Grotesque (58 page)

I started taking all my notes and writing memos in English. I wrote Japanese with English grammar structure. As a result, those around me stared at me in amazement, and I was delighted by my own success.

Another time, I decided I would contribute an article to the newspaper.

With my breadth of knowledge and superior verbal skills, I knew I could write not just on domestic economic issues but on international politics as well. I submitted a short article called “What Gorbachev Should Do” to the readers’ column of one of the national newspapers.

When the paper printed the article in the morning edition, I bounded off to work in fine spirits. I was sure everyone would come up to me and compliment me on the piece. “Hey, I saw the paper this morning!” they would say. “Your piece is great!” But contrary to expectations, no one at the office seemed to have even noticed. They all went busily about their work. What, no one here even reads the paper? I found that really hard to believe.

During lunch the office manager frequently read the paper, so I assumed he’d have something to say to me about it. I loitered around his desk during my lunch break, not able to eat anything myself. The office manager looked up and glanced over at me.

“Did you write this, Sato?”

He thumped the paper with his finger. My chest swelled.

“Why, yes, I did.”

“You’re really clever, aren’t you?”

And that was that. I can still remember the disappointment I felt.

There must be something wrong here. I could think of only one reason for this oversight, one reason that could redeem me in my own eyes.

They were jealous of me.

Two years or so had passed since I entered the firm. Once, while I was writing a report in English, I felt someone hovering over me.

“You write like a native speaker, don’t you? Did you study overseas?”

Occasionally the head of the research division would stop by to check on things. He was now peering over my shoulder, interested in what I was writing. The division head was named Kabano. He was forty-three, a good-natured fellow who’d graduated from a mediocre university and 3 6 6

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was the kind of person who was often treated with contempt. I ignored him. I didn’t think there was any particular reason to reply. Kabano looked at me—set adrift in that office with no one really to rely on—and smiled compassionately.

“I knew your father well, Sato. He was in accounting when I first joined the firm. He helped me a good deal.”

I looked up at Kabano. A number of people had mentioned my father, but most of them had only been on the fringes of power. Kabano was no different, but I couldn’t help feeling that he was trying to belittle my father for some reason.

“Such a shame about your father—and him still so young. But having an exceptional daughter such as yourself must have made him happy. I’m sure he was very proud of you.”

I said nothing and turned back to my work. Kabano must have been shocked by my lack of response; he left the office immediately. That evening as I was preparing to leave, a male coworker who was five years my senior came over to me. He had been the one who had accused me at the office party of using connections to enter the firm.

“Sato, it really isn’t any of my business, but I’d like to talk with you about something. Do you have a minute?”

He barely spoke above a whisper, glancing around nervously the whole time.

“What is it?”

I could feel my defenses rising. I still hadn’t forgiven him.

“It’s kind of difficult to talk about, but I feel it’s my obligation. I don’t think your attitude earlier was appropriate. In fact, I think you were rude to Mr. Kabano.”

“Really. And what about your own attitude? Weren’t you the one who announced to everyone that I used connections to get into the firm?

Don’t you think that was rude?”

I imagine he had not expected me to launch this land of defense, because his face wilted.

“If I insulted you, please understand it was just the liquor talking. I apologize if I hurt your feelings. That hadn’t been my intention. I meant it as a warning to others that you are part of the G Corporation family and that they shouldn’t be rude to you. That’s what Mr. Kabano was trying to express earlier. That’s why I think your attitude was rude. In a 3 6 7

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family such as ours, everyone supports and encourages everyone else.

That’s just the way we are, and you’d do well to recognize it. Getting sulky about an imaginary offense is counterproductive.”

“You’re welcome to think whatever you like, but I entered this firm through my own ability. Of course I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps, but I earned my position here on my own. Naturally I’m very proud of my father. But I’m tired of hearing about him.”

My older colleague folded his arms across his chest. “Do you suppose it was really through your own ability?”

When I heard him say this, I practically burst out in tears of rage. “If you don’t believe me, check it out yourself! And stop going on about connections. I’ve had enough.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he continued. “I got in because of connections, too. My uncle worked here. He’s already reached retirement age and isn’t around now. I don’t care if people say I’m here on account of connections or not. There are times I felt protected because of my uncle. Of course, there are always people who will hassle you because of connections. But life is full of enemies anyway. It doesn’t hurt to form strong alliances and turn negatives to your advantage. That’s the way the corporate world operates in Japan.”

“I think it’s wrong.”

“That’s because you don’t understand the first thing about a man’s world.”

With that as his parting shot, my colleague turned and walked away.

I was so angry I thought I’d explode. A man’s world! Men trotted that out when it suited them, forming alliances with one another and excluding women at their convenience. If G Architecture and Engineering Firm was supposed to be one big happy family, women ought to be included in these alliances also. I was pretty sure there was a Q University alumni ring in the firm, but no one had told me about it. I was surrounded by the enemy. I really was cast out into the wilderness. Suddenly I heard Yamamoto speaking to someone in a hushed voice.

“Okay. I’ll meet you in front of the movie theater.”

She hung up hurriedly, before anyone could know she was making a private phone call, and looked around her. She looked radiantly happy.

Undoubtedly she was going to meet a man. “It’s important to make strong alliances as best you can and turn the negatives to your advantage.”

That’s what my senior colleague had advised. If that was the case, the 3 6 8

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best alliances a woman could have were with men. Yamamoto couldn’t take being here much longer, and that’s probably because she had a man.

I returned to my desk feeling dejected, flopped down in my chair, and laid my head on my desk.

