But anyway, dear,
See my hairy chest.
In my new pot
Bean curd sizzles.
On the table,
The clams lie ready.
This hungry fellow bites
Down to the very bone.
Nor does he care how
Much lush scenery
Along Eros’s way,
But how I love to pluck
The crevice’s tiny bloom.
We can’t be living forever,
Says the old woman sneezing
Into rice paper and with
Cold hand crumpling it.
No company but the moon,
Each man’s taut pride
Brought low at last.
I was there at home when the police called and said that the boss had been hit by a car. The boss was somebody who most of the time didn’t even cross the street after the light turned green until he looked both ways, and so right away I thought to myself that it must have been because of that party. Ever since that party, he was going around like in a daze, it seemed like it took so much out of him. Like when Mr. Banteki came running in the other day all excited to tell us that Mr. Paul had gotten all beat up by somebody, probably from one of those Kobé gangs, and all he did was say: “Is that right?” Here Mr. Paul was half dead, and everything was all messed up, and the boss didn’t seem bothered at all.
But anyway, I thought I’d better get down there right away, and so I went to Tenma Police Headquarters, and there the officer in charge got mad and said: “What the hell would he be doing here? Go to the hospital.” But then as I was going out, what did I happen to see but this young lady who looked just like the pictures of Miss Keiko that the boss had showed me, and, sure enough, it was her. The only thing is, she wasn’t at the station on account of her father’s accident. What actually happened, I’m afraid, is that she had been brought in because the police sort of thought that she was a prostitute or something. Anyway she was really surprised to hear what I had to say, and we left together, with a policeman going along with us.
We didn’t know what to do once we got to the hospital, but we asked around, and somebody told us that he would probably be in the emergency ward in the basement. And so there we found him finally, in a dirty bed and all bandaged up. In fact there was almost nothing else on him but the bandages. You could see right away that this was it, and I felt awful. And then I thought of poor Miss Keiko. Here she was going to be an orphan. Her father was on his way out, and the deep bond, you know, between father and daughter was going to be broken. In the other bed in the room, this man was lying with blood bubbling around his mouth. Gee, I thought to myself, how awful to die in a place like this! But then just as we stepped into the room, Miss Keiko suddenly burst out laughing like something suddenly struck her real funny. I knew that the whole thing must have been a big shock to her; that was what probably caused her to act so strange. But still! My goodness, I thought, I wish I could get out of here! Because it wasn’t so nice, you can imagine, to think about having to be shut up in this dark little room with two gentlemen dying and Miss Keiko carrying on like that.
Anyway I heard somebody’s voice, and there was this young doctor. He picked up the boss’s wrist.
“No, no good. He’s gone already. Sorry, miss. His back was really smashed. And then I’d say that his cranium was crushed, too,” he said, as though he was kind of pleased with himself.
A Note About the Author
Akiyuki Nozaka is a rising young Japanese novelist who, at the age of thirty-eight, has already won three literary prizes in Japan, including the Naoki Prize in 1967. He was born in Tokyo in 1930 and majored in French literature at Waseda University. He makes his home in Tokyo, with his wife and daughter.
A Note About the Translator
Michael Gallagher was graduated from John Carroll University in Cleveland in 1952 and received his M.A. in English from Loyola University in 1961. He began to teach himself to read and write Japanese in 1953 while serving in the United States Army in Japan. Seven years later he returned to Tokyo as a seminarian in the Jesuit Order and began intense study of the Japanese language. He has worked as a laborer in the Osaka district and as an instructor at Tokyo University, and, a layman once more, is at present an editor for the Jesuit Writers’ Service in New York City.