by Isis, Justin
She offered me tea. I declined. She looked at me expectantly. I opened my briefcase — actually my father’s, although he never noticed its absence — and produced a photograph of you in Shibuya Center-gai, an innocuous shot of you smiling into the camera. As Mrs. Ito examined this image I gave her a brief invented biography. You had always been a carefree and exuberant girl, I explained, but recently you had become withdrawn; apart from ignoring your friends, you were falling behind in your classes and coming home at all hours of the night, often with cuts and bruises. When your parents asked what was wrong you refused to tell them anything. Finally, after searching your room, your father discovered incriminating letters. He hired me on the suspicion that someone had been interfering with you, and after a routine investigation I discovered it was none other than Ito.
I said I did nothing when I saw you and Ito entering the Black Cat, but this isn’t strictly true; in fact I filmed you with my mobile phone. I showed this footage to Mrs. Ito and suggested it was not in her husband’s best interest for him to be seen entering a love hotel with a minor. I had kept my tone neutral, but now I became curt: charges would be brought unless Ito immediately broke off all contact with you. Your father was an influential man, and he would not hesitate to call down the full force of the law. This woman reacted with such dignity and restraint that I am afraid I could not resist inserting a number of secondary allegations concerning her husband’s activities — all suitably vague — which eventually left her in tears.
I left the apartment and took the train to Nihonbashi. Two days ago I had called your father at his office and, in my private investigator role, explained that you were in danger. He was dismissive at first, but I let slip certain details that soon convinced him of my sincerity. In particular, I remember the tone of his voice changing when I mentioned the magazines and clothing he had found in your room. He was able to come on a late lunch break, and so we arranged to meet at the Saint-Marc Cafe on the ground floor of Mitsukoshi. By chance I saw him ahead of me as I passed through the doors, recognizing his face from the photographs in your house. I introduced myself and we sat at a table by the window.
I began by showing him the footage of you and Ito entering the Black Cat. I had been hired by this man’s wife, I told him, because she feared that her husband’s obsession with you would be the ruin of their marriage. Immediately your father demanded to know who Ito was and where he could confront him. I explained that I could not reveal this information, and that his prime concern should be your well-being. He persisted, but I remained firm: Ito’s wife feared reprisal, I explained, and so she had hired me to resolve the situation discreetly.
I next showed your father the same folder of photographs I have in front of me now. As he examined them a whiteness came over his features, although outwardly he remained calm. Ito’s wife had found these photographs in her husband’s briefcase, I told him: this was how you saw yourself. He fell silent. I prompted him: hadn’t he suspected something like this all along? He did not answer. I watched his eyes, the faint tremor of his hands. Finally the time came for him to leave. As we parted in front of the doors he brought himself to thank me.
You may be wondering what motivated me to do all this. The answer is simple: I did it because I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurt. I do not mean this in the base physical sense, although as I think of your father I recall the gash above your eyebrow. Whether you receive any further injuries is, as I am sure you know, irrelevant: however much flowers wilt under rain, they are always able to endure. Real harm consists of giving yourself away too easily, of surrendering yourself to those who do not understand you. I am confident that Ito and your father’s reactions will prove that neither of them really care about you, much less love you. Ito will not give up everything for you like I will. What does a man tied to his wife and job have to offer you? He had no role in shaping you and has no understanding of your development; his attachment, if I can call it that, is temporary. You must not mistake it for genuine devotion.
As for your father, I met him only to test him. When I showed him the folder of your photographs I gave him the chance to see how you had flowered, how you had surpassed him and everyone else. But, as I predicted, he understood nothing. In this he resembles my own father, another mud-minded man blind to lotuses. At the risk of lapsing into pure sentiment, no one will ever love you as much as I love you — although, in time, I don’t know what this will mean to you, and perhaps in the end there are more important things than love. But as a useless person, I have the luxury of loving who I please.
Now I am going to sleep, where I hope I will dream of you. Will you be with me when I awake? I imagine us escaping together, robbing my sister and vanishing to some other country... but enough of my dreams. This morning I went to the bank, where I transferred funds to your account. I have sent you enough that you will have no trouble living on your own for some time. Take care of yourself and do not spend it all at once. It is important to be practical. I hope that, whatever happens, you will always have money.
I Wonder What Human Flesh Tastes Like
He found her sitting on a bench in a park in Kobe. She was looking over the surface of the pond at the reeds as they moved in the wind.
—Hey, what’s your name, he said, and sat down.
—Hidemi.
She was wearing a floppy hat with a wide brim. She was short and her eyes were wide and sleepy.
—I came over here and started talking to you because I saw you were sitting by yourself, he said. I know how that feels.
—Oh...
She didn’t sound interested, but he continued.
—Yeah, I was alone by myself for a long time. When I was younger I didn’t have many friends. So I know how that feels. So, whenever I see someone alone now I start talking to them.
