3



Noboru Wataya Speaks

*

The Story of the Monkeys of the Shitty Island



I arrived at the tearoom ten minutes early, but Noboru Wataya and Malta Kano had
already found a table and were waiting for me. The lunchtime crowd was thick, but I spotted
Malta Kano immediately. Not too many people wore red vinyl hats on sunny summer
afternoons. It must have been the same hat she had on the day I met her, unless she owned a
collection of vinyl hats, all the same style and color. She dressed with the same tasteful
simplicity as before: a short-sleeved linen jacket over a col-larless cotton top. Both pieces
were perfectly white and perfectly free of wrinkles. No accessories, no makeup. Only the red
vinyl hat clashed with the rest of the outfit, both in ambience and in material. As if she had
been waiting for my arrival to do so, she removed the hat when I took my seat, placing it on


the table. Beside the hat lay a small yellow leather handbag. She had ordered some sort of
tonic water but had not touched it, as before. The liquid seemed vaguely uncomfortable in its
tall glass, as if it had nothing better to do than produce its little bubbles.
Noboru Wataya was wearing green sunglasses. As soon as I sat down, he removed them
and stared at the lenses for a while, then he put them back on. He wore what looked like a
brand-new white polo shirt under a navy cotton sports coat. There was a glass of iced tea on
the table in front of him, but he had apparently not touched his drink yet, either.
I ordered coffee and took a sip of ice water.
No one said anything. Noboru Wataya appeared not to have even noticed that I had
arrived. In order to make sure that I had not suddenly turned transparent, I put a hand on the
table and watched it as I turned it over and back a few times. Eventually, the waiter came, set
a cup in front of me, and filled it with coffee. After he left, Malta Kano made little throat-
clearing sounds as if testing a microphone, but still she said nothing.
The first to speak was Noboru Wataya. "I have very little time to spare, so let's make this
as simple and straightforward as possible." He seemed to be talking to the stainless-steel
sugar bowl in the middle of the table, but of course he was speaking to me. The sugar bowl
was just a convenient midpoint between us, toward which he could direct his speech.
"Make what as simple and straightforward as possible?" I asked straightforwardly.
At last Noboru Wataya took off his sunglasses, folded them, placed them on the table, and
looked directly at me. More than three years had gone by since I had last met and spoken to
the man, but I felt no sense of the intervening time- thanks, I assumed, to having had his face
thrust in front of me so often by the media. Certain kinds of information are like smoke: they
work their way into people's eyes and minds whether sought out or not, and with no regard to
personal preference.
Forced now to see the man in person, I couldn't help but notice how much the three years
had changed the impression his face made. That almost stagnant, muddy look of his had been
pushed into the background, to be covered over by something slick and artificial. Noboru
Wataya had managed to find for himself a new, more sophisticated mask-a very well-made
mask, to be sure: perhaps even a new skin. Whatever it was, mask or skin, I had to admit-yes,
even I had to admit-that it had a certain kind of attractive power. And then it hit me: looking
at this face was like looking at a television image. He talked the way people on television
talked, and he moved the way people on television moved. There was always a layer of glass
between us. I was on this side, and he was on that side.
"As I am sure you must realize, we are here today to talk about Kumiko," said Noboru
Wataya. "About Kumiko and you. About your future. What you and she are going to do."
"Going to do?" I said, lifting my coffee cup and taking a sip. "Can you be a little more
concrete?"
Noboru Wataya looked at me with strangely expressionless eyes. "A little more concrete?
Kumiko has taken a lover. She's left you. Surely you are not suggesting that anyone involved
in the present situation wants it to continue indefinitely. That would not be good for anyone."
"Taken a lover?" I asked.
"Now please, wait just a moment." Malta Kano chose at this point to intervene. "A
discussion such as this has its own proper order. Mr. Wataya, Mr. Okada, it is important to
proceed with this discussion in an orderly fashion."
"I don't see that," said Noboru Wataya, without any sense of life in his voice. "There's no
order to this. What kind of order do you mean? This discussion doesn't have any."
"Let him speak first," I said to Malta Kano. "We can add the proper order afterward-
assuming there is one."
Malta Kano looked at me for a few seconds with her lips lightly pursed, then gave a little
nod. "All right, then," she said. "Mr. Wataya first. Please."
"Kumiko has had another man in her life," he began. "And now she's gone off with him.


