The Face of Another - Kobo Abe [98]
All right, I too would give just one more chance to my mask, which fortunately had continued in existence. I would rescue all my past efforts from the void by breaking the present situation with some act—anything. Fortunately, my change of clothes and the air pistol were as I had left them. I unwrapped the bandages and put on the mask. There was an instantaneous change in my psychological make-up. For example, I did not even feel the forty years of my face. Looking into the mirror, I felt a certain nostalgia, as if I were meeting an old friend. The unique intoxication and self-confidence of the mask which I had quite forgotten began to be recharged with a hum. Let’s not jump to hasty conclusions. The mask might not be absolutely right, but it was not completely wrong. In any situation the right solution isn’t the only one.
Eagerly, as if protected by armor, I went out into the night streets. As I had expected, there was no one abroad at such an hour, and the sky lowered over the roof tops like a sick dog. A humid wind pierced my throat, and the feel of rain was in the air. I opened the directory in a nearby telephone booth, thinking of looking up two or three places where you might have taken refuge. Your parents’ house, a schoolmate’s, a cousin’s.
But none of these produced any results. I could make nothing of the terribly vague answers I got, which I could believe or doubt as I liked. Since I had anticipated this situation to some extent, I was not altogether disheartened. Wouldn’t it be better to go out and find you myself? There was still a little time before the last train, and if time were short I could get to the station fast by taxi.
Gradually anger welled up within me. I could understand your vexation, but after all wasn’t it merely a question of your pride and your pretense of being humiliated at having been forced to associate with a clown? I did not intend to treat your pride as unimportant, but I could not help but wonder if it was exacerbated enough to make you break off all relations as you had done. I should like to ask you: when the boy kissed his sister in the film, what side did he kiss her on? You probably could not answer. For you did not cooperate with me as much as the boy did with his sister. Even though you recognized the necessity of the mask, it was only a domesticated mask that would never transgress the taboo. So, this time, you had better be careful. The mask that descends on you this time will be a wild animal. Since you have seen through it already, the mask will concentrate on its lawlessness, unweakened and unblinded by jealousy. You have dug your own grave by yourself. I have never had the experience of having anything in writing produce such results as these notes did.
Suddenly I heard the sharp clicking of a woman’s heels. Only the mask remained; I had vanished. Instantaneously and without thinking, I concealed myself in a lane directly at hand, and releasing the safety catch of my pistol, I held my breath. What was I doing this for? Was it only play acting to test myself, or was I plotting something in earnest? I probably will not be able to answer the question myself until the final, decisive instant, until the woman comes into my range of attack.
But think a minute. I wonder if I shall become a swan with an act like this. Can I make people feel guilty for me? It is useless to think. What is amply clear, at least, is that I shall be lonely and isolated, that I shall only become a lecher. There will be no other reward outside of being freed from the crime of being ridiculous. Perhaps that’s the difference between movies and actuality. Anyway, I shall have to go through with this, for doing so is the only way to conquer the face. Of course, I do know that the responsibility is not the mask’s alone, and that the problem lies rather within me. Yet it is not only in me, but in everybody; I am not alone in this problem. True, indeed, but let’s not shift the blame. I shall hate people. I shall never