We parted at Shinjuku Station, and I returned to my apartment. I hesitated for a while, but eventually switched on the television.
In a change to the evening’s schedule, they were showing a panel discussion.
“Now, I think we come to a very difficult question at this point,” said the presenter. “If events continue to unfold at this pace, when do you think Morishita and Mikawa might be booking into a hotel? Or do you think it might not come to that? Professor Ohara?”
“Well, this Akiko is a bit of a shy filly, if you know what I mean,” said Professor Ohara, a racing expert. “It all depends on Morishita’s persistence and determination in the saddle.”
“It’s all in the stars,” said a female astrologer, holding up a card. “It’ll be towards the end of the month.”
Why on earth would we want to go to a hotel, I wondered. If we did, our voices would be recorded and our positions photographed. The whole thing would be reported all over the country, exposing us to universal shame.
Things continued in a similar vein for the next few days.
Then, on my way to work one morning, my heart sank when I saw an ad for a women’s magazine inside the packed commuter train.
“READ ALL ABOUT IT– TSUTOMU AND AKIKO’S CAFÉ DATE!”
– it said in large bold letters, next to a photo of my face. And underneath that, in smaller type:
“Morishita masturbated twice that night”
I was boiling with rage and grating my teeth. “Don’t I have a right to privacy?” I shouted. “I’ll sue for defamation! Who cares how many times I did it?!”
On my arrival at work, I went straight to the Chief Clerk’s desk and presented him with a copy of the magazine, which I’d bought at the station. “I’d like permission to leave the office on personal business. I assume you know about this article. I’m going to complain to the company that publishes this magazine.”
“Of course, I understand how you feel,” the Chief Clerk said in a faltering voice, evidently trying to pacify me. “But there’s surely no point in losing your temper, is there? The media are too powerful. Of course, I’d always give you permission to leave the office on personal business. As you know, I’m quite flexible when it comes to that kind of thing. I’m sure you’re aware of that. Yes. I’m sure you are. But I’m just concerned for your welfare, you see. I agree, it’s pretty disgraceful. This article, yes, it’s disgraceful. Yes. I can certainly sympathize with your predicament.”
“It really is disgraceful.”
“Yes, utterly disgraceful.”
A number of my colleagues had come to stand around me and the Chief Clerk. They all started to sympathize with me in unison. Some of the female clerks were actually weeping.
But I wasn’t going to be taken in by that. Behind my back, they were all swapping nasty rumours about me and cooperating with the media coverage. Theirs was the inevitable duplicity of those who surround the famous.
Even the company president came over to have his say. So I abandoned the idea of complaining to the publishing company. Now, the strange thing was that, even though I’d ranted and raved like a lunatic, not a word of it was reported in the TV news that day. Nor was it mentioned in the evening paper. So I took a long, hard look at the way in which news about me had been reported over the past few days.
Everything I did in awareness of the media was omitted from the news. For example, the fact that I’d tried to shake off my pursuers, or that I’d lost my temper and shouted about the magazine article. These were either ignored altogether, or reported in a different context. Not only that, but news of the helicopter that crashed into a building while following me was reported as if it were a completely unrelated event. In this respect, the coverage was quite different to that usually given to celebrities. To be more exact, the media were presenting a world in which they themselves didn’t exist.
But therein lay the reason why the news about me was gradually growing in scale, why people were taking an interest in this news. I’d become a nobody who was known by everybody. One day, for example, the morning paper had an article about me, written with a huge headline straddling six columns on the front page:
“TSUTOMU MORISHITA EATS EELS!
FIRST TIME IN SIXTEEN MONTHS”
Occasionally, I’d stumble across people secretly trying to collect information about me. After using the company toilet, I would half-open the door to the next cubicle, only to discover a knot of reporters crammed into it, tape recorders and cameras dangling from their shoulders. Or on my way home, I’d rummage about in the bushes with the tip of my umbrella, only for a female TV announcer holding a microphone to dash out and run away shrieking.
Once, while watching television in my apartment, I suddenly leapt up and slid open the door of my built-in wardrobe. A huddle of four or five journalists (some female) tumbled out of the wardrobe onto the floor. Another time, I pushed up a ceiling panel with a broom handle. A photographer hiding in the attic, in his frantic effort to escape, put his foot through the ceiling and fell to the ground. I even pulled up my tatami matting and looked under the floorboards. A melée of reporters and hangers-on crouching in the floorwell hollered and fled in panic.
Of course, none of this was ever reported in the news. The media only ever covered my dull, everyday affairs. These were blown up into major headliners, even surpassing politics, world events, the economy and other more important topics. For example:
“TM BUYS A TAILORED SUIT IN MONTHLY INSTALMENTS!”
“ANOTHER DATE FOR TSUTOMU MORISHITA”
“REVEALED! TSUTOMU’S WEEKLY DIET!”
“WHO DOES MORISHITA REALLY WANT? AKIKO MIKAWA – OR SOMEONE ELSE?!”
“TM SLAMS CO-WORKER FUJITA (25) OVER PAPERWORK ERROR”
“SHOCK! MOZZA’S SEX LIFE!”
