The Face of Another - Kobo Abe [57]
But for whom, in heaven’s name, should I bring things into the open? For me? For the mask? Or even for you? Perhaps I had not thought this point through. It was natural not to have thought about it. It was not these things I wanted to bring into the open, but the very concept of “face” that had driven me thus to the wall.
I had begun to feel an intolerable desolation at the great cleavage between the mask and myself. Perhaps I was already anticipating the catastrophe that was to come. The mask, as the name implied, would forever be my false face; and although my true nature could never be controlled by such a thing, once it had seen you it would fly off somewhere far beyond my control, and I could only watch it go in helpless, blank amazement. Thus, contrary to my purpose in making a mask, I had ended by recognizing the victory of the face. In order to consolidate myself into one personality, I must bring this masked play to an end by tearing off the mask.
But as I expected, the mask was not so stubborn. As soon as it perceived my determination, it retreated in haste, smiling bitterly, and I stopped my empty musings there. I inflicted no further chastisement on it. Since I was really not inclined to abandon my plans for tomorrow, however much I discouraged myself from the encounter in my fancies was I not as guilty as the mask—were we not both of the same ilk? No, of course, we were not equally guilty. There was no need to be so obsequious. At least in my plans for the next day, flashing the gun was not part of the program. The sexual element was there, to be sure, but such shamelessness was absolutely out of the question. While it might be possible with some unknown person with whom one might be riding in a streetcar, it was quite impossible to be aimlessly erotic about one’s wife.
Finally, when I passed in front of the house and peered through a crack in the fence at the living-room window, I saw several strings of bandages suspended like white kelp from the ceiling to dry. I suppose you had been washing the bandages I had been using in expectation of my return the day after tomorrow from my sham business trip. As soon as I saw this, I had the feeling that my heart, thrusting through my diaphragm, had sunk a foot or so. I was indeed in love with you. Though I was perhaps awkward about it, my love was constant. But the unhappy state of affairs was that I could affirm this love through awkwardness alone. I was like a child who cannot go on his school outing; at this point I could only be jealous of others.
EXCURSUS INSERTED ON A SEPARATE SHEET OF PAPER: This may be tedious, but I should like to attempt here once more a detailed investigation of the shameless fantasies of the mask. For I feel that concealed in the maneuvers surrounding these musings there was a significance beyond what I had perceived—to express it in detective-story terms—that the key to putting the finger on the guilty man, that is, the clue to the outcome of the whole affair, everything, was obvious.
Of course, I intend to write down the actual conclusion elsewhere. I dare say that within three days from the moment I am writing this, I shall have shown these notes to you; the three days are merely a rough estimate of the number probably necessary for getting the outcome into shape. But as it is my objective here merely to suggest the conclusion without going into details, it will be enough to include it in my final statement. I am determined that that is the best way for completing my notes. My goal, properly speaking, is something quite different. I want at least to add a correction to the general idea of the erotic—or stress the difference between the mask and myself—which I intended as a justification, but which to the contrary resulted in my being plagued by shackles. Since I have already acknowledged my guilt, there should be some margin left for justifying myself, as long as I do not distort the truth.
One day I casually accompanied the mask out, as if allowing a good child out on its own. A bright, cheerful feeling spread over me,