Beautiful Shining People, page 11
Neotnia translates, ‘Hai. Yes. With all their training, they would easily lose several kilograms a day if they didn’t consume so many.’
‘That’s insane,’ I say. But I do the math in my head. ‘Though I guess if the average sumo is about four hundred pounds, maintaining that mass, even if the body is completely at rest, would require at least four times the average adult’s daily caloric intake. And as you said, the training requires even more energy.’
Goeido pours me another as Neotnia translates this. I hear a couple ‘hai’s’ from him as he offers sake to Neotnia. He fills his glass, too, and we all drink, the sake warming our bellies once again. For several moments after, we sit in another comfortable silence under the orange glow of the lights. Goeido glances at the framed magazine clipping, looking as if he’s reminiscing about his sumo days. Neotnia cuddles Inu in her lap, who looks up at her attentively as she whispers something in Japanese. And it occurs to me that, sitting here, with these two, sharing drinks – this is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a night out with friends. And it feels good.
I’ve lost count of how many shots we’ve had. I think Goeido and I have had the same amount – and I can feel how affected I am. I probably wouldn’t be able to walk straight right now. Goeido looks a bit tipsy, too. Not drunk but unwound. It makes sense he’s less affected, given he’s got to weigh almost two and a half times what I now do.
Yet when I look at Neotnia I realise she doesn’t seem affected at all. She’s had to have at least six or seven shots, and she can’t weigh more than one-ten or one-fifteen, yet she shows no sign of even the slightest buzz. It’s like every shot has phased right through her.
‘Sake?’
It’s Goeido. He’s offering to pour me another.
I accept, Neotnia passes, and he pours one more for himself. We drink, and as he places his empty glass back on the table, he sits back with a big warm grin on his big face. I imagine the cold sake gliding down his throat like a raft on a waterslide, making its short journey into his toasty belly. And as I look at that big belly, it reminds me of, well … me.
‘You know…’ I nod towards the sake bottle and pour myself another ‘…I used to be a pretty big guy, too. Not as big as you, but much bigger than I am now. But I was all fat, where you’re a lot of muscle underneath.’
Neotnia considers me for a moment. And truthfully, for a second it slipped my mind that Goeido can’t understand me outright. She translates my words as he takes the bottle and pours himself a shot, too. As he does, I glimpse the framed magazine photo. The one where a younger him beams with pride as he holds up that fish, his wife and the audience behind him clapping in adulation.
‘I know here they respect you for that – your size. And that’s got to feel great, being big and on top of the world like that…’ Neotnia continues to translate as I speak, and Goeido nods, listening respectfully. But even as I go on, the reason I’m saying any of this has slipped my mind. It was … Was it because I mentioned the school cafeteria earlier? ‘Now everyone thinks I’m a “genius”. But if I was still overweight, no way would anyone back home call me that. Where I’m from, they judge you based on your appearance. They see it and decide your trustworthiness. Your intelligence. Your intentions. Your worth. And they don’t decide them kindly. Where I’m from, being big makes you an outsider, and as long as you’re like that, you’ll never belong.’
Neotnia finishes translating just after I pause, and I can feel her eyes settle on me. Goeido remains quiet, attentive. But why am I saying all this? There was a point … Am I getting off track? I shake my head and the warm particles scatter around my skull. I glance at the magazine clipping on the wall again. Yes, it’s got something to do with that. It’s because … I want him to like me. When I arrived tonight, I was certain he didn’t. But now I want him to. Because this is the closest I’ve ever had to a night out with friends – and it feels good. But what is it with that photo? I see it, and it makes me want him to know … Yes, to know we’re the same in some way. But how?
‘When I was twelve – and by that time, I had gotten really big – one day I was waiting in the cafeteria for my mom to pick me up after school. The door opens and my homeroom teacher comes steaming in and demands to see my backpack. She searches it and says, “So you’ve already eaten it then?” and storms away as quickly as she came…’
And now … I know. Yes. It’s because of what Neotnia told me happened to him. I want him to know I can relate. Because people you can relate to, you like.
