The idiot. The idiot. What kind of man is he? Doesn’t he want the money? I’ll feed him scraps from now on. What enjoyment does he get out of life? He’s been spurning me for years. Does he think I’m going to give up so easily? He’ll do the painting even if I have to use bodily force. Now, to think of a plan.
How could someone as refined as Tenshu possibly find his obnoxious wife attractive? It figured that they hadn’t had sexual relations for several years now. What was startling to Nanase was how happy this revelation made her.
“I want you to hurry up and eat!” Toshi screamed hysterically at Nanase. “How am I going to clean up?”
Nanase found Toshi’s violent, indiscriminate anger amusing.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do it myself.”
Nanase spoke slowly and calmly.
Humph. Smart-alecky bitch. Making fun of me, eh? Wait until you do something wrong – then I’ll give it to you.
Toshi glared at Nanase and left the room in a huff.
On Sunday all Tenshu did was a little more work on the painting on the easel. The words “commercial painting” didn’t seem to surface even once in his mind. Ready to explode, Toshi and Katsuki waited impatiently for Tenshu to appear at the dinner table.
Again, Nanase holed herself up in her room. This could turn into a nightly routine, she thought. The family seems to have been carrying on this way every night for years. Could you call this dinner? Weren’t they just feasting on hatred and anger?
One week passed. On a few rare occasions Nanase was able to glimpse Tenshu’s consciousness tuned into reality. While his thoughts struck her as rather precise, they were merely fragments – at best, recollections of something that had happened at the office. They lacked the coherence of thoughts analysing current, real-life situations. Nanase wanted to read Tenshu’s mind while he was at work.
On Monday, Nanase took the day off and headed downtown to the shopping district where Tenshu’s company was located. In the basement of the building was a large restaurant; Nanase had garnered from a fragment of Tenshu’s consciousness that he ate lunch here every day.
When Nanase arrived just before noon, the restaurant was still empty. She took a seat in a corner booth, out of sight of the other tables, and treated herself to a hearty lunch – to make up for the paltry meals she got at the Takemuras’.
The restaurant filled up, but Tenshu was nowhere to be seen. If he did show up, Nanase was sure that she’d be able to pick him out immediately, regardless of the number of customers. She had honed her ability to distinguish, even in a crowd, the thoughts of someone whose consciousness she was already familiar with. If necessary, she could shut out the consciousness of everyone else.
Nanase finished eating. Still no Tenshu. She ordered coffee.
Nanase liked coffee. Whenever she drank coffee, her telepathic powers seemed to grow stronger. She had read that human beings’ mental processes were slowed down by barbiturates, but speeded up by caffeine. If caffeine really did increase her power, then she could consider telepathy an advanced function, rather than a residue of primal instinct.
When her coffee arrived, Nanase felt a distinct stirring in her mind. This was a consciousness that she was thoroughly familiar with. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Tenshu, but she wanted to see if he was alone. She peeked at the entrance from behind the screen. Tenshu and two office girls were sitting in a booth right by the entrance. Apparently all the other tables in the restaurant were taken.
Oh no, thought Nanase. She’d have to stay hidden at the table until they left.
The office girls, dressed in smocks, were both in their early twenties. Nanase could only see their hair and shoulders. One had short hair; the other was on the plump side and wore her hair up. From Tenshu’s consciousness, she learnt that the girl with her hair up was Takako and that she worked in Tenshu’s accounting department. The short-haired girl’s name did not enter his thoughts.
After observing Tenshu’s consciousness for a while, Nanase realized that he was completely ignoring the girl with the short hair. She had been converted into an orange isosceles triangle with a tapered tip. When her tip occasionally quivered, it meant that she was saying something. But Tenshu’s mind was making not the least attempt to comprehend her words. Nanase wondered if he hated this girl – after all, orange was the colour of one the concentric circles that represented Katsuki.
