I did laugh till I fell out of my chair at a performance of a strange story called “Maiden Mountain” by the Rakugo Research Society, and I got so frightened in a haunted house that I threw a friendly punch at a strung-up piece of jelly meant to scare visitors with a slimy sensation. The Fine-Art Club said they’d draw my portrait, so I had it done with the red koi in the frame. When I saw the model the Keifuku Electric Railroad Research Society made of a triple-decker car that ran on a railroad connecting Kyoto and Fukui that may or may not have existed a long time ago, I was impressed with how weird it was.
My one regret is that I wasn’t able to enter the Hall of International Treasures (a booth by the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division). “Hall of International Treasures” had a fascinating ring to it, which aroused my curiosity, but I was turned away at the entrance—“This isn’t for people like you.” I wonder what was wrong with me. I heard men inside giggling, so they must have been doing something amusing. Unable to suppress my interest, expanding as it was like a cloud of cotton candy, I attempted several times to infiltrate, but to my chagrin, I was driven back every time.
While I had that setback, I had a fun time seeing all sorts of things for the most part. And then I encountered something I still can’t forget: Elephant Butt.
Wise readers, it’s been a while.
Now I’d like you to please imagine this.
Say there’s a kindhearted maiden moved to tears by a movie about a guy whose nose hairs grow three feet a day who someone made for who knows what reason, and say she has the fight to confront a piece of jelly hanging in a haunted house with a friendly punch, that she’s so pure, she pays earnest attention to an absurd tall tale about a train running directly between Kyoto and Fukui, and that she’s an embodiment of such curiosity that she tries to force her way into a shady exhibit called the Hall of International Treasures. Not only that, but this maiden carries a red koi fish on her back, which clashes with her neat appearance.
What kind of impression do you suppose she made?
It goes without saying.
She was extraordinarily conspicuous. No one who met her could forget her. Men especially were all idiots, and many of them seemed to have a simplistic mind-set that caused them to mistake her kindness and curiosity as affection for them personally. Whenever I asked about her, they murmured with dreamy eyes as if their romance was just beginning: “The girl with the carp? Yes, I saw her. She’s a great girl, just great.”
My irritation mounting at the ever-growing swarm of instant rivals, I wanted to grab them all by the shoulders and shout, She’s not interested in you at all! but the double-edged sword came right back around. Dammit, she’s not interested in me, either! I groaned.
Following the trail of this charming girl as she bounced like a skipping stone, I proceeded deeper into this festival of idiots, but though I heard rumors of her, I didn’t see her anywhere.
Without managing to locate her, I came upon a weird exhibit called Elephant Butt. Thoughtlessly, I let slip, “What the heck is this nonsense?” and angered the girl manning the desk. She made some kind of smelly gas spray from the elephant’s butt on display. Well, it made sense for a butt to have that sort of gimmick, but it smelled awfully rank, so I got out of there as fast as I could. I just couldn’t get a break. I took it out on the hall as I walked away.
When I came out of the bathroom, I saw an odd person dancing down the hall. From the back, I could tell it was my clubmate whom I run into around town fairly often. Usually, he was such a calm person, but today he was stomping and kicking on his way as if he was angry about something. He went down the stairs practically ripping his hair out.
Looking down the hall, I saw a large sign with ELEPHANT BUTT written on it. Here was another name with something cute and charming about it. Compelled by my curiosity, I stepped inside.
A beautiful girl brimming with melancholy sat alone at the reception desk. Behind her hung a dark curtain, so it was impossible to tell what sort of exhibit it might be. The receptionist was staring intently at her hands, moving them with a single-minded intensity to thread Daruma dolls onto a string. When I addressed her, she looked up.
“Yes?”
“What sort of exhibit might this be?’
“It’s an exhibit where you pet an elephant’s butt.”
“Could it be? A real one?”
A smile as gentle as a spring breeze caressing the banks of the Kamo River played across her face. “It’s not a real one; however, the feel of the real thing has been reproduced to every extent possible.”
“Well then, I’ll try petting it.”
When I entered the classroom, I noticed the windows were covered with dark curtains and something preposterously big and round was bulging out of the wall, bathed in electric light. It looked just as though an elephant in the next room had stuffed its bottom through the wall and gotten stuck. Despite the fact that it was artificial, petting it made me giddy with embarrassment. Blushing as I stroked, I was surprised to find the texture coarse and prickly, so much so that my hand might have started to bleed. When I exclaimed “Ouch!” in spite of myself, the receptionist called from behind the dark curtain.
“Are you all right?”
“Sorry, I’m fine.”
Are elephant bottoms really so intense? I wondered. Its appearance was humorous, but this was a ferocious bottom that crushed any superficial notions and bared its fangs to snap at you. I petted it many times to teach my hands the harshness of reality.
The reception lady peeked in from behind the dark curtain. “You’re quite enthusiastic, huh? You’re the first person to touch it with so much zeal.”
“This was a wonderful idea. I’ve learned how harsh reality can be.”
