Ryu Murakami - Piercing

‘Sign language, eh?’ Kawashima muttered. He looked the girl over, wondering why she’d invent such a ridiculous story.

She was well-groomed, at least, with nice hair and decent taste in clothing. Petite but well-proportioned. Small face, symmetrical features. Softly spoken and courteous enough. But her eyes were restless, and a little glassy. Near-sighted, maybe? It wasn’t that she avoided his gaze exactly, but that her eyes didn’t seem to stay focused on anything. As if they were disconnected from her consciousness. She might have been sitting in a room by herself, talking to a chair.

She’s scared, Kawashima suddenly realised. But what was she afraid of? And why did she need to lie? In any case, it would be best to get her immobilised as quickly as possible.

‘I’ve never tried S&M before,’ he said, ‘so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do exactly, but. . I can ask you to take off your clothes and let me tie you up, right?’

Chiaki had been relieved that his face seemed all right, but now her guard went up. For all she knew he might turn out to be the worst possible sort. What if, far from stimulating her libido, he ended up waking those memories, like the man in the overcoat? The thought frightened her. And what was with that handkerchief? He seemed manly enough otherwise — why was he holding a hanky like some old lady at a funeral?

‘It helps if we sit and talk awhile first,’ she said. ‘To break the ice? And find out, you know, what we both like and everything?’

‘Fine. What shall we talk about?’

Kawashima glanced impatiently at his watch. It was nearly seven. Considering all there would be to take care of when the ritual was over, he was eager to get things rolling as soon as possible. But he had to avoid making her uneasy or suspicious.

‘Anything, really. Tell me what you like. Or, for example, what’s the nastiest thing you’ve ever done?’

She’d have to teach the man in the cheap suit how to get her hot, and how exciting it could be for both of them if they used an elastic band down there, with just her clitoris sticking out for him to look at and lick and touch.

The nastiest thing you’ve ever done — Kawashima felt queasy just hearing the words, which immediately evoked a picture of the woman he’d stabbed with the ice pick. Beating the stuffing out of each other, to the point of exhaustion, then crying and begging each other’s forgiveness, caressing and kissing the sores and scratches and bumps and bruises as they peeled off each other’s clothes — that was the way she liked it. Sometimes, when she connected with a solid punch, he’d think: In a minute she’ll be licking that very same spot. He looked at the girl’s smooth, unwrinkled hands. He couldn’t wait to cut her Achilles tendons.

‘Have you ever watched a woman masturbate?’

Chiaki smiled as she said this, then ran her tongue over her lips. She imagined that the cheap suit had never done anything nasty outside of a strip club or ‘soapland’ or whatever. The first thing she had to do was put him in the mood. Peering steadily at his face, she shifted on the sofa, lifting the skirt of her Junko Shimada and hanging one knee over the armrest, showing him the purple panties beneath her black stockings. She touched a finger to her tongue, as if to lubricate it with saliva, then lightly stroked her inner thighs. He’s probably never seen anything like this before, she thought. I’ll get you so worked up, Mister, that juice will ooze out of your willy and stain your cheap underpants. After that, we’ll take a shower together, and I’ll teach you about the elastic band on the shower cap.

Strange shoes, thought Kawashima. Short, lace-up boots that covered the ankle bone. Black, with stiletto heels. He’d have her put them back on before he tied her up. Push forward on the heels to stretch her Achilles tendons, then press the blade of the knife down hard and slowly slice through. He wondered what would happen to the shoes then. Would they just sag forward, or would the recoil of the tendons send them flying?

The girl closed her eyes and began to moan. In those black stockings, her legs looked incredibly delicate and slender. Not much meat even on her thighs and ass, he noted. When she was done, he’d ask her in a very gentle and patient tone of voice to undress. What a lame performance, though, he thought and laughed to himself. Someone must’ve told her that johns get off on watching things like this.

Chiaki was tracing her finger along the crease in her panties when she heard the man laugh. She opened her eyes, and he was sitting there in his cheap suit, holding the handkerchief to his mouth and chuckling.

‘That’s enough,’ he said.

Humiliated, she immediately swung her leg down from the armrest, and as she did so her heel struck the coffee table with a bang, knocking over the can of Cola. Kawashima reflexively grabbed the can with his bare left hand.

‘Idiot!’ he shouted, staring bug-eyed at the can he was holding and feeling as if his temples had burst into flame. ‘Watch what you’re doing!’

Chiaki’s heart gave a hard thump and began to flutter. A pale mist blurred her field of vision. She’d been trying to arouse him but had only succeeded in making him angry. It was all her fault, and she found herself unable to fight off the eddying panic. Like lights going out one by one, words were whirling away, receding out of reach. AROUSE, MASTURBATE, SEX , then CHEAP SUIT, HUMILIATED, SIGN LANGUAGE, RESTROOM . . It was as if neon signs in the shapes of all these words were slipping off into darkness and memories were rising to take their place. This was the scariest part — the sudden anticipation of the Nightmare to come. Once the Nightmare began, of course, there wouldn’t even be anything you could recognise as fear.

My make-up, she thought. I’ve got to fix my make-up.

Kawashima didn’t know what was happening to the girl, but something was, and it was unnerving to watch. Had he made her angry by laughing at the masturbation act and then shouting at her? Her face was a blank mask, and her eyes seemed to bob freely in their sockets, focused on nothing. He was about to say something to her when she suddenly reached for the handbag at her feet, placed it on her lap, dug around inside, and extracted a tube of lipstick. She then calmly proceeded to apply it to her lips, peering into a compact she held in her left hand. So she’s not angry, he thought, feeling mildly relieved. He didn’t notice the tip of the lipstick trembling, or the resulting slightly uneven line.

She put the lipstick and compact back in her bag and stood up.

‘I’ll just take a shower,’ she said.

There was something different about her voice now too.

‘Will you let me tie you up after that?’

‘Anything you like!’ she said and giggled. Tucking the handbag under her arm she made her way to the bathroom, went inside, and shut the door behind her.

What was she doing in there? Thirty minutes had passed since the girl had painted her lips red and disappeared into the bathroom. Kawashima had carefully and repeatedly wiped the Cola can clean of any fingerprints, and all the implements necessary for the ritual were in place. He’d already put on a new pair of leather gloves and unwrapped the knife and ice pick, picturing the girl’s slender legs as he did so. Her waist would be slender too, her stomach flat. He’d bought the longest ice pick he could find — the metal part was fifteen or sixteen centimetres long — and it might just pierce all the way through her. His intention had been to tie her to the sofa, but he’d better rethink that or he wouldn’t be able to see the point of the ice pick protruding out of her back. To suspend her from the ceiling, with just the tips of her toes touching the floor, would be ideal, but it wouldn’t be possible in this room. There was nothing to attach a rope to.