Nureki Chimuo Archive

Tomorrow is the day I will lose the virginity I have held onto for so long.

Actually, saying that it’s the day my “hymen,” which I’ve protected for so long, will be broken would be a more shocking way to put it.

time.

No, no, come to think of it, it’s not really something I’ve felt I’ve been protecting all this

It’s just that no one was after my virginity in the first place.

In other words, I never actually had any virginity to begin with.

Who would even want my hymen? In other words, it has no value.

And yet, for some strange reason, someone has come along who wants it.

not.”

And since I was in a strangely good mood at the time, I ended up replying, “Sure, why

Come to think of it, there was only one time in the past when I invited three people, two men and a woman, into this workroom. To be precise, it was August 1, 2004.

It wasn’t so much an invitation as it was asking them to help me move from Meguro, where I’d lived for over a decade, to this place.

(I see. Has it really been over six years since then?)

All three of them came at the same time.

One was an editor from the publishing house that serializes my essays.

Another was a painter I’ve been close with for some time. Since this person lives relatively nearby, they came by bicycle.

The third was a woman who has been dancing on stage for a very long time.

However, when these three arrived, my study hadn’t yet taken shape as a proper workspace because the moving boxes from my previous address hadn’t arrived yet.

There wasn’t even a desk. Just a few cardboard boxes and an empty space.

One table and four chairs. We gathered around that table and toasted with takeout pizza and canned beer.

So it didn’t really feel like my “hymen” had been broken. It was still in its virgin state.

About three years ago, when I started this “Talking Theater” series at the suggestion of Nakahara Rutsu, I took a few photos of my workroom with a cheap disposable camera and posted them on my website.

Even though I say it was Nakahara Rutsu’s suggestion, I had absolutely no knowledge of computers, the internet, or websites, so it was Nakahara Rutsu who actually handled everything in a concrete and practical way.

I don’t do anything. It’s not that I choose not to. It’s that I can’t. I’m illiterate when it comes to IT equipment.

fax.

All I do is write the manuscript letter by letter with a ballpoint pen and send it to her via

The photos of my workroom that I posted on the website at that time were, as mentioned earlier, taken by me myself, capturing my own embarrassing appearance.

So, in a sense, these photos are my “masturbation.”

Masturbation is embarrassing if others see it, but this is different.

Tomorrow will be truly embarrassing (or so I think).

A beautiful editor from a prestigious publishing house, one of the industry’s “A-class” films, and a photographer regarded as one of the top talents of his generation will be visiting.

(I was ignorant and didn’t know this photographer’s reputation or the quality of his work. Nakahara Rutsu told me about him. As expected of the Director of the Sex Industry Museum, she knows her stuff.)

This photographer asked me to let him take my virginity. It was because he saw a photo of my workroom that I took three years ago and that Nakahara Rutsu posted on her website.

Apparently, my masturbation was quite stimulating for that photographer.

Giving my virginity to someone else (it’s obviously going to be someone else) is a huge deal. It’s the equivalent of losing one’s virginity.

(But you know, to tell you the truth, my virginity isn’t worth a thing. But I won’t say that now.)

For me, however, it is somewhat stimulating.

That’s right. I’ve decided to offer up my virginity in search of a little excitement, and tomorrow is finally the day I bid farewell to it.

Ah, I guess I am a little nervous after all. After all, it’s the first time someone else’s feet will step into my workroom.

I have absolutely no idea how they’ll use the photos of my virginity.

I suppose he’d tell me if I asked, but it’s too much trouble so I won’t even ask.

After all, I’m already eighty-one years old.

When you’ve lived for eighty-one years, all that long winded explaining just gets on your nerves, and you start to feel like, “Whatever, just do whatever you want.”

So, that’s why I’m writing this now, thinking it might be fun to let a stranger into my horribly dirty, vulgar, dusty, and chaotic study for the first time, give them a shock, watch their reaction, and get a little bit of excitement out of it.

I bought two new pairs of slippers for the two people coming tomorrow.

Naturally, there have never been any slippers in my room before.

The moment you take off your shoes and step inside, the soles of your feet get dirty. They get covered in dust. So I bought two pairs of slippers at the supermarket for 350 yen each. It’s my way of showing a little hospitality.

Speaking of yesterday, I actually met this amazing woman named Chigusa Hanakawa at the Sex Industry Museum in Iidabashi.

Chigusa Hanakawa is a woman who worked as a model forty-five years ago. For more information about her, please read my paperback book, “Kitan Club and Its Surroundings,” published by Kawade Shobo Shinsha. It goes into detail about her.

The Sex Industry Museum has many magazines featuring her.

It was our first reunion in forty-five years. Even though we’d lost touch and hadn’t seen each other at all until now, it felt as though we’d met just yesterday and were chatting today. Chigusa Hanakawa-san spoke cheerfully, smiling brightly and laughing nonstop as we talked for two hours straight.

But ultimately, it all comes down to my conversational skills, my ability to set the mood, and my talent for steering the conversation toward those vague, frivolous, and irresponsible stories from the past, since if I’d taken her seriously, she’d have been a bore.

Still, I realized once again that the Sex Industry Museum is the only place where I can freely engage in those lighthearted conversations with a model from forty-five years ago. In that sense, too, the Sex Industry Museum is a truly valuable institution.

Director Nakahara listened to the rambling old stories between me and Chigusa Hanakawa-san with a cheerful smile, didn’t she?

“Why don’t you write about today for the next installment of ‘Talking Theater?’” Director Nakahara suggested, but my reunion with her was, after all, nothing more than that, and there’s nothing else to write about. There’s no substance to it.

Even for an essay as devoid of ideology as this, I suppose I can’t write it without raising some kind of issue.

More importantly, tomorrow afternoon, after the photo shoot with that beautiful editor and the photographer, and the interview with me, there’s a gathering in the evening, sort of like a planning meeting over drinks for my theater troupe’s next performance.

It seems my role is that of an old man, not a “zashiki warashi” (a child spirit) but a “zashiki-jiji” (an old man spirit), who has taken up residence in an old family home. Apparently, he’s practically senile and just mutters strange things all the time.

I can’t seem to memorize my lines anymore, so they’ve decided to write them out boldly and prominently all over the stage set, meaning the set is designed so that my lines are visible to the audience, and the play will proceed with me reading them aloud. It seems to be a play with a concept I’ve never seen or heard of before.

This is a script written specifically for me by our resident playwright.

“Yeah, that’s interesting, that really is interesting,” I said, my voice full of excitement as I listened on the phone.

If all goes well, this looks like it might turn out to be a rather stimulating play for me.

Meeting up with my theater troupe colleagues to discuss a play like this seems more stimulating than exposing my workroom.