—Is that so?
She smiled but her lips curled strangely and he could see too much of her teeth. They were unevenly spaced.
—That might seem strange to you. Just coming up to someone you don’t even know and starting a conversation. But I figure that’s the only real way you can meet people, sometimes. Yeah. So what are you doing here?
—I’m not doing anything.
She spoke slowly, each word separated by a pause.
—But what do you usually do?
—... I don’t know.
He got up and walked around the bench and, when he found a fallen tree branch, snapped off a thick splinter. He threw it into the pond.
—Well, I’m an artist, he said. A writer.
He could see her eyes following the ripples in the pond.
—You probably think I just write mobile phone novels or something, right? Not even close. You’re never going to see any of my work getting out that way. I don’t have the time to waste with that shit. All my work is completely anti-realistic. The only things I write are my dreams.
—Oh... is that so?
—Yeah, I’m working on a new story about cannibalism. I had this dream about a cannibal, an old man who ate his children so they couldn’t take his place...
Hidemi looked at him
—Let’s burn things, she said.
—What?
She reached in her pocket and took out a book of matches.
—You want to set things on fire? he said.
She reached down and picked up the tree branch.
—Hold the end of this.
He snapped off another splinter and gave it to her. She lit a match and held it to the bark. A thin stream of smoke rose up.
—It’s too damp, she said. It’s not going to work.
—Uh, I guess. Well, I think you have the right idea.
Hidemi lit another match and cupped the flame with her hand. He watched the glow play across her eyes.
—Yeah, I’m not joking, he went on. I can’t stand the economy right now. If you want to try to creatively express yourself, you’re fucked. I don’t want to just work in some office. Do you want to have sex with
me?
Hidemi blew out the match.
—Okay.
—I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. I just asked because you seem like you understand art and writing and I don’t meet that many people like that.
He felt her reach out and take his hand. Her fingers were small, but she clasped them tightly around his wrist. Without saying a word she led him across the lawn. Children played on the grass and further off a dog pissed against a tree. The wind was picking up. He saw a small white rectangular building some ways off. Public toilets, he realized.
She led him into the women’s room. There was no one inside. She opened one of the stalls and pulled him in, still gripping his wrist. Then she turned and bent over the toilet.
He looked at her. Still silent, legs slightly apart, she had her hands palm-down on the lid of the septic tank, as if the police were about to search her.
He tried to take her skirt off. He reached around her front and felt for the button, but he couldn’t undo it. After a time she reached a hand down and helped him. He took off his pants, then pulled the skirt down to the floor.
—Say something, he said.
—What do you want me to say?
He pulled her underwear down to her knees.
—I don’t know, anything.
The brim of her hat obscured her head, so he removed it. Underneath, her hair was plastered against her scalp.
He started to push against her. She was so much shorter than him. He had to bend his knees and push her against the toilet. He reached around her front and grabbed one of her breasts.
—I can’t even get it in there, he said. You're too small. Why don’t you suck my dick instead? Even though it’s been in your ass...
She turned and knelt before him. She took her hat from his hand, placed it on her head, then eased his penis into her mouth. He felt the dull rhythm of her tongue against its underside. After a while he came in her mouth. She drew back, tore off some toilet paper from the dispenser and wiped him off. He leaned against the wall.
—Shit... I didn’t think such a quiet girl would do this. I mean that in a good way, you understand.
She pulled up her underwear and put on her skirt. He was about to pull his pants up when she embraced him. She held her arms tightly around his waist and pressed her face to his chest. He felt a slight dampness against his skin, but cradled in his arms Hidemi’s body, so much smaller than his, was soft and warm.
—I have to go, he said, and pulled away from her.
•
He came back and found her two days later. It was the same time of day. An old man sat next to her on the bench. In front of them, ducks drifted on the pond.
—Can’t believe I found you, he said. I was thinking about you all day yesterday. I’ve been working on my story and I was wondering what you’d think of it.
—Oh?
—Yeah, I think I’m near the end, but I’m having trouble with the descriptions... what have you been doing?
—Nothing, really.
The dog he’d seen before was back. It was wearing a collar, but he couldn't see its owner anywhere.
—We should do something some time. Maybe we could go to a movie some time. Even though there’s nothing good on any more. It’s all just the same bullshit.
—I don’t like going to movies.
—Yeah, me either.
The old man got up and walked off. He sat down in his place.
—There’s only maples in this park, he said after a while. It’s spring soon... we could go see the cherry trees somewhere else.
—I don’t like cherry trees, Hidemi said. I’m afraid of them.
He asked her why, but she wouldn’t explain.
—We should go out though, he said.
She got up and walked towards the pond. On the other side, the dog’s ears pricked up. He followed her around the pond, found a stick and tossed it to the dog. Hidemi walked over and picked the dog up. Its head and tail drooped over the sides of her arms. It struggled, but her short arms held it to her chest.
