The Pornographers Page 9

  “Come on, then, Rie. Sit down here by the desk like a good girl. Now, you, you’re a robber, okay? You cover your face and you sneak in. Then you attack her, see? And everything depends upon you, you understand? So make it look good.”

  Subuyan gave the word to get started, and once more the shutters were closed. Banteki worked two of the cameras and Hack the third. Since a white gown would hardly do for a robber, the man changed into his own jacket. Then he wrapped a towel around his head and looped it around his nose in classical Japanese robber style.

  “Okay, now jut sit there, Rie honey. All right, get the scene number, will you?”

  Cocky scrawled “Scene 1” on a sheet of paper with a grease pencil, and Banteki duly recorded this with all three cameras. It seemed, however, that all the excitement had tired the girl. Her head began to nod drowsily.

  “That’s all right. Keep going. We’ll make it a schoolgirl tired out from study and raped by a maniac.”

  Starting with a close-up of the girl’s face, the cameras, with loving attention, panned down to her very toes, drew away from them and crossed the floor to where the man stood with legs wide apart, then came up again for a close-up of his masked face.

  “Okay, now lick your lips, will you, and come over to her. Now I want you to really go at her until we give the signal to stop. Rip off her clothes and everything and do it violently. Put as much as you can into it, please. This color film is expensive,” explained Subuyan succinctly, and the main action began.

  But again everything went wrong. The man, as though putting a baby to bed, laid his hands with gentle compassion upon the girl and began to undress her.

  Naturally, Subuyan was unable to hold back a shriek of anguish. “No! No! No! That’s not real! Cut! Cut!” he cried out. And as he did, the girl opened her eyes and gave a gasp of alarm.

  The startled man tried to soothe her: “What’s the matter, honey? It’s all right. It’s all right now.” But instead of calming down, a look of utter terror transfixed the girl’s face. She shook her head and began to move herself backward along the floor. Then as the man attempted to restrain her, she struck his hand away, began to struggle frantically, and finally flung herself into a corner. At last the man realized what was the matter. “It’s this! This is what scared you, didn’t it?” he said, pulling off his mask. And so the girl finally quieted down.

  “So that was it! She was scared of that, was she?” exclaimed Cocky in wonder. The stunned Hack, in the meantime, picked up a tripod that the girl had kicked over.

  “What the hell! It’s hopeless.” said Banteki, exasperated in the extreme.

  The man, maybe taking Banteki’s declaration to heart, slipped his hand beneath the girl’s skirt and began to run his palm slowly along her plump thigh and down the back of her leg. The girl shut her eyes instantly and a voracious expression came over her face. She began to grind her teeth.

  “Well, what are we going to do now? Any ideas?” asked Banteki, wiping the rolling sweat from his brow. The other three stood staring, but no one had a word to say.

  “I guess we can’t do you any good at all, now that things have come out like they did,” put in the man hesitantly. “But, if you wanted, we could just do our regular act for you.”

  There would not be much point in getting something as trite as that on film. Still, their combination was somewhat on the exotic side. It would not be the sort of thing suited to the nuances of Banteki’s craftsmanship and improvisational technique, but after all, it was better than going home emptyhanded.

  The man, after spreading his raincoat out upon the mat, gently placed the girl upon it and began to remove her clothes. As though doing something to which he was long accustomed, he folded each item in turn, putting it neatly to one side, until she was wearing only her pink embroidered brassiere and panties. Then he removed his own clothes. At this point, as though on cue, the girl suddenly bowed her head to Subuyan and the others, who stood gaping; and they squatted down in unison. Hack, however, flurried though he was, attended to one of the cameras.

