I Wonder What Human Flesh Tastes Like Read online

  The question seemed to barely register until Toshio took a drink from the open bottle next to him on the table. Then his eyes snapped open.

  —I’ve left Chie. I’m staying here until I leave the country.

  —You’ve what?

  Toshio stirred into a delirious kind of attention once more.

  —Kenji. How did you figure out about the existence of Chinese people? I’ve been going crazy trying to figure it out. I’ve seen Chinese people all my life and I never even realized it.

  —I don’t know. I read something in the paper about Chinese people and I just realized it.

  —When you called me over last week I didn’t understand you at first. I thought you were playing a joke on me. Then I started to think about it...

  Toshio proffered the bottle, but I declined.

  —We have to tell someone, he said. This kind of awareness...

  —I don’t think that would be a good idea. Just because we have a little knowledge doesn’t mean we should assume we can help everyone else.

  Toshio considered this. A furious gleam lit up his eyes.

  —No, you’re right. Think of the kind of power this knowledge will give us! The Furusawa brothers are probably the only ones who get it... all those idiots out there are completely ignorant! Like Chie’s father, the CEO. He thinks he knows how this whole country works. But he doesn’t know China. So what the hell does he know?

  At this Toshio broke into a sudden and frightening peal of laughter.

  —Well, I said. What if someone came up to you and told you you were Japanese?

  —Yeah, so what?

  —Well, would you have realized it before?

  Toshio looked at me blankly.

  —Of course I’m Japanese. But what’s your point?

  —That’s the thing... obviously there’s no such thing as ‘Japanese’ or ‘Chinese.’ They’re just ideas people have created. At the same time, I know exactly what you mean. I don’t think Chinese reality and non-Chinese reality are really separate, but the distinction still exists. It’s neither existing nor not-existing, present nor not-present. Until I understand this I don’t think I can talk to anyone else about it.

  —Well, I don’t know about that, Toshio said. But I think our course of action is pretty clear.

  —Tell me about it in a moment, I said. I need to take a piss.

  Inside the tiny bathroom, I noticed a folded scrap of paper next to the sink. I unfolded it. On it, Toshio had written: What is the weight of China? Under it, noughts and crosses, dark scribbles.

  What was this scrap? A fragment to be expanded on in later writing? A rough draft of a suicide note? Certainly Toshio seemed in unsteady spirits.

  As I was turning to leave, I noticed something else: several ripped women’s clothes, hanging over the shower bar.

  —What does this mean? I asked Toshio, showing him the piece of paper.

  —Something I wrote before realization. You shouldn’t have read it. It’s not important now.

  He took the scrap from me and tore it to shreds.

  —What about those clothes in the bathroom?

  Toshio let out a long sigh.

  —The night after I left Chie, I was walking around at night by myself, just thinking. That was when I truly understood China.

  —I call it ‘the Chinese epiphany,’ I said.

  —I understood the implications and how they related to me. I started walking back home, and then I realized I couldn’t see Chie again. There was nowhere I’d really be at home anymore. Everything had changed. I could feel myself becoming a ghost!

  Toshio uttered something halfway between a laugh and a scream.

  —What happened? I asked.

  —I was so lonely. There was no one I could talk to and you wouldn’t take my calls. So I started looking for Chinese prostitutes. I found three of them and brought them back here.

  —Uh huh...

  —But then I couldn’t do anything with them. I didn’t feel anything. I made them speak Chinese to each other for an hour or so, then I bought some of their clothes from them. I don’t know why...

  Toshio looked up at me from the sheet of paper.

  —I don’t know what I was thinking, he said. I just realized how ridiculous I was. I could tell they felt it too, they all thought I was ridiculous. No Chinese man would ever have done something like that.

  I could see that Toshio was greatly distressed at having failed to uphold the correct ethical stance of a well-born man aspiring to Chineseness.

  —Your impotence isn’t all that surprising, I said. Chinese women are part of the Chinese reality, and in the face of this reality, the unsteady flame of desire is extinguished.

  I did not tell Toshio of my thoughts about Hee Ying.

  —I’m a vigorous man, Kenji. The only other time I’ve failed like this was with Tomoko Watanabe. Do you remember her?

  I did. Tomoko Watanabe was a girl Toshio had been in love with during our youth. As far as I know, he never spoke to her.

  —I spent so much time trying to get off to her and I never could. It wouldn’t work. Like she was above all that. But, anyway — that’s not important. Have a look at this.

  Toshio now got to his feet and took a manila envelope from the bed.

  —We know that the Chinese number in the billions, and there are millions of overseas Chinese. But where do the borders of this Chineseness end? What about the Chinese who have assimilated and become Chinese-Americans or some other group, and no longer speak or act Chinese?

  —Again, I don’t think the Chinese reality exists in language or appearance. I don’t think there’s a separation between the Chinese reality and non-Chinese reality. To even suggest such a thing is to lose any hope of reaching the Chinese reality. It’s not dualistic like that. But I feel like even when we’ve thrown out all our words we’ll still be a thousand miles away.

  —Not for long, said my brother, raising the manila envelope. I’ve already purchased plane tickets. We leave for China tomorrow.

