Grotesque (31 page)

“What are you getting at?”

Mitsuru’s face had turned from red to white and was growing whiter by the minute.

“My grandfather’s become a regular at your mother’s bar, you know.

Since he doesn’t have any money, he’s sold off all his bonsai. It’s got nothing to do with me. But why does your mother want to get involved with my grandfather? I think it’s strange. I mean, my grandfather is nearly sixty-seven, and your mother’s not yet fifty, is she? Of course, age doesn’t i 9 2

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matter when people are in love, but I’m just really, really uncomfortable when everything gets ruined with lust. Maybe its on account of my sister—but you’ve changed recently too. And now my grandfather’s acting weird. Ever since Yuriko’s come back, everything seems to be falling apart and I can’t stand it. Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand.” Mitsurus response was calm. She shook her head slowly. “You’re not making a bit of sense. But one thing I do understand: you won’t permit your grandfather to spend time with my mother.”

It wasn’t a question of my permission; that was even worse. It was just that I hated people in love because people in love betray me. I fell silent.

When I didn’t respond, Mitsuru continued.

“You are a very childish person. I don’t care what my mother does.

But you make it sound like my mother’s behaving despicably, and I can’t stand to hear another word from you. I will never speak to you or spend time with you again. Satisfied?”

“I guess I have no choice in the matter.”

I shrugged my shoulders. And so for half a year I did not have any contact with Mitsuru.

• 3 •

Well, I think we need to work our way back to Kazue Sato, don’t you?

What’s that? Yes, I can well believe you don’t want to hear any more about my grandfather and Mitsurus mother and their disgusting love story. But actually there’s an interesting sequel. You see, Mitsuru passed the qualifying exam to enter Tokyo University Medical School, just as she’d intended. I know this because she contacted me after I’d matriculated into the German Language Division of Q University. At the same time, a number of problems occurred. It doesn’t have a direct connection to the Yuriko and Kazue stories, but I’d like to talk about it eventually.

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When was it that Kazue Sato’s bizarre behavior began to grow really obvious? It was probably around the time we were in our second year of high school. Yuriko was in her first year, and I heard rumors that Kazue had started following her around. To use the current lingo, I suppose you could call her a stalker. It was horrifying. Kazue would peek into Yuriko s classroom. When she was in gym, Kazue would spy on her. If Yuriko attended a game with the cheerleaders, Kazue would be there. She was just like a dog following its master. She probably even sniffed around the Johnsons’ house as well. And whenever she ran into Yuriko, she would follow her with her eyes, watching Yuriko as if she were under some kind of spell. What would motivate Kazue to want to stalk Yuriko? Even I couldn’t figure that one out.

Wherever Yuriko was, there was always a commotion. Once Kijima Junior advanced to the Q High School for Young Men in a different part of the city, Mokku, the daughter of the soy sauce company president, took his place and trailed after Yuriko like poop from a goldfish.

Mokku was the manager of the cheerleaders’ squad. As such she was, in effect, Yuriko’s bodyguard, and she went wherever Yuriko went, protecting her from fans as well as from those who coveted her position and were envious of her. Yuriko was the squad mascot. Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? You couldn’t expect an uncoordinated airhead like Yuriko to master the complicated moves in the cheerleaders’ routines. All Yuriko was supposed to do was stand there like some kind of billboard, proving to the world that the Q School cheerleaders had raised their standards of beauty.

When the statuesque Yuriko strode through the school grounds with Mokku, her presence was so overwhelming that no one could take their eyes off her. I was amazed at how conceited she looked. She walked slightly ahead of Mokku, her face impassive, as if she were some kind of queen. Mokku, for her part, followed after her like a handmaiden. And then here’d come Kazue, right behind them, panting hard to keep up. It certainly was a peculiar sight.

Occasionally I’d notice that the minute Kazue ate her lunch, she’d run to the bathroom to throw it up. I say lunch, but there really wasn’t much to it: just a tiny rice ball and a tomato or a piece of fruit. Kazue often 1 9 4

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brought a cheap kind of cookie made from soy flour. But as soon as she’d eat it she’d be so overcome with remorse that she’d rush off to the toilet to puke. Everyone in the class knew what she was doing, so whenever Kazue would start rustling through that sack of cookies, the other students would poke one another with their elbows and titter knowingly.

