Beasts Head for Home

by Kōbō Abe

  Kyūzō began to feel a strong temptation to speak to the youth. He felt that they could become very close friends. The youth’s fingers were long and nimble. No doubt the warmth of the dog’s blood helped keep away the cold. His face was thin and bony. By his nose, there was a deep crease etched into one side of his face, and this feature seemed to be awaiting the moment when he would suddenly burst out laughing.

  The vest, however, held Kyūzō in check. Soon the youth got up and left, leaving behind the dog’s head, legs, and internal organs. The rising steam shone white in the morning sunlight. Kyūzō somehow felt extremely irritated. He hungered for human contact in the same way that one’s throat grows thirsty.

  He took another small taste of the heroin. The sky clouded over and the wind picked up. He thought that he could hear the sounds of the town wafting in on the wind. I want to return to Japan soon, he thought. The inner walls of his face contracted tightly. In his mind, he repeated over and again the image of the youth’s hands as they stripped off the dog’s skin. In the same way, he reflected, I want to tear off that something which is holding me back. He rubbed both cheeks forcefully with the back of his hands. Something like dandruff fell to the ground. How in the world do I look?

  His forehead felt smooth. The drug was beginning to take effect. He thought that Kō would certainly come with good news. Red was beginning to turn to green. But what could possibly be taking so long? he wondered. In any case … He suddenly felt up for a fight. From the start, there was no need for me to be so weak! If he wants to hold me back, then I’ll just hold him back too! As long as I keep the vest, he won’t be able to leave me. Even he should know that. Right, if he wants to be so damn selfish, then there’s no chance at all that I’m going to let go of the vest.

  His navel area began to burn with itchiness. Turning over the band of his underwear, he saw a small white insect moving along the seam. He crushed it. It was unpleasant at first, but after a while he just couldn’t stop. Because of the stiff vest, he was unable to bend freely and so just lowered his eyes, but this caused his head to hurt. Nevertheless, for a while he was able to forget that time was passing.

  Green turned to yellow and then yellow turned to purple. But Kō didn’t come. In the darkness, Kyūzō ate the last bit of food and drank the last drop of water. Yet this only made him feel unbearably thirsty. The anxiety from last night reared its head once again. Tasting the drug, he used the strength it gave him to boldly go outside, where he squeezed and drank the snow in the shade.

  Someone approached from behind. Kyūzō thought that he felt something heavy on his neck. In fact, however, it was a sudden, powerful blow. He fell to his knees in a squat before gradually stretching out his arms and legs.

  XXVII

  Kyūzō was looking around for something somewhere. The air was considerably heavier than usual and the area around him was entirely reddish brown, like the color of rusted steel. One after another, things randomly appeared and then disappeared: a street corner, a playing field with banners, a scrap collector, a long earthen wall. Kyūzō knew that this was a dream and not reality. He was fighting with a dog inside a clay model of the wasteland while outside a man who appeared to be a teacher was explaining something to students. He felt tired and sleepy. This isn’t real, he thought, so it should be all right to rest. Each time he tried to do so, however, the teacher scolded him. “Don’t disturb class,” he said. His mother stood behind the teacher on tiptoes, peering at him. She seemed to be pleading, “Please do as the teacher says and don’t bring shame upon the dead.” In a stern voice, the teacher asked, “Well, what’s the matter then?” Then … Kyūzō summoned all his strength trying to remember. The sky was a dull red. Nearby there was a peeling brick wall with no ceiling. He had accepted the mummies’ invitation. It was not especially pleasant, but he felt that it would have been wrong to refuse and so couldn’t leave his seat. Suddenly mice sprang out of the mummies’ faces. The rodents immediately grouped together, spreading throughout the space like a carpet of iron sand bristling on a magnet. Kyūzō fled. He climbed up a flagpole outside. The flagpole was weak, threatening to break at any moment. Suddenly Kō rushed out from somewhere and began slashing at the base of the pole with a knife. Kyūzō fell and woke up. He found himself again back in the classroom. “Don’t sleep!” the teacher screamed, raising his hands as he approached. “Please forgive me, but I’m so sleepy!” Kyūzō exclaimed as he now actually woke up.