‘I had no idea what my teacher was talking about, but the next day when I arrived for school, I was met by her and the principal. She said the day before a box of anniversary chocolates her husband had given her had disappeared from her desk. Other students, including the class prez, told her I’d stolen it.’
I pause, remembering feelings I’ve not felt in a long time.
‘You’d think such a lie might work if kids were simply telling it to other kids. But the fact this lie worked on an adult, the fact she so readily believed my bullies based on no data but my size – it taught me a lot about how individuals, when they’re angry, are willing to blame anyone served up to them – especially if that scapegoat is already an outsider. And it taught me how that blame – that quiet judgment – is so infectious among groups, regardless of an individual member’s intelligence or reasoning capacity. Data just doesn’t matter when emotion’s involved. By the end of the day, not only was there not a single student, there wasn’t a single teacher who didn’t believe the school’s one fat kid stole the chocolates.’
I glance at Neotnia, and my heart stops upon realising a hint of those clouds from yesterday have returned to her eyes. Yet she continues to translate, albeit with a certain quiet now in her voice.
‘And, well, that was the worst thing about it…’ I say to Goeido, regretting I ever opened my mouth. ‘Worse than getting detention for something I didn’t do. Worse than realising the way I looked was why I was being blamed. Having a lie told about you, and everyone believing it – you can’t understand how horrible that feels until it happens to you…’
I trail off, and once Neotnia finishes translating, such a stillness fills the room it’s unbearable. I want to bang my head against the table as hard as I can, but I know I’d throw up. So, I’m that kind of drunk – no filter; real downer.
After what feels like eons, Goeido’s voice breaks the silence. An instant later, Neotnia’s joins his. And at her voice, my heart sinks. Though she’s translating his words, she’s doing it in a tone that I know is pitying.
‘Don’t listen to those who can’t look past the external. Even in sumo, the audience misjudged me because of my size. They thought my size was my strength – that it was the reason I was a champion. But my true strength came from here: inside. I couldn’t have succeeded in the dohyō through size alone. That is impossible.’
Neotnia pauses. I can feel her eyes on me, but I can’t bear to look at her.
‘Let people misjudge you – condemn you, even,’ she says for Goeido as he speaks again. ‘Smile at them, then carry on with your life. Their faults weaken only them.’
I take a breath and finally raise my eyes. I nod, hoping he knows I appreciate his words. But when I look at Neotnia it feels like someone’s placed a heavy stone on my chest. She’s wearing a smile that’s meant to cover up the fact she’s clearly feeling sorry for me. And I mean, fuck. Terrific fucking job getting precisely what you never want: the beautiful older girl to pity you.
I take the sake and fill my glass, then Goeido’s.
‘Wow, this sake…’ I shake my head, ‘it’s great, but it really messes with your mind.’ I raise my glass. ‘Sake?’
And Goeido knows I want to move on. ‘Sake,’ he nods, and that happy, gigantic-baby grin appears on his face again.
We down our glasses and I refill them, glancing at Neotnia. I’d give anything not to see that expression on her face. At least Inu looks his normal happy self.
‘I swear,’ I say, the particles swelling into a storm inside my skull, ‘that’s the best-behaved dog I’ve seen in my life. He hasn’t begged for food once tonight. You guys have trained him so well.’
Neotnia gives me another pity-hiding smile and translates what I’ve said. But as she does, there’s something new in her voice. Her tone, her translation: it’s slower – almost like she’s been asked to translate something she knows isn’t really true.
Or maybe I’m just drunk for the first time in my life, feeling tremendously foolish, and everything in the world is distorted right now. I’ve made a colossal fool of myself. But hey, thank God for sake. I’d hate to know how stupid I’d feel without it.
And as I raise my glass the particles inside my skull now fizz like they’re inside a shaken soda bottle.
‘Sakeee!’
And everything goes black.
*
Hundreds of fireflies float above me. I move my head, and they sway in the same direction. I move my head back, and the fireflies sway back, little trails of light fading behind them.
My vision focuses. No – not fireflies. Fairy lights.
