The Face of Another - Kobo Abe [22]
I abandoned myself for some time to a comparative investigation of the two types. However, I had only one face mold, and it was really inconvenient to have to destroy and reconstruct it with every trial. I hit upon the idea of purchasing a polaroid camera. You snap the shutter and the film is developed on the spot. It was convenient to be able to line up the pictures for immediate comparison, and also I could keep a minute-by-minute record of production.
Yes, my heart, singing then like a cicada, for the first time experienced a feeling of the nymph emerging from the earth. I was heedless of the fact that everything might again be brought to a standstill.
ONE day, the sky was smoldering in a south wind, and the central heating, which had been left on, was stiflingly oppressive. When I looked at the calendar, February had more than half gone by. Naturally, I was disturbed. I should have liked to complete my work while the weather was still cool. As far as mobility and texture were concerned, my mask was nearly perfect, but I had not yet figured out ventilation. I would perspire; the mask would be difficult to attach—I could foresee physiologically harmful effects. Yet there were three more months of detours until I came to the opening scene of finding my hideaway at the S— Apartments.
Why in heaven’s name did I take such a roundabout way? At first blush, the work seemed to be going very smoothly. I had become so proficient as to be able to draw by heart each of the types I favored; and whenever I saw a face that belonged to one of them, I immediately analyzed its factors, going so far as to revise them in my imagination. Well, since the materials were all at hand, I might as well choose the one I liked best. But there was no question of choosing one of the two, unless I could apply some standard. No matter how much one is pressed to choose between red and white, there is no sense in choosing without knowing whether it’s to be the color of tickets or of flags. Ah, once again the blindman’s buff of standards! Indeed, is any mystery not soluble by simple footwork? Of course, my standards now have come to mean something different from what they once did. However, my irritation became all the greater as my choice grew clearer. The peaceable type had the merit of peaceableness, but the unpeaceable type had its own virtue. There was no room here for value judgment. The more I knew, the more I was interested in each type. Hard-pressed and despairing, I thought many times how much better it would be to settle the whole thing with a throw of the dice. But as long as there was even a slight metaphysical significance to the face, I could not possibly commit such an irresponsible act. From the results of my investigations alone I could not help but accept the fact, however disagreeable, that facial features had considerable relationship to the psyche and the personality.
But, as soon as I thought of the corpse of my own face covered by scar tissue, I wanted to reject all meaning for the face. Suddenly I was seized by a violent shaking, like some soaking-wet dog. What in heaven’s name were psyche and personality anyway? Had such things ever been of any help in my work at the Institute? No matter what a man’s personality, one and one are always two. So long as an individual is not engaged in a profession in which the face is the measure by which he is judged—people such as actors, diplomats, hotel and restaurant employees, private secretaries, swindlers—the personality signifies no more than the serrations of tree leaves.
I resolved to flip a coin. I tossed many times; heads and tails came out a tie.
FORTUNATELY or unfortunately, before coming to a decision on the facial type,