Grotesque (9 page)

G R O T E S Q U E

Q High School for Young Women: a red logo. I wondered what Kazue planned to do next. The girl who had lent her the socks was laughing with her friends, but when her eyes met mine she turned and cast her glance down as if she’d been caught doing something shameful.

I began talking to her now and then. I learned that her name was Mitsuru and that she had entered the Q system from middle school.

And so it was that both the insiders and the outsiders began the school year without striking any compromise in their polarity. The insiders were always together in the classroom, painting their nails and shrieking with laughter. When the lunch break rolled around, they headed off together to restaurants off campus and enjoyed fabulous freedom. When school let out for the day, the boys from Q High School for Young Men would be waiting for them at the gate. Girls with college-age boyfriends would be swept away in BMWs, Porsches, and other expensive foreign automobiles.

The boys who met them had an air about them that resembled that of the girls. They were stylish, exuding a confidence backed by wealth.

And they were a licentious group.

One month after I entered the school, we had our first examination.

The outsider students were determined not to be outdone in their studies.

They’d suffered enough as a result of constant pressure from the insiders. The studious set—who applied themselves nonstop to their schoolwork and aimed to surpass the insiders—was particularly determined, but they were not alone. All the outsiders had applied themselves with special zeal to their exam preparations. Moreover, the determination to succeed was all the more intense because we’d heard that the names of the ten top scorers would be posted. The outsiders saw this as an opportunity to redeem their honor. They would be able to claim for themselves a spot among the smartest of the smart.

I had decided from the very start that the test would not be worth the effort. Because I was still relishing my newfound freedom from Yuriko, I wasn’t much concerned with what happened at school. As long as I didn’t come in dead last, I didn’t really care about the test and consequently did not study at all. I really didn’t even care if I ended up at the very bottom of the heap, if I was able to stay in school—that was all that mattered.

And so I went on with my life as before—just as the insiders did their own—without really noticing the exam.

On the Sunday before the exam, all the insiders went to a friend’s 5 1

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vacation cottage to compare their class notes, or so the rumors went.

Once again, the class was divided into two entirely different groups.

A week later the results of the exam were printed out and posted for all to see. Most of the students in the top ten were—as the outsiders had imagined—members of their own group. But what was mystifying was that among the top three was a student who had entered the school from junior high. Fifth place went to a girl who’d been with the Q system since elementary school. The highest score belonged to Mitsuru. This pattern made a profound impression on all the outsiders. Even though they generally performed better than the students who had been in the system since elementary school, how was it that they could not surpass those who had entered from junior high? The most urbane, charming, and wealthy bunch were the students who had entered from elementary school. The students who were most adept at melting into the background and were best at their studies were those who entered the system while in junior high. And the ones who were ill prepared for anything were those who had started in high school. But the pattern defied the earlier expectation of this last set of students, and they glanced about with pained expressions.

“Don’t you play tennis?”

Mitsuru asked me this during our next gym class. In the month following my matriculation into Q High School for Young Women, a few of the insiders had spoken to me on occasion. When it came to our tennis lessons, those students who were on the tennis team would park themselves out on the center court as if it were their personal property. Students who didn’t enjoy tennis, or those who didn’t want to get sunburned, would lounge about on the benches lost in chatter. And those students who, like me, didn’t want to get lumped in with the benches group would loaf around outside the chain-link fence, making it seem as if we were simply awaiting our turn to play. What about Kazue, you ask? She’d hit the balls back and forth on one of the side courts with other outsiders. She hated losing and would chase after the balls with dogged determination, letting go with strange grunts and groans in the process. The students lolling about on the benches entertained themselves with derisive comments about her.

“Well, I’m not very good at it,” I answered.

“Neither am I,” Mitsuru answered. She was slender, but her cheeks 5 2

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were round and because her two front teeth were big it made her face look a bit rodentlike. Her brown hair flowed down in wispy ringlets. Her face, dotted with freckles, was adorable. Mitsuru had lots of friends.

