Read Online A Personal Matter by Kenzaburō Ōe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kenzaburō Ōe
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been ages, Bird. But everything’s the same around here. How about you?”
“As matter of fact, I had a kind of accident.”
“Accident?”
Bird hesitated; he hadn’t planned to start right in with all his troubles. “We had a child but it died right away,” he simplified.
“No! Really? The same thing happened to friends of mine—two friends! That makes three people I know. Don’t you think fallout in the rain has something to do with it?”
Bird tried comparing his child who seemed to have two heads with pictures he had seen of mutations caused by radioactivity. But he had only to think to himself about the baby’s abnormality and a sense of extremely personal shame hotly rose into his throat. How could he discuss the misfortune with other people; it was inherent in himself! He had the feeling this would never be a problem he could share with the rest of mankind.
“In my son’s case, it was apparently just an accident.”
“What an awful experience for you, Bird,” Himiko said, and she looked at him quietly with an expression in her eyes that seemed to cloud her lids with ink.
Bird didn’t trouble himself with the message in Himiko’s eyes; instead, he lifted the bottle of Johnnie Walker. “I wanted somewhere to drink and I knew you wouldn’t mind even if it was the middle of the day. Have a drink with me?”
Bird sensed himself wheedling the girl, like any brazen young gigolo. But that was the way men whom Himiko knew generally behaved toward her. The man she had married, more openly than Bird or any of her other friends, had played up to her as though he were a younger brother. And suddenly one morning he had hanged himself.
“I can see the baby’s death is still close to you, Bird. You haven’t recovered yet. Well, I’m not going to ask you anything more about it.”
“That would probably be best. There’s almost nothing to tell anyway.”
“Shall we have a drink?”
“Good.”
“I want to take a shower, but you start. Bird! There are glasses and a pitcher in the kitchen.”
Himiko disappeared into the bedroom and Bird stood up. The kitchen and the bathroom shared the twisted space at the end of the hall that amounted to the tail of the little house. Bird jumped over a cat crouching on the floor, the bathrobe and underclothes Himiko had just thrown off, and went into the kitchen. On his way back with a pitcher of water, glasses and cups he had washed himself, two in each pocket, he happened to glance past the open glass door and saw Himiko showering at the back of the bathroom, where it was even darker than the hall. With her left hand upheld as if to check the black water pouring out of the darkness above her head and her right hand resting on her belly, Himiko was looking down over her right shoulder at her buttocks and slightly arched right calf. Bird saw back and buttocks and legs, and the sight filled him with a disgust he couldn’t repress; his flesh turned to goosepimples. Bird rose on his toes as if to flee a darkness alive with ghosts: and then he was running, trembling, past the bedroom and back to the familiar rattan chair. He had conquered it once, he couldn’t say when, and now it had reawakened in him: the juvenile’s disgust, anxiety ridden, for the naked body. Bird sensed that theoctopus of disgust would extend its tentacles even when he turned to his wife, who now lay in a hospital bed thinking about the baby
who had gone with its father to another hospital because of a defective heart.
But would the feeling last for a long time? Would it grow acute?
Bird broke the seal on the bottle with his fingernail and poured himself a drink. His arm was still shaking: the glass chattered at the bottle like an angry rat. Bird scowled thornily, a hermetic old man, and hurled the whisky down his throat. God, it burned! Coughing shook him and his eyes teared. But the arrow of red-hot pleasure pierced his belly instantly, and the shuddering stopped. Bird brought up a child’s
“As matter of fact, I had a kind of accident.”
“Accident?”
Bird hesitated; he hadn’t planned to start right in with all his troubles. “We had a child but it died right away,” he simplified.
“No! Really? The same thing happened to friends of mine—two friends! That makes three people I know. Don’t you think fallout in the rain has something to do with it?”
Bird tried comparing his child who seemed to have two heads with pictures he had seen of mutations caused by radioactivity. But he had only to think to himself about the baby’s abnormality and a sense of extremely personal shame hotly rose into his throat. How could he discuss the misfortune with other people; it was inherent in himself! He had the feeling this would never be a problem he could share with the rest of mankind.
“In my son’s case, it was apparently just an accident.”
“What an awful experience for you, Bird,” Himiko said, and she looked at him quietly with an expression in her eyes that seemed to cloud her lids with ink.
Bird didn’t trouble himself with the message in Himiko’s eyes; instead, he lifted the bottle of Johnnie Walker. “I wanted somewhere to drink and I knew you wouldn’t mind even if it was the middle of the day. Have a drink with me?”
Bird sensed himself wheedling the girl, like any brazen young gigolo. But that was the way men whom Himiko knew generally behaved toward her. The man she had married, more openly than Bird or any of her other friends, had played up to her as though he were a younger brother. And suddenly one morning he had hanged himself.
“I can see the baby’s death is still close to you, Bird. You haven’t recovered yet. Well, I’m not going to ask you anything more about it.”
“That would probably be best. There’s almost nothing to tell anyway.”
“Shall we have a drink?”
“Good.”
“I want to take a shower, but you start. Bird! There are glasses and a pitcher in the kitchen.”
Himiko disappeared into the bedroom and Bird stood up. The kitchen and the bathroom shared the twisted space at the end of the hall that amounted to the tail of the little house. Bird jumped over a cat crouching on the floor, the bathrobe and underclothes Himiko had just thrown off, and went into the kitchen. On his way back with a pitcher of water, glasses and cups he had washed himself, two in each pocket, he happened to glance past the open glass door and saw Himiko showering at the back of the bathroom, where it was even darker than the hall. With her left hand upheld as if to check the black water pouring out of the darkness above her head and her right hand resting on her belly, Himiko was looking down over her right shoulder at her buttocks and slightly arched right calf. Bird saw back and buttocks and legs, and the sight filled him with a disgust he couldn’t repress; his flesh turned to goosepimples. Bird rose on his toes as if to flee a darkness alive with ghosts: and then he was running, trembling, past the bedroom and back to the familiar rattan chair. He had conquered it once, he couldn’t say when, and now it had reawakened in him: the juvenile’s disgust, anxiety ridden, for the naked body. Bird sensed that theoctopus of disgust would extend its tentacles even when he turned to his wife, who now lay in a hospital bed thinking about the baby
who had gone with its father to another hospital because of a defective heart.
But would the feeling last for a long time? Would it grow acute?
Bird broke the seal on the bottle with his fingernail and poured himself a drink. His arm was still shaking: the glass chattered at the bottle like an angry rat. Bird scowled thornily, a hermetic old man, and hurled the whisky down his throat. God, it burned! Coughing shook him and his eyes teared. But the arrow of red-hot pleasure pierced his belly instantly, and the shuddering stopped. Bird brought up a child’s
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