—You think maybe it belongs to that old man? Check the collar.
Hidemi frowned.
—I want to kill it, she said, and walked off in the direction of the toilets. He walked behind her and reached a hand around her waist.
He followed her into a stall in the women’s room. She handed him the dog, then unbuttoned her pants. She slipped them off, removed her underwear and lifted the toilet seat. The dog cried as she took it from his arms. Taking hold of its legs, she tied them together with her underwear. Then she threw it in the toilet.
It thrashed and whined. She slammed the seat down on its head and pressed her foot to its throat. He saw it take her toes into its mouth but she held down. The dog’s head disappeared into the toilet. Only its hind-legs still ensnared in her dark blue underwear were visible as their nails scrabbled against the smooth white curve of the bowl.
He worried about how present he was. He felt the need to assert himself, but the light pressure of Hidemi’s hand on his wrist, her fingers barely long enough to encircle it, restrained him. As he watched, she brought her foot down again. Her leg moved back up, then descended sharply.
She reached down and lifted the dog from the toilet. Shit and blood and foam dripped from the end of its muzzle and the corners of its wide dead empty eyes. Hidemi threw it on the floor and untied its legs, then put on her underwear again.
—Let’s go get ice cream, she said.
—From where? he asked. He felt as if he had been startled out of a dream.
—They sell some in the park.
She put on her pants and picked up the dog. There was a rubbish bin next to the sinks, and, after removing its lid, she tossed the dog inside. The furry wet corpse made a soft impact against a pile of used paper towels.
Outside, the sun had left the sky. An afternoon haze settled over the park. The dull roar of far-off traffic mingled with the sound of wind and birds.
—You know this place better than I do, he said. Show me where it is.
He wanted her to respond, but she only led him away from the toilets, still holding him by the wrist. They came to a hot-dog caravan and she bought a chocolate ice cream cone. He didn’t feel like eating anything, so he sat beside her on the grass. She held her ice cream with both hands, licked it, bit off chunks of the cone.
He felt he had to say something, but nothing came to mind. He leaned over and kissed her. She didn’t respond, so he kissed her again and pushed his tongue into her mouth, tasted spit and chocolate and pressed past the wall of teeth that sat stained and crooked in her child’s smile, felt the prick of a sharklike incisor and then her tongue lying slack also; he pulled back and kissed her again, taking in the curled lips and ruined teeth offsetting the perfect composition of her oval face and the way her eyes narrowed to slits when she kissed, so that the black line of her lashes smiled at him even as her lips curled.
She broke off and said:
—I want to get more ice cream.
Her cone was only half-finished but she got up and returned to the caravan. A moment later she came back with another cone, this one topped with a cool green mound of chocolate mint. There was still chocolate smeared around the edges of her mouth as her dark pink tongue moved across the top of the fresh cone.
He felt he had to say something, but nothing came to mind. Finally he said:
—When we were watching it die, I think we really shared something. We were alive, I mean.
Hidemi looked bored.
•
The next time he saw her he was carrying a sheaf of manuscript pages. He handed them to her and she paged through them for a while.
—This is the story I was telling you about, he said.
Hidemi looked away.
—Yeah, he said. It’s another dream I had, about this fox that turns into a girl. I guess it’s more like an outline, there’s not much description. I mean, I think technical proficiency is a waste of time. You can spe
nd your whole life learning to write or draw everything perfectly and it won’t mean anything if you’re not saying anything new. What’s the point of life if you don’t have any ideas?
—I don’t know, Hidemi said.
She began to cry.
—It’s not that bad, is it?
She looked away and covered her face. He tried to touch her but she pushed his hand away. Sparrows sang in the trees. The grass must have been cut recently because he could smell a ripe dampness.
—I’m scared of trees, she said. I don’t like being outside.
—You’re outside all the time. The only time I see you is in this park.
He reached down, plucked a blade of grass, and tore it in two like a ribbon. He tried to kiss her eyes but she pushed him away.
He sat beside her in silence. After a time the sound of sparrows stopped.
—Do you think I’m a real person? Hidemi said.
—What? I’m going to the bathroom, he said. I’ll be back.
It was all he could do to get away from her. He didn’t know what she was talking about, and her tone of voice bothered him.
In the men’s toilet the light bulb was uncovered. The ceiling was white where the radius of light spread across it and beige where it didn’t. A midge was crawling, hopping, flying about the light, a tiny black dot in the wilderness of the beige ceiling, and as it approached the radius it darted back, twitched, edged nervously, crawled again towards the light. He reached up and crushed it with his finger.
•
When he approached Hidemi from behind it occurred to him that she might be dead. He usually approached the bench in this fashion, but this time her extreme stillness, coupled with the serenity of the pond, made her seem even more remote than usual. She watched the pond with such determination that he felt that at any moment a dragon might rise out of its depths and disappear into the sky.