SATORU KOKUBO (18)
4.1
LAST NIGHT MISAKI, Naoki’s old girlfriend, showed up. So there’s one more person in this group of people-playing-at-being-friends. A nutcase girl who comes up with a name like ‘Fernando Boulevard’ for the Karasuyama shopping district. Apparently their apartment was originally rented by Naoki and this nutty girl. A cowardly college student. A love-addicted girl. A freelance illustrator who likes to hang out with gay guys. And a health-obsessed jogger. If I hadn’t met them there, there’s no way I would ever talk to people like that. Still, hanging out with them turns out to be more fun than I ever imagined.
Last night I let this new girl, Misaki, have the sofa. Then I went out to Shinjuku, after ten, and Makoto and I did our usual thing, taking speed in a public toilet and then hanging out, high, in the park. In less than five minutes this guy who stuck his tongue out like a lizard picked up Makoto, and I figured this night I was out of luck, but then Sylvia, a regular customer, picked me up. For whatever reason, ever since I started living in that apartment customers haven’t been biting.
I went with Sylvia – who’s shooting up so many hormones she’s pretty emotionally unstable – to her place, serviced her, and finally fell asleep near dawn, but still woke up at eleven, had one of her Calorie Mate bars for lunch, and left. I was wandering in the direction of Hatagaya Station when I saw a young girl exiting a high-end condo, the kind with a self-locking front door. Her profile reminded me a bit of Koto. The girl checked her mailbox, which had the number of her apartment on it, dumped a sack of rubbish, and walked off towards the station.
I bought a hot dog and milk at a convenience store, sat on some railings, and kept an eye on the condo. When a young guy, college student by the look of him, came out, I slipped inside just before the front door locked. I went to the seventh floor and with the handy wire I always carry with me, prised open the door to her place in under two minutes.
The apartment was neat and tidy. The pillows were in a strange location, but the bed was nicely made, and the dried flowers hanging on the wall smelled like lavender. A pair of flesh-coloured stockings were discarded on the bed, perhaps because they had runs in them, one stocking hung down towards the wooden floor. There was a burnt smell of butter and toast, probably the remains of breakfast. A typical studio apartment with white walls and wooden flooring.
I took a look around the place, went back down the short hallway to the front door. I locked it and lined up my trainers, which I’d been carrying, next to some black pumps.
In the middle of the apartment was a low table. This girl who resembled Koto must have had some tea before she left – there was a mug with a tiny amount of tea in the bottom. I carefully lifted the cup up and carried it to the kitchen. Running the tap just a little so as not to splash any water, I rinsed the cup in the sink, and poured in some hot water from a push-button carafe. There wasn’t much left in it – it spat out hot water, scalding my fingers, and I shrieked out in pain, my voice reminding me of Sylvia’s voice last night, which sort of left me stunned.
I found some Lipton tea bags on top of the fridge. I steeped a tea bag in the hot water, swinging it back and forth. The clear hot water turned a murky red and a sweet fragrance rose up.
Come to think of it, no one in that apartment drinks tea. Koto, Mirai, and Ryosuke are all coffee drinkers, while health-nut Naoki drinks alcohol but still insists that coffee and cigarettes are the devil’s favourites.
I left the cup with the tea in the sink and went into the bedroom. I looked outside through a gap in the light pink curtains and could see the skyscrapers of Shinjuku off in the distance, and right in front of them the Metro Expressway. I heard from Ryosuke that it’s nearly ten kilometres from Chitose Karasuyama to Shinjuku. On his days off Naoki’s been known to take a train to Shinjuku and then jog all the way back home.
From the seventh floor of this girl’s apartment it was easy to see the traffic-clogged motorway. The double glazing, though, muffled any sound. It was like the sound had been completely removed from the city.
On the wooden window frame were little figurines of Snow White’s Seven Dwarfs. When I counted the dwarfs, though, there were only six of them. Thinking I must have knocked one down, I checked under my feet, and underneath the bed, but no luck – the missing dwarf remained missing.
