Grotesque (67 page)

I wondered if I’d be killed by Zhang. I remembered the humiliation I’d felt when he tossed me aside after sex. He hated me. He hated sex. But he liked monsters.

A strong wind blew up, and I clutched the front of my trench coat closed, wishing I could peer inside Zhang’s heart. He might have spoken gently, but his world was a sordid one, full of lies. And yet I felt only joy at having been admitted to that sordid world. I was much more terrified of Zhang’s impenetrable nature than I had been of Eguchi.

“Hey, Yuriko, what do you think of your older sister?”

Yuriko smiled faintly at the Jiz5 statue.

“Tell me.”

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I gave Yuriko’s fatty shoulder a squeeze. At least a head taller than me, Yuriko turned slowly around. Her gaze was unfocused, a glimmer of suspicion in her eyes.

“Why do you want to know about my sister?”

“Zhang, my customer, prattled on and on about his younger sister, which reminded me that you had an older one, that’s all. She died—

Zhang’s sister, I mean. He seemed to have been crazy about her.”

“My sister was madly jealous of me from the minute I was born. It was almost as if she were in love with me. I was completely negated by her.”

Oh, God, Yuriko was getting ready to go off on another one of her philosophical jags. Her ramblings confused me. I was in no mood for thinking on such an abstract level. All I wanted to do was cover my ears and hope she’d shut up. But Yuriko kept on going.

“Sisters? Ha! We didn’t get along then and we don’t get along now. My sister and I were two different people, but we were really one. She is a virgin, too timid to take on a man, and I’m the opposite: I can’t live without men. I was born to be a whore. We’re like opposite ends of the spectrum.

Interesting, huh?”

“I don’t think it’s interesting at all,” I spat out. “Why is it, in this world of ours, that women are the only ones who have a hard time surviving?”

“Simple. They don’t have delusions.” Yuriko let out an earsplitting laugh.

“So we’d be able to live if we had delusions?”

“It’s too late for us, Kazue.”

“Oh, really?”

I had worn away the reality of my job at the firm with my delusions. In the distance I heard the sound of the train on the Inokashira Line. It wouldn’t be long before the last train had gone by. I decided to stop by the convenience store and buy a beer and drink it on the way home. I left Yuriko standing there, stamping her feet against the cold.

“Well, work hard!”

This was Yuriko’s answer: “Death awaits.”

I caught the last train. When I got home, the chain was on the front door and I couldn’t get in. They’d turned all the lights off and latched the 4 2 3

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door, clearly to lock me out. That made me so furious I rang the doorbell over and over. Finally I heard someone pull the chain out of the latch.

My sister stood in the doorway, looking pissed off.

“Don’t you dare lock me out again.”

My sister lowered her gaze. She must have been sleeping. She had pulled a sweater over her pajamas. Her gaze had brushed up against something deep inside me, and it irritated me.

“What the hell kind of look is that? You got something to say to me?”

My sister didn’t answer. She shivered slightly as the cold air—and the depravity I had brought home with me—swept in from behind. While I slipped off my shoes, she returned to her bedroom. Our family was falling apart. I stood in the chilly corridor, petrified.

• 7 •

JANUARY 25

SHIBUYA: A DRUNK, ¥3,000

I hit a patch of bad luck after running into Zhang. Two weeks ago I went to a hotel with a guy into bondage and sadomasochism, and he beat my face pretty badly. I had to take a week off work as a result. Once I finally healed, I still had no luck getting customers. The sadist was someone I’d picked up after a five-day drought. I’d called Yoshizaki any number of times to get him to see me, but he told me he was too tied up with entrance exams to get away. Then I tried Arai, but apparently he’d been sent to the main office in Toyama and wasn’t available. So I spent my nights in vain, standing silently in front of the Jizo statue waiting for customers who never came. I began to feel impatient with the hopelessness of my situation. In the cold months, there weren’t many men loitering around. So I decided that tonight I’d walk through the brightly lit Dogenzaka entertainment area.

