Inhabitation Read online

  The familiar clutter in Nakazawa’s room abruptly brought a feeling of sadness over Tetsuyuki. He opened the refrigerator, took out a bowl containing two eggs and butter, and handed them to Nakazawa, saying, “Make some of the fried rice you’re so good at. I haven’t eaten any dinner.” He’d had no appetite at all when Isogai gave him an employee meal pass, and left it in the pocket of his uniform.

  Shaking his head and pulling behind his ears the long locks that had fallen in front of his eyes, Nakazawa peered inside the rice cooker and said, “If I let you eat this, there won’t be anything for breakfast tomorrow.”

  “You can just cook more for tomorrow, can’t you?”

  Lying on Nakazawa’s bed, Tetsuyuki smoked a cigarette. Nakazawa poured saké into a cup and mutely thrust it toward Tetsuyuki’s face. Listening to the popping of the melting butter, he slowly drank down all the chilled saké.

  “Is that old guy, the custodian, still in the hospital?”

  “He died,” Nakazawa answered as he deftly handled the frying pan. Tetsuyuki sat up and stared at Nakazawa’s back.

  “When?”

  “Three days ago. Now I won’t have to play chess with him in the evenings anymore.”

  “That’s a heartless way of putting it. Did you get some sort of strange enlightenment from reading Lamenting the Deviations?”

  Nakazawa glanced at Tetsuyuki. “There’s nothing you can do about it, is there? We humans are subject to death.” With that, he heaped the readied fried rice on a plate and handed it to Tetsuyuki along with a spoon.

  The elderly custodian had often handed money to Tetsuyuki, asking him to buy betting tickets for horse races. Since it was right on Tetsuyuki’s way from Hankyū-Umeda Station to the university, the custodian would stuff small amounts of money along with numbers written on memo paper into his pocket, asking him to stop by and purchase tickets. There was an off-site-betting office behind Osaka Station, but Tetsuyuki had never once bought the requested tickets.

  The old man’s predictions for betting had never once been right, and the small sums had always just turned into Tetsuyuki’s drinking money. He never gave thought to what he would do if the predictions ever proved correct, thinking it unlikely that the custodian, who would spend only a small portion of his sparse pocket change on safe tickets, possessed sufficient sense about the competition that he would ever end up with a winning bet, and that even if by chance he did, Tetsuyuki calculated that with the kinds of stakes the old guy put out, he would be able somehow or other to come up with the dividend.

  “Until they hire a new custodian, I have to take care of things. I’ll get up at seven in the morning to open the shutter.” Nakazawa turned down the volume on the stereo, and started to drink some saké himself. “Your work is pretty tough, huh?”

  “No, out of all the jobs I’ve had so far, this one’s on the easier side.”

  “But for all that, you look pretty worn out,” Nakazawa said as he studied Tetsuyuki’s face, his cheeks stuffed with fried rice.

  Tetsuyuki thought of telling Nakazawa about the lizard, but decided against it. He sensed that Nakazawa would not be interested, but more than anything else he was simply too tired. All Nakazawa was interested in talking about was modern jazz. Sometimes he would hole up in this eighth-floor room and for three or four days do nothing but listen to records. His stereo system was one that he had spent several months assembling by himself, using amplifiers, a turntable, and speakers all of different brands, selecting the best of each.

  “Is there something you want to listen to?”

  “Put on ‘Lady Jane.’” Tetsuyuki did not particularly want to listen to anything, but answered anyway.

  “‘Lady Jane,’ huh? That used to be a popular tune . . . I haven’t listened to it for a long time either.”

  Nakazawa quickly picked out the record from among his collection of more than eight hundred LPs and placed it on the turntable. Just as Tetsuyuki finished eating the fried rice and started drinking the saké remaining in his cup, the saxophone began playing the low, soft melody he had heard so many times.

