I Wonder What Human Flesh Tastes Like (32 page)

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You could get something in here, he said. But I’d go somewhere else. Go to Ikebukuro, there’s a florist there that’s a lot cheaper I think.

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I’d have thought flowers would be the same price anywhere, if they’re seasonal.

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No, it doesn’t work like that.

She flipped through and pointed to a bouquet on the second page.

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Anyway, I’ll take this.

He handed her a yellow sheet and a pen.

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All right, fill this out.

As she wrote he stared at her hands, her carefully painted red nails. He said:

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Isn’t Tomo’s birthday coming up soon?

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Yes, the 24th.

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Are you going to have a party or anything?

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I imagined his friends would take care of that.

By this Park knew she was referring to him, since Tomo had no other friends.

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I was thinking about it... do you want to go shopping together?

She looked up.

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For a present, I mean. I don’t really know what to get him.

She finished with the paper and handed it back to him.

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I can make time on Saturday, she said.

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What are you going to tell Tomo, though? I mean he usually tries to meet me on the weekend... but I think he’s joining this club that has a meeting, then. I don’t know yet.

She took her bag from the counter.

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Well, anyway, stay in touch.

He watched her leave.

A few other customers came in over the next several hours, but mostly he had the shop to himself. Soon he thought of Shiho, remembering the curve of her shoulders and the sound of her laughter. Then, bored, he began to look for symbolism in her name. The first kanji,
will
, struck him as a brief flash of her self... the character seemed to flare in his mind like fireworks erupting in a clear night sky. Never before had he thought of a name so intently.

The sound of the door made him look up. Expecting a customer, he was surprised to see his mother walking towards him. Already five hours had passed.

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I see you changed the displays, Sujung said.

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Yes.

Park stepped aside to let her behind the counter.

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Well, and how was school? I bumped into Mrs. Kurota today, she’s always asking after you. She said that Reiko has just gotten a new job. We’ll have to go to dinner with them some time, I’ve been putting it off for ages.

She inspected the day’s sales receipts and helped Park close up the shop. The two of them walked to the station together and caught the train, changing over at Shibuya. As he watched his mother navigate the crowd, how she rose sharply from her seat and pushed through the ticket gate, he felt exhaustion and disgust rising in his mind. Her industriousness, proud bearing and neat dress only made her seem all the more absurd and grotesque. She was like an ant scrabbling up the side of a glass jar only to fall back to the bottom. Since he had every intention of abandoning her, he knew that her efforts would come to nothing, that each passing year would only mock her failure to join her husband in death. He pressed close to her in the crowd and imagined time caressing her, wearing away her cells, sculpting her into a crone — although even this wasn’t enough, he decided; nothing would be enough.

He took out his phone and sent a message to Mutsumi.

•

On Friday he received a call from Kikuko, who had suffered an unspecified humiliation in the bathroom from a group of older girls. In tears, she asked to see him, wherever he was. He looked up from his lunchbox and mentioned the assignment due next period — wouldn’t it be possible to meet her after school, when he was less busy? He could barely discern her response, her voice garbled by tears.

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Who was that? Mutsumi said.

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One of my friends.

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Oh.

She turned back to Saya, bored. Park started writing a message to Tomo, explaining why he couldn’t meet him the next day. Earlier, he’d called Junko and discussed possible presents for Tomo’s birthday. They’d decided on a new set of paints, a hobby Tomo had mentioned to him several times and which he’d dismissed as a passing interest. But according to Junko, Tomo practiced every night, secluding himself in his room.

He looked up as Kikuko came through the door, her face red, hair tangled. She stood staring at him for a moment; then, as she scanned the table, her eyes seemed to swell closed, a little cry coming from her open mouth. Shaking her head, fresh tears running from her eyes, she pushed her way back through the crowd and vanished into the hall.

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Was that girl really your friend? Mutsumi said.

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What?

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That little fat girl just now. Or was it someone else who called you.

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I went to the same junior high as her.

Mutsumi frowned.

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Well, she was being a little whore. And she’s just a first-year.

She looked over at Saya for confirmation. The other girl nodded, eyes solemn.

Park closed his lunchbox and placed his chopsticks back in their slot. He thought of asking what they’d done to Kikuko and decided against it. Not knowing made Mutsumi seem more interesting.

After class they went to her house in Kanagawa. She took his hand as they walked along the street, and he followed her up the steps to the room she shared with her aunt. He was surprised to find the interior fastidiously clean, even sterile.

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Get something to drink, help yourself, she said.

He went to the kitchen and got out two glasses for them. When he came back Mutsumi was watching television. He took her hand and pressed a small parcel into it.

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Is this for me?

Immediately she set to unwrapping it, first tearing the paper like a child, then opening the plastic case containing the silver hair clip taken from Sujung’s nightstand.

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What is this, is this an antique?

She looked about to cry. He was surprised. He looked at her. She turned the clip over in her hands, and without waiting for an answer she embraced him. As he leaned forward she pressed her lips to his neck. The kiss ended in a bite, and he pushed her away.

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I’m sorry, she said, a smile at the corner of her lips. I was just so happy.

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Try it on, he said.

She stood and went to the mirror, holding back her shoulder-length hair and fixing it in place with the clip. Park sat rubbing his neck, then got up and followed her to her room.