I picked up one of the dwarfs, with its orange hat, and lined it up against the city streets outside. The dwarf trampled down the skyscrapers and steel towers, just like Godzilla. The brick condos, the Takefuji billboard – the dwarf, beaming all the while, crushed them all underfoot.
There was an alarm clock next to the bed. I picked it up and saw that it was set to ring at ten a.m. I set it to the present time, two p.m., and this silly voice called out ‘Get up! Get up!’ over and over, then changed to a barking dog. I sniggered, set the time back to ten and put the clock back where it was.
I put the hot dog and milk I bought at the convenience store out on the table. The guy at the store must have zapped the hot dog too long in the microwave since it was all shrunk in the wrapper. I bit down on it and the sweet fat slowly spread to the back of my throat.
There was a Polaroid camera on top of the fourteen-inch TV. With the hot dog in one hand, in the other I grabbed the camera and looked through the lens at the room around me. The room seemed larger than when seen with the naked eye. Suddenly, I got the feeling like somebody was standing there, just outside the square frame of the lens, and I hurriedly pulled my eye away from it. Nobody was there, of course. It’s like with a twenty-four-frame roll of film there’s somebody on the twenty-fifth frame, on a thirty-six-frame roll, somebody on the thirty-seventh.
Next to the TV was a bag from a video rental place, a chain store that has a branch in Chitose Karasuyama too. I peeked in the bag and found a copy of the film Pink Panther 2. I’ve heard of it but have never seen it.
I stuck the video in the deck, switched on the TV and quickly lowered the volume. I leaned back against the bed, stretched out my feet, all prepared to enjoy the film. In a sort of museum, this Arab guide with a phony-looking moustache is explaining about this diamond with sparkling bluish highlights to a large group of visitors. I turned up the volume a little.
This is the Pink Panther, he says, symbol of our people for the last thousand years since the Akbar Dynasty. It is the largest and best-known diamond in the world. A unique, priceless gem.
Aren’t you afraid it will be stolen? one of the visitors asks. The guide slowly reaches out towards the display of the diamond. Immediately a shrill alarm pierces the air and heavy steel shutters slam shut on the windows of the museum.
Why is it called the Pink Panther? another visitor asks.
The guide smugly replies, It’s called that because if you shine a light on it from a certain angle it looks like a pink panther is dancing inside.
As the guide explains this, the camera zooms up on the diamond and the famous theme song, which I’ve heard before, begins, and an animated pink panther begins to gyrate around in a dance.
Just then, the phone rang. I hurriedly switched off the TV. The phone rang five times, then went to voicemail. As the recorded message started up I realised I didn’t need to panic and I plonked myself back down again. A girl’s sugary voice started up on the message.
‘Hi – this is Maki. Sorry I backed out of the party with Takahashi and the others last Saturday! It must be your lunch break now so I was going to phone you at work or your mobile, but you know how chicken I am – I was afraid you’d get upset so I called your home instead. If you hear this and think you might forgive me, I’ll be at home tonight so please give me a call. But if you get angry all over again when you hear this, it’ll be too scary for me, so please don’t call me. When you get angry it really does frighten me . . .’
Before I’d realised what I was doing, I was crouched down like a cat, face to face with the phone. The red message light was blinking.
‘. . . And I’d like to see the Ho
ng Kong video, so could you lend it to me? Be careful not to record a SMAP x SMAP variety show over it like you did with the Hawaii video. You know, you should snap off the safety tab . . .’
Right then the buzzer buzzed, the dial tone came on, and the phone call abruptly ended. Thinking she might call back I stood there, cat-like with my rear end stuck out, but the phone didn’t ring again.
I looked up at the shelf of videotapes and next to a video of a live Dragon Ash concert was one labelled Hong Kong 2001. I took out the Pink Panther tape and slipped it in the machine. After some static, this room came on the screen. For a second I almost ran off to the front door. It was like there was a hidden camera somewhere in here that had suddenly sprung to life and was filming this very room. But what was on screen wasn’t this room in real time, with me in it. Instead of me, crouched there like a feline, there was a large suitcase in the same spot.