  Listening intently to the tune, he sat down in a corner of the room leaning against the wall and staring at Nakazawa, who was looking vacantly into space. It occurred to him that this woman “Jane” must have been a prostitute, and he pictured in his mind how, after finishing her work, she put on her clothes, leaving the room and the man in it and going back out into the empty late-night street. This image coincided with the glance he had stolen of Yōko as, half reclining, half sitting, she asked him to look the other way when she began to put on her underwear. At that moment, she had appeared lovely and at the same time a bit degenerate, and this image of her conflated in his mind with that of Lady Jane. Again the thought of the lizard nailed to the pillar crossed his mind.

  “Jazz is decadent . . .” Tetsuyuki muttered. When the piece ended, Nakazawa got up and, switching off the amplifier, said: “That’s because humans are decadent. I have no faith in music that isn’t decadent.”

  Tetsuyuki asked if he could use Nakazawa’s telephone. “Is it time for your phone call?” Nakazawa asked in a deadpan voice as he went to the kitchen to fill his empty saké cup.

  Yōko chided Tetsuyuki for the tardiness of his call, but immediately returned to her usual easygoing tone, and volunteered to attend the next day’s English lecture in his place. She had asked Yamashita to answer the roll call for him in the lecture for Introduction to Philosophy. In the English lecture, the professor passed out attendance slips at the end of class, and Yōko would fill in Tetsuyuki’s name and student number.

  “You must pay Yamashita two hundred yen. That’s cheap compared to you repeating the grade for another year.” Yōko’s voice suggested she was smiling.

  “I’ll start attending classes next week.”

  Following a long pause, Yōko asked anxiously: “What will you do if you’re caught?” She was worried that a debt collector might lie in wait at the gates of the university.

  “If those guys find me, there’s nothing I can do. I’ll just have to resign myself to it.”

  “Resign yourself . . . ?”

  While working at the hotel that day, it had occurred to Tetsuyuki that he would not likely be able to evade them longer than two or three months, and so he resolved to settle things sooner than that. They were not such fools that they would kill someone over 320,000 yen. Even if he ended up getting beaten within an inch of his life, that would be better than constantly running about in fear. He had resigned himself to that.

  Yōko said she was sad that they wouldn’t be able to get together because of his work, and Tetsuyuki wasn’t able to whisper reassuring sweet nothings because Nakazawa was right next to him. So he remained silent.

  “I’ll take a day off next Sunday . . .”

  Now it was Yōko who remained silent. Tetsuyuki sensed that she didn’t feel she could offer to come to his apartment, so he said: “There’s something I’d like you to bring, so come on over. It’s a bit far, but . . .”

  Yōko understood immediately what it was he wanted her to bring. “Sure. It is a bit far, though.”

  After Tetsuyuki hung up, Nakazawa put on another record, a quiet piece.

  “Just like a diligent, loyal housewife!” Nakazawa commented as if to himself, then crawled into bed. Beneath the bookshelves there was a long sofa where Tetsuyuki always slept. Blankets and quilts were constantly stacked up on it. He borrowed and changed into some pajamas, then made up a bed and lay down. Lying there, he drank some more saké from his cup.

  For the following three days, after work Tetsuyuki stayed in Nakazawa’s room. On the fourth day, a Saturday, as soon as his shift ended he hurriedly changed into his own clothing, then jogged to the platform on the Kanjō Line. He thought that with some luck he might be able to catch the 10:46 train bound for Suminodō rather than the last train of the evening, which was bound for Nagao.

  He had not bathed in several days. There was no bath in his apartm
ent, and he wanted to go to the public bath near the station to wash his hair, clean the oil from his body, and change his underwear. It would be too late if he returned to his apartment first, so during his lunch break he purchased underwear and requested a guest towel and soap from the young woman in charge of room amenities. He got off at Kyōbashi Station and looked at the clock on the platform: 10:45. He raced down the stairs at full speed. The train for Sumidō had already stopped at the platform. As soon as he jumped into the car, the doors closed.

  The train lumbered along slowly. Quite a few passengers got off at Hanaten, and by the time it reached Kōnoike Shinden, the car was almost empty. When he looked out the window, in the distance he could see lights apparently from a new residential district.

