I lit a cigarette, and I lay the two white handkerchiefs I had bought in the bag before placing the gun on top of them. I added the black cloth as well, and took another look. Now that I knew there were bullets inside, the gun seemed to possess an even stronger presence, even more persuasiveness. My breath caught, as I stared at the gleaming silver-black and the deep brown. At that moment, what I felt toward its riveting presence was a sense of awe. Its presence seemed far greater than that of myself. I wondered if I could actually possess something such as this. With its distinct purpose, and its diverse potential, would it allow me to be its owner? I thought about this as I pulled on my cigarette relentlessly, and when it was finished, I closed the flap of the bag.
I opened the refrigerator, then slowly drank a mineral water I took from inside. I was hungry, so I went to a nearby coffee shop, where I ordered coffee and a tuna sandwich with lettuce. The waitress was plump, and she was heavily made up. Bored by my surroundings, I slugged down the terrible coffee. A guy who seemed to be the owner was absentmindedly watching a small television that was set on the counter. Neither the waitress nor the owner seemed very enthusiastic about running the coffee shop. The television showed a montage of New York streetscapes. I figured that, in America, there were average citizens who owned a gun like the one I now had. For them, guns were just a part of everyday life, nothing particularly unusual about them. Yet the strange thing was that I did not envy them. I rarely yearned for anything out of the ordinary. It didn’t much matter to me if everyone else had the same things as I did. The thing was that I had found it. The same way that, for instance, some people found pleasure drawing pictures or making music, or they relied on work or women, drugs or religion, I felt like I had discovered what I was passionate about. And for me, that thing was nothing more than the gun. There was nothing wrong with me. That’s what I realized. And I started to relax — I lit a cigarette and leaned back in my chair.
5
I went to the university, and attended a number of my lectures. Lately I had been getting to class often, and the reason was probably because I had the gun. Since I had found it, I had become more active, doing things that I normally found tedious. I handed in papers before they were due, I lent my notes to other students.
I headed over to the cafeteria, where I smoked cigarettes while drinking coffee. Keisuke drank coffee with me, and talked about girls. “This last one, she was really something,” he said, laughing in amusement. “She seemed pretty normal, but she could really scream. I’m sure the people next door must have been able to hear her.” I doubted that Keisuke would stop talking anytime soon. I just laughed at his stories, and kept smoking.
“What about you? You got some, right? Tell me, how was it?”
“Yeah, I got some. I think she’ll even let me do it again sometime.”
“Huh? You mean you might be able to, like, date her?”
“No, just sex. She’s got a boyfriend, so it’s perfect,” I said, and Keisuke laughed and said, “Nishikawa, you really are a prick.” It made no sense to me, but I laughed anyway. Maybe Keisuke laughed too hard, because he choked a little as he took a drag of his cigarette. For some reason, I felt like being alone.
“But isn’t that kind of risky? I mean, seriously, if her boyfriend finds out, you’ll get dragged into it. She’ll probably say she wants to dump him for you.”
“I’ll deal with that when it happens. Anyway, I don’t really care. I’ll see her if I feel like it.”
Keisuke laughed, and then he started telling me about picking up girls on the street. I didn’t have much interest, but I nodded anyway, and kept on like that until he had to leave for his job.
Now that I was by myself, I ordered another coffee and drank it slowly. The voices of the students around me were annoying, and I thought about going somewhere quieter. There was a guy at the table next to me, scribbling away furiously, seemingly oblivious to the noise surrounding him. I had the urge to interrupt him, but since I didn’t know him, I restrained myself. A number of people I knew walked in; they called out to me, and I greeted each of them. It was a while until my next lecture, so I didn’t know what to do. It occurred to me then that I probably should have brought the gun with me.
Someone tapped me, and I turned around to see a girl there. I didn’t recognize her so I was quite surprised. She asked me what I was doing, and I replied that I was killing time. As I studied her face, gradually I realized that something about her seemed familiar, but that was only after talking with her for a while. I thought I remembered her talking to me from the row behind me during class before, and that she had said, “It’s been a while.” But I couldn’t recall anything else about her. I had no choice but to act as though I knew who she was, and watch as she took a seat at my table.
“University is so boring, isn’t it? Lately I’ve been thinking of quitting again. But then, I’ve got two years to go.”
“Well, there’s no reason to quit, is there? Then again, what do I know?”
“Hmm, it’s a tough call, I guess. . I wish it was more interesting.”
She wore a short black skirt with a fitted white sweater; she had large breasts and refined features. I searched through my memory as I stared at her, but I still couldn’t recall who she was. Her dyed brown hair was very well-kempt, and it gleamed as it reflected the fluorescent light of the cafeteria. She looked directly at me, blinking her big eyes repeatedly, while she talked about this and that. Apparently she was frustrated about something, but I wasn’t sure what it was. As I smoked my cigarette and observed her various mannerisms, I was aware of my sexual desire for her.
At moments like this, I often daydreamed about doing it with the girl. And then occasionally, when I acted on my own inclination, since that’s what I always did, there were times when it ended up happening. It was more about following my own habit or pattern than about my own intention, but now, for some reason, I felt reluctant about asking her out somewhere, as I typically would have done. I had just slept with that other girl, and the thought of going through all those motions again seemed tedious to me. I figured this reluctance also had something to do with the gun, but I couldn’t really tell whether that was the case because I had in fact slept with a girl since getting it. As she and I talked, I hesitated about what to do next. Ultimately, though, I reached the decision that I should ask her out. Whenever I got tired of wondering about something, I always went with the option that might yield a surprise.