Grotesque (20 page)

“Maybe. But I am Japanese.”

At that point my fate was as good as sealed. I would live as a Japanese in that country thick with humidity. I would be pointed at by children shouting “Gaijin! Gaijin!” And behind my back the girls would whisper “Halves may be pretty now, but they show their age faster than we do.”

And the high school boys would torment me. I knew all that. And that is why I needed to build a protective wall around myself as thick as the one my sister had made. Since I couldn’t construct one myself, I decided I’d use Johnson for that purpose.

“Where will you go? Will you live with your grandpa?”

My sister had already laid claim to our grandfather. And once she’d gotten her hands on something she would never let it go to anyone else.

She’d bar the door with both arms before letting me set foot in the world they shared.

“I’ve asked Johnson to let me stay at his place.”

“The American?” My father made an ugly face. “It’s not a bad plan, but it’ll cost.”

“He said I didn’t need to pay for room and board. So may I? Please?”

My father did not nod in consent.

“You let my sister stay in Japan!”

1 2 1

N A T S U O K I R I NO

My father shrugged in resignation. “She never warmed to me.”

That’s because the two of them were too much alike. My father and I sat there silently. The leaky faucet broke through the quiet, drip after drip. My father shouted, as if unable to bear the dripping any longer, “All right, then! You can go back.”

“And now you can live happily here with Ursula.”

I hadn’t really intended to end our conversation with those words, but a sad expression swept over my fathers face.

The next day I skipped school and called Johnson at his office. I hadn’t told him yet that I’d gotten my father’s permission. Johnson was delighted to have gotten a call from me.

“Yuriko! How nice to hear from you. When I was transferred back to Tokyo, I thought I’d be able to see you. But we must have just missed each other. I was disappointed to learn that you’d moved to Switzerland.

How is everybody?”

“My mother committed suicide and my father is living with his mistress.

I really want to go back to Japan, but I have nowhere to stay. I would rather die than live with my sister. I just don’t know what to do.”

I wasn’t trying to play on his sympathy. I was trying to seduce him. A mere girl of fifteen seducing a man of thirty! Johnson caught his breath and then came up with a plan.

“If that s the case, why don’t you stay here—with us? It’ll be like it was at the cabin. You’ll be the little girl seeking refuge from your older sister’s bullying. You can stay as long as you like.”

Heaving a deep sigh of relief, I asked about Masami. If they had a child now, it would be hard for them to keep me as well.

“But what will Masami say?”

“She’ll be thrilled. I promise. Masami is crazy about our cute little Yuriko. But what will you do about school?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Well, then, I’ll ask Masami to look into it. Yuriko, come live with us!”

Johnson’s whispered entreaties were that of a man responding to a seduction. I leaned back on the sofa in relief. Overcome with the strange sensation that someone was watching me, I looked up to see Ursula staring at me. She winked. From the tone of my voice on the telephone, Ursula guessed what I was up to. I nodded and smiled. I’m just like you. From now on, I too will live relying on a man’s favor. With a faint smile on her face, Ursula disappeared nimbly into the bedroom. From 1 2 2

G R O T E S Q U E

that day forward the faucet in the kitchen ceased to drip. I suspect Ursula had begun twisting it tightly. When my father wasn’t around, Ursula walked with a spring in her step. I could hardly believe she needed to rest.

In the afternoon of the day before I was scheduled to leave Switzerland, Karl came sneaking around, knowing that my father would be at the factory.

He pressed his lips against mine in a long kiss, right there in my room with my teddy bears and dolls.

“I’m sad I won’t be able to see you anymore, Yuriko. Won’t you stay?

For me?” Karl’s eyes were burning—and also calm. There could be little doubt that my departure and my mother’s death freed him from any regret or guilt he may have felt.

“I’m sad too. But there’s nothing else I can do.”

“Can we do it now? One more time?” Karl began to unfasten his belt buckle.

“Ursula’s here!” I told him.

“It’s okay. We’ll do it so she can’t hear.” Karl swept all the stuffed animals onto the floor and then pressed me down upon the narrow bed. I was unable to move under his weight. And then I heard a knock.