“What are you good at?”

“Nothing at all,” I said.

“Just like me, then.” Mitsuru brushed slender fingers over the strings of her racket.

“But you’re good at studying. You earned the top score on the exam, didn’t you?”

“That was nothing,” Mitsuru said indifferently. “Its just a pastime for me. I plan to become a doctor.” She turned to look at Kazue. She was wearing shorts and navy-blue knee socks.

” Why’d you lend her the socks?” I asked.

“I wonder.” Mitsuru cocked her head to the side. “I don’t like bullying.”

“Was that bullying?” I remembered how calm Kazue looked when she stepped into the classroom the next period. I doubt she had the foggiest idea that Mitsuru had saved her from bullying simply by loaning her a pair of socks. Far from it. Even if everyone had found out those were her socks, she would have looked at them all with deadly seriousness, her face set in challenge. They’re just socks, after all!

Mitsuru’s soft hair blew gently in the breeze, the sweet scent of shampoo wafting about her. “Of course it was bullying. Everyone has fun at the expense of those students who don’t have much money,” she said.

“But you have to admit, it was pretty stupid to embroider your own socks,” I said peevishly. I wanted to see how Mitsuru would react.

“True. But can’t you understand how she felt? No one wants to be made a laughingstock in that way.”

Not quite sure how to counter my statement, Mitsuru began to dig in the dry ground with the toe of her tennis shoe. The smartest student in the freshman class of Q High School for Young Women revealed a face shaken by my words. I experienced a tiny sliver of happiness. At the same time, I found myself feeling deep affection for Mitsuru.

“Of course, what you say is correct,” I said, “but I don’t know that she was particularly concerned herself. Besides, what everybody in the changing room was laughing at was the silliness of going so far as to embroider a sock! I don’t think there was any secret evil intention.

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“When a group of people become united by a tacit understanding and decide to act, that’s bullying.”

“Then why is it that those who have come up through the ranks plot against those who have just entered? Why does everyone ignore it? And aren’t you one of them, after all?”

Mitsuru let out a deep sigh. “Well, you’re right about that,” she said.

“I wonder why everyone just ignores it.” She tapped her big front teeth with the end of her fingers, contemplating the question. I came to realize later that whenever Mitsuru did this, it meant she was secretly pondering whether or not to say something. She raised her head with a look of determination.

“But that’s not it, you see. It’s because their circumstances are so different. Because they come from such different backgrounds, their attitudes toward the value of things are completely different.”

“Sure. That’s obvious,” I said, as I watched the tennis-club girls enthusiastically sending the bright yellow tennis ball back and forth across the net. Their rackets, their outfits, their shoes—all had been purchased with their own money and were not the usual school issue. They were more expensive than any item I was likely ever to see.

“Here we have the class-based society in all its repugnant glory,” Mitsuru continued. “It must be worse here than anywhere else in all Japan.

Appearance controls everything. That’s why the people in the inner circle and those orbiting around them never mingle.”

“The inner circle? What’s that?”

“Those who began attending this school from the elementary level are the true-blue princesses, the daughters of fathers who own giant cartels.

They’ll never have to work a day in their lives. In fact, to have a job would be a source of great embarrassment.”

“Isn’t that a bit old-fashioned?” I snorted in contempt, but Mitsuru continued with great earnestness.

“Well, I agree, of course. But that’s the inner circle’s attitude toward assessing value. It may be a bit out of touch, but they are firm in their position and so everyone else gets led astray.”

“Well, what about the others around them?”

“They’re the children of salary men,” Mitsuru answered with a note of sadness. “The daughter of a person who works for a paycheck can never be part of the inner circle. She may be smart or have considerable talent, but that won’t make any difference. She won’t even be noticed. If she 5 4

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tries to insinuate herself into their midst, she’ll be taunted. Moreover, even if she’s fairly intelligent, if she’s both uncool and ugly she’s little more than garbage at this place.”