  He heard some kind of sad, weak yelping. It was still dark out. Shuddering, he tried to get up but was unable to move freely. His neck felt heavy and slack, as if it had been gouged out. The yelp faded and turned into a hacking bark. Right, I guess another stray dog has fallen into the trap … An obscure, black shadow suddenly came into focus and began to take form. (“I was trying to lick some snow. Someone approached and suddenly hit me from behind.”) I might be dying, Kyūzō thought, and at that moment fear helped him summon his last bit of strength. Clawing at the ground for a long time, he finally placed his arms on the stone pedestal of the fountain and sat up. He was close to losing nearly all sensation in his limbs. Fighting off sleep, he pressed his arms to his side and tried desperately to shake them. In an effort to drive away sleep, he tried to target something—getting angry seemed best. He concentrated on Kō.

  Intense pain began in his right ear before coursing through his entire body. This was a sign that, despite the crushing pain, he was gradually regaining sensation in his limbs. With open hands, he noisily slapped the area above his knees. His overcoat slipped from his shoulders and fell to the ground. His arms were not in the sleeves. Why not? He suddenly realized that his coat had also been unbuttoned. The overcoat had been cut from top to bottom all the way to the jacket.

  The vest had been stolen!

  With that, Kyūzō nearly fell asleep again. Perhaps he even did sleep for a bit. He dreamt of the Sea of Japan. It was only about the size of a brook. On the far shore there was a mountain, in the folds of which appeared a town. The town was identical to Baharin, which had abandoned him and driven him out. It even seemed as if Baharin had moved while remaining as it was. That might even have been possible if the sea were so narrow. Kyūzō’s heart ached with the desire to reach the town. However, the gap was slightly too wide to jump across. He shook his fists and bared his teeth as he shouted in frustration.

  He shouted in his dream, but also shouted in reality. The dog began yelping again. Without knowing what was wrong with what parts of his body, he forced himself to his feet on the basis of the sharp pain in his knees and his vague sense of up and down. As soon as he thought that gravity had disappeared, he again fell flat on his face. However, these efforts were useful. His heart regained its vitality while the muscles throughout his body roused themselves at the sense of danger.

  Kyūzō still needed warmth. If he could not create this warmth from inside, then he had no choice but to seek it from the outside. He got on all fours and began moving. Circling the fountain, he headed south. The dog was growling furiously. Clambering up the slope, Kyūzō crawled into a pile of fallen leaves. He gathered them together and then took out a match. His fingers wouldn’t move. Grasping four or five matches together in his hand, he tried to strike them against his shoe when he realized that his right shoe was missing. In the shoe was concealed the certificate that Alexandrov had signed for him. The dog continued growling. Kyūzō growled back no less loudly. At the same time, he felt around to discover that his knife and the Dania spoon were also gone. Holding the matches, he struck them against his left shoe. An orange flame flared up. When he set the flame to the leaves, however, it emitted only a thin steam before vanishing all too quickly.

  Kyūzō once again began crawling south. His last hope now lay with the animal pen where the urchin stayed. Still, how awful the forest was! How long the distance! He nearly got lost among the complex uphills and downhills. He braced himself by stirring up the hatred within him. Damn it, it had to have been Kō! If not, then who else
could have known about that certificate in my shoe? If it were just any thief, then he would have stripped me of everything, from my shoes and clothes. The fact that only one shoe was removed was proof that he was intentionally looking for the certificate. It had to have been Kō! Damn it, Kō that bastard! For some reason, however, Kyūzō felt sadness rather than hatred welling up inside him. The sadness was smooth and silky; it felt good. I might die now, he felt at last, as if referring to someone else. Suddenly he collapsed, his face plunging into the fallen leaves.

  XXVIII

  Faint smoke hung in the air all around him. Beyond the smoke shimmered the dazzling afternoon light. Right above his head there was the sound of someone blowing their nose with their fingers. The urchin was using a wooden spatula to scrape the fat off a dog’s hide. Kyūzō found himself in the animal pen. Lumps of meat and threaded strands of garlic hung down alongside one another from the ceiling.