Tenshu’s interest was directed solely at Takako. Through Tenshu’s eyes, Nanase could see her white skin, dark eyebrows and roundish face. In Tenshu’s consciousness, this face would frequently change into a large white circle. If the colour and size of the circle were anything to go by, he obviously had warm feelings for her.
This came as a mild shock to Nanase, but she didn’t feel particularly jealous of Takako. In a way she was relieved to confirm that the closeness she had felt for Tenshu was completely unromantic in nature. Anyway, that was the least of her worries now. The undeniable reality she had to face was that her own image of Tenshu had been a gross exaggeration – it was nothing more than an idealized portrait of Tenshu as she herself wanted him to be.
Nanase watched as desire for Takako surfaced in his consciousness – stirrings of pure lust, without an iota of love. Even more disturbing were his thoughts on how to acquire the object of his desire. Takako had misappropriated some company funds, and Tenshu intended to use that information to trap her.
Actually, Tenshu’s embezzlement had been more of a prank than anything else. All she had stolen was a few thousand yen for the sake of a girlish thrill. But Tenshu was mulling over how this could be used to blackmail her into sleeping with him. He was her immediate superior and the only one who knew of her embezzlement; she was unmarried and virginal. It would be easy.
Tenshu himself didn’t think there was anything at all despicable about this. He converted people into geometric figures simply because he held the whole world in contempt and thought of people as tools for his own ends.
Nanase had observed the egotism of an artist two or three times before, but she had never seen anything like this. She was appalled.
“I just want to even the score. You must, too.” Strike out; rewrite. “I’m sure you must feel the same way. It’s better if we each have our own secret.”
Big, white circle.
“I have a family.” Don’t give her the chance to think it over. “You’re still single.” No, I need an extra something. Timing. Just before we settle accounts. That’ll unnerve her. Two days before. When she leaves work. Within the day. After the first shock, gradually lull her into a feeling of security. As soon as she lets down her guard, lure her to a hotel.
Black spots.
Black spots represented Tenshu’s sexual desire. Katsuki was his father’s son after all.
Of course, Takako had no idea what Tenshu was thinking. Unaware that he had sniffed out her embezzlement, she was laughing and enjoying herself. Little did she know that before long she’d be tormented by an uncalled-for guilt and forced to give herself to Tenshu. Nanase, who almost never felt sorry for anyone, couldn’t help pitying her.
With the restaurant full, Nanase could not just sit there indefinitely. She drank a second cup of coffee. When Tenshu went to the restroom, she quickly got up to leave.
At the cash register behind Tenshu’s booth, Nanase paid her bill. Briefly she read the minds of the two girls. From a distance of one or two yards, she could easily distinguish between their consciousnesses.
What?! The short-haired girl had had an affair with Tenshu!
It’s obvious that the boss likes Takako. Should I warn her? Tell her she’d better watch out for him, that he has a bad reputation for fooling around? No. No way. I can’t say anything, What if word got out about my affair with him? The cheat. Giving me all that bull. Deceiving me. He’ll give her the same line. What a mistake to get involved with an artist. Then getting pregnant on top of it. He ignored me the whole time, the creep. The indifferent beast. He’s turned into a
cold-blooded animal.
Once he had satisfied his lust with anyone, Tenshu reduced the person to a hateful orange-coloured existence – annoying, unpleasant and tiresome. Anyone who got in the way of his latest conquest was converted into an abstract shape and ignored. Then, within the secure warmth of his ego, he would indulge in his conquest to his heart’s content. Here was the root of his artistic egotism – the narcissism of a man convinced that he was a genius with the right to do whatever he pleased.
Nanase’s image of Tenshu had now completely reversed itself. He had turned into someone so ugly and repulsive that the thought of him made her feel physically ill. When she left the restaurant, she realized how much she hated him.
The shopping district was bathed in a languid afternoon sunlight. She walked a dozen metres hurriedly and then entered a phone booth. The booth was hot and stuffy. She took a matchbox from the restaurant out of her handbag and dialled the number on it.