Garbage? What kind of word was that? I was not a member of the upper classes Mitsuru described. I wasn’t even the daughter of a salary man, whose status at least was assured. I clearly wasn’t in the inner circle, nor was I a member of the orbiters. I wasn’t sure if I even fit into the category of outsider. Then was I even lower than garbage? Was it my lot in life to stand forever on heaven’s shores watching the glittering swirl of celestial bodies on the other side? I felt as if I had discovered a new and private pleasure. When you think of it, that was probably my destiny.

“There is one way you can enter the inner circle, and one way only.”

Mitsuru tapped her front teeth with her fingernail.

“And what’s that?”

“If you’re beautiful beyond compare, exceptions can be made.”

Can you imagine what I thought at that moment? Of course. I thought of Yuriko. What would happen if Yuriko were to attend this school? With her monstrous beauty, who could possibly be a match for her?

As I thought about Yuriko, Mitsuru whispered in my ear, “I hear you live in P Ward. Is it true?”

“I do. I take the train in from K Station.”

“There’s not another student at this school who lives in P Ward. A couple of years ago I heard there was a student who commuted in from one of the neighboring wards, though.”

The place where I live had once been the sea. It’s a wonderful area with streets nicely arranged, home to any number of odd and ancient people. But it’s hardly a convenient place to five, especially for a student who has to commute to such a status-conscious school as this.

“I live with my grandfather in a government-funded apartment building,”

I told Mitsuru, mosdy to provoke her. “My grandpa is a pensioner, you see, so he makes ends meet as the neighborhood handyman.” I didn’t add the part about him being out on parole, but the impact was sufficient.

Mitsuru leaned over to pull up her drooping socks and mumbled, with little conviction, “I didn’t think there could ever be such a student here.”

“Even among the outsiders?”

“Outsiders? Damn, you’re like an alien, you know? No one laughs at you or tries to bother you. You just go about your business without a care in the world!”

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“Well, it makes me feel relieved to hear you say that.”

Mitsuru shot me a big smile, revealing her large front teeth. “Okay. I’ll tell you the truth—but I’m only telling you. The truth is, my house is in P Ward too. My mother told me not to let anyone know, and she rents an apartment in Minato Ward—just for me. Of course, we pretend we own it. My mother comes over every day and cleans, cooks my meals, and does the wash.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Because I’d be bullied otherwise.”

“Well then, you’re just like them, wrapped up in your lie.”

Mitsuru looked ashamed. “You’re right. I hate it. I hate myself for going along with it. And I hate my mother for it too. But if you don’t cooperate, you draw attention to yourself at a school like this, so you have no choice.”

I was convinced Mitsuru was mistaken. She wasn’t mistaken in cooperating; if she wanted to go that far who’s to say she shouldn’t? No, what I meant was that Mitsuru was mistaken in her earlier comments about Kazue. I can’t explain it, really, but it was a case of oil and water. Kazue was never going to mix with the inner circle, but Kazue did not realize this. If students picked on Kazue, they were picking on her for her inability to recognize her place. They weren’t picking on her because of where she was born or how she lived or her sense of values. That is why you couldn’t call what they did bullying. Am I wrong?

Mitsuru had once been the target of bullying, so her fear of it was considerable.

Because she rented an apartment in the upscale Minato Ward and hid the fact that her family was from P Ward, Mitsuru was complicit with the insiders. And among the insiders, Mitsuru was the one closest to the inner-circle students.

“So how is it you’re such a good student?”

“Well”—Mitsuru furrowed her brows as if she were shouldering a heavy burden—”at first it’s true that I was determined not to be outdone.

But eventually I came to enjoy studying. And I didn’t really have anything else I wanted to do. I never cared about fashion and style the way the others do. And I wasn’t interested in boys. I didn’t join a club. I didn’t especially think I wanted to become a doctor either. But I’d heard that the premed club was the one the smartest students joined. So I figured, if that was the case, I might find something there that could satisfy this longing in me.”