Kenzaburo Oe - Death by Water

“The second point of contention has to do with a claim Mr. Koga’s lawyers have been making. They’re saying that up until the day when the event in question took place, I had been living in my uncle’s household in perfect harmony for nearly three years, and they’re claiming what happened was the natural extension of what they euphemistically call the ‘friendly feelings’ that existed between my uncle and me. To put it another way, they’re alleging that there was a mutually acknowledged foundation in place, which led to full-fledged sexual activity as part of a normal, voluntary progression. They’ve also been emphasizing the fact that I was already seventeen years old, even though technically eighteen is the age of consent in the prefecture where the events took place.”

“Well,” Unaiko’s uncle said smoothly, “the truth is, we had both been enjoying what you called ‘mutual masturbation’—and I must say you seemed to get quite a kick out of using the grown-up term — for quite some time, and it was completely consensual. And then we somehow got into the habit of using our hands to bring each other to, um, culmination at the end of those sessions, because prolonging the, um, pleasure for too long somehow seemed (and again, this was your choice of words) ‘over the top.’”

“That’s all very well and good,” Unaiko said, “but the fact is that at no point was I ever aware that we were having sex, per se.”

“I’ll grant you that,” her uncle said. “But on the day in question, it was really just a matter of accidentally wandering off the usual path in the heat of the moment, wasn’t it?”

“Accidentally wandering off the usual path?” Unaiko echoed incredulously. “So, Uncle, are you saying what you did to me that day was some small, insignificant misstep on your part and no big deal at all?”

“Look, we can stay here arguing about semantics until the cows come home, but if you could only see your way clear to accepting our proposal for resolving the situation, I think we should be able to overcome the second problem as well,” Mr. Koga replied smoothly. (He appeared to feel that being addressed as “Uncle” was an encouraging sign.) “Let’s face it, we both enjoyed what we were doing, and truth be told we had the kind of easygoing relationship where we could use a term like ‘mutual masturbation’ in complete awareness of its absurdity. Isn’t that a fact? Then suddenly, out of the blue, I get dragged into a situation where you’re proposing to go public with our old secrets, using your radical underground theater tactics to make me look like some kind of villainous deviant or something.

“I must say, I was speechless when I heard that if I hadn’t agreed to participate in this dramatic contrivance of yours, someone was being prepped to play my role as a stand-in. The actor would have had a placard hanging around his neck bearing my full name and listing the various medals and awards I’ve received for service to the nation. I really have to ask: Why do you suddenly feel the need to drag me through the mud after all this time?”

“The thing is, there’s a fundamental question I’ve been thinking about continuously during the eighteen years since we last met,” Unaiko replied slowly. “So how would it be if we did a sort of table read of the relevant pages in my script right now to get some closure? There’s a big storm raging outside, so even if we end up shouting at each other nobody will be able to hear a word we say.”

Unaiko’s tone was even, but her eyes flashed with angry defiance. She sat up straighter in her chair, and it was clear to everyone in the room that she had thrown down a gauntlet. Mr. Koga got to his feet looking visibly shaken. I realized much later, in retrospect, that he must have been in the throes of a complex conspiracy of emotions: panic over the peril to his precious reputation, shock at the depth of his niece’s resentment, and a burgeoning resurgence of the old feelings of illicit desire — although apparently, in his advanced state of self-righteous denial, there wasn’t even a trace of guilt.

“Well, Daio, it looks like we’re back to square one. This has been a colossal waste of time,” Koga said briskly. “Apparently this young person here hasn’t been listening to a word I’ve said, and this so-called discussion has been an exercise in futility. In any case, I need to take a break; I was supposed to call my wife and one of my attorneys more than an hour ago.”

As he spoke Mr. Koga was already striding away, with his two henchmen close behind.

(I remembered then that his wife had described him as a doddering old buffoon, but on this night he didn’t seem to have lost any of his forcefulness or mental acuity.) Daio gave me the most minimal of nods, then followed the others outside into the slashing rain and the buffeting wind.

I was left alone with Unaiko. The two lookouts were still stationed outside the door at the front of the office, which had been left ajar, and I could see the backs of their white shirts flashing as they paced back and forth in the darkness. Unaiko turned her face to me: that uncommonly open face, which somehow looked simultaneously weary and agitated.

“I am so terribly sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you, Mr. Choko,” she said earnestly.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about our options,” I replied. “I’m always doing rewrites on my novels, and for stage performance, too, it seems to take a while for the various elements to shake out and settle down, rather than having the script set in stone from the beginning. So I’ve been thinking we could try applying that methodology, in accordance with Mr. Koga’s request. In the part of the script where you and your colleagues integrated the improvised lines that would have been spoken by him, or by his stand-in, perhaps I could go ahead and take a stab at making the changes you feel you can live with, at least.”

“I think there are always going to be some things I’ll find very difficult to live with,” Unaiko said. “However, because the school administrators are such sticklers about keeping within the allotted time, you’ve already had to make any number of minor adjustments to the script we’re going to use for the performance tomorrow night. Because the version Ricchan and I drafted was based on your screenplay, by the time we added everything we wanted to say ourselves the script was much too long. So then we had to start hacking away at it and somehow, with your help, we got it close to a literary style that seemed to echo the cadences of a call to battle, so that worked out all right. Before the screening at the Saya, I watched the DVD of Meisuke’s Mother Marches Off to War and I was struck by the way Sakura spoke, as her character’s departed spirit, from beyond the grave. Of course, we’ve been talking a lot about mediums and channeling lately.

“Anyway, while I was sitting here earlier, talking to my uncle, I had an epiphany. I realized that what I’m trying to do with this play is to act as a sort of time-traveling medium, channeling the wounded spirit of my seventeen-year-old self. And I think my uncle must have come to the same realization at the same time, which is why he was so freaked out just now. Maybe he could sense the presence of the spirit of that seventeen-year-old girl suddenly reappearing in the present day and speaking through the medium of a thirty-five-year-old actress. I have a funny feeling my uncle might come to visit me later tonight to have a private encounter with the spirit — that is to say, the living ghost of my seventeen-year-old self!”

Just then, Daio reentered the room. His khaki work jacket was soaked through and water was dripping from the hat he wore. Even after he had shed his wet things and tossed them onto the sofa, he still gave off a strong aroma of rain.