  Their eyes met.

  “So you’re a Jap demon!” uttered the dog-catching youth, extending his foot and kicking Kyūzō in the head. Kyūzō was shocked, as he had been wondering how to thank the youth for his kindness. Yet he felt no animosity. The sense of something like friendship that began when he peered at the urchin from the tower continued unabated. He wanted to believe that this was rather a quarrel between friends over some minor misunderstanding.

  Kyūzō tried to raise his head, but, as if stuck to the floor, could not budge. He tried to smile back at the urchin, but could only manage to slightly twitch the edge of his lips. He tried to speak, but his vocal chords were numb and utterly unresponsive.

  “Where did you go and what were you doing after you were spying here the day before yesterday?” Sticking out his lower lip, the youth brandished the spatula he was holding before Kyūzō’s eyes as if demanding an answer. There was a strong sense of wariness and aggression about him.

  “Shui,” Kyūzō barely replied, using the Chinese word for water.

  Scowling, the youth spat. Gesturing with the spatula that he would slit Kyūzō’s throat, the youth ladled some water into an empty can and roughly poured it into Kyūzō’s mouth. Upon drinking the water, Kyūzō suddenly felt exhausted again. He closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep just as he was. However, the youth refused to let him. Kicking Kyūzō in the head, he again pressed for an explanation. Kyūzō felt absolutely no need to hide things. But he didn’t understand what the youth wanted and so had no idea what to say that would satisfy him. He began speaking haphazardly. The explanation should have been simple. Once he began speaking, however, he discovered that this simplicity was extremely difficult to explain. Besides, he was not yet fully conscious.

  Kyūzō nearly dropped off to sleep several times in the course of his explanation, but was immediately poked in the head. Gradually, however, this poking became softer until finally he was struck not in the head but in the shoulders. Eventually he again found himself asleep without remembering what or how much he had spoken.

  On one occasion, he remembered getting up to urinate when the youth fed him something. It was dark. A dull, purplish light from a handmade lamp hovered about the ceiling. In addition to the youth, Kyūzō sensed that there were two or three other men nearby. He seemed to recall exchanging words with them about something, but his memory wasn’t clear.

  He fully awoke only in the afternoon of the following day. No one was there. He got up and drank some water. Moving about, Kyūzō felt as if his body were not his own. He was buoyant and felt good. Although he had no appetite, he felt a strong urge to eat something. He plucked some garlic from the ceiling and put it in his mouth; it was completely tasteless. Yet he immediately began to feel terrible stomach pains. Thrusting his head between the folds of the woven mat, he vomited up the water he had just drunk. A warm, exhilarating wind brushed past his face. “I survived!” he realized, and immediately felt the back of his nose become moist. However, he couldn’t tell whether this was from his tears or his vomit.

  “Want to eat something?” Kyūzō raised his head to find the youth standing there. He entered silently, took out a stale steamed bun from an inner wooden box, salted it, and handed it to Kyūzō. He then gave Kyūzō a small piece of meat. It had to be dog meat. The youth was expressionless, but his animosity from yesterday seemed to be gone. Kyūzō devoured the food. The thing called appetite awoke, and he felt as if he might faint from the desire to eat more. His teeth began to chatter as he gnawed them. His mouth filled with saliva, which dripped down his chin. “It’s like I’ve become a dog,” he thought.

  “I’ll take you to the Japanese people’s place,” the youth said, jerking his chin.

  Kyūzō couldn’t believe his ears. It was all too sudden.

  “The Japanese people’s place,” the youth repeated, furrowing his brow in annoyance.

