The Box Man by Kobo Abe Page B

inferiority like a drug or alcohol. Although it was a fact, it was difficult to believe at a moment’s notice that the two had come together in a single personality. Of course, as far as she was concerned, I did not yet know her well enough to be able to express any opinion that smacked of criticism. What use was it, I wondered, for the right eye to know about the left? The essential thing is trust where very naturally one shares concern with another, where one can observe things without any particular consciousness. She undid the third grass seed button. Under her blouse she was apparently naked. Although I could smell a cigarette I could not see any smoke. It was wrong to smoke like that. In the meantime smoke suddenly began to waft out from the cracks in the box and from the observation window, filling the inside so that anyone in there would not be able to keep his eyes open.
    “Are you about ready?” said the fake box man triumphantly. “Look, she doesn’t pay any attention to me at all.”
    The girl smiled slightly as she undid the fifth button. It was a faltering smile. There were still seven grass seeds left to go.
    “It’s all right if you want to take pictures.”
    I was taken by surprise. To be sure she had promised to model for me. Even though she had stripped, there was no reason for me to do the same. I had nothing against taking my clothes off, but there was no need to do so on the spot. I seemed arbitrarily to be worrying unnecessarily. In an effort to ease the awkwardness of the situation I reached into my tote bag (it was in the basket I put my clothes in when I took them off), which contained my camera, but in the end gave that idea up. If I set my camera up here and now, I would he tacitly recognizing a life in common with the box man. That might be better than stripping my clothes off, but after all it was like handing over a passkey to my private room.
    “This background is impossible.”
    As she undid the seventh button, she twisted the upper part of her body and looked at the wall behind her. The neck of her collar opened and I could see her brassiere. It was a dark gray with exposed seams like those on a rugby ball. Indeed, perhaps the setting was tasteless. There were a glass case and lines of sterile instruments. A very narrow examination couch. An enamel washbasin supported by slender, curved, metal legs. And then a weird mechanical seat that resembled a dentist’s chair, but that somehow had a different feeling. That was what made it interesting. There was an eroticism in this assortment as in pictures of hell. I supposed then that if I had plenty of film and when the sun moved a little over to the south, I should ultimately not be able to resist the seduction of taking some pictures.
    “If you wish we can shift places. I’ll go over there,” said the fake box man obligingly.
    “No, no, that won’t do at all. I’ll be against the light.”
    Quiet! Quiet! If I talk here I’ll end up by confessing. Her fingers went to the ninth button; if she undoes the remaining three buttons the blouse will slip off.

“From what I have observed about you, you would prefer more direct action than just taking pictures,” he said with false vivacity. The fake box man began to putty over the space left open by my silence with random chatter. “If I had the choice I would prefer direct action too. Let’s stop saying she doesn’t excite us. You can take pictures any time; it’s like being told to hold off at the crucial point. You don’t have to pay any attention to me. I long ago waived my rights to her. It must already be about a year now… . Our affair began with her coming to have an abortion. After the operation was over, as she had no money, she asked me unexpectedly to let her pay me back by working. With that innocent face … I was surprised … but anyway at such times one comes to a decision amazingly fast … surprisingly so. Properly, I did not inquire into the name of the man or