“Exactly. They really are that prickly. You can’t tell just by watching them on TV.”
“Did you make this?”
“Yes. It took so long.”
“Well, it’s such a massive piece…”
Then the two of us gazed up at the elephant bottom. “But you know, no matter how prickly they are, there’s something kind of great about elephant butts, don’t you think?” she asked.
“I do. They’re so big and round. Big round things are good.”
“Yup, and the earth is big and round, too.”
We laughed.
But really, what a novel, profound idea! To teach someone the bitter realities of life by having them pet a super-realistic reproduction of an elephant’s bottom! As I walked down the hall, leaving Elephant Butt behind, I was filled with admiration. Everyone thinks up such interesting things! Compared to them, I must be completely boring. Going forward, I’ll accumulate more significant experiences and become well-informed, and in the not-too-distant future, I’ll come into contact with a real elephant bottom! I’ll become a splendid enough adult to rival this red koi! And while I’m at it, I’ll get taller!
Eventually, I made it back to the landing where the Speedy Kotatsu had been earlier, but there was no sign of it. It had vanished in a way worthy of its name. On the landing was a single Daruma the size of an apple. I locked eyes with it and thought, Daruma dolls are quite round as well.
“Cuteness, thy name is Daruma,” I cooed, stroking it.
Just then a bell started clanging right next to me. Next came strange shouts of “Hey-ho!” and “Steady as she goes!” as several students gathered in a busy hustle. They took out red armbands and wound them on without a single wasted motion.
“The two o’clock show is about to start! Presenting The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” A girl’s shout echoed down the stairs through the hall as she struck the dish-shaped bell in her hand. “Act forty-seven!”
Overawed, I retreated to the bottom of the stairs, clasping my hands in anticipation. A surprise-attack play in the hallway! Yet another novel idea. Upon hearing the announcement, students gathered around to watch, and in no time, a huge crowd had formed. Pushing through the crowd next to me came the people from the Ablutio
ns indie film club. When the cameraman’s eyes met mine, he said, “Oh, it’s you. Thanks for before.”
“Are you filming the play?”
“We’re the Crackpot of Monte Cristo Tracking Squad.”
The woman with the bell pulled a reel on her hip and extended a line across the landing. As she did that, other members of the troupe briskly set up an extendable pole and draped a black curtain for a backdrop. There was not a single extraneous movement. In the blink of an eye, the landing was ready for the performance. But just as they were about to begin, they all stopped. They huddled up and murmured, “Princess Daruma isn’t here yet” and “I guess she didn’t make it.”
When one of the guys suggested, “Why don’t you do it?” the woman with the reel said, “I specialize in props.” Suddenly, she looked down at me. It seemed as if my koi fish caught her eye. She raced down the stairs, looking as if she were going to eat it, so I protected him.
“Hey, do you wanna be an understudy?”
A long time ago, I used to hold recitals by myself in the corner of a park or tatami room, so it wasn’t as if I had zero experience, but I wasn’t sure I could properly fulfill the request of professionals. I was lost for words when she said, “Hurry, read this!” and handed me a packet of script pages.
I took a deep breath and puffed up like a balloon.
I had only just learned the truth about reality by touching Elephant Butt and decided that I would experience lots of things to become an admirable adult. If I ran away with my tail between my legs now, I’d be a laughingstock for generations to come as a girl who said one thing, then did another. And I also figured there had to be some reason I was being trusted with such an important role at my very first school festival.
I nodded, took the script, and looked over it on my way up the stairs to the landing. The prop lady put a cape over my shoulders. “Ready? We don’t mind if you read your lines from the script.”
“I already memorized them.”
THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO
ACT 47
SETTING: LANDING ON THE STAIRS IN THE ACADEMIC CENTER
His production meeting over, AIJIMA of indie film club Ablutions comes down the stairs carrying his camera and equipment. PRINCESS DARUMA blocks his way.
DARUMA
Are you Aijima of the film club Ablutions?
AIJIMA
How rude of you to call me by name from the shadows like that. First, reveal yourself.
DARUMA
The heavens call, the earth calls, the people call—they call on me to deliver divine retribution! If you want to know, I will tell you: I am Princess Daruma. Does the name “the Crackpot of Monte Cristo” ring a bell?
AIJIMA
Hmm, I have no memory of it.
DARUMA
Then I’ll have to remind you!
Princess Daruma pounces and ties Aijima up.
AIJIMA
What violence! I’ll call the police!
DARUMA
Listen here. When the Crackpot of Monte Cristo was reading a smutty book at the invitation of the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division, someone filmed him and then screened it. How insulting! The proud Crackpot of Monte Cristo went to argue directly with the photographers, and no one has heard from him since. The Bedroom Investigation Commission coughed it up—that the contemptible photographer was none other than you, Aijima of the film club Ablutions!
AIJIMA
I don’t know what I don’t know.
DARUMA
Well then, how shall I deal with this? I happen to have a great many peas here. What if I shoved them up your nose, took a close-up shot, and screened it at the film festival with the title Funny Face?