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I really like this, she said. It’s not played-out. I can’t stand most people’s stupid accessories. Like that fat bitch Eiko and her bracelets. Or those girls who wear belts with studs and fake diamonds. I fucking hate that!

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You’re full of hate, Park said.

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I’m not full of it. I’m a very loving person.

She sat down on the bed and took a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand.

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Hey, he said. Do you know Shiho Maehara?

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First-year? Yeah, she’s on the tennis team.

She lit a cigarette and offered the pack to Park. He took one and lit it off hers.

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What do you think of her, he said.

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She’s a stuck up little brat.

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Really.

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Yeah, why? Ew, do you like her or something?

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No, I was just wondering.

She sat up and looked at him.

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You totally love her!

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What the hell, Park said. I just asked what you thought of her.

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Yeah, but you haven’t talked about any other girls before.

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Yeah, well, my friend is into her.

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Which friend?

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Tomo.

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That little kid who follows you around all the time?

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My friend, yeah.

She rested her cigarette on the lip of the ashtray and moved over to him.

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There’s no way she’d even look at him. Unless she thought he had a big dick or something. God, what a little slut! She doesn’t even have a good smile, it’s kind of lopsided.

She started to play with his hair, combing it with her fingers and leaning over to examine its color in the light. She wanted to be a hairdresser, she said. Did he know that his hair was actually a very dark brown instead of black? It was the first thing she’d noticed when they’d met. She told him about a salon where one of her friends worked, where she hoped to get a job after graduation. Bored, he reached around and placed his hand between her legs. She kissed the back of his neck and he pressed against her. After a few minutes she slid her arms around his waist and unbuttoned his pants. He looked over at her cigarette burning on the ashtray, its thin spiral of smoke rising to the ceiling. She started to masturbate him.

But he couldn’t come. After a while his penis felt numb and he asked her to stop.

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Do you want me to go down on you? I can, if you want.

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No, don’t worry about it.

He took his drink from the nightstand and finished it. He’d started to think of Shiho again and wanted to talk about her. He thought of calling Tomo.

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Do you want to watch a movie? Mutsumi said.

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Okay.

He followed her out to the living room and watched as she turned on the television. But halfway through he stood up.

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Well, I’ve gotta go pretty soon, have to do some things at home.

She made a sad face but otherwise didn’t protest. He got the impression she was used to being left.

On the street, he took out his mobile phone. Tomo answered after the third ring. He was in an arcade in Shinjuku.

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I’ll come there now, just wait, he told him.

He hung up and caught the train. After leaving through the east exit at Shinjuku station he called Tomo and found that he’d moved to a Sukiya restaurant. Park had been there before and was able to find it easily. As soon as he entered and sat down he started to talk about Shiho, relating his encounter on the train. But he found Tomo unresponsive. Tiring of his own voice, he got up and ordered a bowl of curry rice.

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So why were you in Kanagawa? Tomo said, after a time.

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I went to Mutsumi’s house.

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Oh... Tomo said, and lapsed back into silence. After a few minutes Park got sick of looking at his face and said:

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Okay, what’s wrong?

And immediately Tomo launched into an attack on Junko, calling her selfish, insensitive, prying. She constantly degraded him, compared him to his older sister, made demands on his time. She treated him like a child and knew nothing of his thoughts or opinions.

Park briefly tried to defend her.

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What the hell, Tomo said, you always say how much you hate your mother. I don’t see how this is any different.

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I feel like yours has a better sense of humor.

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She doesn’t.

Then he shifted to more generalized complaints. He was uncertain about the future. The classes at Hanazono had already lost their appeal; he had nothing in common with anyone. Constantly alone, overwhelmed by pointless repetition, he felt bored and tired.

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Well, yeah. That’s what it’s like, Park said.

But there was more. He was ashamed of his existence. Facing anyone at all was an ordeal; it was impossible to leave the house unless he spent an hour in front of the mirror ensuring that his hair was perfect and his collar properly adjusted. Any reflective surface was a problem — he examined himself constantly in puddles, train windows, the camera of his mobile phone. How did other people see him? Was it possible that a certain angle of his face, one he couldn’t see himself, appeared to everyone around him as ridiculous or grotesque? Sometimes he became caught in the shower and it took him two hours to get out; it felt as if the running water was gradually eroding him. When Park told him all this was unnecessary, that no one was likely to notice anything about him, he said:

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I don’t care if anyone is going to notice or not, since I’ll still know if something’s wrong.

Park finished the curry and poured himself some tea.

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Don’t worry about the future, he said. There is no future, there’s no time.

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Don’t try to get all philosophical. You always do this.

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There’s no real time. Since our lives are structured through language, we don’t live in the same way an animal does. This is how everyone gets turned into an actor. Language lets us create roles, and these roles are repeated over and over, which is how time is created. Time is the same as language.

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How does that help us?

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It doesn’t.

Tomo leaned forward and rested his head against the counter.

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You know, Park said, that girl I was talking about, Shiho, she’s younger than me.

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How do you know?

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I saw one of the info sheets in the office when I was signing a form the other day, and it had everyone’s birthdates listed. I’m older than her by six months.