  However, Kyūzō still could not believe it. That Japan could suddenly appear so close by—no, that’s impossible. I’m dreaming now. If not, then all the pain and fear I’ve suffered have been a dream … Kyūzō waited breathlessly for what the youth would say next. He suspected that the youth would soon begin laughing maliciously: It’s just a joke! Serves you right! I bet you were excited! But the youth did not laugh. Instead, he took from the shadow of the inner wooden box Kyūzō’s right shoe that had been removed and then forgotten by the fountain. He shook it enviously two or three times before silently throwing it at Kyūzō’s feet. Nevertheless, Kyūzō was still half doubtful. He couldn’t help feeling that some cruel trick was being played on him. He even wondered if the youth didn’t plan to take him somewhere—for example, out to the slope where he had set the trap—and kill him like a dog. Suddenly he recalled the pistol that should still be where he had left it inside the fountain. Had Kō taken it? There was a strong possibility that he had, but Kyūzō needed to check. If it were still there, then it would now be the sole property that he had left. No matter how much the urchin wanted his shoe, he shouldn’t sell it. The shoe wouldn’t quite fit his foot, which had grown swollen and stiff like papier-mâché.

  “In exchange, I’ll take this,” the youth stated, rolling up the garment padded with thick cotton that he wore around his midriff. The pistol was thrust inside his bellyband.

  Kyūzō’s face hardened as if it had been smeared with glue. He heard the sound of his own blood flowing above his eardrums. It doesn’t have bullets in it anyway. Besides, this guy is much smaller and thinner than I am. I won’t lose if it turns into a fight …

  Yet Kyūzō said nothing, merely nodding slightly. The youth’s expression “in exchange” took the air out of his mounting agitation, calming his tension. Certainly what this dog-catching youth had given him was irreplaceable. His life, his overcoat, and his shoe—as well as the place for Japanese people that he had just mentioned. And the youth had taken out and shown him that thing which could have remained hidden.

  Rising to his feet, Kyūzō again nodded slowly and deeply.

  XXIX

  Like wood that is beginning to dry out, Kyūzō’s entire body gave off a splintering sound as he set off walking. As always, the sky was a heavy gray. The ground was melting, mixed with shards of ice underfoot, giving off a pliant sound.

  They left through the western entrance, which was on the opposite side from where he had come. There was a neatly paved road with streetcar tracks, beyond which appeared a leaden two-storied building that looked like a pile of boxes and was completely shrouded in withered ivy branches. The Chinese Nationalist Party flag was half twisted around a flagpole, fluttering painfully. Behind the gatepost stood a sentry, who slowly walked around in small, continuous circles. The sentry cast a glance in their direction, but quickly ignored them and turned away. Kyūzō realized how shabby he looked. He was covered all over with cuts and bruises from frostbite, his face was haggard with fatigue, and his clothes were ragged with holes and dust. If I had a mirror, I’d like to see who looks dirtier, this urchin or myself. Twisting his shoulders around, he scratched his back.

  They
cut across the road with streetcar tracks and proceeded straight. As Kyūzō tripped on the sidewalk pavement, the heel of his left shoe fell off. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket. Suddenly he was struck by a sense of foreboding that his entire foot had been removed. However, it worked out well for him to limp along behind the youth since the latter had a strange way of walking. With his eyes fixed on the ground, the youth would kick away pebbles, abruptly jump up to snap off branches from roadside trees before hurling them over the street walls, or leap up randomly while humming. He couldn’t stand still for an instant. Kyūzō felt somehow relieved as he watched the youth, and yet his chest tightened with a certain sense of inferiority, for he had to convince himself that it was strictly because of his broken heel that he couldn’t act the same way.

  The town was divided into a precise grid. They continued for some time along a quiet, old-fashioned residential district, with little pedestrian traffic. Then they suddenly came upon a bustling main street. Shops appeared on both sides, but most—with the exception of grocery stores—were closed. What created such bustle were rather the small sidewalk vendors who had set up their wares directly on the street. One layer after another, these vendors crowded together all the way to the roadway, shouting at the top of their lungs. Among them was even an old woman holding a single wrapping cloth for sale. Men and women dressed in solid black cotton-padded garments wound their way through the crowd, coming and going slowly. Occasionally wagons passed by. The merchants would then quickly carry their belongings off to the side, waiting until the wagons passed before immediately returning to their original places to begin selling again. Most of the passengers riding in the wagons were soldiers.