AIJIMA
Ohhh, please, anything but that! Not my beautiful face!
DARUMA
Then you’d better give me the whole story. Where is my love, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo?
AIJIMA
I’ll tell you everything. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo has his own opinions where films are concerned, and when he came to the school festival film screening, he laughed off my film and called it “a shame of a film and a shame for Japan.” With my pride crushed, it’s only natural that I should hold a grudge. So I arranged with the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division in advance to get revenge by secretly taking compromising footage of him reading obscene materials. The plan went off without a hitch, the true-to-life footage energized the crowd at the screening, and I’m sure I’ll never forget how good it felt when he came at me, fists flying, veins pulsing on his forehead. But I don’t know what happened to him after that. The ones who dragged the Crackpot of Monte Cristo away when he attacked me were…
He trails off.
DARUMA
Tell me the schemers’ names!
AIJIMA
I’ll tell you; I won’t leave anything out… It was the Sophistry Debate Club. Worse than brutes, they are—rotten university students, selfish bastards who are corrupt to the core, messing around with nonsensical sophistry like slimy, twisted, tricksy eels. Both I and the Bedroom Investigation Commission are nothing but their pawns. They’ve spirited the Crackpot of Monte Cristo off somewhere to get back at him for beating them at their own game.
DARUMA
I see!
AIJIMA
Please have mercy.
DARUMA
No, I won’t be forgiving you. You shall suffer the same indignity the Crackpot of Monte Cristo suffered. I’ll stuff these gorgeous green peas up your nose and expose your shame to all the world.
AIJIMA
Waaah. Please not my nose! My beauty, my sex magnetism…
DARUMA
(while stuffing peas up Aijima’s nose)
The Sophistry Debate Club… I’ve burned that despicable name into my brain.
When I finished the saying the last line, a black curtain came down. The immediate round of applause made my heart flutter with an excitement I hadn’t felt in a long while. I was glad the actor playing Aijima complimented me—“You were great!”—as he shot peas out of his nose. “It’s amazing you memorized all those lines so fast.”
“Let’s do the next one together, too. I think act forty-eight will be at the north gate.”
The troupe broke down the stage in the blink of an eye and removed their armbands. The prop girl shouted, “Break!” and everyone ran away in different directions. As if everything had been a dream, all that was left was the stairway landing. The audience also dispersed in small groups. The people from Ablutions packed up their equipment. “Wow, I can’t believe our club showed up in it,” one of them said. “Aijima’s probably gonna be pissed.”
Just then I saw a Daruma doll that someone had kicked go rolling down the hallway. Cuteness, thy name is Daruma. I chased after it, but for some reason, it just kept rolling and rolling. “Nice rolling, thy name is Daruma!”
“Hey, man, we’ve got some great stuff here. Exceedingly exciting.” In a dimly lit hallway with no one around, a sickly student sidled up to me. “We’re very proud of our collection. It’s a world of pink—for men only.”
He took me to a corner of the building where the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division had quietly built the Hall of International Treasures. They’d hung dark curtains over the windows, and illuminated by lewd pink lights, materials from past and present, near and far, to do with men and women in all sorts of sexual acts were on display in the dimly lit classroom. It reeked with the odor of men. In the corner sat a sex doll (as an article on display) that the president of the group had bought with money he earned by setting off display fireworks for shows one summer. You could say here lay true idiocy. I found it honestly lamentable, as a fellow student, that they’d occupy a sacred classroom and hold such an obscene exhibition. I thought they should be ashamed of themselves.
And so, I was examining the items on display in detail as an escape from the mortal world and to recharge when there was a sudden commotion n
ear the entrance. Wearing armbands of the School Festival Office, a group of people pushed their way past the commission members who tried to stop them. The director of the office was with them. When he saw me, he exclaimed, “Whoa, whoa,” and grinned awkwardly. “So you’re a perv, too, huh?”
Then he put on a serious face and scanned the pink classroom. He grabbed a nearby display item and flipped through it. “This is bad. It’s way too explicit. We have a problem,” he groaned. “You guys in the Indecent Investigation Commission need to tone it down.”
“We’re not the ‘Indecent Investigation Commission’! We’re the Bedroom Investigation Commission!”
“Either way. In any case, I’m going to have to have you guys pack it up.”
The members of the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division huddled for a little while to confer with one another, but eventually, they put a few photo collections in a bag and handed it to the director, wearing ingratiating smiles. “These are some new materials we’ve recently unearthed. How would you like to take them? I’m sure these sorts of things will come in handy for running the festival.”
The director took the books with a dissatisfied look on his face and silently paged through them. After taking a closer look at the “new materials,” he pointed at another item on display and said, “That looks like it might be useful, too.” The commission members hurriedly handed it over. The director paged through the photo book and nodded. “Yes, with materials like these, ‘Hall of Treasures’ is a worthy name. Very educational.”
The director exchanged firm handshakes with the members of the commission. “Continue keeping a sharp eye out for women and minors.”
The Night Is Short, Walk on Girl Page 12