Grotesque by Natsuo Kirino Read Free Book Online Page B

you could say it’s derived from a reference to that which is animated by divine or supernatural influence—a combination of elegance and strength.”
    “Well, then, it’s a very good word, isn’t it? But tell me about your granddaughter’s family. Where are they now?”
    “The fact is, the Swiss government sent for my son-in-law and his family and brought them back to Switzerland.”
    “Very impressive.”
    “No, not really. A job with the United Nations or with a bank would be even more prestigious, you know.”
    “Well, this news sets my mind at ease—at least for the time being. I’d heard that you’d started doing odd jobs, but I trust you’ll behave yourself.
    You’re not going to start swindling people again, are you? You have your granddaughter to think of now.”
    “No, no, no chance of that. I’ve mended my ways. Just look around you. Not a bonsai in sight. No, I’ll never touch another bonsai again.”
    Grandfather spoke with great contrition. When I heard this I realized that in the past Grandfather must have used bonsai in some kind of scam and the older gentleman must be some kind of probation officer. He visited Grandfather once a month to ensure he wasn’t resorting to his old tricks, whatever they had been.
    Now that I look back on it, I realize that Grandfather was out on parole and the presence of a studious high-school-age granddaughter in his household must have helped make him seem more trustworthy in the eyes of this monitor. My grandfather wanted to hoodwink his probation officer, and I wanted to stay in Japan. We needed each other to accomplish our goals, so in a way we were partners in crime. To top it off, I was able to talk to my grandfather about all of Yuriko’s shortcomings. These were truly the happiest days of my life.
    I unexpectedly crossed paths with the probation officer shortly after 3 2
    G R O T E S Q U E
    that Sunday. It was during the spring Golden Week holidays, and I was on my way back from the grocery store on my bicycle. A sightseeing bus was stopped alongside an old landed estate, and the gentleman I’d seen at Grandfather’s house was waving good-bye to the passengers as they boarded. Each one was elderly, and each clutched a bonsai with a look of great satisfaction. My eye was drawn to the sign hanging nearby: GARDEN
    OF LONGEVITY. So this is where they cultivated bonsai? I gazed at the sign, my interest captivated by the sight of the little trees. When the bus pulled away, the old man noticed me.
    “Oh, what a stroke of luck to run into you here,” he said. “Actually, I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind.”
    I got down from my bike and bowed politely. Glancing at the estate through the roofed gateway—which was as imposing as one you might see at the entrance to a temple—I glimpsed a magnificent house constructed in the understated elegance of the rustic sukiya style. Next to the house was a lovely teahouse. There was also a vinyl-paned greenhouse on the grounds, where a number of young men inside watered plants with hoses and turned up the soil. It was hardly a nursery; the Garden of Longevity had more the look of a well-kept park. The buildings, the grounds: all were sumptuous. Even I could tell that they were the result of a lavish outlay of money. The probation officer, with his crisp navy-blue apron strapped over his shirt and necktie, looked somewhat out of place, like the town mayor dressed for a day of pottery. He had traded his earlier dark-rimmed glasses for a pair of dark-green sunglasses in light tortoiseshell frames.
    The officer began to grill me about my family. I assumed he was trying to verify my grandfather’s story. Had my parents really moved to Switzerland?
    he inquired, a tinge of worry in his voice. I assured him that they had.
    “What does your grandfather do all day?”
    “He seems quite busy with his handyman jobs.”
    That was the truth. For whatever reason, after I arrived my grandfather was inundated