Having polished off the mild-tasting turtle stew and dry champagne for his simple supper, he got into a tepid bath. All alone in this empty room, his flesh-and-blood self gazed at its own reflection in the mirror.
The hotel mirror wasn’t alive, but it still ate people. His stomach had suddenly begun to sag, and bags had formed under his eyes. He’d aged years. Every time he opened the bathroom door or the closet and was abruptly met with his own reflection, he was surprised to see himself there. He had forgotten his own existence completely until he saw himself in the mirror. He’d never experienced the thought, “I think, therefore I am.” When he was talking to someone, he was always sucked into their identity, and when he walked in the street he dissolved into it. But the mirror put him unequivocally centre stage. And this mirror self was a sort of other person who was just like himself, a self that was in between self and other.
Well, to start with, anyway. This mirror had reflected back the images of countless anonymous visitors, and the experience had warped it. It wouldn’t be long before the mirror gobbled him up and he disappeared. Being reflected in this mirror was as good as not being there at all.
On his own, time slowed and grew stagnant. After eating, taking a bath, and scratching an itch or two, he lay vacantly on the bed for a while, then turned on the television. It was still only eleven. But the television brought him a chance blessing. There on the screen was Shinobu Yoimachi, the girl he’d just left, staring out at him as she brushed her teeth. Maybe it was that kind of role, but she seemed to be brushing away as though ridding herself of some fierce resentment. Then she rinsed, and the star’s golden smile reappeared.
Who’d have thought that this girl held the key to a potential political scandal, Kita murmured to himself, and he raised his champagne glass to the screen.
Suddenly the cell phone he’d gotten from Yashiro rang. He was determined to have nothing more to do with the guy, so he ignored it. But whoever was on the other end wasn’t going to give up so easily. The phone rang relentlessly on and on until Kita reached the end of his tether and picked it up. He was about to simply cut the guy off, but before he knew it he’d pressed the green button instead.
Maybe his luck had turned at last, for it was Shinobu’s voice he heard. “Hi, it’s me,” he said hastily.
“Sorry for being a bother. I got this number from Yashiro. Where are you right now?”
“I’m in the Moon Palace Hotel.”
“What’re you doing?”
“Watching television.”
“I’ve just been a bit worried by what you said as I was leaving. When you say you won’t be here any more by next week, do you mean you’re going away somewhere?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Where to? Overseas?”
“Kind of, yes.”
“You’ll be back, won’t you?”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to come back.”
“Why not?”
There was no way to explain. The place Kita was heading for this Friday was a one-way trip. He remained silent.
“So we really won’t be able to meet ever again?” Shinobu persisted.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied.
At this, she let out a little sigh. “Did you have some reason to meet me?” she asked.
Kita had the impression she wasn’t going to take some watered-down response for an answer. He’d have to come up with something substantial. He thought for a moment, then muttered, “A dream, I guess.”
Everyone becomes decadent to some extent once they reach thirty-five. Jesus apparently preached that we must throw off our old self and take on a new one; well, you can’t really take that on board when you’re young. Jesus was crucified before he even reached thirty-five, wasn’t he? So you could say he never experienced decadence. Even if he did, of course, he had something to believe in. Kita, on the other hand, had just used a fair portion of his savings on realizing the petty dream of trysting with a star.
Shinobu’s voice on the other end of the line brought him back. “You mean it was a dream to meet me?”
Kita gave a quiet, simple nod. “If I realized that dream, I’d be able to remember it till the day I died, see.”
“I’m just so moved that you think of me like that,” Shinobu said, in exactly the voice she’d been using in the television commercial. “Is there anything you’d like me to do for you? You listened to my tale earlier, and paid a hundred thousand for the experience, so I feel I should compensate you somehow.”
“Well I’m really happy to hear that. But…”
“Would you meet me again now? Those guys aren’t around any more. Shall we go for a drive somewhere? I’ll hop in the car and come right over and get you. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Wait for me in the lobby.”
Those guys must be taking advantage of this urge of hers to serve others, thought Kita. Of course she should by rights have been suspicious about the motives of a guy who’d pay a hundred thousand to meet her, and be wary of the connections he might have. In fact, though, she was being remarkably honest with him. Kita accepted the invitation. He was inclined to let her purify his heart a little more.
Shinobu arrived outside the Moon Palace Hotel lobby in a yellow Alfa Romeo with a black hood. Kita lowered himself awkwardly into the passenger seat. To ride around with a star driving a sports car with the hood back…he’d had such impossible fantasies in the past, of course, but he’d never dreamt he’d actually do it. It seemed like Shinobu was taking it into her head to fulfil his dreams for him.
“I know nothing about you, Kita, so tell me.”
At this, she whipped the engine into a high nasal groan, and began to hurtle along the left bank of the imperial palace moat.
“I’ve lived a really normal life. I could exchange myself with just about anyone else, really.”
“That’s not true, Kita. You’re different from other people, just like Jesus’ disciples were all different from each other.”
“Most of the people in this world are pretty much like me.”
“You really think so? Most people are all greasy with desire, but I get the feeling that you’ve cut through all that somehow.”
The truth was rather that he’d never been able to find an outlet for his desires. Here he was at last, trying to live the high life, and all he could summon up to show for it was a hangover and a sense of futility. Maybe his desires were lacking cultivation. The high life was actually an exhausting business. He couldn’t last beyond three days. He’d love to be able to suddenly feel the kind of sense of fulfilment that led him to praise God, but he never had. He recalled some Olympics, he couldn’t remember which, where an athlete who’d just broken the world record in the decathlon sank to his knees, hung his head, slumped down and covered his face with his hands, and wept. Just then he could easily have been mistaken for someone who’d lost. The fact is, when someone is deeply moved, they get the urge to pray. That athlete’s mind must have been flooded with light at that moment.
Shinobu gunned her baby Alfa Romeo and snaked through the traffic along the metropolitan expressway, heading for the bay. The bridge was lit up in rainbow colours, and trembled like the strings of a harp. The bridge lights reflected in the water below spread out like the tentacles of a sea anemone, threatening to swallow up all the motor boats, pleasure boats, and barges that floated there. Though the night was late, the sky still emanated a faint grey light, which dappled the bay. On the shore was a park where square-eyed, four-wheeled animals gathered to graze. Couples out for a night drive made their way here to talk of love and – if they reached an agreement – to rub mucous membranes together. Shinobu drew up in the parking area. “Kita,” she said in a hushed voice. Maybe she was planning on observing the couples’ biological activity, in the spirit of a bird watcher. “You can fulfil your dreams now.”