I Am a Japanese Writer

A POISON KISS

RIGHT NOW, a little drama is being acted out in the left corner of the room, by the window. Midori has no idea what happened to Bjork. Since information is at the heart of power, she’s pretending to know. Never show your hand until you must. It takes nerves of steel to stay in the circle. You have to know how to keep quiet. No one gets close to Midori easily. I have observed the crafty politics of space that surround her. One at a time, the girls revolve around her light. Hideko nearly burned her wings a little while back. She got too close to Midori. There’s no flow chart. Each must decide where to place herself in the hierarchy, and what risks she’s willing to accept to keep her spot. A single surprised or scornful look from Midori, and the imprudent adventuress is dismissed from the circle. That happened to Haruki, who spent the rest of the evening trying to win back her place. Tomo is her last recourse. They carry out lengthy confabulations. Zoom in: Tomo talking to an evasive Midori. Tomo is her bodyguard. She sleeps at the foot of her bed. Every afternoon she trains as a wrestler at the Park Avenue Y. Close-up on Takashi’s face. He’s telling me every detail about the life of the group. Takashi loves wearing makeup, and this lets him go wherever he wants. He travels in both worlds. In fact, there is only one world, since men talk about women and women talk about women too. For the last three years, Takashi has been photographing the lives of women’s washrooms. Makeup, gossip, tears. Naked faces. Tomo lives for Midori, who hardly ever looks at her. You don’t look at the one looking at you. Tomo suffers, but in silence. She’d even defend Midori against herself. Midori is a perfectionist who sometimes sinks into depression. The other girls know they must never say anything about Midori when Tomo is around. Takashi points to a girl lighting a cigarette. Fumi is the most brilliant of them all; she speaks eight languages fluently and is doing her doctorate on Françoise Sagan. She has read everything Sagan has written, and knows every detail about her life — a real expert. You’ll see, Takashi told me, Midori will never confront her in public. She’s the mind behind her shows. She’s a quick thinker, but she can be nasty too. Noriko could tell you more about that. Who’s Noriko? The girl sitting on the floor, back against the wall. Listen, you won’t be able to recognize them after just one meeting. It took me a whole week. They don’t look that much alike, do they? No, but they move in a pack; you think you can tell them apart, and suddenly they melt into a single person. They have their periods at the same time. Noriko is pretty interesting, you’ll see.

By suggesting I talk to Noriko, Takashi gave me an idea: draw Midori’s portrait by talking to the girls. Never to her. Midori is a black hole that sucks in everything around her. Every electron is free as long as it stays in the magnetic field. Noriko is Fumi’s scapegoat. Tomo, Midori’s guardian angel. Hideko touched Midori’s ear, that fragile, perfect instrument (I got a close-up of that scene). Takashi going click, click, click. He never stops. He’s at one with his camera. Midori is considering doing a show about a photographer no one ever sees. According to Midori, the photographer is the true witness of our times. Takashi is obsessed with the napes of their necks. For a time, that’s all he photographed. Noriko tells me about Takashi, though Takashi pointed me in her direction first. She whispers in my ear that Takashi is a toxic, jesting little god with a rancorous heart. What? Her eyes look frightened. She urges me over to the window to bestow further confidences in a voice so low I can’t hear anything. What? I ask gently. Midori is in love with Eiko. No one knows, not even Eiko. Noriko laughs silently. She takes my hand and holds it longer than necessary. I feel my bones melting. My body, without structure, is about to slip to the floor like a dress. I pull my hand away and rush off to the bathroom. Don’t tell me I’ve been caught in the net of one of these vampirettes! Noriko watches me. I feel the intensity of her gaze on the nape of my neck. I follow Takashi without thinking and end up in the girls’ bathroom. In the mirror I spot Midori kissing Hideko. Takashi is dancing around them. The flash goes off. Midori smiles at me in the mirror. Hideko hasn’t noticed me yet. Midori passes Hideko, still in a fog of ecstasy, over to Takashi, who is too thin to hold her up. He tries every possible position to keep her standing. It looks like a scene from They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? I take her off Takashi’s hands and set her down gently on a cushion next to Fumi. I sit with the camera still running. Fumi tells me Midori will eat only a certain kind of fish, whose flesh contains a poison. Just enough to lightly paralyze the lips and tongue. Midori keeps a bit of fish in her mouth, then chooses a girl to kiss. They all avoid Midori’s lips. Hideko is the only one dumb enough to fall for it. A long hetaera kiss. Now Hideko is lying languorously on the cushion. Her eyes unfocused. A vague smile. The poison lasts only a few minutes. Midori bends and strokes her hair.