“TSUTOMU MORISHITA: PAY DAY TODAY”
“WHAT WILL TSUTOMU DO WITH THIS MONTH’S PAY?”
“MORISHITA BUYS ANOTHER PAIR OF SOCKS (BLUE-GREY, 350 YEN)”
In the end, there were even expert analysts who knew everything that could be known about me. I was quite amazed.
One day, I found my photograph on the front of a weekly magazine published by a newspaper company. A colour photograph. Of course, I had no idea when it was taken. It showed me on my way to work among a group of office workers. It was quite a good picture, actually, if I say so myself.
Writing articles about me was one thing. But if they wanted to use me as a model on their cover, I would expect the newspaper company to thank me at the very least. I waited three days, four days after the magazine had been published, but still heard nothing. Finally, I’d had enough. On my way back from a client one day, I paid them a visit.
Normally, I only had to walk down the street for everyone to be turning and gawking at me. But as soon as I entered the newspaper company building, I was treated with total indifference by receptionists and staff alike. It was almost as if they’d never heard of me. I regretted going there at all, as I waited in the reception lounge. Then a man with a sour face appeared and identified himself as the magazine’s Assistant Chief Editor.
“Listen, Mr Morishita. We’d prefer it if you didn’t come here, you understand.”
“I thought so. Because I’m supposed to be a nobody who has no connection with the media?”
“You’re not talented or topical. You’re not even famous. So you have no business coming here.”
“But I am, aren’t I? I am famous now!”
“You’re merely a nobody whose life was reported in the media. You were supposed to remain anonymous, even when people recognized you. We thought you’d understand that well enough.”
“So why did a nobody like me have to be reported on the news?”
The Assistant Chief Editor sighed wearily. “How should I know?! I suppose someone decided you were newsworthy.”
“Someone? You mean someone in the media? What idiot had that idea?”
“Idiot, you say? As if there’s just
one person at the bottom of it? In that case, why are all the media companies falling over each other to follow you? The media don’t need to be told. They’ll only follow someone if they think he’s got news value.”
“News value? In the daily life of a nobody?”
“All right then. You tell me. What news items would you consider important?”
“Well… Something about the weather forecast being wrong… A war going on somewhere… A ten-minute power failure… An aeroplane crashes, killing a thousand… The price of apples goes up… Someone’s bitten by a dog… A dog is caught shoplifting in a supermarket… The US President is caught shoplifting… Man lands on Mars… An actress gets divorced… The war to end all wars is about to start… A company profits from pollution… Another newspaper company makes a profit…”
The Assistant Chief Editor watched me vacantly as I continued. But now he shook his head with a look of pity. “So those are the things you regard as big news, are they?”
“Aren’t they?” I replied in some confusion.
He waved his hand with an air of irritation. “No, no, no, no, no. Of course, they could be made into big news. That’s why they’re duly reported. But at the same time, we report on the life of an ordinary office worker. Anything can become big news if the media report it,” he said, nodding. “News value only arises after something’s been reported. But you, by coming here today, have completely destroyed your own news value.”
“That doesn’t bother me.”
“I see.” He slapped his thigh. “Actually, it doesn’t bother us either.”
I hurried back to the office. From my desk, I immediately phoned through to Admin.
“Akiko,” I said loudly. “Will you go to a hotel with me tonight?”
I could hear Akiko catching her breath at the other end of the line.
For a moment, the whole room fell silent. My colleagues and the Chief Clerk gawped at me in amazement.
Eventually she replied. “Yes. Of course,” she sobbed.
And so that night, Akiko and I stayed in a hotel. It was the shabbiest, seediest hotel in a street full of tasteless neon signs.
As I’d expected, there was no mention of it in the newspapers. Nor was it reported on the TV news. From that day on, news about me vanished from the media. In my place came a middle-aged office worker, the type that can be found just about everywhere. Thin, short, two children, lives on a suburban estate, a clerk in a shipbuilding company.
I’d once again become a nobody – this time for real.
Some time later, I asked Akiko out again as a test. Would she like to have coffee with me after work? Of course, she refused. But I was satisfied – now I knew what sort of person she was.
A month later, nobody could remember my face. But even then, people would occasionally stop and give me curious looks when they saw me. On my way home one day, two girls were sitting opposite me on the train. One of them gave me that look and started whispering to the other.
“Hey! Haven’t I seen him somewhere before?” she said, nudging her friend with her elbow. “What was it he did?”
The other girl looked at me with a bored expression. After a moment, she answered in a tone of utter boredom: “Oh, him. Yeah. He was just a nobody.”
Don’t Laugh
I had a call from Saita, a bachelor friend of mine, an electric-appliances repair specialist with four technical patents to his name.
“Would you mind coming over?” he said in a tremulous little voice like a mosquito’s hum.
“Why? Is something wrong? Has something happened?” I asked.
“Well… You know,” he mumbled, then said nothing for a moment. He seemed to be looking for the right words. “Well, I’ll tell you when you get here.”
It was a diffident voice. Usually, he’d be loudly and forcefully debating with me on subjects like topology, relativity or parallel universes – so much so that I could hardly get a word in edgeways.
