Fuminori Nakamura - Last Winter We Parted

The man is filming the encounter with a hidden camera. The woman is unaware .

The man pulls away, flips the woman onto all fours, and enters her from behind. No passive participant, the woman is still moving her hips like an insect in heat. The white sheets are soaked from the wetness seeping from between her legs. The man pulls out of her and even more fluid that has accumulated inside her gushes out. He looks at the camera once — as if he wants to make sure it caught the flow of her wetness on film — and then puts his sex back inside the woman. He thrusts his hips briskly. She is moving her own hips carelessly, as if nothing seems to matter .

The man is not wearing a condom. He is about to come inside the woman. It is as if he insists on pumping every last drop deep into her. The woman’s body quivers as she takes it within her. She is slender, but her body brims with sensuality, suggesting she has slept with many men. The woman moves to kiss the man, and he tries to take the towel from her face. The picture abruptly ends there .

Essay Composition (10 years old)

I don’t have a mother or father. That’s why I can’t write anything about my parents. I have an older sister, but if I write about her, the teacher will tell me that I’m wrong, so instead I’ll write about the director at the institution. The director always tells us he is our parent. But that sounds bad, and sometimes, I think it is bad.

This one time, we were at Okawa Park, and I saw a father and a mother and a girl, they were walking. I’d seen things like that lots of times before. But this time was weird. This time, I thought, I could be that girl. I thought that was weird. If I were that girl, and somebody called me a fake, I would probably get mad.

The girl was holding hands and walking with her mother and father. She was smiling and wearing nice shoes. I thought I remembered that I had made that girl cry once, but really what happened was, she called me a fake. That’s why I thought she was lucky to be a girl, because she was the real thing. Other girls were passing by me, and the sun was really bright, and it was like there were traces of green everywhere catching my eye. My eyes started to hurt, and I thought, my eyes really hurt. It was like there were cracks — cracks in the telephone pole, cracks in the street, cracks everywhere. The cracks were getting bigger and bigger, and I got scared, so I tried to close my eyes, but I couldn’t, not at all. I felt like I was in the wrong place, and when I felt like that, my heart was pounding. I tried to look at the girls again. But with the traces of green and all the cracks everywhere, I couldn’t really see. It felt like the cracks were all around me, and then I couldn’t breath, so I tried to run, far away, so I could escape.

My friend Katani has video games, and I think he’s lucky. I don’t know if I’d rather be him or that girl. I wish my friends thought I was lucky.

When I told the director about this, he tried to cheer me up. The director is nice. He takes good care of me. He gave me money on New Year’s. I was happy. But I didn’t get as much as everyone else, so that made me a little sad. But I was still happy.

All of a sudden you want to call off the interview with me? Don’t you think that’s a little one-sided?

You came to see me . You said you were writing a book about me. To quit now is too irresponsible. I’m utterly baffled, to get this letter out of the blue. There was another person who wanted to write a book about me too (I’m sorry for not mentioning this; if you had come to see me again, I would have told you about it) but his letters suddenly stopped. I never met the guy, only got his letters, so I was feeling more inclined to trust you. Besides, my sister liked you. So what’s this all about? I want you to explain it to me. Stop upsetting me like this.

You know, I’m trying to get them to go ahead and execute me. But, sometimes, I waver about it. When I hear the word “execution,” I think, the sooner the better. I’ve got too much time. Meanwhile, there are nights when I tremble. Even though I try to keep my fear in check, I can’t help it — there are times when I get scared. Of course it’s my own fault. But what scares me are the things I can’t do anything about. Lately I’ve had terrible hallucinations. There’s somebody who’s trying to attack me. This is the only thing I can’t bear. How could someone attack me when I’m in prison? Not even my sister can save me. My sister loves me but, at the same time, she quietly hates me. I can tell. You’re the only hope I have left.

Should I tell you about it? You may think I’m a coward, but maybe I should tell you about it. All right, but read carefully. I’m not writing this to you because I don’t want to be executed. I’ll say it again. I’m not writing this because I don’t want to be executed. It’s not because I’m struggling. But, if you still have any interest in my case, would you consider contacting the media? That lawyer doesn’t believe what I tell him. His entire strategy is built on me being mentally unstable. That was part of the scheme. To make me lose my mind … Everyone is watching me. No, that’s not right. What I mean is that everyone is listening in on me, to hear what I’m doing. They’re using the concrete walls and the iron doors like an eardrum. That’s why, even when writing this letter, I’m doing so very quietly. I can’t have them knowing what kind of letter I’m writing by the sounds I’m making. Clever, aren’t I? I know what I’m doing.

From now on, I’ve got to write even more quietly. Without making a sound … All right, listen closely.

Those two murders were not my fault. The women are to blame .

Do you remember the first time we met? Remember what I said? That to me it felt like we were sitting in a cramped little room, talking face to face. Now, you and I find ourselves in that same situation again. I’m clinging to you desperately now. Do you know the story about the freelance writer who lost his mind because the condemned criminal who didn’t want to die was counting on him? I am now burdening you with this. I’m not going to let you get away. There’s no way I will let you escape!

About the first incident, Akiko Yoshimoto. She was beautiful. I thought I would help her, since she couldn’t see. A little before I met her, I had seen a movie that was just like that. I took photographs of her to try to get close to her. So many photographs … But it didn’t work. No matter how many photos I took, I was unable to capture a more beautiful version of her.

I thought it was the fault of the model. At that time, there were those who said I was in a slump, but that was definitely not the case. I knew I had the ability, and as long as I had a good model, I could take good photographs. I made her sit in that chair forever, and because she’d try to get away, I’d tie her legs with rope and take more photographs. She grew thin. But I had no choice. I wasn’t eating myself. Don’t you think it would have been strange for her to eat, so long as I wasn’t eating? And the image of her in my mind required her to be thin for the photographs. I didn’t think there was any need for me to feel bad about her not eating since I wasn’t eating either.