The scene changed to the view out of the window, then panned to the kitchen. The girl who had just exited this building, the one who looked like Koto, was washing dishes. She must have just taken a shower since she had a bath towel wrapped around her hair, and a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.
Just to make double sure, I looked over at the kitchen – naturally there wasn’t a girl standing there with a bath towel wrapped around her hair.
The girl taking the video seemed to be talking so I turned up the volume a little. When the scale got to sixteen I could make out what she was saying.
We don’t have time. Forget about the dishes, dry your hair instead.
The girl who resembled Koto went on washing the dishes, glanced at the camera, and mumbled – still with the toothbrush in her mouth – Bring that dirty glass over here, will you?
With a soapy finger she pointed to the table and I instinctively glanced down. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t any dirty glass on it.
As I watched the video for a while I figured out that the girl who looked like Koto, the one washing the dishes, was named Yuko, while the one taking the video was Maki, the one who’d called a few minutes ago. After Maki brought the dirty glass over to the kitchen, she continued filming Yuko’s hands as she washed the dishes.
The more I watched this, the more it felt like Yuko and Maki were actually here in the apartment with me. If I looked over I would see Yuko doing the dishes in the kitchen and Maki videoing her . . . But they weren’t there. All I saw was the untouched mug filled with tea.
About five minutes later the scene abruptly changed from this apartment to a view of Hong Kong at night. Growing tired of watching any more alone, I brought the dwarfs over and lined them up on the table facing the TV.
The scene on the video was taken from the window of a high-rise hotel, the typical night scene of Hong Kong you see on TV and postcards, the water of the harbour undulating down below.
The camera turned and the girl who looked like Koto was sprawled out on a sofa in the hotel room. I waited for a while, thinking she was going to say something, but then that scene cut off. It comes with a lid! a voice said as the next scene started, taken during the day in a shopping district with rows of gaudy signs, then this scene, too, abruptly stopped.
The rest of the scenes were all short, and in none of them did Yuko and Maki sound very happy. Instead, a spiritless voice – one of theirs – mixed in with the Hong Kong scenery, was saying things like I’m worn out. You want to go back to the hotel? With these muttered words the scene cut off.
Totally bored, I hit Fast Forward. One scene of Hong Kong after another flashed by and when the video counter got to twenty-four minutes the screen suddenly went dark. And just as quickly another scene came on, of Yuko in her underwear. I hurriedly hit Play.
The scene was in the same hotel room as the beginning. When I rewound it and watched again, Yuko was coming out of the bathroom, in her black underwear, saying Hey! Don’t film me! and then slipping on a shiny red dress that was spread out on the sofa.
That looks great on you. How much was it? Maki’s voice says.
Yuko mumbled a reply I couldn’t catch it. Wearing the red dress now, Yuko walked towards the camera, like she was going to leap out of the screen and appear right before me. The whole screen turned red with the dress, then as she got even closer, it went black. Yuko slowly twirled around in front of the camera, playfully stuck her bum out and then moved away towards the bed.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the scene. Before I realised it, I’d knocked two of the dwarfs off the table.
The Hong Kong video ended with that scene. I kept on fast-forwarding, but that was it. I rewound to the scene with Yuko in her underwear. I paused the part where she stuck her rear end out at the camera. A tiny bit of flab seeped over her black panties. Maybe it was because I’d paused that frame, but her flesh seemed to jiggle.
I lay down on Yuko’s bed, doing my best not to wrinkle the bedspread. Last night Sylvia had squeezed everything out of my cock, but it was almost painfully erect again. It was nearly bursting through the denim of my jeans, and I could feel it pulsing. The room was as still as always. I couldn’t hear a sound from outside, either. Just the alarm clock ticking away.
I unzipped and my cock sprang out. I picked up the Polaroid camera from the table and snapped a photo of my hard-on. For an instant the flash lit up the room.