“You in a hurry then?”
“Yes. Well, no. It’s not particularly urgent. But if you’re free… Well, you know. It would help if you came over right away.”
His voice sounded even more hesitant now, almost apologetic. But his odd tone had the opposite effect on me – it made me think something really serious must have happened. So I agreed to go over right away.
His shop was on the main street. As I walked in, he greeted me with an “Oh, hi,” gazed at me with an expression of utter gratitude, and led me to a small reception area at the back of the shop. There, Saita and I sat facing each other across a table.
“What’s up, then? What’s happened?” I asked with deliberate nonchalance, taking out a cigarette. He was clearly finding it hard to come to the point.
“Well,” he replied, then hesitated again. For a while, he rubbed his palms together, drew circles on the table with his fingertips and stared into space. “Well, it’s not such a big deal, really…”
“But you said I should come right away!”
“Yes, that’s right.” He was cringing with embarrassment, squirming in his seat. Then he glanced up at me with a coy look. “Well, actually,” he said, and started to giggle.
It couldn’t be anything serious if he could laugh about it. But why on earth was he so embarrassed? I’d never seen him like this before.
Though now quite irritated, I was beginning to catch his giggles.
“What? What’s it all about? Tell me, quick!”
His face turned red. “All right. Well, I’ll tell you,” he said in a throwaway tone, giggling again. He glanced at me briefly before averting his eyes. “I’ll tell you. But please. Don’t laugh.”
“You’re laughing, aren’t you?!” I said, laughing.
“Am I? Oh. Well, anyway…” This was all quite unlike him.
“What, then?”
“Well, I’ve invented a time machine,” he said.
He clearly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I said nothing for a moment. If I’d opened my mouth, I would have exploded with laughter. But I could do nothing about the uncontrollable ripples that were spreading all over my body – bad though I felt about it.
Saita glanced at me sideways and writhed in embarrassment. “D-d-don’t laugh. Don’t.”
In the end, I let out a suppressed snort.
Saita, still with his half-laughing, half-weeping expression, now laughed aloud.
“Wahahahahaha!”
I laughed too.
“Wahahahahaha!”
Saita stopped laughing abruptly. He looked at me rather forlornly as I continued to laugh with no apparent end.
I eventually managed to control myself.
“Sorry,” I said, trying my hardest to suppress the chortles. “Tell me again. What have you done?”
As if to contain his embarrassment, Saita rubbed his palms hard over the surface of the desk as he answered.
“Er, invented a t-t-time machine.”
“Wahahahahaha!” I gripped my sides.
“Wahahahahaha!” Saita started to laugh like a madman.
We contorted our bodies, bent ourselves double, bent backwards, then contorted our bodies again as we continued to laugh. For a long time we continued to laugh.
At last, our laughter subsided to a point at which we could speak again.
“Have you invented a time machine?” I asked.
“I’ve invented a time machine,” he answered.
We burst into laughter again. We continued to laugh even more insanely than before. For a long time we continued to laugh.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said in a wheezing voice as I held my aching belly, my face still contorted with laughter. “You’ve gone and invented a time machine!”
I was virtually laughing my head off. “And where is it, then?” I asked with heaving shoulders.
Still laughing, Saita pointed to the ceiling with his chin. His workshop was on the upper floor, which resembled a loft. He got up and started climbing the stairs to the
upper floor. I followed him. In a corner of the workshop was a time machine.
“Is this a time machine?” I asked.
Saita nodded. “Yes. This is a time machine.”
We both exploded with laughter at the same time. We pointed at the machine and laughed, pointed at each other’s faces and laughed, squatted on the floor, coughed convulsively, and gripped our aching sides as we continued to laugh.
“That’s ri-ri-ridiculous!” I said, as wheezing sounds issued from my throat. “How does it work? Go on, tell me!”
Saita, also with shoulders heaving, still managed to climb slowly into the time machine. “Come on in,” he said.
“All right,” I answered. The laughter had finally subsided, but it was not without the occasional giggle that I got into the time machine and sat next to Saita. “So, are you going to explain?”
“Yes. Well, first of all…” he started in his timid little voice. He scratched his head in embarrassment, and sheepishly pointed to one of the dials with his chubby index finger. “Th-this dial, you see, well, it’s for going back in time.”
“Wahahahahaha!” I was already gripping my stomach before he could finish.
“Wahahahahaha!” Saita opened his mouth wide and laughed too.
We contorted our bodies and rolled around with laughter as we sat there in the time machine.
Still laughing, Saita casually pointed to another dial. “And this one’s for going forwards.”
“Wahahahahaha!”
“Wahahahahaha!”
I laughed so much that I thought I would die. Eventually, we stopped and looked at each other’s half-crazed faces in the time machine, our face muscles floppy with fatigue from laughing.
“I thought I was going to die,” I said.
“So did I,” said Saita.
“Just now, when you said you’d invented a time machine,” I said with another involuntary snort, “that was b-b-brilliant!”
Saita also let out a snort. We continued to laugh for a while.
“How about going back to see it,” I suggested through my giggles, pointing to the dial with my chin. “You can do that, can’t you?”