After eleven I fell asleep for a while on the sofa listening to music. I might have slept for about twenty minutes. When I woke up the record was over, the arm back in its cradle, the turntable not moving. There were two players in the living room, one an automatic, the other an old-school manual type, but to play it safe—so I could fall asleep listening, in other words—I generally used the automatic. I slipped the Schubert record back in its jacket, and returned it to its designated spot on the record shelf. From the open window I could hear the clamor of insects. Since they were still making a racket, I wouldn’t be hearing the sound of the bell quite yet.
I warmed up coffee in the kitchen and munched on a few cookies. And listened intently to the noisy insect ensemble that enveloped the mountains. A little before twelve thirty I heard the Jaguar slowly making its way up the slope. As it changed direction, the pair of yellow headlights lit up the window. The engine finally cut out, and I heard the usual solid thunk as the door shut. I sat on the sofa, sipping coffee, getting my breathing under control, waiting for the front doorbell to ring.
13
AT THIS POINT IT’S MERELY A HYPOTHESIS
We sat in chairs in the living room, drank our coffee, and talked, killing time until that time rolled around. At first we chatted about inconsequential things, but after a curtain of silence descended on us Menshiki, a bit hesitantly, yet resolutely, asked, “Do you have any children?”
The question took me by surprise. He didn’t seem the type to ask that kind of question—especially of someone he didn’t know well. He seemed more the I-won’t-stick-my-nose-in-your-business-if-you-won’t-stick-yours-in-mine type of person. At least that’s the way I read him. But when I looked up and saw his serious expression, I knew it wasn’t an impulsive question. He’d been thinking of asking me this for a long time.
I responded. “I was married for six years, but we didn’t have any children.”
“You didn’t want any?”
“I was fine either way. But my wife didn’t want any,” I said. I didn’t, though, get into the reason she gave. Even now I’m not sure that it reflected her true feelings.
Menshiki seemed hesitant, but forged ahead. “This might sound rude, but have you ever considered that there might be another woman somewhere, other than your wife, who secretly had a child of yours?”
I looked him full in the face again. What a strange question. I rummaged around, pro forma, through a few drawers of memory, but came up empty-handed. I hadn’t had sex with all that many women until then, and even if something like that had taken place, I think I would have heard about it.
“I guess it’s possible, in theory. But realistically—commonsensically, you might say—it’s not.”
“I see,” Menshiki said. He quietly sipped his coffee, thinking deeply.
“Why do you ask?” I ventured.
He looked out the window, silent for a time. The moon was visible, not as weirdly bright as two days ago, but still plenty bright. Scattered clouds slowly wended their way from the sea toward the mountains.
Menshiki finally spoke up. “As I mentioned before, I’ve never been married. I’ve always been a bachelor. Work kept me busy all the time, that’s one reason, but it’s also because living with someone else didn’t fit my personality and lifestyle. I’m sure this sounds pretty stuck-up, but I’m the type who can only live alone. I have almost no interest in lineage or relatives. I’ve never thought I’d like to have children. There’s a personal reason for that, mostly because of my home environment when I was growing up.”
He paused, took a breath, then went on.
“But a few years ago I began to think that I might actually have a child. Or I should say, I was compelled to think that way.”
No comment from me.
“I find it strange myself that I’m opening up to you, about this kind of personal matter. I mean, we just met.” The faintest of smiles rose to Menshiki’s lips.
“I’m okay with it, as long as you are.”
Ever since I was little, for some reason people have tended to open up to me about the most unexpected topics. Maybe I have an innate ability to draw out secrets from strangers. Or maybe I just seem like a good listener, I don’t know. Either way, I don’t remember it ever working to my advantage. After people tell me their secrets, they always regret it.
“This is the first time I’ve ever told anybody this,” Menshiki said.
I nodded and waited for more. Everyone says the same thing.
Menshiki began his story. “This happened fifteen years ago, when I was going out with a woman. I was in my late thirties then, she was in her late twenties. She was a beautiful, attractive woman, extremely bright. I was serious about our relationship, though I’d made it clear to her there was no chance of us getting married. I don’t plan to ever marry anyone, I told her. I didn’t want her to have any false hopes. If she ever found someone else she wanted to marry, I would step aside without a word. She understood exactly how I felt. While we went out—for about two and half years—we got along really well. We never argued, even once. We traveled together to lots of places, and she’d often stay over at my place. She even kept a set of clothes there.”
He seemed to be contemplating something, then continued his story.
“If I were a normal person, or closer to being normal, I wouldn’t have hesitated to marry her. But—” He paused here and let out a small breath. “But the upshot was I chose the kind of life I have now, a quiet life all by myself, and she chose a healthier life for herself. In other words, she got married to another man who was closer to being normal than me.”
Until the very end, however, she didn’t disclose to him the fact that she was getting married. The last time he saw her was a week after her twenty-ninth birthday (the two of them had dined out at a restaurant in Ginza on her birthday, and later on he recalled how unusually quiet she’d been). He was working in an office in Akasaka then and she’d called him saying she wanted to see him and talk, and asked if she could see him right away. Of course, he replied. She’d never visited his workplace even once, but he hadn’t thought it odd. His office was a small place, just him and a middle-aged woman secretary. So he didn’t need to worry about anyone else if she stopped by. There had been a time when he’d managed a large company with lots of employees, but at this point he was developing a new network by himself. His usual approach was to work quietly by himself to develop a new business strategy; then, when he began implementing the plan, he would aggressively employ a broad range of talent.
It was just before five p.m. when his girlfriend showed up. They sat down together on his office sofa to talk. He’d had the secretary in the next room go home. It was his normal routine to continue working alone in the office after his secretary left for the day. Often he’d be so engrossed in his work that he’d stay all night. His idea was for the two of them to go to a nearby restaurant and have dinner, but she turned that down. I don’t have time today, she said, I have to meet somebody in Ginza.
“You said you had something you wanted to talk about,” he said.
“No, I don’t have anything to really talk about,” she said. “I just wanted to see you.”
“I’m glad you came,” he said, smiling. It had been some time since she’d spoken so openly to him. She generally spoke in a more indirect, roundabout way. He had no idea what this portended.
She moved over on the sofa and sat down in his lap. She put her arms around him and kissed him. A serious, deep kiss, tongues entwined. She reached out and undid Menshiki’s belt. She took out his already erect penis, holding it in her grasp for a time. Then she leaned forward and wrapped her mouth around it. She slowly ran the tip of her long tongue around it. Her tongue was smooth and hot.