Grotesque by Natsuo Kirino Read Free Book Online Page A

things crowded onto the tiny veranda. What he couldn’t squeeze into the closet, he’d carry over to the apartments of the friends who also lived in our government-funded apartment complex. For a time I was mystified by Grandfathers behavior.
    Why would he want to hide the things that clearly brought him so much pride?
    The visitor Grandfather received on the third Sunday of every month was an old man with a gentle face. His thinning white hair was combed neatly back, and his gray shirt and brown jacket blended tastefully. Only his eyeglass frames—heavy and black—were overly conspicuous. Even though he always apologized perfunctorily for calling on Grandfather empty-handed, he never once brought over the customary visitor’s gift.
    When the old man arrived, my grandfather would sit up straight and receive him with the most dignified posture. For some reason, he never wanted me to be around. When anyone else came to call, he would 3 0
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    always insist on having me by his side and would go on at great length about me, clearly proud to have a granddaughter who was half European and a student at the elite Q High School for Young Women to boot. My grandfather had lots of acquaintances. There was the insurance saleswoman, the security guard, the apartment superintendent, and all the other old men who liked bonsai. They were always stopping by to visit.
    But it was just this old gentleman that he didn’t want me to be around. I couldn’t help but find this peculiar.
    On the days this visitor was expected, Grandfather was nervous. He’d ask me if I had homework to do. I’d set the tea out and then pretend to return to my room, but I’d eavesdrop from the other side of the sliding door partition. Cutting short the pleasantries, the old man would start prying.
    “How’re things these days?”
    “I’m managing. Please don’t worry on my account. I’m terribly sorry you had to come all the way out to this dirty old apartment. Really, my granddaughter’s come to stay with me, and we’re having a good time watching our pennies and keeping things simple. Sure, we have our disagreements—she’s a high school student and I’m a tottering old fool; what would you expect? But we’re getting along fine.”
    “Your grandchild, you say? Well, you don’t look much alike, do you? I wanted to ask you about her but then I thought—well, what if she’s your young mistress? I’d be pretty embarrassed if that were the case, and I didn’t want to be caught prying….”
    The old man’s tone was brisk and insinuating. He and my grandfather laughed together. “Eee-hee-hee-hee!”
    So that’s it, then? I get my laughter from my grandfather? Grandfather’s speaking voice was high-pitched, but his laugh was surprisingly low, even a bit lewd. My grandfather quickly lowered his voice.
    “No, no, she’s my daughter’s child. Her father’s a foreigner, you see.”
    “Ah, an American?”
    “No. European. My granddaughter’s fluent in German and French and all sorts of other languages, but she decided she wanted her education to be in Japanese. She said she was Japanese, and she intended to study in Japanese and reach her adulthood in Japan. So she insisted on staying behind when her family left. My son-in-law is with the Swiss Foreign Ministry. That’s right, he’s second only to the ambassador. Such a fine son-in-law he is, what a pity he can’t speak a word of Japanese. Still, 3 1
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    he says he can communicate through signs and telepathy. It’s real, you know, telepathy. My son-in-law knows exacdy what I’m thinking. Why, just the other day he sent me two watches from Switzerland. They’re the product of inspiration, you see. Do you know the derivation for this word inspiration? The ideographs for it are written this way.”
    I bit back my laughter as I listened to my grandfathers lies.
    The visitor sighed. “No, I don’t believe I’m familiar with the derivation.”
    “I suppose