(2005) In the Miso Soup by Ryu Murakami Read Free Book Online Page A

stuck her head inside.
    “Well?” I said quietly. A wave of strong perfume washed over me. Madoka was wearing a sort of negligee with frills, looking for all the world as if she were off in search of the bluebird of happiness. She was also holding a vinyl bag full of condoms and moist towelettes.
    “The . . . the gaijin in Booth 5, right?” she said.
    “I don’t remember the booth number, but surely there’s only one gaijin here?” The booths are dark, and with the light behind her it was hard to seeMadoka’s face, but she sounded troubled, as if she didn’t know what to say.
    “Didn’t he ask for the special service?”
    Madoka shook her head and said: “No, he
did
, but . . .”
    “Did something weird happen?”
    “He stopped me after a while and said ‘No more.’”
    “So he didn’t come?”
    “That’s not what I mean. . . .”
    “How big was he?”
    “Size-wise, about average I think, but . . . Something wasn’t right. First of all, I’ve never seen anybody make a face like that when they’re getting jerked off. And his dingaling was, like . . . creepy.”
    “Creepy.”
    “Yeah. It was hard in some places and soft in others.”
    “Silicone injections?”
    “No. I could tell if it was silicone or pearls or whatever, but this was different. And that face! At first it was dark and I couldn’t see very well, but then a light shone on his face, and it was like, I mean, he was looking at me, but . . . Can I go now? I get yelled at for talking to customers.”
    “Of course, sorry to ask such a weird favor,” I said, and Madoka said no problem and shut the door again. She didn’t seem to want to talk about Frank. The girl on stage, braless now, had her panties down around one ankle and was masturbating. She lay on her back with her legs spread and her eyes closed, moaning softly. No one but she herself could have said if it was just an act, or if she was actually a bit turned on, or if in fact she was the type who really gets off on having people watch. I certainly didn’t know which it was, but her voice and facial expressions were a pretty good facsimile of what happens when a woman is genuinely aroused. There’s not that much variation, which I’m sure is true for men too. Someone like Madoka has seen the faces of hundreds, if not thousands, of men in that state. What sort of face could Frank have made that she’d find so disturbing?
    After we left the peep show Frank hardly spoke at all, and I didn’t much feellike talking either. We just walked along, drifting away from the neon lights and the cries of the touts, and the next thing I knew we were in front of a batting center on the outskirts of the love hotel district. It was past 1:00 A.M ., but we could hear a syncopated clank of metal bats beyond the tall green net and rusty chain-link fence. Frank stopped to listen to the sound, and gazed curiously up at the fence. I’m told that in America they don’t fence in batting centers or driving ranges. I’d always assumed that enclosed driving ranges, at least, were something you could find anywhere in the world. I thought that vending machines for booze and cigarettes and magazines and whatnot were everywhere, too. Well, maybe not everywhere, but it never occurred to me that having vending machines for beer or whatever on every other corner was unusual. Clients with any curiosity always ask me about this, though. Kenji, why are there so many vending machines? Who needs them, with convenience stores everywhere you turn? And why do you need so many different types of canned coffee and juice and sports drinks? With so many brands, how can anyone possibly make a profit? I’ve never been able to come up with answers to questions like these, and at first I didn’t even understand what the big deal was. But from the point of view of foreigners, any number of things about this country seem abnormal, and I’m not able to explain most of them. I get questions like: If Japan is one of the