“Yuriko? It’s Ursula.”

Without waiting for Karl to jump up and straighten out his clothes, I reached out and flung the door open wide. Ursula smiled knowingly.

Karl smoothed his tousled hair back with his hands and stood up, busying himself looking out the window as if he’d been standing there all along. Across the street was Karl’s hosiery factory.

“What is it, Ursula?”

“Yuriko, if you’re not going to take your teddy bears with you, I was wondering if I could have them.”

“I don’t care. Take whatever you want.”

“Thanks!”

Ursula snatched up the koala and the teddy that had been tossed on the floor and looked over suspiciously at Karl.

“What’s up, boss?” she asked.

“Oh, just came to say good-bye to Yuriko.”

Ursula winked at me, as if to say, Yeah, right. Ursula was my accom-1 2 3

N A T S U O K I R I NO

plice. As soon as she left, Karl pulled an envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans with an air of resignation. When I opened the envelope, I found the nude pictures of me along with some money.

“Pretty, aren’t they? I thought they might serve as a souvenir. And the moneys a farewell gift.”

“Thanks. Karl, where have you hidden your copies of these pictures?”

“I’ve got them glued to the back of the desk in the factory.” Karl looked so earnest when he said this. And then he added, “I’m going to save my money and come to Japan.”

But Karl never came to Japan once. And I hardly ever think of him these days. My first man—he was also my first customer. I still have the photos. I’m staring at the camera, posed like Goya’s Naked Maja with a face that looks nearly frozen, spread across the sheets with skin so white it’s translucent. My forehead is wide, my lips pouty. And in the pupils of my wide-open eyes is something I no longer possess: a fear of men and a longing. I seem to project an uneasiness over the fate that has befallen me. I am no longer afraid, desirous, or uneasy.

I sit in front of the mirror putting on my makeup. The face reflected there is that of a woman who has aged at terrific speed ever since passing thirty-five: me. The lines around my eyes and mouth can no longer be concealed, no matter how many layers of foundation I apply. And the round dumpiness of my body looks exactly like that of my father’s mother. The older I get, the more I am aware of the Western blood coursing through my body.

In the beginning I was a model; then for a long time I worked at a club that hired only beautiful foreigners. Some would say I was a high-priced call girl. From there I moved to an expensive club, the kind no mere salary man would think to enter. But as I began wearing dresses with deeply plunging necklines, I myself plunged into cheaper and cheaper establishments. Now I have no choice but to work clubs that cater to men who have a fetish for “married women” and the more mature hostess.

Moreover, now I have to struggle just to sell myself for cheap. I used to find my worth just knowing a man desired me, but not now; not only has my income shrunk but I realize that I have to search farther and wider for a reason to explain my existence in this world. While peering 1 2 4

G R O T E S Q U E

into my mirror, I stare at my eyes, which have lost their contours, and draw a thick line with my eyeliner pencil. I do this to create my vibrant professional face.

• 4 •

My sister had said she’d call again in the evening. I wanted to get out before she called. I wanted to avoid hearing her depressing voice. What the hell is she doing? I wondered. Drifting from one lousy job to another, searching for the perfect one—as if such a job exists in the first place. Or maybe, just maybe it does—in the form of prostitution! I laugh to myself as I stare into the mirror. If you can do it, be my guest. It’s a job in which the finer points are as good as grasping emptiness. I’ve been a prostitute since I was fifteen years old. I can’t live without men, yet men are my greatest enemies. I’ve been ruined by men. I’m a woman who has destroyed her female self. When my big sister was fifteen years old, she was just an ordinary junior high school student, studying herself silly.

Suddenly I’m struck by an idea. What if she’s still a virgin? The younger sister’s a whore, the older one a virgin. That’s just too much. But now I’m curious. I dial her number.

“Hello? Who is it? Hello? Is that you, Yuriko? Come on, who is it?”

She picked up the minute the phone rang.

“Hello! Hello!” My sister is desperate to find out who is calling; her phone must never ring. Her solitude reverberates through the receiver. I let the telephone drop and convulse with laughter, my sister’s voice still echoing at the other end. I can’t decide if she’s a virgin or a lesbian!