Yes, Kazue had an eating disorder. Of course, at the time we didn’t know there were such diseases. We just resented Kazue for her unbalanced diet and her habit of throwing up after a meal.

I heard that her reputation in the ice skating club was really bad. No matter how many requisitions she got, she never paid the rink fees. She wore her competition uniform even during practice sessions and swished around the rink oblivious to everything. It seemed like only a matter of time before she would be asked to leave the team, and yet surprisingly that never happened. That was because Kazue was useful when it came time to borrow her notes for exams. Kazue lent her notes to club members free of charge but from other classmates she demanded payment, one hundred yen for one class day’s worth of notes. At that time Kazue was incredibly fixated on money. Most people grumbled behind her back that she was stingy.

Kazue had completely changed by the latter half of freshman year.

At first she had tried her best to meld with the affluent atmosphere of Q High School for Young Women. But in the winter she suddenly changed. After I was in the university I heard someone say that the shift in her life came about later, when her father died, but as far as I could tell, Kazue had already undergone a change in appearance by the start of our second high school year.

I also noticed that Kazue had begun subjecting her teachers to an intense litany of questions during class. The teachers would soon grow impatient. “Okay, let’s move on to the next question,” they’d say, glancing at their watches, only to have Kazue complain, in a tear-choked voice, “But professor, I still don’t understand.” Even though the rest of the students in the class would roll their eyes in frustration, she didn’t care. I don’t think Kazue ever paid attention to the reactions of those around her. She gradually began to lose all awareness of her current reality.

Whenever the teacher asked a question to which Kazue knew the answer, she would be the first to stick up her hand, a triumphant look on her face. And when she wrote down the answers to questions, she always covered her paper with her hand—just as if she’d returned to the days 1 9 5

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when she was a competitive elementary school student. Oh, yes. She was, without a doubt, such a weirdo no one wanted anything to do with her.

But I hung out with her. You understand, don’t you? Kazue was hung up on a hopeless relationship and frustrated as a result. I’m talking about Takashi Kijima, of course. I wanted to see what I could do to ensure that the love Kazue harbored for Kijima swelled like a balloon. Kazue had taken my advice and written Kijima any number of letters. She always showed them to me first. I would make my corrections and send them back to her. And then Kazue would write them over again and again, never really certain that they were good enough to send. Would you like to see the letters? I’ll show them to you. You wonder why I have them?

Well, that’s because I copied each one in my notebook before I sent it back to her.

Please forgive the informality of this letter. I realize it must seem rude to write you out of the blue like this. Please forgive me.

If I may, I’d like to begin with a self-introduction. My name is Kazue Sato and I’m in the B group of the first-year high school students. My goal is to advance to the economics division of the university and study economics. For that reason I apply myself to my studies every day, and if I say so myself I am a very serious student. I belong to the ice-skating club.

I’m still too wet behind the ears to compete. (Or wet behind the toes, as the case may be.) But I’m practicing as hard as I can with dreams of someday competing. I fall a lot, so after practice I’m always covered in bruises. The seniors on the team tell me that’s what it takes. So I’m really enthusiastic about training.

My hobbies are handicrafts and keeping a diary. I’ve kept a diary since I was in first grade and haven’t missed a day yet.

Now if I don’t make an entry for the day, I’m so upset I can’t sleep. I heard that you weren’t in any club, Takashi. Do you have any hobbies?

I’m now in biology class with your father, Professor Kijima.

He’s a great teacher. He’s able to explain even the most difficult things in very simple language. I have such respect for his skill in the classroom and his noble character. Q High School 1 9 6

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for Young Women has so many exceptional teachers like Professor Kijima, it just makes me grateful that I was able to enter the school. Takashi, I heard that you’ve been receiving your training in the Q system ever since you were little, on account of Professor Kijima being your father. You are so fortunate.

