I Wonder What Human Flesh Tastes Like (26 page)

Before Masa could say anything, the girl stepped towards the door.

—
This man is a lying piece of shit, she said. Whatever it is, he did it. Don’t believe anything he tells you!

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We want you to apologize to Aibon, Masa said. But his voice came out flat, emptied of conviction.

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Aibon? Who’s that? Is that another girl you fucked?

The man’s hands had balled into fists. He looked from the girl to Masa and seemed to clench, as if he would fly apart. Then he drew himself up and spoke slowly, in a mechanical voice.

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If you don’t leave I’ll call the police.

Then, to the girl:

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You can come back when you’ve calmed down.

He tried to close the door, but she shoved her arm in and caught it.

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You fucking liar!

She tried to hit him. He seized her wrists and forced her over the threshold. As she struggled he leaned in and pressed his face to hers, spacing out his words with calm fury.

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Go home, Miyuki.

The door closed with the sound of a lock. The girl yelled, kicked it, and drew back, shaking. Turning, she seemed to notice Tatsuya and Masa for the first time. For a moment she stood still; then, as if overcome with shame at her outburst, she took off towards the elevator. Tatsuya watched her go, her long black coat trailing behind her. Finally she disappeared from view, and he turned back to Masa, who was staring at the door with a blank expression.

For a while they stood in the corridor, avoiding each other’s eyes. There was nothing for them to say. They had utterly failed to do anything, and now their continued presence was only an embarrassment.

—
Come on, Tatsuya said, after a time. Let’s go back.

They walked to the elevator in silence. Once inside, Tatsuya decided he would forget the entire incident. The shouting had frightened him, but at the same time he had remained completely detached. And this, in its own way, was worse than fear. He was only an intruder, a spectator. What should he have done? What could he have done? The more he thought about it, the more useless he felt.

But Masa had already regained his composure. As soon as they stepped from the elevator he said:

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At least this is going to make a great story.

Tatsuya looked at him.

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What?

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Well, now we know what kind of assholes
Friday
employs. We can at least report this to some of the major forums. And now the other idols will be more careful. You said we could send them a letter before, right? Maybe we could do that and mention what happened. At least we can get up a decent report tonight.

And he went on describing what a dramatic story it would make: how everyone on the forums would sympathize with them: how they would be made heroes for upholding Aibon’s honor. After a while Tatsuya stopped listening, only nodding his approval when Masa paused.

As they approached the gate they heard a low stifled cry. Turning, Tatsuya saw a figure sitting hunched on the curb. As he came nearer she shifted and he saw that it was the girl from the second floor, her face wet with tears.

He stopped for a moment, unsure of what to do. Masa was nodding in the direction of the gate, but something held him back. He hesitated for another moment, then walked over and sat down next to the girl.

—
Are you okay?

She nodded slowly, not meeting his eyes. He sensed her drawing into herself, her posture stiffening, shoulders curling inward. He was intruding again, he knew, and as he watched her staring at the pavement he wished he’d followed Masa to the gate. But he was here now, and it would be too awkward to suddenly leave. He waited again, then reached out and touched her shoulder; and when she didn’t protest, he placed his arm around her. After a while she leaned against him, and he felt her tears dampening his shoulder.

He looked over at Masa, who was still standing by the gate. Neither of them could think of anything to say, but they held each other’s eyes anyway. Eventually the girl drew away from him and took a packet of tissues from her pocket.

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Are my eyes all panda-looking?

He looked at her. Her tears had left little trails in her makeup, and the corners of her eyes were dark.

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Uh, they’re a little black, yeah...

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Here?

She dabbed at the corner of her left eye.

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Down a little bit more. Yeah, right there...

She took out her mobile phone and inspected herself in the camera.

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I don’t usually cry, she said.

Tatsuya said nothing.

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I’m sorry about that. Do you guys work with him or something?

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No, we just... that was the first time we met him.

Tatsuya looked at Masa again and felt his own hesitation mirrored. Neither of them wanted to say why they were there. But Masa — as if he sensed he was being left out — came over and stood next to the girl.

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He got Ai Kago suspended from Morning Musume, he said.

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Yeah? Are you her friends?

Masa glanced at Tatsuya before answering.

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Yeah, sort of.

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Oh. Well why don’t you go up there and beat the shit out of him?

She spoke calmly, staring at them with her wide eyes. They looked at her.

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I’m serious. No, I’m not — I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying...

She looked about to cry again, then drew herself up and shook her head.

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He’s not a good person.

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We’re going to report him, Masa said.

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Yeah? To who?

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A bunch of forums we write for.

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Oh. Well, good luck with that then.

A pause.

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Anyway, I’m sorry we interrupted you, Tatsuya said. I mean, not really interrupted, but, I’m sorry we came up just then.

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No, he looked pissed off, the girl said. So I’m glad.

This seemed to decide something in her, as she began to talk at length, telling them of her recent life and the photographer’s countless deficiencies. Tatsuya and Masa weren’t used to being taken into confidence, and most of the references escaped them, but they did their best to play along: sometimes she mentioned a certain street or shop or bar, and they nodded, as if they went there often. After a while she stopped for a cigarette, then continued the story. They stood listening, nodding when she paused, a little awed at the depth of her anger. As she spoke, Tatsuya noticed a redness at the tips of her teeth. Her lipstick, he realized — at first he’d thought her mouth was bleeding.