“I’m going now,” Yamamoto called, as she headed for the door. She was wearing freshly applied bright red lipstick and her whole body was suffused with joy. I straightened up abruptly and followed her.

The man waiting for Yamamoto in front of the movie theater wore the drab uniform of a graduate student: jeans, jacket, and sneakers. There was nothing particularly remarkable about his face, and everything about him looked ordinary. But there was Yamamoto waving to him as if she were the happiest woman in the world. The two then disappeared into the theater. What the hell? I had assumed Yamamotos boyfriend would be incredibly handsome and was bitterly disappointed to find tilings so contrary to my imagination.

Once the bell for the movie sounded and I was left standing alone in the street in front of the theater, my heart would not stop racing. Small black insects began to crawl their way through my heart. First one, then two, then three, and finally four. The more I tried to chase them away, the more they came. Before long I felt like my entire heart was little more than a wriggling black mass. The feeling was so oppressive, I wanted to break into a run.

Yamamoto had what I would never be able to obtain. And it wasn’t just Yamamoto. The female assistants who taunted me for not being able to do my work, my male peers whose rudeness knew no bounds, the marginal old men like Kabano—all of them had the ability to interact with others: friends, lovers, someone to whom they could open their hearts, someone with whom they could share conversation, someone they longed to see once work was done. They had people outside the workplace who made them feel happy.

The May breeze was cool and delightful. The setting sun dyed the thicket of trees in Hibiya Park orange. Even so, the dark mood that had encircled my heart would not leave me. The black insects swarmed around one another, wiggling, multiplying, dangling along the edge of my heart, and finally spilling over. Why only me? Why only me? I continued to ask myself this as I fought against the breeze, making my way to the Ginza, my back bowed with the effort. Once I returned to my dark lonely house, the only person who would be there to greet me would be 3 6 9

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my mother. That was all I had to look forward to. The thought of returning to work the next day was more depressing than I could bear. My disappointment, my irritation, fed the insects in my heart.

The life I was living was no different from that of a middleaged man.

I went to work and then I went home. I existed solely to carry home a paycheck. Whatever I earned was turned immediately into household expenses. First Mother put my check in the bank. Then she bought cheap food for our meals, paid my sisters tuition costs, and made our house payments. She was even responsible for doling out my own meager allowance. If I took off somewhere and never returned, my mother—who had already used most of the savings—would be completely at a loss. I couldn’t run away. I would have to continue looking after my mother until she finally died. Weren’t my responsibilities exactly like those faced by men? I was only twentyfive years old at that point, yet I was already shouldering the weight of a family. I am forever a child with a paycheck.

But men have secret pleasures that they are able to enjoy. They slip off with their buddies for drinks, they play around with women, and they enjoy all kinds of intrigues on the side. I had nothing outside of work.

And I wasn’t even able to enjoy work because I wasn’t considered the best; Yamamoto took that title. I had no friends in the firm. And when I looked back to high school, I could think of no one there whom I could have called a friend. No one! The insects in my heart squirmed as they whispered their taunts. I was so overcome with loneliness and despair that I came to a halt right there on the streets of the Ginza and started to cry. The insects writhed.

Someone speak to me. Call out to me and take me out. Please, please, I’m begging you, say something kind to me.

Tell me I’m pretty, tell me I’m sweet.

Invite me out for coffee, or more… .

Tell me that you want to spend the day with me and me alone.

As I continued on my way along the Ginza streets I gazed pointedly into the eyes of the men I encountered, beseeching them wordlessly.

But every man who happened to glance in my direction quickly averted his eyes with an irritated look. They would have nothing to do with me.

I turned off the main avenue and darted down a side street. Women who looked like they worked in hostess bars brushed passed me, their faces thick with makeup, the air around them heavy with perfume.

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These women refused to look at me too, assuming I’d accidentally stumbled onto their turf. They only had eyes for men—potential customers.

But the men who stumbled by all looked to be the type who worked in a firm just like mine—just like me. The insects squirmed, addressing the women. One of the women standing in front of a club stared long and hard at me. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was wearing a silver kimono with a burgundy obi. Her jet-black hair was swept up atop her head. She glared at me suspiciously through upturned eyes.

The insects in my heart accosted the woman: What are you looking at?

And when they did, the woman began to preach to them.

An amateur like you—you’re an eyesore here. Leave. You don’t understand much of anything, do you, you pathetic little princess. These are bars for company men. What goes on here is directly related to what goes on in the company. And both are a man’s world. All for men and men alone.

I shrugged my shoulders.

Women who polish their skills and capture a man are the shrewdest.

The kimono woman looked me up and down, clearly unimpressed by my drab appearance. She snorted scornfully. Impossible for you, I suppose.

Did you abandon your femininity?

I didn’t abandon anything. If you compare me to a woman like yourself, I look pretty drab; but as a result, I’m able to work a real job. I’ll have you know I graduated from Q University and I work at the G Firm.

All totally worthless, I imagined that the woman replied. As a woman you’re less than average. You’d never be able to get a job in the Ginza.

Less than average. Less than the fiftieth percentile on a standard scale.

No one would want me. The thought made me go nearly crazy. How horrible to be less than average.

I want to win. I want to win. I want to win. I want to be number one.

I want people to say, What a great woman, I’m glad I got to know her.

The insects in my heart continued to squirm.

A long thin limousine pulled up. The smoked glass on the windows prevented me from seeing inside. While the people walking down the street paused to watch the car pass, the limousine, almost too big for the narrow lane, turned the corner and came to a halt in front of an elegantlooking establishment. The driver leaped out and opened the passenger door. A fortyish man, looking very enterprising in his double-breasted suit, stepped out with a young woman. The hostess-club women, the 3 7 1