Кобо Абэ - The Ark Sakura

“If you say so. But I wish you’d put a screen around it, anyway,” said the shill. Moving on ahead, he laid a hand on the banister of the steps leading up to the bridge.

“Watch out!” I yelled, pulling away from the woman’s arm. I grabbed the shill’s shirt and hauled him back. “Please don’t go anywhere or touch anything without first checking with me. I told you there are booby traps everyplace.”

As I spoke, skyrockets went off at the top of the stairs, exploding as they hit the floor, and sending out a cloud of orange smoke.

“What in hell was that?” The shill’s voice was shrill and unnerved. The woman made a sound like a whistling teakettle.

“I’d say you’ve gone a little overboard.” The insect dealer spoke slowly and decisively. “That’s going too far. Sheer paranoia.” He signaled me with his eyes all the while he spoke. I couldn’t get what he had in mind, but he was apparently seeking some sort of carte blanche.

“Relax. Registered crew members will be informed of all booby traps aboard the ship. If necessary, I can turn off the power as a safety precaution.”

I turned around, intending to offer the woman my shoulder again — only to find that the insect dealer had swiftly stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her. She was compliant, showing no signs of resisting. The shill looked away with a faint smile. That was a dirty trick. But I was the only one who had the right to put a compress on her ankle.

8

THE WATERY TASTE OF DISAPPOINTMENT

GROWS AS FAMILIAR

AS A PAIR OF OLD SHOES

It was a steep stone staircase, six and a half feet wide, with twenty-three steps in all. The banister was a square-cut log of cryptomeria. At the top, on the right, was a stone pillar some thirty inches square, and in the back a parapet twenty inches high. The bridge (also known as the forward observation deck — my quarters) formed an elongated diamond some 235 square feet in area. The walls were open, balcony style. Living here alone with my imaginary crew, I had taken pleasure in the uninterrupted view, and in the sense of spaciousness (besides, I had foolproof measures in place to guard against surprise attack). But community life, it now struck me, would necessitate the acquisition of heavy curtains.

I led the way, followed by the girl on the insect dealer’s arm, with the shill bringing up the rear.

“What a mess!” exclaimed the insect dealer, his voice an unconvincing shriek of dismay. “A junkman’s backyard has nothing on this.”

He needn’t have said anything; I was quite aware of the room’s shocking state. I had not planned on bringing anyone here for some time yet, and so everything was in the same topsy-turvy order as my own brain cells, scarcely fit to withstand the cold scrutiny of outsiders. I gnashed my teeth to think that if only I had known they were coming, I could have straightened things up and made the place more presentable. Both the TV and the stereo were fairly new models, but the effect this might have had was lost.

“Considering how messy things are, though,” I said defensively, “you’ll notice there’s very little dust. The square box at the head of the stairs is a dust-collecting machine that I invented. It works pretty well.”

“That you invented, you say?” the shill said mockingly, looking from me to the box and back again. It was a plastic box approximately twenty by twenty by eight inches; a fluffy covering of dust made it appear to be wrapped in old felt.

“Instead of an ordinary filter system, I used the adsorption power of static electricity.”

“Oh, yeah?” The shill’s voice picked up with interest. Perhaps he was a more reasonable fellow than I had given him credit for being. “A dust remover using static electricity? That’s a new one on me.”

“It is new; I thought it up.”

“It makes good sense, theoretically.” He squatted down in front of the machine, while I ran over to the chaise longue shoved against the wall and swept off a motley pile of old newspapers and magazines to make room for the girl.

“Never mind that. Get a load of this room, will you?” The insect dealer groaned, his teeth clenched, as he kicked three bananas and a bag of peanuts under the table. “Looks like a cross between a pawnshop and a den of thieves.”

Supported by the insect dealer, the girl sat down on the chaise longue, holding one leg straight out before her. Still with his arm around her, the insect dealer sat down too, snuggling close against her. He bounced playfully on the old springs, then gave his own face a slap and muttered, “Shame on you. Behave yourself.”

The shill, still squatting in front of the dust collector, paid no attention. “Is all this stuff on top dust?” he asked. “Pretty clever. You know something? You’re a lot brainier than you look.”

I took no offense. “Well, after all, it’s not as if your brain gets fat.”

“It’s making a noise. Is something rotating inside?”

“To ensure uniform contact with the air, I have it set to rotate five times a minute, while the wool and nylon brushes inside turn in the opposite direction at ten times that speed. The friction creates static electricity. I set it right at the point where air currents intersect. Seems to work all right, as far as I can tell.”

“I suppose you’ve already applied for a patent.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“No ambition?” He wiped the corner of his mouth dry with the palm of his hand. “Don’t throw away your talents. Remember that sale at the department store today? An item like this could have gone over big. Right, Komono?”

“Yes, sir — the captain here is a great man, all right.”

His answer came too readily. His glasses had fogged over, obscuring his expression, but he obviously had no real interest in the dust collector. Was this some sort of dodge, to put the shill off guard? People lacking in curiosity are said to be unfeeling. Had his original air of introspection been a deliberate act, just a way of getting himself aboard the ship? It wouldn’t do to expect a lot of him as my bodyguard, and wind up paying for it in the end. Meanwhile, a few amendments seemed in order on my impressions of the shill. Generally, it’s money and material goods that win society’s respect, while intangible assets like inventiveness and resourcefulness get short shrift. After all the interest I’d shown in his eupcaccia, the insect dealer went on treating me like some kind of kook.

Come to think of it, the rest of the eupcaccias were still out in the jeep. I’d have to remember to bring them in later.

The girl began swaying, probably from the effort of holding her leg up in midair. The insect dealer made a move to get up, planning evidently to go over and support her leg himself. He was mistaken if he thought I was going to let such a prize go to him. I planted myself in front of him, blocking his way at close range. One or the other of us would have to step aside.

“Relax, relax — I wouldn’t do anything to offend you.” He gave my shoulder a light pat and moved aside. Then, heading toward the back of the room, he walked by the five steel lockers next to the chaise longue, snapping a finger against each one in turn. He stopped in front of two bookcases that intersected at an angle of 120 degrees and looked back at me. Avoiding his eyes, I knelt in front of the girl, a little to one side.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Naturally.”

She clasped her hands under her knee and pulled her arms back, lifting her leg so that her artificial leather skirt peeled back to the top of the thigh. Fine soft hair covered flesh even rounder and richer than I had imagined. I pulled out a first-aid kit from underneath the chaise longue. The room might look chaotic, but it had a certain orderliness of its own: things were strewn in concentric circles around the chaise longue in order of usefulness, distance being in inverse proportion to necessity or frequency of use.