  The man took the girl in his arms and placed her on his lap, one arm supporting her shoulders. She, in turn, snuggled up to him and buried her head in his chest. Then, as though performing a ritual, the man began to caress her with painstaking deliberation—her arms, her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, her legs—a process which took an oppressively long time. After a while, Banteki too jumped up and peered through one of the cameras. Straight though the performance was, still there was a certain odd quality about it, and who knew, perhaps it would sell. Somehow the girl’s body seemed not altogether normal. Her chest was slim, but her hips were as full and voluptuous as anyone could wish. Her nether hair, climbing like a sharp-tongued black flame, flickered up the curve of her belly. Now verging toward the climax, they coiled and rocked through many variations, a thrust from the man, a throbbing moan from the girl. Often the girl would kick out, wildly capricious, with her right leg. But though the man kept his eyes open throughout, no spark of passion glowed in them.

  “I’ve a crick in my shoulder. The expression on that guy’s face—he’s just like a monk chanting a sutra,” said Hack, giving a sigh of admiration.

  “I wonder how many would pay to see the film of this. Well, we can send it around,” muttered Banteki, his sour facial expression mirroring his discontent.

  The two received their usual fee of fifteen thousand and departed, though the man agreed to appear in another production. Finding a woman was not that much of a problem, but a male actor was something to be hung on to at all costs.

  After quickly putting the room in order, they left the inn. Then, as they were walking along the shore toward the train station, at a spot where the breakwater protecting the shoreline was open for a hundred yards or so to allow for swimming, they saw the man and the girl sitting at the water’s edge, on the sliver of beach not yet washed away. The two seemed caught up by the sight of the sea in late spring.

  “You go on ahead. I got a stop I have to make,” said Subuyan, deciding that since he was in the neighborhood, he might as well pay a call upon the madam who was the virgin specialist.

  The madam had an attractive house beside the national highway, located in a development managed by the Osaka-Kobé Railroad. It seemed as though the virgin business had paid off handsomely for her. The chairman of the board, once having tasted the bill of fare, was eager for another helping. Subuyan had put him off for the express purpose of whetting his appetite still further, but even so the demand from other sources continued to mount. Maybe this would be a good time to turn the film making entirely over to Banteki. Whatever else, the big money seemed to be in women. Subuyan turned over all the elements of the situation within his mind.

  “No matter how you look at it, the first thing you’ve got to do is come up with the girls,” said the madam after he had outlined his problem.

  She then treated him to an account of her own scouting procedure. What she would do, for example, would be to go to the necktie counter of a department store. And there, in the full bloom of her fifty years, she would confide to the salesgirl in these terms: “Dear, I want to talk to you about something that’s a little embarrassing. You see I have this young lover, and I want to get him a present and I don’t know what’s good. Could you please pick out a nice tie for me? I’m asking you because he’s just about the same age as you.”

  If the salesgirl showed any distaste at all, that was the end of it. However, there was never a shortage of those who were quick to respond in kind: “No kidding, lady? Say, I’ve got my eye out for something like that myself.” And these were the ones the madam settled upon. She would show up again about ten days later.

  “Oh, I should have acted my age! We broke up. I feel so blue about it. Say, what do you think of this idea? You come and have dinner with me some night. No, there’ll be nothing to worry about. I’ll handle it all myself, so it’ll be a nice affair.” As she talked, her gaudy rings and imitation mink gave
great cogency to her words. Then, exploiting the occasion, the madam would find out all there was to know about the girl—her character, her boy friend, her family situation—and if the odds seemed favorable, she put the proposition to her.

  “Once you dangle the sweet life in front of their noses,” she said, epitomising her technique, “the girls of today can’t resist it.” Such were her method and principle, but obviously there were certain obstacles to Subuyan doing it just that way.

  “It certainly takes time and capital,” he muttered.

  “Well, how about the new religions? That might give you just the chance you need,” said the madam with a laugh. Most of the new religions, she informed him, sponsored regular meetings for those living in the same neighborhood. There each person talked about his or her life and what was wrong with it. The idea was that once one heard how badly off everyone else was, one got a measure of consolation. At any rate, the madam said that she had put her head in at these gatherings for a time and picked up all sorts of interesting information. “I thought there might be something in it for me, but then I saw I could get plenty of girls without bothering with it, and so I dropped out. But you’re just starting out, and it might suit you perfectly.”