  What Toshio had said barely registered.

  —Because we’re in Japan now, it’s hard for us to understand the Chinese existence. When we’re actually in China, we’ll be like drops of water falling into the ocean.

  —I’m not sure I believe that’s possible.

  —Of course it is. You need to study more — look what I’ve been reading.

  Toshio took a book from the side of the bed and handed it to me.

  —Did you know that in 213 BC, the first emperor, Qin Shihuangdi, destroyed every book, scroll, and record in China? He was trying to restart history with the beginning of his rule. The beginning of the empire and the beginning of time would be the same.

  I confessed that I hadn’t known this.

  —Can you imagine that? A new genesis, a new start to history. Only the Chinese would be capable of that kind of ingenuity.

  I sat down on the bed.

  —Look, if we’re leaving, what about Mieko?

  —What about her?

  —Well, how long will we be gone for?

  Toshio paused, looking baffled.

  —For good. Why would we come back?

  —So what am I supposed to tell her?

  —Explain the situation to her.

  —I’ve tried, she doesn’t get it.

  —What are you worried about then? If she doesn’t get it, how could you stay with her anyway?

  I tossed the book aside.

  —Toshio... you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.

  —You know I’m right. What kind of future could you have with her now?

  —Well, for one thing, I was thinking of starting a family sometime in the future. Did you think of that?

  —If you want kids, adopt some Chinese ones. I’d even considered that myself.

  I stared at my brother.

  —Doesn’t get it, he said. How could she not get it?

  —Don’t get so full of yourself. At first, you didn’t kno
w what I was saying either. It took you a while to get that cultivated realization.

  —That’s different. You’re missing the point.

  I got to my feet.

  —I’m going to give you some more time to think about this. I might come back later.

  —You know I’m right, Kenji. I always knew you were a coward, but I didn’t think you’d be able to ignore something that’s right in front of your eyes!

  I left the hotel room and walked down the flight of stairs. My footsteps sounded against the wet pavement. Small pools of rain from earlier in the night had formed in the cracks in the sidewalk. Light from the street lamps flickered in their depths.

  How lightly I had — in the view of some, no doubt — ruined my brother’s life. When I told him of the Chinese situation I had thought nothing of the consequences, wishing only to relieve my own loneliness. Yet in my final evaluation, I think, I acted justly. It is natural for human beings to prefer a comforting illusion to an inhospitable reality. Perhaps Toshio was one of the few who could have realized the truth — I am thinking here of Mieko’s indifference — and thus it was best to tell him.

  A sudden terror struck me. I recalled the moment in which I had identified with Hee Ying, and saw myself again as an alien; but with her gone I could find no safe vantage point from which to consider anything. I tried to free myself, but no matter how much I stepped back, distancing my thoughts, I couldn’t fall off the edge of my mind. I remained locked in place, parallel and separate from the Chinese reality.

  Perhaps it was possible to go to China... but I did not share Toshio’s confidence. I saw myself stepping out of my country, my life, into the greater world in the same way a ghost, emerging from the dark that sustains it, is struck by true light and dissolved, bleached out of existence.

  Dawn hadn’t yet broken when I returned home. It was a hot night, but a breeze blew through the window of my room, rustling the drapes. I was about to get into bed when I realized Mieko wasn’t there. Looking up, I saw her sitting in a chair by the window.

  —Where were you? she asked.

  As I stood looking at Mieko, something ridiculous happened. I began to cry. I wasn’t sure whether it was for myself or for her. Whichever it was, there was no way for me to dignify my sadness. Mieko’s first, accurate reaction was laughter.

  I sat down on the bed and looked away. Eventually Mieko walked over, her footsteps padding softly across the carpet. The next thing I felt was her sitting on my lap and embracing me. I rested my head on her shoulder and ran my hand through her long black hair.

  —Kenji, what’s wrong?

  As I looked up to answer, the open window caught my eye. The drapes blew forward in the breeze, brushing the edges of the wall. From these drapes, usually so grey with dust from the open window, I received an impression of terrible whiteness.

  A Design for Life

  The W--- University Club Building was a four-storey brick tower at the edge of the main campus, led up to by a path lined with linden trees, their branches now empty in the bright winter air. As Chris Lau walked along the path he saw joggers coming towards him and, further along, a group of baseball players in their uniforms. He pulled his coat around him and kept his gaze focused on the tower ahead of him.

  The Design Circle meeting had already started by the time he entered the room. Silently he seated himself in the back and listened as Norika addressed those present. Standing by the window, she wore a trim black cardigan and white jeans, a necklace of seashells around her neck. As she discussed plans for a fundraiser, speaking too quickly for him to make out anything but her general meaning, Chris wondered whether she had made this necklace herself.

  Norika’s speech continued. Chris glanced around the room. Posters of models covered the walls, along with clothes designed by the Circle members: a flower-pattern handbag covered in beads, a coat stitched together from scraps of leather, a pair of multicolored sneakers with thick green laces. As Chris looked around, Daichi caught his eye and nodded. Some of the other members turned and noticed him: one, a first-year girl, smiled shyly before turning away. Chris glanced at Norika, but she continued her speech in a monotone, not meeting his eyes. Eventually she finished, and the Circle members began putting their things away. The meeting was only a preliminary to the night’s drinking party, held in an izakaya to welcome the new members.