This much is clear. Which means there would be no point in your continuing to stay married.
Fortunately, there are no children involved, and in view of the circumstances, no money need
change hands. Everything can be settled quickly. She simply pulls out of your family register.
You just have to sign and put your seal on forms prepared by a lawyer, and that takes care of
that. And let me add this to avoid any misunderstanding: What I am saying now is the final
view of the entire Wataya family."
I folded my arms and mulled over his words for a time. "I have a few questions," I said.
"First of all, how do you know that Kumiko has another man?"
"She told me so herself," said Noboru Wataya.
I did not know what to say to that. I put my hands on the table and remained silent. It was
hard for me to imagine Kumiko going to Noboru Wataya with such a personal matter.
"She called me a week ago and said she had something to discuss," continued Noboru
Wataya. "We met and talked. Face-to-face. That's when Kumiko told me she was seeing a
man."
For the first time in months, I felt like a smoke. Of course, I had no cigarettes with me.
Instead, I took a sip of coffee and put the cup back in the saucer with a loud, dry clash.
"Then she left home," he said.
"I see," I said. "If you say so, it must be true. Kumiko must have had a lover. And she
went to you for advice. It's still hard for me to believe, but I can't imagine your lying to me
about such a thing."
"No, of course I'm not lying," said Noboru Wataya, with the hint of a smile on his lips.
"So is that all you have to tell me? Kumiko left me for another man, so I should agree to a
divorce?"
Noboru Wataya responded with a single small nod, as if he were trying to conserve
energy. "I suppose you realize that I was not in favor of Kumiko's marrying you, to begin
with. I took no positive steps to interfere, on the assumption that it was a matter that did not
concern me, but now I almost wish I had." He took a sip of water and quietly set his glass on
the table again. Then he continued: "From the first day I met you I knew better than to hope
you might amount to anything. I saw no sign of promise, nothing in you that suggested you
might accomplish something worthwhile or even turn yourself into a respectable human
being: nothing there to shine or to shed light on anything. I knew that whatever you set your
hand to would end up half-baked, that you would never see anything through to the end. And
I was right. You have been married to my sister for six years, and what have you done in all
that time? Nothing, right? All you've accomplished in six long years is to quit your job and
ruin Kumiko's life. Now you're out of work and you have no plans for the future. There's
nothing inside that head of yours but garbage and rocks. "Why Kumiko ever got together with
the likes of you I'll never understand. Maybe she thought the garbage and rocks in your head
were interesting. But finally, garbage is garbage and rocks are rocks. You were wrong for her
from the start. Which is not to say that Kumiko was all perfection, either. She's had her own
oddities since childhood, for one reason or another. I suppose that's why she was momentarily
attracted to you. But that's all over now. In any case, the best thing will be to finish this
business as quickly as possible. My parents and I will watch out for Kumiko. We want you to
back off. And don't try to find her. You've got nothing to do with her anymore. All you can
do is cause trouble if you try to get involved. The best thing you can do is begin a new life in
a new place-a life that is better suited to you. That would be best for you and best for us."
To signal that he was finished, Noboru Wataya drained the water remaining in his glass,
called the waiter, and ordered more.
"Do you have anything else to say?" I asked.
Noboru Wataya responded this time with a single small shake of the head.
"In that case," I said to Malta Kano, "where does the proper order come into this
discussion?"