Once I hang up I begin to think about what I’ll wear to the club tonight. My apartment consists of a bedroom, combination living-dining room, and a small kitchen. Not much space. The closet and dresser are combined—I hardly have that many dresses anyway. When I worked in Roppongi at the clubs for foreigners, I had a ton of gorgeous dresses.

Valentino and Chanel dresses costing close to a million yen apiece. I 1 2 5

N A T S U O K I R I NO

must have had clothes worth a fortune. I’d slip into one or another of my beautiful dresses and fasten on a diamond as big as a glass bead without even giving it a second thought. Then I’d step into gold sandals that were too extravagant to wear for walking. I would never wear stockings—for the sake of customers who enjoyed kissing my toes. I’d take a taxi from my apartment. After work I’d set off in a customer’s car to a hotel and from the hotel I’d return home by taxi. My muscles were only used while in bed with a man.

But as I began to fall from that world, my clothes also became the kind of cheap garments you can buy anywhere around here. I went from silk to polyester; from cashmere to wool blends. And now I have no choice but to cover my well-worn legs in bargain-basement stockings—

legs that are dimpled with fat that refuses to melt away, no matter how I try to exercise.

What’s changed the most is the quality of my customers. At the first club I worked in, the clients were actors, writers, young self-styled entrepreneurs.

Many were at the level of company president or were distinguished foreign VIPs. Then at the next club they were mostly businessmen with no limits on the way they spent their company’s accounts. From there I went to salary men with meager monthly paychecks.

At present the customers I have are either weirdos who want wacky women or men without money. By wacky I mean grotesque. In this world there are people who prefer beauty after it’s gone away or the dregs of a prosperity depleted.

With my monstrous beauty and my monstrous desire, I suppose I’ll now become a fullfledged beast. My ghastliness has increased along with my age. I’ve written it any number of times already, but I do not feel lonely. This is the true figure of the woman who was once a beautiful girl.

I daresay my sister must take great delight in my decline. That’s why she calls me all the time.

I have more to say about Johnson.

When he came to meet me at Narita International Airport he wore a strained expression—and Masami was right beside him, beaming brightly.

What a study in contrasts! Johnson was wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and regimental tie, and he was tapping his lower lip nervously with his 1 2 6

G R O T E S Q U E

index finger. I’d never seen him so attired. Masami was wearing a white linen dress—perhaps to show off her tanned skin and a veritable treasure trove of gold accessories that adorned her ears, neck, wrists, and fingers.

The jet-black eyeliner at the corner of her eyes was way too dark. It was hard to tell what kind of expression she wore. Was she being serious or playful? That’s why I started watching Masami when she put on her makeup because depending on how she applied it, I could tell—better than by anything she said—how she was feeling. That afternoon Masami revealed an exaggerated joy.

“Yuriko! What a long time since we saw you last. My, how big you’ve grown!”

Johnson and I exchanged glances. Now fifteen, I’d grown almost eight inches since I was in elementary school. I was five feet seven inches tall and weighed no pounds. And I was no longer a virgin. Johnson gave me a light hug. His body trembled slightly.

“It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Johnson.”

Johnson had told me to call him Mark, but I preferred/o/mson. “Idiot Johnson!”: that’s what my sister had called him angrily just before she hung up on me. Whenever I thought of that I silently whispered in my heart, “Godsent Johnson.” He was my one defense.

“I wonder if your sister’s going to come?”

Masami looked around the airport dubiously. She needn’t have bothered.

I hadn’t even told my sister of my arrival time.

“I didn’t have time to call her before I left,” I explained. “Besides, I heard my grandpa wasn’t feeling well.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Masami hadn’t even heard what I’d said. “The admissions examination is this afternoon,” she said, squeezing my arm happily. “We have to hurry home. Q Junior High School will accept you under the kikokushijo category, the one for students returning from overseas. It’s going to be really convenient for you to commute to the school from our place—and I’ll get to brag on you for going to a first-rate school like Q. I’m just delighted you got back in time for the exam.”