I push myself up. My head feels heavier than the rest of my body. My elbows feel like they could buckle under my weight. I’m on the couch I had my ear cleaning on. A pillow has been placed behind my head, and the blanket draped over me has crumpled to my lap.
I look across the room.
Hello?
But my voice won’t carry beyond my lips. The orange atmosphere is so still it’s like someone has pushed the mute button on this world. Or maybe I’m the last person in it.
My eyes catch the flicker of a shadow. A tall, slender figure passes on the opposite side of the window. An antlered head and red, leathery skin.
I jump upright, unleashing a pounding in my chest and skull.
Deep breath.
I wait for the pain to subside.
OK … it’s still Halloween. How long have I been passed out?
I reach into my pocket, but my phone’s not there. I spot it at the booth. The now-empty sake bottle is there, too, as are the shot glasses and the pumpkin outfit Inu wore.
I take a step, but it feels like my centre of gravity is off. My stomach churns.
I freeze.
I need to throw up.
I turn towards the foyer, its lights now wholly dimmed. Inu is sitting up in the doggy bed, his distinctive spherical head instantly recognisable even in shadow.
‘Inu, buddy … I guess you’re not so well-trained you can show me to the bathroom?’
But Inu doesn’t move an inch. His silhouette is frozen solid.
‘Inu?’
I take another step, but as I come to the dark hallway separating the foyer and dining area, my insides turn again. And again. And I don’t move another muscle until I’m sure they’re not going to turn another time.
OK … I’ve never seen a bathroom down here.
I peer at the hallway. It’s so void of light that it seems reasonable to conclude it may very well be nothing more than a black rectangle painted onto a wall. But my stomach churns again so I step into it, and as I do, an inky darkness envelops me. Even if I had the strength to turn around, I sense that I’d find there was no longer any café behind me. It would just be an endless black nothingness with no way back to the world that was.
I reach out until my palm hits a smooth plain and I advance forward – or what feels like forward. Soon my toes hit something solid, and steps rise to meet me. Or maybe I’ve fallen to meet them. Regardless, once I’m sure I’m not going to throw up on the spot, I kind of do this monkey-crawl until I reach a plateau where a thin, bright sliver shows itself.
They must have left the bathroom light on for me.
I slide against the wall so I won’t stumble in the darkness, and inch towards the sliver as quietly as a mouse.
Then I push.
And it is the bathroom.
The thing is, Neotnia’s in the bathtub.
She’s in a white T-shirt and panties, and the tub is filled almost to the brim. She’s sunk down, so the waterline submerges everything below her collarbones. The ends of her black, shoulder-length hair skim the water’s surface. The painted cat nose and whiskers from earlier have been wiped from her face.
Goeido, meanwhile, stands beside the tub. He’s still in his kimono, but in one big hand he’s holding a toaster that’s plugged into a thick extension cord. The toaster’s inner coils glow an electric orange.
And he’s holding it directly over the bathwater enveloping Neotnia.
And I feel like the three of us are staring at each other with the same stunned expression, but for entirely different reasons. As I look from Neotnia’s face to Goeido’s, Goeido looks from me to Neotnia and back to me again. Then he turns his gaze once more to Neotnia. A beat later she shifts her eyes from me to Goeido and gives him a quick, sharp nod.
Raising his free, non-toaster hand, Goeido spreads his beefy fingers apart like he’s about to choke something.
And as he lunges at me, the whole world goes as dark as the hallway below.
6 – It made the world look like it was simply black and white.
It’s dark.
I’m floating in a void, sinking deeper a step at a time.
Then I’m deposited somewhere. Someone takes my hand.
‘I wish I were like everyone else, because I like you.’
There’s a prolonged silence.
It’s a while longer before the hand holding mine slips away.
And I’m left alone in the darkness.
*
There’s a loud yap, and my eyes spring open.
I’m flat on my back. Above me, the pumpkin fairy lights are off.
My head throbs.
I press my eyes shut as I sit up on the couch, only opening them after the pain recedes.