Malta Kano took a small white handkerchief from her bag and used it to wipe the corners
of her mouth. Then she picked up her red vinyl hat from the table and set it on top of the bag.
"I'm certain this is all very shocking to you, Mr. Okada," she said. "And for my part, I
find it extremely painful to be speaking about such things with you face-to-face, as you can
imagine."
Noboru Wataya glanced at his watch in order to ascertain that the world was still spinning
on its axis and costing him precious time.
"I see now," Malta Kano continued, "that I must tell you this as simply and
straightforwardly as possible. Mrs. Okada came to see me first. She came to me for advice."
"On my recommendation," interjected Noboru Wataya. "Kumiko came to talk to me about
the cat, and I introduced her to Ms. Kano."
"Was that before I met you or after?" I asked Malta Kano. "Before," she said.
"In that case," I said, "to put things in their proper order, it went something like this.
Kumiko learned about your existence from Noboru Wataya, and she went to see you about the
lost cat. Then, for some reason that is still not clear to me, she hid from me the fact that she
had already met you, and arranged for me to see you-which I did, in this very place. Am I
right?"
"That is approximately correct," said Malta Kano, with some difficulty. "My first
discussion with Mrs. Okada was strictly about the cat. I could tell there was something more
to it than that, however, which is why I wanted to meet you and speak with you directly. Then
it became necessary for me to meet with Mrs. Okada one more time and to ask about deeper,
personal matters."
"Which is when Kumiko told you she had a lover."
"Yes. In summary, I believe that is the case. Given my position, it is not possible for me to
go into any greater detail than that," said Malta Kano.
I released a sigh. Not that sighing was going to accomplish anything, but it was something
I had to do. "So, then, Kumiko had been involved with this man for some time?"
"Two and a half months or thereabouts, I believe."
"Two and a half months," I said. "How could it have been going on for two and a half
months and I didn't notice a thing?"
"Because, Mr. Okada, you had absolutely no doubts about your wife," said Malta Kano.
I nodded. "That's true. It never once crossed my mind. I never imagined Kumiko could lie
to me like that, and I still can't really believe it."
"Results aside, the ability to have complete faith in another human being is one of the
finest qualities a person can possess."
"Not an easy ability to come by," said Noboru Wataya.
The waiter approached and refilled my coffee cup. A young woman at the next table was
laughing out loud.
"So, then," I said to Noboru Wataya, "what is the ultimate purpose of this gathering? Why
are the three of us together here? To get me to agree to divorce Kumiko? Or is there some
deeper objective? There did seem to be a kind of logic to what you said earlier, but all the
important parts are vague. You say Kumiko has a man and has left the house. So where did
she go? What is she doing there? Is she by herself or is she with him? Why hasn't Kumiko
gotten in touch with me? If it's true she has another man, that's the end of that. But I won't
believe it's true until I hear it directly from her. Do you see what I mean? The only ones who
count here are Kumiko and me. We're the ones who have to talk to each other and decide
things. You've got nothing to do with this."
Noboru Wataya pushed his untouched glass of iced tea aside. "We are here to inform you
of the situation," he said. "I asked Ms. Kano to accompany me, thinking it would be better to
have a third party present. I don't know who Kumiko's other man is, and I don't know where
she is now. Kumiko is all grown up. She can do as she pleases. But even if I knew where she


was, I certainly wouldn't tell you. She hasn't gotten in touch with you because she doesn't
want to talk to you."
"She did want to talk to you, apparently. How much could she have told you? You and she
are not very close, as I understand it."
"Well, if you and she were so damn close, why did she sleep with another man?" said
Noboru Wataya.
Malta Kano gave a little cough.
Noboru Wataya went on: "Kumiko told me she has a relationship with another man. She
said she wants to settle everything once and for all. I advised her to divorce you. She said she
would think about it."
"Is that all?" I asked.
"What else is there?"
"I just don't get it," I said. "I don't believe that Kumiko would go to you with something
so important. You're the last person she would consult on such a matter. She would either
think it out for herself or speak to me directly. She must have said something else to you. If
she had to talk to you in person, it must have been about something else."
Noboru Wataya allowed the faintest possible smile to play over his lips-a thin, cold smile
like a sliver of a moon hovering in the dawn sky. "This is what they mean by letting the truth
slip out," he said, in a soft but clearly audible voice.
"Letting the truth slip out," I said, testing the expression for myself.
"I'm sure you see my point," he said. "Your wife sleeps with another man. She runs out
on you. And then you try to pin the blame on someone else. I've never heard of anything so
stupid. Look, I didn't come here for my own pleasure. It was something I had to do. For me,
it's just a waste of time. I might as well be throwing my time into the gutter." When he had
finished speaking, a deep silence settled over the table. "Do you know the story of the
monkeys of the shitty island?" I asked Noboru Wataya.
He shook his head, with no sign of interest. "Never heard of it."
"Somewhere, far, far away, there's a shitty island. An island without a name. An island
not worth giving a name. A shitty island with a shitty shape. On this shitty island grow palm
trees that also have shitty shapes. And the palm trees produce coconuts that give off a shitty
smell. Shitty monkeys live in the trees, and they love to eat these shitty-smelling coconuts,
after which they shit the world's foulest shit. The shit falls on the ground and builds up shitty
mounds, making the shitty palm trees that grow on them even shittier. It's an endless cycle." I
drank the rest of my coffee.
"As I sat here looking at you," I continued, "I suddenly remembered the story of this
shitty island. What I'm trying to say is this: A certain kind of shittiness, a certain kind of
stagnation, a certain kind of darkness, goes on propagating itself with its own power in its
own self-contained cycle. And once it passes a certain point, no one can stop it-even if the
person himself wants to stop it."
Noboru Wataya's face wore no expression of any kind. The smile was gone, but neither
was there any shadow of annoyance. All I could see was one small wrinkle between his
eyebrows, and I could not recall if it was something that had been there before.
"Are you catching my drift, Mr. Wataya?" I went on. "I know exactly the sort of man you
are. You say I'm like garbage or rocks. And you think you could smash me to bits anytime
you felt like it. But things are not that simple. To you, with your values, I may well be nothing
but garbage and rocks. But I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I know exactly what you've
got under that smooth, made-for-TV mask of yours. I know your secret. Kumiko knows and I
know: we both know what's under there. If I wanted to, I could tell it to the world. I could
bring it out into the light. It might take time, but I could do it. I may be a nobody, but at least
I'm not a sandbag. I'm a living, breathing human being. If somebody hits me, I hit back.
Make sure you keep that in mind."


