I went back to the window and peeked outside through the curtain. Two energetic-looking little winter birds had come to the yard and were perched on a branch, glancing wide-eyed at the area. Then, as if they had suddenly become fed up with everything there, they flew off. Nothing else seemed to be moving. The Residence felt like a brand-new vacant house.
I did not go back there for the next five days. For some reason, I seemed to have lost any desire to go down into the well. I would be losing the well itself before long. The longest I could afford to keep the Residence going without clients was two months, so I ought to be using the well as much as possible while it was still mine. I felt stifled. All of a sudden, the place seemed wrong and unnatural.
I walked around aimlessly without going to the Residence. In the afternoons I would go to the Shinjuku west exit plaza and sit on my usual bench, killing time doing nothing in particular, but Nutmeg never appeared before me there. I went to her Akasaka office once, rang the bell by the elevator and stared into the closed circuit camera, but no reply ever came. I was ready to give up. Nutmeg and Cinnamon had obviously decided to cut all ties with me. This strange mother and son had deserted the sinking ship for someplace safer. The intensity of the sorrow this aroused in me took me by surprise. I felt as if I had been betrayed in the end by my own family.
30 Malta Kano's Tail
Boris the Manskinner
In my dream (though I didn't know it was a dream), I was seated across the table from Malta Kano, drinking tea. The rectangular room was too long and wide to see from end to end, and arranged in it in perfectly straight lines were five hundred or more square tables. We sat at one of the tables in the middle, the only people there. Across the ceiling, as high as that of a Buddhist temple, stretched countless heavy beams, from all points of which there hung, like potted plants, objects that appeared to be toupees. A closer look showed me that they were actual human scalps. I could tell from the black blood on their undersides. They were newly taken scalps that had been hung from the beams to dry. I was afraid that the still-fresh blood might drip into our tea. Blood was dripping all around us like raindrops, the sound reverberating in the cavernous room. Only the scalps hanging above our table seemed to have dried enough so that there was no sign of blood dripping down from them.
The tea was boiling hot. Placed beside the teaspoons in each of our saucers were three lurid green lumps of sugar. Malta Kano dropped two of the lumps into her tea and stirred, but they would not melt. A dog appeared from nowhere and sat down beside our table. Its face was that of Ushikawa. It was a big dog, with a chunky black body, but from the neck up it was Ushikawa, only the shaggy black fur that covered the body also grew on the face and head. Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Okada, said the dog-shaped Ushikawa. And will you look at this: a full head of hair. It grew there the second I turned into a dog. Amazing. I've got much bigger balls now than I used to have, and my stomach doesn't hurt anymore. And look: No glasses! No clothes! I'm so happy! I cant believe I didn't think of this before. If only I had become a dog a long time ago! How about you, Mr. Okada? Why don't you give it a try?
Malta Kano picked up her one remaining green sugar lump and hurled it at the dog. The lump thudded into Ushikawa's forehead and drew ink-black blood that ran down Ushikawa's face. This seemed to cause Ushikawa no pain. Still smiling, without a word, he raised his tail and strode away. It was true: his testicles were grotesquely huge.
Malta Kano was wearing a trench coat. The lapels were closed tightly across the front, but from the subtle fragrance of a womans naked flesh I could tell she was wearing nothing underneath. She had her red vinyl hat on, of course. I lifted my cup and took a sip of tea, but it had no taste. It was hot, nothing more.
I am so glad you could come, said Malta Kano, sounding genuinely relieved. Hearing it for the first time in quite a while, I thought her voice seemed somewhat brighter than it had before. I was calling you for days, but you always seemed to be out. I was beginning to worry that something might have happened to you. Thank goodness you are all right. What a relief it was to hear your voice! In any case, I must apologize for having been out of touch so long. I cant go into detail on everything that has occurred in my life in the meantime, especially on the phone like this, so I will just summarize the important points. The main thing is that I have been traveling all this time. I came back a week ago. Mr. Okada? Mr. Okada? Can you hear me?
Yes, I can hear you, I said, suddenly realizing that I was holding a phone to my ear. Malta Kano, on her side of the table, was also holding a receiver. Her voice sounded as if it were coming through a bad connection on an international call.
I was away from Japan the whole time, on the island of Malta in the Mediterranean. All of a sudden one day, the thought crossed my mind, Oh, yes! I must return to Malta and bring myself near its water. The time for that has come! This happened just after I last talked to you, Mr. Okada. Do you remember that conversation? I was looking for Creta at the time. In any case, I really did not mean to be away from Japan so long. I was planning on two weeks or so. Which is why I did not contact you.
I told hardly anyone I was going, just boarded the plane with little more than the clothes I was wearing. Once I arrived, however, I found myself unable to leave. Have you ever been to Malta, Mr. Okada?
I said that I had not. I remembered having had virtually the same conversation with this same person some years before.
Mr. Okada? Mr. Okada? Yes, I'm still here, I said. It seemed to me there was something I had to tell Malta Kano, but I could not remember what it was. It finally came back to me after I cocked my head and thought about it for a while. I switched hands on the receiver and said, Oh, yes, theres something I've been meaning to call you about for a long time. The cat came back.
After four or five seconds of silence, Malta Kano said, The cat came back?
Yes. Cat hunting was more or less what brought us together originally, so I thought Id better let you know.
When did the cat come back? Early this spring. Its been with me ever since. Is there anything different about its appearance? Anything that has changed since before it disappeared? Changed?
Come to think of it, I kind of had the feeling that the shape of the tail was a little different, I said. When I petted the cat the day it came back, it seemed to me the tail used to have more of a bend in it. I could be wrong, though. I mean, it was gone close to a year.
You are sure it is the same cat?
Absolutely sure. I had that cat for a very long time. Id know if it was the same one or not.
I see, said Malta Kano. To tell you the truth, though, I am sorry, but I have the cats real tail right here.
Malta Kano put the receiver down on the table, then she stood and stripped off her coat. As I had suspected, she was wearing nothing underneath. The size of her breasts and the shape of her pubic hair were much the same as Creta Kanos. She did not remove her red vinyl hat. She turned and showed her back to me.. There, to be sure, attached above her buttocks, was a cats tail. Proportioned to her body, it was much larger than the original, but its shape was the same as Mackerels tail. It had the same sharp bend at the tip, but this one was far more convincingly real than Mackerels.
Please take a close look, said Malta Kano. This is the actual tail of the cat that disappeared. The one the cat has now is an imitation. It may look the same, but if you examine it closely, you will find that it is different.