Read Online Revenge by Yōko Ogawa - Free Book Online Page A

she probably would have preferred something more stylish; the cape reminded me a bit of a nun’s habit.
    I sat down at a table in the corner and ordered a beer. It hardly mattered what I ordered, since I can’t drink alcohol. The waiter put a bowl of peanuts on the table and left.
    The people at the other tables were drinking quietly. No one seemed to be looking at her, though I suspected that some of them must have been aware of her secret.
    She began to sing, but I could not make out the words. It must have been a love song, to judge from the slightly pained expression on her face, and the way she tightly gripped the microphone. I noticed a flash of white skin on her neck. As she reached the climax of the song, her eyes half closed and her shoulders thrown back, a shudder passed through her body. She moved her arm across her chest to cradle her heart, as though consoling it, afraid it might burst. I wondered what would happen if I held her tight in my arms, in a lovers’ embrace, melting into one another, bone on bone … her heart would be crushed. The membrane would split, the veins tear free, the heart itself explode into bits of flesh, and then my desire would contain hers—it was all so painful and yet so utterly beautiful to imagine.
    The song ended, and like everyone else in the club, I applauded.
    When she bowed, I worried gravity would pull her heart from her dress. But almost immediately, she began another song.
    *   *   *
    The day arrived for the first fitting of the bag. The weather was sunny and mild, but she appeared in a heavy coat just as she had when she first came to see me.
    The room was warm, even with the curtains closed. The hamster had left his nest and was sleeping on the wire floor of the cage. Though he normally slept in a ball, today he was stretched out full-length.
    The woman’s chest was dripping with sweat, but that made the skin glow whiter than ever.
    “Tell me if it hurts you in any way,” I said. She nodded but said nothing.
    It was indeed a strange bag. The complicated shape of it was difficult to achieve. I had assembled nine different pieces of leather into an asymmetrical balloon with seven holes of varying size. The bottom of it was an oval, but the bag tapered toward an opening at the top that fastened with hooks. The strap for her neck was long and somewhat awkward, as the leather hadn’t had time to soften. I was afraid she might get tangled in it.
    It looked like a spider, or a work of modern art. Or a fetus that had just started to grow.
    I undid the hooks. Even before I touched the heart, my fingers could feel the heat; it made my head spin and my palms sweat.
    “Hurry up,” she said, sounding irritated.
    “Yes, of course,” I answered, fastening the hooks as quickly as I could. “I’m sorry. Shall I attach the strap as well?”
    “Please do,” she said. Her arms hung at her sides, and she made no effort to look at the bag. My hand passed through her hair and fastened the strap around her neck. I took a step back and wiped my palms on the front of my apron. Then I took a deep breath.
    The bag suited her to perfection. The lustrous finish of the leather set off the color of her skin, and its shape fit elegantly along the curve of her breast. The veins and arteries peeking out at the edges, the leather pulsing almost imperceptibly with each contraction, the strap caressing her graceful neck—I had never seen anything like it.
    Her blouse and slip were discarded on the couch. The loudspeaker at the train station droned softly in the distance. I stood and admired my handiwork.
    “The hole for the artery here is too high,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Please fix it.”
    “Of course,” I said. “I’ll make the adjustment.”
    The bag conformed to her every movement, protecting her heart like a faithful servant.
    “It is nice and light,” she continued, “but the hooks rub my side.”
    “I’ll use smaller ones and move them around to the