Кобо Абэ - The Ark Sakura

These people were obviously genuine amateurs, just as advertised. Their offerings roused one’s curiosity, but ultimately left one disappointed. All I could discern around me was out-and-out greed, and total lack of concern for psychology. Personally, I didn’t mind a little wool over my eyes as long as the result was sufficiently entertaining. That was where the eupcaccia shone: now there was the unmistakable touch of the professional.

A man appeared in the corner of the aisle and stopped lightly, birdlike. In the heat, as sultry as a noodle-shop kitchen, he cut a conspicuous figure in his suit coat. Even without seeing the badge on his lapel, I knew instantly that this was the same security guard who had falsely accused me over at the rest area. Had he come to stir up some new storm? I didn’t want to be hassled. With the stall cleared of merchandise, he might well stop to ask questions. I took out the remaining two tickets and placed them side by side on the counter. The plain wood surface of the counter, not one meter long, looked immeasurably vast. No reason to quail, I told myself; those cases held something of far more value than ten thousand stalls. The guard walked by without a flicker of expression. The edge of his glance swept over the counter in front of me. Sweat was dripping from the point of his chin, I noticed; I too poured rivers of sweat.

What was keeping the insect dealer? This was taking too long. Did the man have kidney stones?

A young couple stopped at the counter. The man had a crew cut, and he wore black trousers with a white, open-collared shirt. Fastened around his fat, sausagelike neck was a gold necklace. The woman’s hair was mussed, as if she’d just gone through it with her fingers; she had on purplish lipstick and a T-shirt printed with a loud Hawaiian beach scene. They had come to the wrong place. I was only putting on an act; I had nothing to sell. I started to say so, when it hit me — this was her. There could be no doubt about it: she was one of the two other people who had bought, or pretended to buy, a eupcaccia. The hair and makeup and clothes were all different, but there was no mistaking who she was. Even the insect dealer had mentioned what “class” she had, and indeed she had a striking way about her that no disguise could conceal for long.

About the man I was less sure. Was he or was he not the same person? That long hair before could have been a wig — if she wears disguises, then so does he, I told myself — but still, something didn’t connect. Perhaps offensive people leave a more superficial impression. Unfortunately, he looked ten years younger than the one before, which made him a good match for her.

“Where’s the bug man?” The man slid his fingers over the counter as if testing for dust. Uncertain how to respond, I stammered, “Uh, probably the men’s room.”

“Is he closing up, or just switching merchandise?” His fingers drummed as if hitting a telegraph key. His voice was raspy and monotonous. I knew I was under no obligation to answer, yet I did.

“Closing up. He’s given up on selling the things.”

“Why?” Wonderingly, the girl tilted her head on its slender neck. She reached casually for a ticket. “They were such cute little bugs.”

Had it been the man, I would have reacted differently. But the girl’s fingers were transparent, as if she had no bones. There seemed little enough chance that the ticket was in any danger.

“Great,” said the man. “We’re here to collect some money. Can you pay us?”

“I’m afraid business was pretty bad.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t.” He raised his voice, as if his professional pride had been wounded. “I saw it with my own eyes. They were selling, all right.”

The girl nodded her head rapidly in agreement. Her look was intense. It seemed possible to interpret her reaction as a sincere defense of the eupcaccia — but that was ridiculous. She was a sakura, a shill; she couldn’t be serious. It had to be an act, I knew, and yet I couldn’t suppress a rush of affection. Rather like a cat-hater who finds a kitten purring and rubbing his legs. Without thinking, I indulged in a bit of small talk, thus inadvertently handing them a pretext to stay.

“Don’t you remember me?” I said, burying my chin in the folds of my neck, prickly with heat rash, to emphasize my bulk. “I remember you.”

“I remember you too,” said the girl, bringing her hands together. Her eyes sparkled. “You’re the one who bought the eupcaccia right after us, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. That was it; that was the only one he sold.”

“What do you mean?” said the man. “We bought one too, didn’t we? That makes at least two.”

“You can stop pretending. I know everything.”

“Like what?”

“Like what you two do for a living.”

They looked at each other and laughed nonchalantly. Consternation was apparent beneath the laughter.

“What’s your relationship to him?” the man asked.

“None. I just took a fancy to the eupcaccia, that’s all.”

“Funny. Why would he go and leave the store with a total stranger?”

“Nature called.”

The girl held the ticket case to her ear and shook it. “Say, what do you suppose this is?” Her voice was clear and a bit high, with a suggestion of strain. Was she flustered at having been found out?

“Any bug that thin and flat could only be made out of paper.” His voice was raspy and heavily ironic. He rotated his right shoulder and cracked his knuckles. “These days they have to have horns, or the kids won’t buy them.”

“Eupcaccias don’t have horns,” I said.

“That’s the whole trouble with them.”

“It’s something hard,” she said. “Metallic.”

Swiftly the man reached out for the remaining case. Over my dead body. I snatched it up and pocketed it.

“Is that nice?” he demanded.

“It’s not for sale.”

“You don’t mind if I look inside, do you?” The girl glanced up at me inquiringly.

“Go on and open it if you want. It’s a free country.” The man’s tone was brusque.

She shook the contents out onto the counter. The ornamental brass key fell out with a clatter, while the thin plastic card started to fly away, caught in a puff of wind. The man slammed it down in the nick of time, as if swatting a fly; he shook off my arm, which had shot out simultaneously, and backed off with a mischievous smile. He seemed bent on playing games.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A boat ticket. A ‘Ticket to Survival,’ no less. What do you know. Looking for people to sign on?”

Bouncing the key on her palm, the girl peered at the card in her companion’s hand. “There’s a map on the back.”

Where was the insect dealer? No matter how crowded the lavatory might have been, he was taking his sweet time. It had been a good five minutes now. Wasn’t he ever coming back? Had he taken such a dislike to me that he was willing to sacrifice both his suitcase and his wristwatch for the chance to escape? The irony was that these two seemed more interested than he had been. Maybe it was all for the best. It wasn’t sour grapes; there was just no reason it had to be the insect dealer and no one else. I studied the girl, first by herself, then comparing her with her companion. Had she been alone, I would have welcomed this turn of events unconditionally.

“Pardon me for asking, but what exactly are you two to each other?” I said. “Are you business partners, or what?” It was indeed a strange question. Hearing myself ask it, I wanted to stop up my ears. The man’s smile faded, and he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I know. We’re a funny pair, aren’t we? People are always asking us that. Every time they do, I think of the saying ‘Catch big fish with little ones.’ ”