockets is a profession?”

  I grinned.

  “I don’t know, but if you’re going to screw up your life, do it on your own. Don’t get the boy involved.”

  The siren grew gradually louder and finally stopped somewhere nearby.

  “Okay. I won’t make him go shoplifting any more. I send him out when my boyfriend comes round. That’s all right, isn’t it? Sometimes he hits him, see.”

  “Hits him?”

  “Not badly. Just a tap, when he’s drunk.”

  “Anyway, shoplifting is out.”

  “Got it. But let’s get together again, eh?”

  She looked at her watch, put on her clothes and snatched up the money.

  • • •

  EVEN AFTER SHE left I kept thinking about Saeko. When she told me she couldn’t see me any more, she was weeping.

  “When I’m really fucked up—not that I’m not pretty fucked up now—but when I totally fall apart, then will you see me again?”

  She certainly seemed to be serious. I didn’t look away, wanting to hold onto her face for just a little bit longer.

  “Next time we meet,” I said, “I’ll be more screwed up too. As bad as you.”

  Saeko smiled weakly.

  “Yeah. I’d like that. Because you never look down on anyone.”

  But she died alone without getting in touch with me. She disappeared and when her husband found her she’d overdosed. She didn’t leave a note.

  The night I heard abou
t it I went out in the street and stole indiscriminately from rich and poor alike. Burying myself in the crowd, I took wallets and cell phones, even gum and receipts and handkerchiefs. Breathing raggedly, with tension and pleasure running through me, I took them all. High overhead shone a white moon.

  11 I ventured outside for the first time in ages. The wind was blowing a fine rain and everything looked blurry, like in a fog. I passed a group of foreigners in laborers’ clothes, then a woman in an extremely short skirt talking loudly on her phone. I realized that the kid was following me but kept on walking, figuring that if I ignored him he’d give up. For no particular reason I was clutching my cell phone. I bought a can of coffee from a vending machine and warmed my hands on it. My temperature had gone down but I still had a headache. I drank the coffee and tried to decide where to go.

  I thought checking out a nearby hotel or sneaking into a function somewhere would be better than going to Haneda Airport. In a convenience store I bought a magazine to check out what was on. When I came out with my bag the boy was standing in the parking lot behind a small truck with muddy tires. I went into a run-down coffee shop to read my magazine and to make him give up. The interior was dark and damp with a low ceiling. I ordered a coffee, even though I’d just finished one.

  The waitress was wearing a short skirt and black stockings. She reminded me of the boy’s mother. Just then he came into the shop. The glass door was wet from the drizzle. Like me, he had no umbrella.

  He sat down at my table. When the woman in the miniskirt came over with a smile, he asked for an orange juice. I lit a cigarette and looked at his dirty clothes.

  “Go home.”

  He ignored me. Then he spoke in a small voice as if he was opening the conversation.

  “She took my money.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But only a hundred thousand yen. That’s all she found. I’ve still got a hundred and twenty thousand left.”

  “Ah.”

  When his drink arrived he stared at it seriously, like it was precious to him, and stuck the straw in his mouth.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “Go home. I’ve got things to do.”