  Arriving at the station, several men—probably office workers—who had been on the same train went through the shopping arcade and disappeared down various narrow lanes, leaving Tetsuyuki by himself on the dark street. After he turned left at a shuttered liquor store and then left again at a corner by a row of apartment buildings, the shop curtain of the public bath came into view. After washing himself thoroughly, he soaked so long in the hot water he became a bit dizzy. Putting on his new underwear, he felt fully relaxed and stared at his own face in an enormous mirror. It seemed to him that his cheeks were a bit more wan, and the look in his eyes had become tense. He mounted the scales and found that he had lost nearly five pounds.

  Teased by the spring breezes, Tetsuyuki felt as if he were bracing himself for something as he made his way along the dark path to his apartment. No matter what, the lizard would have to be dead already. Yet he had a premonition somewhere in his mind that it was still alive.

  The cramped room of his apartment, which he had vacated for four days, felt chillier than outside in the spring breeze. Tetsuyuki turned on the light and glanced at the pillar. He could see the head of the nail and the gleam of the brown saucer placed over it. He cautiously approached and peered into the hole in the bottom of the saucer, but it was pitch-black inside. In a moment of resolve he tore the saucer off the pillar, and with a heavy sigh pressed both palms against his head as he saw the lizard, still pierced by the nail, slowly squirm.

  Staring at it, his forehead broke out in sweat. The lizard stuck out its long, slender red tongue, which remained stuck to the pillar. Tetsuyuki wondered how lizards take in liquids. Do they lap, like dogs or cats?

  He went to the kitchen, poured some water into a small spoon, and stood as far as possible from the lizard, stretching his arm out to full length until the spoon reached the creature’s tongue, which did not retract. It remained motionless, only blinking now and then.

  Just as Tetsuyuki was about to abandon this approach, the lizard began to lap at the water, like a dog or cat. When his right arm grew tired, Tetsuyuki changed it to the left, continuing to offer water until the creature’s thirst was slaked. At length, it drew its tongue into its mouth and no longer moved.

  Tetsuyuki spread out his futon and lay down on it, staring at the nail-pierced body of the lizard, which he had forgotten to cover with the small saucer. He finally drifted off to sleep. Once during the night he awoke, turned off the light, and again fell into a deep slumber.

  It was a little past ten when Tetsuyuki opened his eyes, his face illumined by the glare of the morning sun. The light filled the entire room, bringing the lizard into sharp focus as well. Lighting a cigarette as he lay prone on his quilts, he pressed his ear against his pillow and waited for Yōko to arrive. Still in bed, he took off his pajamas and removed his underwear, imagining his stark nakedness responding to the buoyancy of her unclothed body. When she came into the room, without saying a word he would pull her under the covers and would be rough in achieving his aim, all the while maintaining silence. How would she respond to him if he were like that? The spring sunlight filling the room seemed like a reflection of his own carnal craving.

  He jumped up in his nude state, letting out a small cry: he realized that it would not do to leave the lizard in full view. Yōko would no doubt be shocked to see the creature nailed to the wall like that, and would demand an explanation. Why hadn’t he pulled out the nail and let it go? If that were put to him, he would have no idea how to answer. Perhaps the best answer would be that, since the whole thing gave him the creeps, he was just waiting for the creature to die, but he sensed that such an explanation by itself would leave something unresolved.

  He put the hole in the bottom of the saucer through the head of the nail, upon which he hung his tennis cap. He then unlocked the door and, still in a state of undress, washed his face and brushed his teeth. Hearing footsteps ascending the stairs, he hurriedly wiped his face with a towel, dived back under the quilts, and waited. He could hear the door being opened, then locked. After placing something in the kitchen, Yōko sat down by the quilts.

  “It’s almost eleven.”

  Tetsuyuki didn’t respond. When Yōko gently pulled the quilts back, he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, using all his strength to draw her inside the covers.

  “So, you were just pretending to be asleep after all!”

  Taking Yōko in a firm embrace, he guided her hand down below his waist to let her know that he was completely naked. She was wearing a yellow skirt and an orange cardigan over a white blouse, and it took rather a long time to remove everything. When that was completed, he embraced her tenderly. They spent nearly two hours under the covers.