  The new religions, Subuyan thought. Some people had been after Oharu to join one of them. Well, why not give it a try?

  Keiko was getting on his nerves even more than Oharu’s sickness. When he returned home, he found her packing her suitcase.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  He had frequently enough thought about her running away, but now to be confronted with the fact was upsetting. However, Keiko had something else in mind.

  “I’m going to stay with Mom at the hospital,” she retorted with open hostility.

  “What’s the matter with staying here?”

  “If I do that, it’ll be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? What do you mean, dangerous?”

  “Just like I said. You read about all kinds of tragedies where the mother’s in the hospital and the stepfather does something bad to the daughter. I don’t want that to happen to me.”

  “You shut your mouth!” Subuyan roared angrily. But what could he do? There was no plausible excuse for forcing Keiko to stay with him. “Well, all right then, if that’s what you want. But if you get tired of the hospital, you can always come home. I can go somewhere else.”

  As she went out the door, dragging her suitcase, Keiko turned for a parting remark: “And while I’m gone, I wish you’d keep your hands out of my things.”

  Subuyan, left in the darkness, found himself quivering with rage. He got to his feet and went to Keiko’s dresser. There he rummaged through the drawers until he found the pornographic book. He began to read it, becoming more and more avid and clutching himself with his free hand, until he at last shut his eyes.

  Subuyan was given the entry he wanted into a local congregation by a grocer’s wife, who cherished memories of youthful fame as a geisha in Mito. He expressed his eagerness to attend the next of the once-weekly meetings, which were held over a tailor shop. Ten or more believers put in an appearance, and Subuyan quickly perceived that they fell into two general categories. In the first were a woman of about fifty whose carpenter husband was paralyzed, a former nurse deserted by her younger husband, an old lady whose daughter had suffered a series of shattered engagements, a farmer with a harelip, a tax clerk whose tuberculosis kept him from working, and so on. Then there was a younger group, which included some students and two women.

  “Now, brothers and sisters, let us begin as always with our evening prayer.”

  The master of ceremonies was the tailor who owned the shop below. Subuyan had been told that he made suits for the members of the local branch of the teachers’ union. The war had cost him a leg, but his color seemed healthy as now he turned to the cheap little altar set against the wall and raised his joined hands above his head. Then he lowered them and covered his face for a few moments of silent adoration. Next the congregation took up something that was between a hymn and a chant: “Today and ever hence, may that wonted grace ever flow down upon us …” Feeling awkward, Subuyan kept his mouth shut, all the time burning with eagerness to hear what sort of stories the two younger women would have to tell.

  After the tailor had given a sort of sermon, followed by a report of how missionary activity was going in each district, the time came for the confessions, the recreational high point of the evening. First up was the woman whose husband was paralyzed. Her eyes were already brimming even before she opened her mouth.

  “I brought up three boys, and I always looked forward to the day when they’d be grown men. Then I’d be happy, I thought. But, brothers and sisters, what are children like nowadays when they grow up? They’ve got no respect for their parents, that’s what they’re like. And one of my own flesh and blood even went so far the other day as to raise his hand to me. Oh, I feel just terrible! Fine sons I’ve got! They think they’re so fine! They think they can raise their hand to their mother and father. I just know it wouldn’t be like this if only Dad was okay.” Finally her distraught sniffling choked her voice off altogether.

  Every story without exception was pitched in the same poverty-stricken key; each of the speakers was trying to eke out a living on ten thousand yen or so a month grubbed from an ill-paying temporary job. And after each had finished the tailor would say: “Now, we must not blame anyone. We must not grumble. We never know if we deserve reward or punishment—all our past existences are hidden from our eyes.” Whether this was supposed to be consolation or blame, Subuyan could not tell; but at any rate, all bowed their heads reverently each time.

  Finally one of the young women got up. She was only about twenty-five, but there was a certain resolute quality evident in her broad peasant face, and Subuyan decided it would be prudent to pass her up. After her the other girl stood up. She was about twenty-one; her features had a somewhat flattened appearance, and, being from Hokkaido, she spoke a colorless standard Japanese.