“Could you please page a customer for me – a Miss Takako Ochiai,” said Nanase.
Takako soon came on the line. “Yes?”
Nanase spoke slowly, “Today or tomorrow, return the money you embezzled.” Then she hung up. That should be enough to get through to her.
Nanase worked for the Takemuras for ten more days.
She had two reasons for quitting. One was that Katsuki was constantly pestering her.
“Where’d you go on your day off?”
“Next Sunday, let’s go to a movie.”
“Why do you wear your hair like that?”
“You have nice skin.”
The more stand-offish she was, the more his passion grew inside him.
The other reason had to do with Tenshu. The white circle representing Nanase in his consciousness continued to get bigger and bigger. After his setback with Takako, his goal shifted to Nanase, the girl closest at hand. He was hanging around her all the time, trying to think of some way to seduce her.
Like father, like son, thought Nanase. Both were indolent, with an abnormally bloated lust for conquest – directed solely at women. In that light, Tenshu’s paintings were revolting. The erratic dynamism of the composition was no more than an expression of his warped self-absorption. He painted every Sunday just so he could wallow in the smugness of his ego.
Of course, this may very well be the essence of creative instinct, Nanase reconsidered wryly.
When Nanase announced that she would be leaving, Toshi looked at her askance. Her animosity for “modern uppity young girls” burst forth into her consciousness, and she let loose with an interminable stream of virulence.
“It’s just as I thought. You always had this sulking, complaining look about you. Well, if you’re going to quit anyway, you’re better off doing it now. In spite of the easy work here, you couldn’t even last a month, could you?
“There’s just one thing I want to say. You’ll never be able to work anywhere. Not for very long. It’s absolutely out of the question. If it’s better treatment you want, then you better learn how to behave like a servant. You’d like a nice room and a big salary, I suppose. You go try and find such a job. You’re probably thinking that you only want what any maid wants these days. Well, the Takemuras do not hire maids who act like aristocrats. Servants must know their proper place. Of course, you modern stuck-up girls wouldn’t understand. That’s why you can’t find good maids any more. They run around with boys and end up getting pregnant. You better watch out. Oh, but you’re a lost cause. You wouldn’t even care. Uppity young girl.”
8
Dear Departed Mother
Shintaro Shimizu’s heart was awash with tears.
Why did you die? How could you have died and left me? How awful of you! What a terrible mother! What am I going to do now? Why did you die?
These thoughts were completely without logic. Nanase found it hard to believe that this was the consciousness of a twenty-seven-year-old man.
Even though a whole day had passed since the death of Tsuneko, his mother, Shintaro’s tear-drenched mind could only haltingly repeat the same phrases over and over.
Why did you die? What am I going to do now? How awful of you! How awful of you to die without me!
Shintaro’s tears could best be described as tears of childish self-indulgence. He was trying to console himself by crying non-stop, wallowing in the memories of his dead mother. He had always been coddled by her. Now all he had left were his memories. Nanase wondered if this could really be the same man who graduated from a first-rate university and was working for a top company. She found herself doubting her own telepathic power.
Just how long is he going to keep on crying?
It’s as if his entire body is made out of tears. If he cries much longer, his eyes might dissolve.
Nanase felt sorry for Sachie, who was thinking this while watching her husband make a scene in front of everybody. In their three years of marriage, Sachie had been tormented by her husband’s abnormal closeness to his mother.
It looks as if I’ll have to put up with his crying for a while. But what if he never stops?
When Sachie trembled at the thought that her husband might never be free of memories of his mother, Nanase understood only too well how she felt.
From a pathological viewpoint, Nanase had a better understanding of Shintaro’s disorder than Sachie, so she knew that Sachie had good cause for worry. However, Nanase also knew that if ever Shintaro was to “wean” himself from his mother, it could only be through something as drastic as her death. Of course, whether or not Shintaro would be able to stand on his own emotionally depended on his own strength of will.