  “I’m starved.” Those were the first words to issue from Tetsuyuki’s mouth. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Yōko smiled. “I got up early this morning and fixed some sandwiches. I lied to my mom, saying that I was going on a picnic with some friends.” Then, pressing her lips against his, she mumbled almost inaudibly: “You held your tongue on purpose, didn’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to test you to see whether or not that’d tick you off.”

  “Liar! You knew very well that it wouldn’t.”

  It was indeed a lie. He had just wanted to try treating her once as if he were despoiling her. “Well then, why do you think I did it?”

  Tracing the tip of his nose with her unmade-up lips, she blushed. “Whatever. I enjoyed it.”

  “Can you come to my apartment like this once a week?”

  Yōko nodded, and whispered to him to turn the other way. Lying with his back turned to her, Tetsuyuki glanced at the tennis cap hanging on the pillar, and every now and then would stealthily steal a peek at Yōko as she put on her underwear. The drooping line described by her neck and shoulders as she went about this task had a note of sadness and ruin about it.

  “Why are you so embarrassed about putting on your clothes even though no one’s watching?”

  “I’m embarrassing to myself.” Then she hit him with a pillow. “You were watching after all, weren’t you?”

  “Just a little.”

  “For me, the most embarrassing thing is to be seen putting on my underwear.”

  As he was eating the sandwiches Yōko had made, Tetsuyuki related some of the goings-on at work. The matter of the lizard was on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained from mentioning it.

  As before, he went with her to Osaka Station. She had told him that he did not need to see her farther than Suminodō Station, but he felt loath to part. Entering a coffee shop in a subterranean mall near the platforms for the Hankyū trains, the two of them kept up their conversation for nearly two hours. When a lull finally occurred in their exchange, they both gazed at each other mutely, waiting with smiles for the other to break the silence.

  “There’s no end to it, is there?” Yōko remarked.

  Having seen her off as she passed through the ticket gate and ascended the escalator to the Kobe Line, Tetsuyuki went into a nearby bookstore. Standing in front of the shelves marked NATURAL SCIENCES, he looked for books on lizards and flipped through the pages of Reptiles of Japan Illustrated, which featured many pictures but did not contain the in
formation he sought. He glanced through several volumes before finally finding what he was looking for. Near the end of a book titled Reptiles of Japan was the section “How to Care for Lizards.” The book was rather expensive, but he purchased it.

  It was a Sunday evening, but more people were out and about than on a weekday and both the station concourse and the platforms were overflowing with the crowd. Arriving at Kyōbashi Station, he glanced at his watch and dashed down the stairs, but the train did not come: the timetable for the weekend was not the same as for weekdays. He waited on a bench for more than half an hour, his thoughts focused solely on Yōko. Such a sweet, beautiful young woman, and she loved him! That thought brought a fervent swelling within his lean chest. For Yōko’s sake, for his mother’s sake, and even for his own sake he simply had to secure permanent employment and graduate.

  Taking a seat in the sluggish, antiquated car of the Katamachi Line, Tetsuyuki took out the book and read “How to Care for Lizards.”

  A lizard may be kept in a small wooden box (about one foot in size), but ideally it should be in a tank used for fish. The lid should be of metal. Spread some moist soil in the box, and place some wood chips over that. Take care not to let the soil become compacted, because lizards like to burrow in it. For water, a low, shallow dish is best. When the lizard finds this, it will place its front legs on the lip of the dish and lap the water like a dog. It is necessary to keep the dish filled up to the edge.

  The best food is such things as maggots or chestnut weevil larvae, which can be obtained at fishing tackle shops. Additionally, they will eat spiders, crickets, flies, and small ants. Some will also eat earthworms, depending on their species. Where feeding occurs in a single session, once every two days is sufficient in the summer, and once every seven days in the winter. Since lizards require some sunlight, the box should be placed where it will be in partial sunlight in the morning or near sundown. If a glass tank is placed in direct sustained sunlight, the interior will become extremely hot and the lizard will die. Even when placing the box or tank in some sunlight in the morning or late in the day, part of it should be shaded. That way, the lizard can control its body temperature by either basking in the sun or hiding in the shade. An owner who takes such precautions will receive great satisfaction from keeping a healthy and active lizard.