  As they left the building Chris glanced at Daichi, but the senior member was walking between two first-years, explaining something to them. Norika walked ahead of the group, flanked by two other senior members. The other first years formed into pairs. Chris walked by himself, trailing along at a distance.

  He thought back to two weeks ago. He and the other exchange students had been walking around the campus, inspecting the various Circles handing out flyers. Only the International Circle made any attempt to approach him, although they seemed more interested in the Americans. Bored with the various media and sports-related Circles, Chris and a French exchange student broke off from the group. As they wandered the campus, a student handed them a flyer for the Design Circle and told them about an information session in the afternoon. The French girl, Séverine — tall and leanly muscled in the way Chris had noticed some European women were, with lank gold-blonde hair and a sharp nose — spoke little Japanese, and so Chris explained to her what the student had said.

  —It might be interesting, making clothes, he told her.

  —Let’s have a look then.

  They had lunch in the refectory, then walked to the Club Building and wandered around until they found the Design Circle room. Inside, a dozen students sat on the floor, some talking in pairs, others paging through magazines and photobooks. When Chris and Séverine walked in, everyone turned and looked at them. The student who had handed them the flyer was not there, and their presence seemed, if not unwanted, certainly unexpected.

  —Is this the Design Circle? Chris asked.

  A girl sitting in front of a table nodded and gestured for them to sit down.

  —Yes.

  Chris held out the flyer he’d received.

  —We saw this and thought we’d check it out.

  —I’m the president, the girl said. My name is Norika.

  They sat down in front of her. She looked at him very closely, almost with a kind of wariness.

  —Are you Chinese, or...?

  —Singaporean, yes.

  —I’m from France, Séverine said in her broken Japanese.

  —You’re together?

  It took Chris a moment to understand what she meant

  —No, we’re just friends.

  One of the other members asked Séverine a question, so that Chris found himself talking to Norika alone. The other members, initially interested, soon stopped listening.

  —So... you’re interested in design? she asked him.

  —Yeah. But I’m not good at drawing, really.

  He gestured to the clothes hung up around the room.

  —You designed all this yourselves?

  —Yeah. And we do a fashion show every year.

  She continued staring at him, so that he felt he had to say something. But he waited, and after another moment she spoke again.

  —What made you want to come to Japan?

  —I always liked Japanese music... anything electronic, trance and house pretty much... and Japanese literature. Mostly women writers. I don’t like the male ones.

  —Like who?

  —Well, Yumiko Kurahashi... Taeko Kono is all right.

  —I like Yumiko Kurahashi. Have you read ‘The Party’?

  —Yeah, it’s great... I didn’t think that many people read her.

  Norika smiled.

  —Not many, no.

  They talked for a while longer. He asked what she was studying, what she wanted to do after she graduated. He felt that he could have gone on talking to her longer, but Séverine was having difficulty understanding the Circle members’ questions. Sensing her discomfort, he suggested they go.
Before leaving he exchanged phone details with Norika and took an information sheet that outlined the Circle’s upcoming events.

  —Are you going to join? Séverine asked him as they left the Club building and returned to the main campus.

  —I’m considering it.

  That night he looked over the information sheet in his room. The structure of the Circle was similar to others he had heard about, and he noted its weekly meetings, drinking parties, annual field trip. At the bottom of the sheet was a thick block of text which he skimmed, noting the dates of the events it described. But he found it difficult to concentrate, and after a few moments he put the sheet aside and lay back on his bed.

  He was thinking of Norika. Her body had a smooth flatness, neither curved nor angular, with small breasts and straight hips. Except for her long black hair and thin lips, her appearance was almost boyish. But he was more interested in her interests; he wanted to know why she had become the Circle’s president, why she liked Yumiko Kurahashi, what kind of clothes she designed. He was used to having nothing in common with anyone, and the idea of a sincere conversation based on interests appealed to him greatly.

  He felt that he had to have her. He hadn’t felt anything like this for a while, and so he did not bother to think of a concrete plan, only held the feeling in reserve and floated along on its surface.

  The next day at noon he went for lunch in the refectory. Since none of the other exchange students were around, he thought that he would have to sit by himself. But as he walked amongst the tables he noticed someone waving at him. He turned and saw a student he recognized from the Circle meeting. When he sat down, the student introduced himself as Daichi — one of the senior members. The students talked to him for a while, but Chris could think of little to say, and before long they resumed their conversation while he ate his lunch in silence. As they were about to leave, Daichi turned to him.

  —So are you going to join? he asked.

  Chris said that he would.

  •

  The Circle members occupied two tables in the little izakaya, and Chris was seated at the same table as Norika, Daichi and one of the other senior members whose name he couldn’t recall. None of the new members were expected to pay, so Chris went on ordering drink after drink. The first-year students seemed too shy to talk to him, and he made little effort to insert himself into the conversations around him. Occasionally one of the senior members asked him a question, but mostly they talked amongst themselves.