Once I asked Ryosuke how he took care of business. I mean, he shared a room with Naoki, and Koto was always in the living room. Ryosuke began by saying, ‘Now don’t ever tell anybody about this, okay?’ and went on to explain. ‘There’s a playground behind the building, right? I go there and do it in the toilets.’ According to him, this life where he can’t even freely masturbate ‘doesn’t particularly bother’ him.
On the black Polaroid the outline of my cock began to emerge. In the background was the empty kitchen. Unlike the photo, my cock had now wilted and I stuffed it back into my underpants. I glanced at the clock and it had been two hours since I snuck in.
I got up off the bed and smoothed out the wrinkles. I turned off the TV and the video and put the Hong Kong 2001 and Pink Panther 2 videos back where they belonged. I returned the dwarfs back to the windowsill, stowed the milk and hotdog leftovers in the convenience store plastic bag, and put the Polaroid camera back on the table.
The tea I hadn’t drunk was completely cold. I poured it down the sink, leaving a little bit in the bottom of the cup, and put the cup back on the table.
I looked around the apartment. Everything was the same as when I came in. The only thing different was the red message light flashing.
As I walked to the front door I gave the place another once-over, but couldn’t find anything out of place. When I’d first snuck in, the apartment looked very appealing, but in two hours’ time I was bored with it. I hardly ever find a place I’d like to stay in for long.
I slipped out of the building, trying to keep out of sight. On the way to Hatagaya Station I felt like calling the apartment, so I stopped by a public phone and made the call. As expected, Koto answered.
‘Oh – it’s you,’ she said, obviously disappointed.
‘Where is everybody?’ I asked.
‘They went on a picnic at Kinuta Park,’ she answered, sounding bored by it.
‘Misaki, too?’
‘Yeah. Misaki, Naoki, and Mirai all went in Ryosuke’s Momoko on a picnic.’
‘Why didn’t you go with them?’
‘I don’t want to get a sunburn.’
‘So what are you up to now?’
‘Nothing, really. What about you? Where are you?’
‘I’m in Hatagaya. Is Misaki staying over at our place tonight, too?’
‘She said she’s going home. She said Ryosuke was going to give her a lift on his way to work.’
‘I guess I’ll go home then.’
‘Yes, come on home. Let’s watch some videos together.’
‘Videos? . . . Like what, for instance?’
‘I don’t care. Pick up something on your way back.’
‘There’s nothing I particularly want to see . . . Oh – have you ever seen The Pink Panther?’
‘The Pink Panther? No, I haven’t . . . That’s fine with me. Are you going to work tonight?’
‘Tonight? . . . I might take the night off. I worked too hard yesterday.’
‘Then get two videos, okay?’
As I was about to hang up Koto yelled out, ‘And get some doughnuts from that shop near the station!’
4.2
I was slumped on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, spreading strawberry jam on a waffle that Koto made me when Naoki came in and said, ‘Satoru, you feel like working at my company today?’
Of course I didn’t, so I said no and bit into the hot waffle. Koto was already making another batch of waffles. ‘You should do it,’ she said, so I asked Naoki what sort of work it was. He works at a film distribution company and all they wanted was someone to stick labels on envelopes with announcements of a preview showing of their next film. A simple enough job, but since they were talking about several hundred envelopes it wasn’t the kind of work that could be finished in an hour or two. The other employees were all busy preparing for the Cannes Film Festival and the films they were going to buy to distribute, so no one else could help out.
‘You’re taking the day off anyway, right?’ Naoki asked as he bit into a waffle of his own.
‘I haven’t decided,’ I replied, but it didn’t look like the listlessness I’d been feeling the last few days was going to vanish by evening.
In the end, with Koto egging me on, I showered and went along with Naoki. The inside of the train was mobbed, and by the time we got to Yotsuya, where his company was, I was exhausted.
In the train Naoki asked me, ‘Are you going to quit the job you have now?’ I didn’t reply and he went on: ‘It’s okay to quit, but you can’t just leave things unclear like this. You’ve got to sit down and have a talk with your boss.’
‘What should I talk to him about?’ I asked.
‘Tell him when you’re planning to quit. He’s got to have time to find a replacement. Right?’
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