The funeral guests had spilt out from the living room almost to the veranda. When the memorial service began, Nanase sat up straight at the very back, lowering her head as the priest chanted sutras. Nearly all the friends and relations gathered there seemed aware of Shintaro’s mother complex. Many of the guests, looking for something to gossip about, were enjoying Shintaro’s abnormal grief and Sachie’s reaction.
Sachie looks so happy. She must be relieved.
A grown man carrying on so.
His cheeks are shining with tears.
He doesn’t seem to give a hoot about appearances.
He’s a child. And he’s already twenty-seven – he’ll never grow up. Poor Sachie. The end of the Shimizu line.
Sachie looks embarrassed. Her husband’s sobbing so much. She should at least make a pretence of crying.
Nanase had started working at the Shimizus’ two months earlier, ten days after Tsuneko had taken to her bed. Tsuneko didn’t want her daughter-in-law to nurse her, and Sachie didn’t like the idea either.
Now that Tsuneko was dead, Sachie did feel as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. When Nanase peered into her mind, she found her constantly recalling Tsuneko’s abusive treatment in order to alleviate her guilt about how she felt.
Her curses. She hated me. The more I nursed her, the more she hated me. She’d shout so loud the neighbours could hear. “Do you want to kill me? You idiot,” she screamed. Non-stop. “You can’t nurse someone properly if your heart isn’t in it,” she screamed.
But when you’re hated that much and yelled at that much, how can you keep on caring? It’s impossible. Impossible.
Sachie’s goodness came out in this angry self-justification. Nanase was impressed with the way she had put up with Tsuneko and Shintaro’s maltreatment of her. If Sachie had been a modern, independent young woman, she probably would have got a divorce before a year had passed.
Since Nanase had the ability to know what a patient wanted before he or she said anything, she had the makings of a perfect nurse. She was also a maid par excellence. But when she took over from Sachie, Tsuneko was critical even of her, lashing out at her from her sickbed and making unreasonable demands. Her talent for picking out other people’s faults was a constant source of amazement to Nanase; she could hardly blame Sachie for cowering at the thought of having to look after Tsuneko. No
matter how devotedly Nanase took care of her by literally anticipating her every need, Tsuneko would brood obsessively in her sickbed, invariably concluding that Nanase’s intentions were malicious. Nanase could easily imagine how much Tsuneko had tormented Sachie.
As his mother’s condition worsened, Shintaro started going off the deep end. He’d taken days off from work, never leaving his mother’s bedside. He hadn’t gone to work at all for the six days before she died. Neither did he think there was anything strange about using his mother’s illness as an excuse. His superiors could upbraid him and his co-workers could make all the jokes they liked – Mummy was sick and that was ample reason for Shintaro to stay home.
“My boss said that if Mummy died, it’d be one thing, but it’s no excuse to stay home just because she’s sick.”
Nanase was eavesdropping as Shintaro spoke excitedly to Tsuneko.
“So what did you say?”
“I told him I’d take the time off without pay. My boss said it would put him in a bind.”
“You should stay away once in a while so they’ll appreciate your worth.” Tsuneko spoke happily. “Make them suffer.”
Shintaro always called Tsuneko “Mummy”. She loved it. He made it a rule not to think about the content of his work in front of her. If he dwelt on some technical problem which his mother couldn’t understand, her mood would turn sour. But until the day Tsuneko died, he talked about everything else to her, just as if she was his girlfriend.
Shintaro would openly confide his anger and sadness, and seek his mother’s advice when he had a problem. He wouldn’t try to figure anything out for himself; in fact, he’d even make an effort not to think about anything until he could discuss it with Tsuneko. He’d carry his problems home with him and then drop them on his mother’s lap.
Why, that’s nothing to get so worked up over. They’re all jealous of your abilities. You’re too smart. People are bound to resent you. It’s a kind of fate. Jealousy towards the elite.