  According to her story, she had been born in Sapporo, where her family ran a noodle shop. After marrying a man whom she soon grew to dislike, she had run away, come to Osaka, and gone to work in a stocking factory in Moriguchi. She had lived in a factory dormitory for two years, but toward the end of the previous year the factory had gone bankrupt, and she was at loose ends once more. The dormitory had gone the way of the factory, and any day now she expected to be evicted from it. She had reached the point where there was nothing left that she could sell for food. “Now, because the weather’s warm, it’s not so bad. But the only clothes I’ve got are the ones I have on now,” she said. Obviously she looked upon the congregation as a sort of employment agency, but no one seemed to take this amiss.

  “There’s no need to worry now. It’s all in the merciful providence of Buddha that you were led here tonight. If you look, honey, I’m sure there’ll be all kinds of job opportunities,” said the tailor, his cheeks quivering with a hint of lechery—though perhaps this was just Subuyan’s imagination.

  “What does he think he’s up to, anyway? Interfering with another man’s livelihood!” muttered Subuyan, now determined to reel in this woman as quickly as possible.

  Since deeds of charity should not suffer delay, Subuyan followed the woman after the meeting broke up and saw her enter an old, run-down apartment house in Moriguchi near the Yodo River. He bought a basket of fruit in the neighborhood as a courtesy offering. After all, if things did not turn out well, he could always take it with him and give it to Oharu at the hospital.

  “Hello! Anyone home?” he called out. Apparently no one else was living there, for the woman herself came down from the second floor. Subuyan proffered his card with a great display of courtesy. Seeing that the woman did not remember him from the meeting and that she seemed extremely suspicious, he decided to take the initiative.

  “You’re Miss Matsue, I believe,” he said quite directly, having gotten her name from t
he self-introductions at the beginning of the meeting. “I had the honor of learning a great deal about you tonight. Don’t be alarmed, for I, too, am a believer,” said Subuyan, disguising his foray as an errand of charity undertaken at the behest of the congregation. “If all this seems rather strange tonight, I’ll just leave you, and perhaps you might call the number on my card tomorrow.”

  Having been offered so many proofs of sincerity, Miss Matsue could hardly do otherwise than trust Subuyan. So she invited him into her room: “You’ll have to excuse the way it looks,” she said.

  Miss Matsue had already changed into her nightgown, with the evident intention of keeping her single dress as clean as possible. Besides this dress, which hung on the wall, there was only a calendar to give a touch of color to the bare room. Against the wall stood a cheap, poorly made altar of the kind used in the sect.

  “Let me speak quite frankly, Miss Matsue. I believe you have no intention of marrying. Is that correct?” said Subuyan as he pushed forward the basket of fruit. “Surely you have been through more than your share of hardships, I well realize. You must not, however, allow yourself to become bitter. Please think of it as having all come about in the merciful providence of Buddha. But at any rate, Miss Matsue, your present situation is one fraught with dangers. At the moment you may be on the very verge of perdition.”

  “How do you mean?” asked the woman.

  “A woman succumbs easily to temptations. Indeed, no matter how firm she tries to be, a woman living by herself is in grave peril. For example, Miss Matsue, have you by any chance seen certain ads in the paper? Ads for barmaids and hostesses? No experience necessary, clothing furnished, one thousand yen guaranteed? Have such ads had any effect upon you? Dangerous, Miss Matsue, dangerous, extremely dangerous!”

  Subuyan seemed to have been on target. Matsue suddenly dropped her eyes and caught her breath.

  “Yes, yes,” said Subuyan. “Here, have some fruit. Let’s get down to particulars then. I have no intention of forcing you into anything. All I ask is that you listen to what I’ve got to say.” Subuyan went on from there to use all his eloquence in urging marriage as a desirable goal for Matsue. He finished by thrusting five thousand yen upon her as “pocket money.” Though she evidently felt like a rabbit being charmed by a fox, she could hardly, in her present hand-to-mouth existence, refuse the money.