Izumi Suzuki - Terminal Boredom - Stories

‘Oh, come on, it’s kind of funny.’

‘No, it’s not.’

Neither of us spoke for a while. I stood by the wall, staring at my slippered feet.

‘I’m sorry to say I’m not all that hard of hearing,’ Grandma finally said. ‘I heard a strange little bird this morning, and it took my granddaughter away with it.’

She must know everything.

‘Asako’s different, but you’re just like your mother. You’d best let that go, though. That man isn’t there anymore, anyway.’

Recalling something Hiro had said to me, I was overcome with tears.

This is what he said: ‘Humans are animals, we pair up to mate. And two women can’t do that, it’s gotta be a man and a woman. You and me, for instance, the two of us , living out our lives together. Relying on each other. I think my mother was happy. And my father too, of course.’

‘What did Mother do?’

I asked my grandma the one question I was never supposed to ask. I had never put it into words before. I was sure that the answer was somehow connected to what Hiro had said.

‘The same thing you did, more or less. And because of that, my daughter was taken from me. That time I accepted it because it was what she wanted, and I even helped her, but not this time. Not with you, not at this age. You’re safe now, though. I took care of it. I expect that man is already in the Terminal Occupancy Zone by now. Your sister doesn’t know anything about it, though, and she doesn’t need to, so keep it to yourself.’

I nodded.

‘Alright then, I’ll show you something neat. Open up that box on the right-hand side of the wardrobe and look inside. Dammit, can’t even listen to records in the open anymore.’

Grandma closed the window and put on a record. It was totally unexpected; I’d had no idea we had such a luxury item as a record player in our house.

We sat there until eight, listening to the Rolling Stones and the Blues Project and the Golden Cups.

‘What is it, anyway?’ I asked, thinking about everything that had happened.

‘An adolescent fantasy. But it’s over now,’ my grandma answered in a condescending tone.

When I returned to my room, I noticed that my anguish was almost entirely gone. Women and women. Just as it should be. But now that I’ve learned about that thing, I know I’ll think of it often. For the next ten years. Twenty even. Poor Hiro, though, locked up in the GETO, rendered apathetic and feeble-minded – he might very well forget. I took out my diary. I didn’t care anymore, I would write the truth about what had happened that day.

And yet… I put the pen down again before I was done. Now that I know about that thing , how can I ever be happy? To doubt this world is a crime. Everyone but everyone believes implicitly in this world, in this reality. I and I alone (well, probably not) know the great secret of this existence, and I’ll have to live out the rest of my life keeping it at all costs.

Right now, I have no intention of sacrificing my life for some underground resistance movement. But who knows, it might come to that someday.

Shuddering, I turned back to my diary.

Someday, surely someday… something will happen. Still shuddering, I finished the entry.

My eyes met hers through the glass. She was sitting against the wall, gaze fixed on the front window for who knows how long, waiting. Even when she saw me, she didn’t so much as a wave. She just kept staring, expression rigid.

I walked through the door and put on a kind smile, no real meaning behind it.

‘Why the stiff face?’ I asked.

I was a little surprised every time I saw her. She was never as grotesque as I remembered. She probably weighed around sixty-five kilos. Her face wasn’t anything to write home about, but she wasn’t exactly repulsive either. She looked older than her age, but only because she didn’t take good care of her skin. I can’t really explain it, but she was perfectly ugly to my mind, probably because there was literally nothing about her that rewarded the eye. I was pretty sure I’d never met anyone so mediocre, so utterly forgettable.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Well…’

She’d always been on the pale side, but she was looking more ghostly than usual. There was something feverish in her almost-motionless eyes.

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ she said, toying with her straw.

‘So you said.’

I ordered a cup of coffee. Across the table, she was studying the back of her own hands. They looked red and swollen. She was taking her sweet time, and the drawn-out silence wasn’t doing anything for me.

‘Come on. Spit it ou—’

‘I don’t know if I can…’

She was still staring at her hands.

‘Fine, forget it.’

Just get to the point already.

‘But I…’

What the hell was she going to say? I bit my nails. I was pretty sure she wasn’t stalling on purpose. She wasn’t the type to take pleasure in making you squirm. She’s actually a good soul if you ask me. She’d never given me any reason to look down on her – not that that ever stopped me. We probably had no business being friends in the first place. Not because we didn’t vibe or anything. On the contrary, we really did – so much that I had to wonder if she wasn’t the embodiment of my unconscious.

She lifted her face slowly, then stiffly asked, ‘We’re good friends, aren’t we?’

‘’Course we are.’

I answered without thinking. For me, a conversation’s just a series of reactions, reflex responses. I’ve got a habit of saying whatever the other person wants to hear. I’m a real people-pleaser. I know it’s probably not a good thing, but I accept myself – devil-may-care attitude and all.

‘We’ve known each other for nearly ten years.’

She wanted reassurance.

‘Sure, ever since we were kids.’

Good or not, I didn’t have any other friends. Ever since I was little, I’d had a hard time getting along with others. That’s why they sent (well, send ) me to the Medical Success Centre. It’s still hard for me to hold down a job. I do what I can to help Mum at home. Mum’s no slouch when it comes to show costumes — designing them, making them. With age, I guess she’s kind of lost her edge and orders have dropped off a little, but…

My coffee came. She kept a sticky eye on the back of our waitress until she was out of sight, then turned to look out the window for a solid five seconds. I guessed she was working up to say… whatever she had to say. I assumed she’d fallen for some guy who didn’t even know she existed. I took a swig of my coffee and it burned my throat. I pulled out my handkerchief and held it to my mouth. She took a slow look around the room and pushed the button at the edge of the table. A see-through capsule popped up to cover us. No one could hear us now.

‘What do you think of the Population Department?’ she finally asked.

‘Where’d that come from? What do you want me to say?’

‘Well, you know…’

‘I mean,’ I said cautiously, ‘nothing’s gonna change, right?’

‘But haven’t you ever thought about… our dignity as human beings?’

‘Nope, not once,’ I said, trying to end this before it could start, but she wasn’t having it.

Looking up at me, she said in a low voice, ‘It’s unforgivable, what they’re doing.’

The last thing I wanted was to get dragged into some totally pointless debate, so – irresponsibly – I just told her what she wanted to hear.

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’

‘But we have to do something, anything. We should protest, get them to change the law…’

‘Ya think?’