“I opened up the shop early today,” she continued, in the same listless voice.
“What time was that?”
“Oh, I suppose four or so.”
Suppressing my surprise, I took a step back, and a bamboo basket beside her on the floor came into view. The presence was inside it.
“Somehow I couldn’t sleep. These days it takes ages to get light in the mornings. I got bored lying there in the dark.”
So she had come in at four o’clock, opened the shutter, turned on the lights, and then busied herself quietly in the shop? And when she’d got tired of that, she’d just sat there completely motionless, staring out into the darkness?
“Has Mr Kosuga gone out?”
“You tell me. He hasn’t come into the shop yet. He’s probably still sleeping. Recently, he’s been sleeping like a log. All he ever does is sleep. I sometimes wonder whether he’ll ever wake up.”
Her tone was oddly cold. Whatever was inside the basket stirred.
“Er…” I hesitated.
Nishiko looked up. Her eyes were two shining spots. Narrow slits at first, they gradually widened, protruding, swelling. They were brimming with tears.
“That basket. What’s in it?”
Nishiko’s eyes were getting bigger and bigger. Now they seemed almost to be bursting, half out of their sockets, the pupils surrounded by white. But in the next instant, all returned to normal.
“That?” she said. “Oh, just a basket.”
Once more her eyes started to protrude. Her eyeballs seemed to have taken on a life of their own, and were expanding with speed.
“There’s a snake in there, isn’t there?”
“Want to look?” The moment she said the word “look” her eyeballs went back to normal.
The atmosphere in the shop was definitely peculiar today. Where on earth was Mr Kosuga? Was he really simply lazing lethargically about… or sleeping like a log?
Nishiko lifted the lid of the basket. Inside was a large blue-black snake, limp as if dead.
I gasped. With that, the snake raised its head and stared at me with shining eyes that resembled Nishiko’s.
Nishiko had a slight smile on her face. And then she said this to me:
“That’s right, it’s a snake. I heard you have one in your place too, Miss Sanada. That’s rather unfriendly of you, not to have told me. So, you’re a snake person too. I’m sort of relieved to know it. It makes me like you better. You know, I might seem like a mild-mannered woman, but the truth is that, when it comes to people, I have extreme likes and dislikes. I bet that surprises you, doesn’t it, Miss Sanada? To you I was simply someone who puts salt in the saucers every day, who threads together the prayer beads, and who many years ago eloped—someone who is basically irrelevant to you. You don’t like me particularly, nor dislike me. You just wanted to continue with your happy, humdrum life. But you know, when I take a liking to someone, I take a strong liking. Look at my husband: I was once madly in love with him. But he no longer loves me. He thought he liked me, perhaps loved me, changed his mind, changed his mind again, then changed his mind three more times, and now finally he finds he dislikes me. But even amid his feelings of dislike, he has a few patches of attraction. That’s what makes him so unwell. That’s why all he does is sleep.”
As Nishiko talked on in a low voice, the snake glided its way over the edge of the basket, got into her lap, then draped itself over her shoulders.
“What’s your snake like, Miss Sanada? I want to know all about it. My own snake, you know—well, she’s about to take leave of this world. How will I endure life without her? How can something die, when I love it so much? At one time I wanted to become a snake. I wish now I had taken the chance. My snake did ask me to go over. I’m sure your snake asks you to go over too. Snakes will keep asking you, again and again. But I refused each time. I guess I thought it would be unnatural. Not that I know well what natural is. So my snake must have resigned herself. Eventually, she gave up asking. I’ve lost track of how long ago that was. If I were asked now, of course I’d say yes. I’m sure it’s lovely in the snake world. All warm, with nothing to make you feel different. The kind of place you can relax into, and sleep on and on. Why haven’t you gone over, Miss Sanada? It must be so cosy and comfortable…”
Cosy and comfortable. Nishiko’s voice reminded me of that of the woman in my apartment. Her voice was utterly different in quality, but they seemed to come from the same source. After a while, I lost track of whether I was in the shop or in my apartment. Of course, in reality I knew where I was and that it was Nishiko, talking away in her tremulous voice, Nishiko, telling me her thoughts. But I longed to swallow what she was saying, swallow it whole. Maybe if I did that, I would be able to go straight over. Over to the snake world, where I could pretend I knew nothing, and just sleep on and on…
A chill ran up my spine as I realized what I was thinking.
Nishiko’s eyes were no longer distended. They were back to the shape they were normally. The snake was coiling about her body, droopingly, almost lifelessly. Soon Nishiko stopped talking, and the Kanakana-Dō returned to the way it always was. The snake’s scales were jagged and rough.
Speaking of snakes, there’s something I’ve often thought about.
It has to do with being intimate, skin-to-skin, with another person. The first time I bring my body close to another person’s, I cannot close my eyes. The person’s arms wrap around my body, my hands entwine with theirs, and together we are on the verge of feeling that we’re losing our human form. Only, I will be unable to let go of mine. I remain locked within my human body, unable, despite all efforts, to get to that point. If I could close my eyes, I would be able to sink into the other person, merge my form with theirs. But my eyes will not close.
All I can do is watch, eyes open, while the other person moves, or resists me, or submits to what I desire.
If, after the first time, we bring our bodies together a number of times, little by little my eyes will droop, the taut outer layer of my skin will start to loosen, and very slowly, it begins to happen. I reach the point when, without having to try, without even having to think about trying, I am almost there.
And then, just when I am on the cusp, I see the other person change into a snake, for an instant. The change doesn’t happen to me. It happens to the other person—whoever it is that I am skin-to-skin with. It can be a red snake, a blue snake, a grey snake—a snake of any colour.
This is how it always is. Some people I have stopped getting close to at too early a stage for them to turn into snakes. But anybody I have been with for any length of time has turned into a snake once. Why do they make the change, while I don’t? Perhaps I do turn into a snake, in fact, while they are having their snake moment. But I remember so vividly the horror I feel when I see the person I am with make their change. Surely, I would never feel like that if I had become a snake myself.
The woman in my apartment takes the form of a snake every night. And with her, I feel no horror. Was she referring to this when she teased me for “playing the innocent”? Was this what she meant when she urged me, making that shu-ru-ru-RUU sound, to stop putting on my act and come over and join her in the snake world?
Mr Kosuga was starting to look thin and pale.
One day I glanced at him from behind, opening the doors of the Buddhist family altar. It was as if I was viewing him through a ripple of hot air. I could almost see the rosewood of the door through him.
“Mr Kosuga!” I exclaimed.