Noboru Wataya went on staring at me with that expressionless face of his- a face like a
chunk of rock floating in space. What I had said to him was almost pure bluff. I did not know
Noboru Wataya's secret. That he had something profoundly warped inside him was not
difficult to imagine. But I had no way of knowing with any concrete certainty what that might
be. My words, though, seemed to have jabbed at something in there. I could read the effect on
his face. He didn't respond to me the way he always did to his opponents in televised panel
discussions: he didn't sneer at my words or try to trip me up or find some clever opening. He
sat there in silence, without moving a muscle.
Then something very odd began to happen to Noboru Wataya's face. Little by little, it
started to turn red. But it did this in the strangest way. Certain patches turned a deep red,
while others reddened only slightly, and the rest appeared to have become weirdly pale. This
made me think of an autumn wood of blotchy colors where deciduous and evergreen trees
grew in a chaotic mix.
Eventually, without a word, Noboru Wataya stood up, took his sunglasses from his
pocket, and put them on. The strange, blotchy colors still covered his face. They looked
almost permanent now. Malta Kano remained perfectly still in her seat, saying nothing. I
myself adopted an expression of complete indifference. Noboru Wataya began to say some-
thing to me but, in the end, seemed to have decided against it. Instead, he walked away from
the table and disappeared into the crowd.



For a time after Noboru Wataya left, Malta Kano and I said nothing to each other. I felt
exhausted. The waiter came and offered to refill my coffee cup, but I sent him away. Malta
Kano picked up her red hat from the table and stared at it for a few minutes before setting it
down on the chair next to her.
I sensed a bitter taste in my mouth. I tried to wash it away by drinking some water, but
this did no good.
After another short interval, Malta Kano spoke. "Feelings need to be let out sometimes.
Otherwise, the flow can stagnate inside. I'm sure you feel better now that you have said what
you wanted to say."
"A little," I said. "But it didn't solve anything. It didn't bring anything to a conclusion."
"You don't like Mr. Wataya, do you, Mr. Okada?"
"Every time I talk to that guy, I get this incredibly empty feeling inside. Every single
object in the room begins to look as if it has no substance to it. Everything appears hollow.
Exactly why this should be, I could never explain to you with any precision. Because of this
feeling, I end up saying and doing things that are simply not me. And I feel terrible about it
afterward. If I could manage never to see him again, nothing would make me happier."
Malta Kano shook her head. "Unfortunately, you will be required to encounter Mr.
Wataya any number of times again. This is something you will not be able to avoid."
She was probably right. I couldn't get him out of my life so easily.
I picked up my glass and took another drink of water. Where had that awful taste come
from?
"There's just one thing I would like to ask you," I said. "Whose side are you on here?
Noboru Wataya's or mine?"
Malta Kano put her elbows on the table and brought her palms together before her face.
"Neither," she said. "There are no sides in this case. They simply do not exist. This is not the
kind of thing that has a top and bottom, a right and left, a front and back, Mr. Okada."
"Sounds like Zen," I said. "Interesting enough in itself as a system of thought, but not
much good for explaining anything."
She nodded her head. The palms that she was pressing together in front of her face she


now pulled three inches apart, holding them at a slight angle and aiming them toward me.
They were small, well-shaped palms. "I know that what I am saying does not seem to make a
great deal of sense. And I don't blame you for being angry. But if I were to tell you anything
now, it would serve no practical purpose. In fact, it would ruin things. You will have to win
with your own strength. With your own hands."
"Like on Wild Kingdom," I said with a smile. "You get hit, you hit back."
"That's it," said Malta Kano. "Exactly." Then, with all the care of someone retrieving the
belongings of a person newly dead, she picked up her handbag and put on her red vinyl hat.
When she set the hat on her head, Malta Kano conveyed a strangely tangible impression that a
unit of time had now come to an end.



After Malta Kano had left, I went on sitting there alone, with nothing particular on my
mind. I had no idea where I should go or what I should do if I were to stand up. But of course
I couldn't stay there forever. When twenty minutes had gone by like this, I paid for the three
of us and left the tearoom. Neither of the other two had paid.