Ruined Map - Abe Kobo [109]
Though I was seated in a window corner, there was only a single row of seats, and from the back of the shop, where I was, to the door there were only five tables with four seats each, lined up in a row. The woman on the stool was the only employee, being both cashier and waitress. Behind the counter there was a window like the opening in a dovecote, through which orders were passed out. The window was about the size of a sheet of newspaper; the wall was of a different color. I could see the hand that passed out the orders, but I did not once set eyes on the face. The hand was soft and white, but both age and sex were unascertainable. If it was a man it would be an effeminate one, and if a woman a masculine one. But in my fancy, the owner of the hand must surely be a man, perhaps the woman’s husband or someone she lived with. Perhaps consumed with jealousy he had shut himself off behind the wall. Imagining the eyes of the customers creeping over his wife’s body, he was surely agonizing behind the wall. Perhaps there was a peephole somewhere in the wall through which he secretly observed the customers. Otherwise, there was no need for her to be perched like a bird, her legs exaggeratedly crossed, on the high, round stool which had been installed in front of the counter. When she had languidly finished taking an order from a customer, she would return at once to the stool, flicking her shoulder-length hair. The hair in front fell becomingly across her forehead. The freckles under her eyes suited her languid expression. Then she remained motionless in that strange pose, her legs crossed as if she were advertising stockings. When she sat thus, her small body, which seemed as delicate as a girl’s, suddenly became a woman’s, and yet one had the feeling she was absolutely defenseless. She was worth being jealous of. Even I, who had no relationship with her at all, could only be jealous—in spite of myself.
Of course, if I could remove the wall, things would be resolved at once. They say that people are much happier in coffee houses and restaurants if the customers can see the work procedures. Without the wall the girl’s performance would at once appear rather artificial, and depending on the man’s attitude, quite comical. Of course, the price would be high. Her worth would be reduced by half at least. On consideration, her being worth jealousy was a part of her value, and it would be a severe loss. Regardless of who was responsible for the performance on the stool the man would never give up his own place. He is compensated in his own way by locking jealousy behind the wall with its agonizing thoughts. Indeed, I would do the same thing and would continue to patronize the shop. Providing, of course, I recognized beyond any doubt that I really was a regular customer here.
The two people near the door, engaged in what appeared to be a business discussion with much gesticulating, arose. The woman, uncrossing her legs and arranging her skirt, got down from the stool. The outline of her shin seemed to be shaded with a faint light. The down on it gave the impression of shining, but she couldn’t possibly be barefoot. Yet for all of that, the hair style and the short skirt were ill-matched. Taking advantage of being the only customer, I boldly took the wallet from my inside pocket. It was square-shaped and made out of black converted cowhide; the corners were nappy and gave evidence of having seen considerable use. First I wanted to take out all the contents and line them up, but they would be much too conspicuous on the light-pink tabletop. I decided to take them one by one, starting with the money. I loosened the clasp almost noiselessly. The flap turned into a key holder with two keys, one large and one small. One was for a regular cylinder lock, but the other was of a very simple form. Each was stamped with a number, but there was no other indication on them. Unfortunately I had no recollection of their use.
The middle flap was a commutation-ticket