I’m a little embarrassed to do so, but I have a confession to make. Even though I’m a year ahead of you in school, I have a crush on you. I don’t have any brothers, only a younger sister, so I don’t know much about men. If you don’t mind, would you write back? I’ll dream of the day I hear from you. Until then, please accept this letter. And good luck with your midterm exams.

Kazue Sato

This was the first letter she sent. When I saw the second letter I burst out laughing in spite of myself. That’s because of the poem “The Path Where Violets Bloom.” When she showed it to me she said she wanted to have the folksinger Banban Hirofumi sing it.

The Path Where Violets Bloom

Wild violet, at my feet

The path where you have trod.

While plucking a broken bloom

I know you’ve passed this way.

Wild violet, blooming along the path

Into the sky overflowing with your heart,

I gaze afar and while I cry

I meet you on your way home.

Wild violet, I cannot see,

Cannot search for your love.

Bewildered, afraid,

The mountain road, the precipice below.

Once Kazue showed me a haiku or something by Toshizo Hijikata, the famous swordsman who tried to thwart the Meiji Restoration in the nineteenth century. I think it was his verse: “To know is to stray; to not know is to not stray—the path of love.” Kazue copied the verse 1 9 7

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neatly onto a sheet of stationery with the note: This is exactly how I feel.

She folded the stationery into four folds and slipped it into a regular envelope. Kazue may have been able to see her studies through successfully, but when it came to love she was not only immature but extremely old-fashioned.

“Hey, what do you think of this? Do you think I should go ahead and send it?” Kazue asked, as she showed me what she’d written. I was half terrified when I saw it and half elated. A week had gone by since her first letter. I advised her to send the second to his house as well. Why was I terrified, you ask? Because I knew that people in love are capable of behaving stupidly. Don’t you find it scary too? Kazue had exposed her lack of sense and talent without the slightest qualm and had clearly revealed her shame to the recipient of her missives without even considering the consequences.

Of course Takashi didn’t answer. Under normal circumstances the girl would have taken this as evidence that the boy had no interest in her. But Kazue was only confused.

“Why hasn’t he responded? Do you think maybe he didn’t get my letters?”

Her eyes with their ridiculous double fids, compliments of Elizabeth Eyelids, opened wide. Her pupils glittered with light. And her body, which was even thinner than before, gave off a peculiar aura: her whole body glowed. She looked like some kind of swamp creature. So even a creature as ugly as this can fall in love? I was so creeped out by Kazue I couldn’t bear to look at her straight on. But there she was, pulling on my arm and wheedling. “Hey, hey, what do you think? What? What do you think I should do?”

“Why don’t you go call Takashi over and ask him yourself.”

“I couldn’t do something like that!”

Kazue blanched and shrunk back.

“Then get him a Christmas present and ask him when you hand it to him.”

When Kazue heard my suggestion, her face lit up.

“I’ll knit him a scarf!”

“That’s a great idea! All boys are suckers for handmade goods.”

I looked around the classroom. It was November and there were any number of girls clicking away at their knitting, making their boyfriends sweaters and scarves and such.

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“Thanks! That’s what I’ll do.”

Now that Kazue had a new goal, she calmed down. Once again a glimmer of confidence returned to her face. She was encouraging herself; I’m sure that’s what she was doing. Her profile at such a time looked exactly like a certain man. You got it: like her father. On the day my mother died, when Kazue’s father told me never to associate with Kazue again, he had that same haughty air about him.

It was close to Christmas, and the scarf that Kazue was knitting for Takashi was now over a yard long. It was incredibly ugly: black and yellow stripes that reminded me of a honeybee’s butt. I imagined Takashi with the scarf wrapped around his neck and had a more difficult time than usual trying to stifle my laughter.

It was a winter afternoon, almost night, when I phoned Takashi’s house. His father had a faculty meeting that day so I knew he wouldn’t be home yet. Takashi himself answered the phone, his voice unexpectedly brisk and bright. No doubt about it, Takashi was a different person at home from who he was in school. It gave me the creeps.