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I feel like I just want to forget everything, she said. Forget my whole life. Hey, you want to go drinking with me?

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Uh, Tatsuya said. Well, I don’t really drink...

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That’s okay, more for me.

He suddenly felt uncomfortable. Nothing like this had happened to him before.

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I just want to do something fun, she said. Do you guys like karaoke?

That would be another nightmare, he thought — it would be obvious that they only really knew songs meant for young girls, and then she would hate them. He could picture it already.

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Yeah, sometimes...

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Well, let’s go.

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We might as well, Masa said. It’s not like we’re going to do anything else today.

Tatsuya felt a sudden resentment towards him. Masa would say something to offend her, he knew, because Masa had no shame. And then she would hate them.

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Yeah, if you guys want to, he said. I can’t really sing, though...

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Neither can I, she said. Come on, we’ll go to the Shidax near Sun Road.

And she took off without waiting for an answer. They followed her out of the gate and back through Musashino-shi, walking a few paces behind her. As they stopped at the light, she turned to them.

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I’m Miyuki, by the way.

—
Tatsuya.

Masa introduced himself.

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How old are you? Tatsuya asked her.

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Twenty-two. You?

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Twenty-six.

They looked at Masa.

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I’m older than that, he said.

They asked him again but he wouldn’t tell them. Tatsuya remembered one of his internet profiles that listed him as twenty-eight, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if he was older.

—
Wow, big brothers then, I guess. You don’t look that old though.

They stopped at Lawson, where Miyuki bought two cans of Kirin, then continued on to Kichijoji. As they walked, Tatsuya looked around at the people walking past them. Usually he walked with his head down, lost in his thoughts, but now he noted every time someone looked at him. He wondered what they would think of him and Masa and Miyuki; what relationship they would assume existed between them.

They found Shidax and booked a room for two hours. When they entered Miyuki sat down and immediately began drinking. Tatsuya sat next to the door and looked at the electronic register. He didn’t really expect to sing, but the prospect made him nervous. Of course, he knew hundreds of songs by heart, but none of them suited his voice. But then, nothing suited his voice, he thought.

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So who’s first? Miyuki said, already halfway done with her first beer.

They said nothing.

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Okay, I’ll go.

She picked up the register and typed in a sequence of numbers. Soon the screen lit up with a dull glow as the beat started, and she began to sing. Her voice was low and resonant; it seemed to shape itself naturally around the words, spacing out the syllables, lingering at the end of each phrase. Tatsuya didn’t know the song, but he couldn’t imagine the original singer performing it better. When she finished she lit a cigarette and opened her second beer. They looked at her and clapped politely.

—
Okay, next?

Tatsuya looked at the corner, then at Masa, who was staring at the register with a fixed expression. His eyes had the same dull gleam they’d had when he’d told Tatsuya his plan earlier in the day. It was an expression of sudden but decisive inspiration: whatever he was thinking of, he would do it.

Masa took the register and typed in a sequence. The title appeared onscreen and Tatsuya winced; it was ‘I WISH’ — one of his favorite songs, and a showcase for Aibon, released some five years before. It was a song that had brought him comfort more times than he could remember, and he didn’t want to hear it ruined. He had heard Masa sing before and knew that his voice was high, flat and strident. He had no subtlety, no control. And Miyuki’s presence would make it even worse.

But even as he missed every note, he sang with complete conviction. Although he mimicked the original song’s rising and falling syllables, he sang more or less phonetically, so that the tonelessness seemed to jut out of his voice at odd angles, puncturing the melody. He overemoted constantly, but without any intrinsic feel for the lyrics; the effect was like listening to a broken machine parroting human song. The words, intended for a young girl’s voice, seemed to warp and coarsen in the air. Towards the end he stood up and danced. When the song finished Miyuki was laughing, clapping.

—
Your turn, she said, turning to Tatsuya.

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I don’t think I can follow that, he said.

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Okay, one more, Masa said.

He took the register and typed in another sequence. When the screen lit up, Miyuki laughed again.

—“
Renai Revolution 21”? Oh my God, no... we used to do this in junior high... we practiced the dance moves in the girls’ bathroom...

—
You know it? Masa asked her.

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Of course.

He handed her the second mic.

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Let’s do it together.

As they started to sing Miyuki adjusted her voice to match Masa’s, over-projecting and then rising into a higher, girlish register. There was little resemblance to the original version, but she seemed to be enjoying herself, Tatsuya thought — during the song’s bridge, she stood up and waved her arms in a style he’d long-since memorized from the music video. As she turned and smiled, he looked at her face and felt a sudden sense of dislocation. It seemed strange to him that he should be here in this room, watching her dance, listening to her voice. He looked over at Masa, who was standing again, clapping. If he felt anything similar, he didn’t show it.

The song finished. He looked up as Miyuki spoke his name.

—
You’re not going to do anything?

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No, don’t really feel like it.

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You have to do at least one, she said.

He ended up singing a few lines of “Sekai ni Hitotsu Dake No Hana” before letting Masa take over. Miyuki went to the phone and ordered more beer, then came back as the next song started.

They stayed in the room for another two hours, Tatsuya occasionally joining Masa on the mic. Their limited repertoire became clear, but Miyuki didn’t seem to care — she went on with a wide range of songs, some Tatsuya recognized, others he’d never heard. As she cycled through hip-hop, ballads, and foreign songs, he found himself listening more closely. Often a line or a melody struck him, and he tried to remember the title to download it later.