My night work was strictly cash-based. The money I made had a com-4 2 4

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pletely different feel from the salary that was deposited directly into my bank account. I loved the touch of the paper bills so much I could hardly stand it. Every time I put them into the deposit slot at the ATM, I felt such a flicker of sadness as I watched them disappear that I frequently called out good-bye! But no customers, no bills. And if I couldn’t earn money, I wouldn’t be able to continue my life on the streets. It was as if I were being completely negated as a human being. Was this what Yuriko meant when she said, “Death awaits”? I was terrified of finally meeting that day.

I rushed down to the Ginza Line subway platform. I needed to get to Shibuya before the other prostitutes grabbed up all the customers.

“No way! I can’t believe she’d be doing something like that!” It was noisy down on the platform, but I could hear what two office-lady types were saying as they stood in front of me waiting for the next train.

One was wearing a fashionable black coat, the other a red one. They were both carrying name-brand handbags and had their faces made up prettily.

“One of the guys in the business department said he saw her hanging out around Maruyama-cho. Said it sure looked like she was trying to pick up guys.”

“You’re kidding! That’s disgusting. And her? I can’t believe any guy would actually pay money to sleep with her.”

“I know. It’s incredible, but it seems to be true. She’s gotten even more repulsive than usual lately. Everyone avoids using the toilets on the eleventh floor because she eats her lunch in there. She drinks the tap water straight out of the sink faucet; she doesn’t use a glass. That’s what I heard.”

“Why haven’t they fired her?”

They were talking about me. I stood there stunned, my head whirling.

So I’d become the focus of attention. But with all the men and women standing in proper formation—three lines to a door—waiting for the subway as they gazed down the dark tracks, the two took absolutely no notice of me. It made me feel calm but somehow disappointed. But I hadn’t done anything wrong! I tapped the black-coated office lady on the shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

The woman turned around and stared at me, stunned.

“I’ll have you know that I correctly perform all my work in the 4 2 5

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research office. I’m the assistant manager and, what’s more, a report I wrote won a newspaper award. There’s no reason why I should be fired.”

“I’m sorry.”

The women stepped out of line and rushed from the platform. That felt good! Stupid bitches. No way I’d be dismissed from work. Every day, all day long, I busily clip articles from the newspaper. The office manager said nothing about the purple bruises on my face from the beating I took the other week. All anyone in the office has to do is look at me and they admire my work. Ha! I stood there humming happily to myself as I waited for the train to glide into the station.

I put my makeup on in the bathroom of the basement of the 109

Building. The bruises were still faintly visible around my cheekbones. I covered them with a thick layer of foundation. Then I brushed blush over my cheeks. The false eyelashes I attached to my upper and lower eyelids made my eyes look bigger. With the wig as the finishing touch, I was done. I smiled at myself in the mirror. You are pretty! Perfect! I noticed that the young women nearby were all gaping at me. I shouted at their reflection in the mirror without turning around.

“What are you looking at? This isn’t a circus, you know.”

They quickly averted their eyes and acted innocent. One of the young women smirked, but I didn’t care. I pushed roughly past the high school student who was standing in line to use the toilet and walked out.

The wind was blowing, rattling the tips of the trees as I trudged up Dogenzaka. A middleaged man lugging a briefcase was a few feet ahead of me, by himself. I called out to him when I got closer.

“Hey, there, how’d you like to have some fun?”

The man glanced quickly into my face and kept walking as if he hadn’t heard me.

“Come on. We don’t have to take long. And it won’t cost much.”

The man pulled up abruptly and growled at me. “Get lost.”

I stared at him as if I hadn’t understood.

“Fuck off!” he spat, as he scurried away. What’s his problem? I felt my anger rising but managed to control it. A fiftyish man was headed my way, just your basic gloomy-looking nine-to-fiver.

“Hey, mister, want to have some fun?”

The man brushed roughly past me without bothering to answer. As I continued up the hill I propositioned one middleaged man after another. Most of them just ignored me and went on their way. I even 4 2 6

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called out boldly to a man in his late twenties, but he glared at me, repulsed, and waved me away. Just then I felt something strike the side of my face and fall to the ground. I looked at the pavement; it was a balled-up tissue. When I glanced up, I saw a young man wearing jeans leaning on the guardrail beside the sidewalk blowing his nose. The man laughed and threw another wad of filthy tissue at me. I hurried away.

