The Face of Another - Kobo Abe [56]
It was jealousy. Jealousy based on imagination was something I had experienced many times, but this was different. It was such a vivid physical feeling of excitement that I could not at once define it. No, it would be doubtless much more exact to call it a peristaltic movement. Waves of numbing pain, one after another, crept at regular intervals from my feet up to my head. You will get the exact picture if you imagine the movements of a centipede’s feet. Indeed, jealousy is an animal feeling, capable even of rising to murder. There are apparently two hypotheses about jealousy: that it is a product of civilization and that it is a basic instinct of animals. I opted for the latter.
But what in heaven’s name did I have to be so jealous of? Again, it was such a stupid reason that I hesitate to write about it. It was merely that the mask might lay hands on you and you might not resist and brush his hands firmly away … colors swirled around me. How funny it was. What you would do existed only in my imagination, and since these wild ideas were merely ones my mask had cooked up at its will—how shall I put it?—I had dreamt up a cause for my jealousy by myself and I was jealous because of myself.
If I was so aware of things, I could immediately put a halt to the imaginings or order the mask to make a fresh start, but … why did I not do so? Not only did I do nothing, but, as if I had a lingering attachment for this jealousy, I egged the mask on, even tempting it. No, it was not a lingering attachment; it may indeed have been revenge. Perhaps I had fallen into a vicious circle, pouring oil on the fire, as it were, using the agony of jealousy to spur the mask to acts of violence, and then, by these acts of violence, stirring my jealousy even more. If this were so, the motive could be my own desire, lying dormant within me. These seemed to be problems I had to face squarely and resolutely, without blaming only the mask. Yes, possibly … these were imaginings I was reluctant about, but—since before I lost my face, from the time when I had planned on leading an ordinary married life—was I not already secretly fostering the sprouts of jealousy against you? I was not unaware of this. What a pathetic discovery! Even though I do realize it now, it is already too late.…
It really was too late. The mask that was supposed to mediate between us was only a shameless rogue. Of course, supposing even for the moment that it was a gentle seducer, the situation would be the same. On the contrary, there was every possibility of being afflicted with a malignant jealousy that had no safety valve. And the result would surely be a scene of violence.
At length your fright changed to orgasmic spasms, which I myself had not anticipated … No, that’s enough … granting that I was acting in opposition to ordinary, every-day behavior, even so I had strayed too far from the proper course. If this deviation were a dream, I would take care to dress it in elegant metaphors, but it was merely realistic fantasy, altogether lacking in imagination. Enough of such hackneyed expressions.
I must not camouflage the last scene with such stereotypes. In fact, it was not only the stereotypes; the very ugliness was more than ordinarily suitable for an ending; at the same time it was a turning point that inspired my next actions. Pointing my gun at you, I began to bully you into a confession. Have you been masturbating during my absence, or what?… Don’t try to conceal anything, for I know what you’ve been doing, I persisted impatiently … And gradually I coiled around you. I would soon be at the end of my endurance. The time had come to put a stop to these filthy, wild fancies. How should I attempt to bring things into the open? Suddenly I was firmly convinced that the best way, the only way, would be to take off the mask and show you my face at the very instant you tried to answer