The Face of Another - Kobo Abe [29]
“I’m sorry. If I am disturbing you …”
“No. No.”
“But the child over there’s staring at my bandaged face. He’s quite forgotten the ice cream he was so absorbed in. Perhaps he’s thinking you’re a friend of mine.”
“Well … go get another seat!”
“Yes, I suppose I could. But before I do, I just want to ask one thing in all frankness. Would you like a hundred dollars? If you don’t, I’ll change my seat right away.”
There appeared in my companion’s expression a wretchedly opportunistic reaction, and without a moment’s delay I began to pull in my net.
“It’s not really an especially troublesome request. It’s not at all dangerous, and with little bother to you the hundred dollars are yours. What about it? Will you listen to what I have to say, or shall I change my seat?”
The man passed the tip of his tongue over his yellowed teeth, and a nerve below his eye twitched. If I classified him according to the Boulan system he would be a concave type, slightly fleshy. In short, he was the introverted, antagonistic type I had excluded. However, since I needed only the quality of the skin texture, I wasn’t interested in the type. One had to be imperious with this sort of person, but I would be careful not to hurt his feelings.
EXCURSUS: While I vigorously rejected the face as a yardstick for myself, it was quite sufficient for others. I realize it was self-centered of me, but treating him this way was a luxury from my viewpoint. People like me who lack something are liable to become spiteful critics.
“Even so …” he said, staring at the entrance to the roof, where gift balloons were being distributed to children. Turning the upper part of his body, he looped one elbow over the back of his chair, as if he could finish the business without looking at my face. “Well … let’s talk.…”
“That’s a weight off my mind. I can still move my seat, but these waitresses are so sullen. However, before I do, I’ve just one promise I’d like you to make. Since I’ll not ask you anything about you or your work, you’re not to ask about me.”
“There’s no work to ask about,” he said, “and if I don’t know anything I can save the trouble of excuses later.”
“After we’re done, I want you to forget the whole thing … that we ever even met.”
“That’s all right by me. Anyway, it doesn’t look like something I’ll want to remember.”
“I wonder. Even now, you can’t look me straight in the face. Isn’t that proof you’re disturbed? Surely you’re itching to know what’s under my bandages.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Well, then. Afraid?”
“Certainly I’m not afraid.”
“Then, why are you avoiding me like that?”
“What do you mean ‘why’? Do I have to answer these questions one by one? Or is this a part of the hundred-dollar deal?”
“You don’t have to force yourself to answer if you don’t want to. I know all the answers even if I don’t hear them. I just thought I could make the load a little lighter for you, that’s all.”
“All right. What do I have to do then?”
The man ill-humoredly stuck out his lower lip and drew from the pocket of his coat a battered package of cigarettes. All at once the muscles around his mouth began to twitch, like the underside of an insect, jerking the flesh around his thin cheeks. His expression was that of a cornered victim. But could that be? I knew from experience that a child could be thrown into considerable panic by his own fancies, but this fellow was a full-grown man. My colleagues averted their eyes from me doubtless out of the usual feeling of discomfort in front of a superior. Precisely because I knew that, I was only trying to establish a pseudo-equality at best with my hundred-dollar bait.
“Well, let’s get down to business right away.” I carefully sent out a feeler in a deliberately unpleasant manner. “The fact is … I’ve been wondering if you wouldn’t sell me your face.…”
Instead of answering, he vigorously struck a match with a grave expression.