There are a number of men who enjoy tormenting prostitutes, and it’s best just to try to avoid them. I dashed into a shop-lined alleyway and caught the sleeve of a salary man leaving a cheap tavern. His cuff was frayed. The man didn’t look like he had much money.

“Hey, want to party?”

He shouted at me, with breath reeking of booze, “Get the hell out of my face. I got a good buzz on and don’t want you ruining it.”

The hawkers in front of the cabaret saw this and had a good laugh at my expense. They slapped each other on the shoulder and looked over at me, eyeing me derisively. “What a freaking monster!” one said to the other.

What’s so monstrous about me? Confused, I continued to wander along the busy alley. Even though this is the exact same spot where Arai first propositioned me, and even though there are so many drunks around here now, and even though I’m so much prettier than I was then, why are the men so obnoxious when I call out to them?

I came to the office building where the hotel escort agency I had worked for, Juicy Strawberry, was located. I wondered if they’d take me back. But then I remembered the conditions the dispatcher had laid down when he fired me and realized it was highly unlikely that they’d give me another chance. I stood there for a while looking up at the narrow stairway to the office and weighing my options.

Just when I’d made up my mind and was starting up the stairs to the Juicy Strawberry office, the door opened and a man walked out, heading down the stairs. It wasn’t the owner or the dispatcher. This man was hugely overweight; his double chins were so massive, I could hardly see his face as he made his way down the stairs. The stairway was narrow, so no matter how thin I was, there was no way the fat man could squeeze past me. I headed back down the stairs and waited there impatiently for him to get out of the way. As he walked past me he held up his hand in greeting. “Sorry,” he said, staring at me, taking me in from head to toe.

Clearly sizing me up.

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Without wasting a beat I trotted out my usual phrase: “No problem.

But hey, you want to party?”

“Are you hitting on me? You?”

The man snickered. His voice was painfully offensive—as if the sounds he produced were drenched in grease. But still, it was somehow familiar. I cocked my head to the side, perplexed. Naturally, I did not forget to bring my finger up to my chin in an effort to make my gesture as charming as possible. It looked like the man had tilted his head to the side as well, though it was hard to tell under all that fat.

“Have we met somewhere before?”

“I was just now thinking the same thing.”

Once the man had made it down the stairs, I could tell he was barely taller than I am. He peered at my face, staring rudely. His eyes were snakelike.

“Maybe you’ve come by my business before? I know we’ve met.”

As the man was speaking, I suddenly caught a glimmer of someone I’d known earlier. It was Takashi Kijima, no doubt about it. He was the boy I’d loved so much in high school that I’d sent him love letters. And here he was, the boy who had been as thin as a knife, buried under a mound of flesh.

“Wait a minute! Are you the one who was friends with Yuriko’s older sister?” He thumped his head in annoyance, trying to remember my name. “You were a year ahead of me… .”

“I’m Kazue Sato.”

I had to help him out or we’d have been there forever. Kijima let out a long sigh of relief. “Well, it’s certainly been a long time!” he said, in a surprisingly friendly tone. “I guess more than twenty years have passed since I left school.”

I nodded with annoyance, making special note of Kijima’s clothing.

He had on a camel-colored overcoat that looked like cashmere, a gold diamond-studded ring on his right hand, and a heavy-looking bracelet on his wrist. His permed hair was out of style, but even so it looked like he was doing really well. So why was he still pimping? And why the hell had I ever been attracted to him? The very thought made me laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just wondering why I was so crazy about you.”

“I remember you sent me letters. They were really something.”

“I wish you’d just forget that ever happened.” That had been the most 4 2 8

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humiliating event in my life. But I curbed my tongue and my anger and propositioned Kijima again.

“Kijima-kun, what do you say we go party?”

Kijima started fanning his hand in front of his face in a vigorous effort to end my question.