The Face of Another - Kobo Abe [36]
Of course, one couldn’t say I was ideal as a stand-in, although I had long lived with you. At least I had been living with you in a self-absorbed way. I did not think you would be particular about men’s faces. But did it matter? Why at this point should I have to act the pimp? Isn’t it the normal form of marriage that from the very beginning one should be unconcerned with one’s wife’s tastes in other men’s faces, if not in food? The moment a man and a woman decide to get married, both of them should put aside such doubts and concerns. If they can’t agree, it is best not to opt for trouble from the very beginning.
Taking care not to be noticed, I came up softly behind you; I caught the unexpected smell of asphalt streets just after rain. Perhaps it was the fragrance of your hair. When you turned to look, you sniffled, wrinkling your nose as if you had caught a cold, and then, as if to dispel my misapprehension, you looked back at me with a clear, penetrating gaze, which seemed painted on. With transparent nonexpression, like rays of sunlight filtering through a forest swept with the cold winds of winter.…
It was then it happened. A strange impulse possessed me. Was it jealousy? Perhaps it was. Something prickly, like a pokeweed seed, swelled within me to the size of a hedgehog. Then suddenly the basis of facial expression—that errant child of mine—of which I had lost all trace, was standing by my side. It was unexpectedly sudden. So sudden that I could not grasp just how quickly it had happened. But I do not think I was so very surprised. I felt it illogical not to have realized sooner that this was the only solution.
But before anything else, I shall tell you the conclusion. My mask would be the fourth type according to Boulan’s system of classification, that is, the “aggressive, extroverted type”—a sharp face centering around the nose; in terms of Jungian psychology, a strong face, showing ability to act.
I had the feeling of being duped; it was too simple. But on consideration, there was nothing particularly unexplainable. Even with the transformation of a chrysalis, the pupa makes preparation in its own way. Suddenly the face had been forcibly shifted from what I myself would choose to what would be chosen for me; yet I could do nothing but continue looking at you intently, just as, in the dark, one sees only darkness whether one keeps his eyes open or shut, looks right or left. My pride was hurt. I was humiliated, irritated, and impatient that at this point I should have to search for you, but though I was weary of thinking about all this, I could not take my eyes from you for a single instant.
I wanted to get close to you, and at the same time to stay away from you. I wanted to know you, and at the same time I resisted that knowing. I wanted to look at you and at the same time felt ashamed to look. My state of suspension was such that the crevice between us grew deeper and deeper, and holding the broken glass together with my two hands, I barely preserved its form.
And I realized it very well. To say that you were a victim bound and chained to me, who fundamentally had no power over you, was a pack of lies I had made up for my own purposes. You faced this fate unflinchingly of your own volition. Wasn’t the brilliance of your smile more effectively used on yourself? If you felt like it you could desert me at any time. I wondered if I could make you understand just how dreadful that would be. Although you had a thousand expressions, I did not even have a single one. When I thought of the living flesh and organs under your dress, having their own temperature, their own elasticity, I seriously