The booths are bathed in morning light.
I feel for my phone. It’s in my pocket. It’s just before eight.
Another yap. Inu’s at his usual place on the counter, his tongue flopping happily from his mouth as someone pats his spherical head. Goeido’s at the register with a customer. Neotnia exits the kitchen and hands him a paper bag. The customer leaves, and she sees me.
‘He’s alive,’ she grins, entering the dining area.
She hands me a coffee. It’s in a takeaway cup.
‘Arigatō,’ I say taking a sip, then set the cup down. For a long moment I look at Neotnia as if it’s the first time I’ve laid eyes on her.
‘God, I had a messed-up dream.’
‘I bet. You were pretty out of it last night. A few hours ago, Goeido found you on the floor and had to put you back on the couch.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I shake my head, which amplifies the throbbing in my skull.
She smiles. A little polite smile.
‘Are you hungry?’
I look towards the foyer. Now three customers wait to order.
‘No,’ I try not to shake my head again, and rise despite a new pulse of pain behind my brow. ‘A drunk in the dining area probably isn’t great for business. I should go home and get some proper rest.’
‘Hai,’ she nods.
‘But I had a good time last night,’ I add. ‘Are you free later?’
She hesitates before answering. ‘It looks like we’ll be swamped today, and then I’ll need to help take down the Halloween decorations.’
As with her smile, there’s a certain politeness to her voice. And I can’t help noticing she didn’t say she had a good time, too.
‘That’s OK. Tomorrow, maybe?’
Neotnia looks at her feet. ‘I don’t know what my schedule is yet.’
The bell clangs, and she looks over her shoulder. Another customer has entered.
‘Well … I should get going. It’s getting busy.’
‘Hai. It’s going to be one of those days. Oh – don’t forget this.’ And she hands me the takeaway cup.
Inu gives me a yap as I pass the counter, and Neotnia begins on the logjam of orders.
I catch Goeido’s eye. ‘Sayōnara,’ he says.
It’s the first time he’s ever told me goodbye.
As I exit, I give a final glance over my shoulder, but Neotnia’s back is still to me. Stepping onto the sidewalk, Shibuya’s crawling with people just starting their day. But I make my way through the crowds to my apartment, and my bed.
When I wake, my headache’s gone and the golden afternoon glow of a November Tokyo shines through the balcony. I shower before heading out for a late lunch, ending up at a cafeteria chain in Shinjuku that only sells different varieties of udon.
I can’t help but think of Neotnia. The way she was this morning – did I do something wrong last night? I vaguely remember becoming a depressed drunk. But before that, I know we were having a good time. Everyone was laughing. Yet this morning it was as if she were keeping her distance. Treating me differently. It’s the way she treated me the night I came in for the ear cleaning. Politely – like just another customer.
I swirl the udon with my chopsticks and slurp a noodle into my mouth.
Did I humiliate myself? I wouldn’t have spoken about the school stuff if I weren’t drunk. I mean, no one’s ever been impressed by a pathetic-fat-kid story. I remember we talked about trust at one point, too. And then … sumos. Did I let slip the specifics of what she told me about Goeido’s past? I can’t see myself doing that – but I’ve never been drunk before either. And, God, that messed-up dream – as if she’d asked Goeido for his help in ending her life and he was more than willing to comply.
A heavy feeling comes over me. You don’t need to be a Freudian scholar to interpret a guy’s dream featuring the half-naked older girl he’s attracted to and her intimidating friend who seems like he never wants the guy around. Goeido lunged to choke the life out of me, and I fell into that black void where someone took my hand. And the person who took it … I told them I liked them.
Please tell me I didn’t actually tell her that last night.
Yet if I did, it’d explain her behaviour this morning. That is, it would explain it if the feeling isn’t mutual. And why would it be? How often do beautiful twenty-year-olds fall for even normal-looking younger guys? It’s such a cliché: the teen boy head over heels for the older girl. It probably happens to her all the time. And if her intention has only been friendship, and she now thinks I’ve misread everything, how uncomfortable would that make anyone feel?
