Nureki Chimuo Archive

I had a long chat with R-san, who’s handling all the details of writing and publishing this “Talking Theater,” about Yusuke Aoyagi’s manga. One of them. In the editor’s note of the monthly manga magazine “Gekiga Select” published by Geibun-sha, which I introduced last time, there is a passage that reads, “...a sense of mission to select what should be preserved and create what should be revived from the torrential flood of youth-oriented manga.” I wrote that “youth-oriented” should be “adult-oriented,” shouldn’t it? Then R-san said, “The genre and term ‘for young adults’existed in the past and still exists today. Within that, what used to be called ‘adult-oriented manga’ is now labeled ‘for mature audiences,’ isn’t it?” Now that you mention it, that’s exactly right, so I’ll correct it. R-san sure knows everything, doesn’t she? If I write something careless, I get snapped at immediately. Scary! Last time, I wrote about the illustration of a bound woman drawn by Yusuke Aoyagi featured in that “Gekiga Select” issue, but actually, I really wanted to introduce the story along with the illustration. A story is, in essence, a theme. However, the task of introducing a manga’s story in writing is difficult for someone like me, who lacks talent. I lack confidence.

I’m not confident, but I thought that if I just write my heart out, maybe a little of it will come across (hmm, I feel like I wrote something like this last time too). So, encouraged by R-san, I decided to give it a try. The contents page printed on the inside cover of this “Gekiga Select” Yusuke Aoyagi Masterpiece Issue, released in November 1972 (Showa 47), list the following under “Yusuke Aoyagi Psychological Pornography Special Feature”: Part One: Invitation to the Sadist’ includes: Mugen, My Harem, Living in Red. “Part 2: 30 Lullabies for Boys.” The Husband’s Day, Void, Camouflage. The titles of six short manga stories are listed. Instead of describing the manga in words, you could simply reproduce the manga itself, but copyright and other issues arise, so it’s not that easy. To avoid manga featuring bound female bodies, I’ll recommend the final work, “Camouflage.” It’s a 22-page short story. The first page depicts two black goldfish and a withered flower within what appears to be a gray aquarium. Above the gray is the title “Camouflage.” Turning the page reveals a large landscape painting across two pages: a few rusted rails lying in a space on the outskirts of some town far from the city. A single locomotive, decaying and shabby. Several utility poles stand like black shadows. A signal post also stands. A shabby wooden shack. Beyond it, a dead tree. The gravel beneath the rails is depicted in meticulous detail, creating an oddly desolate feeling. No human figure is visible anywhere. A silent landscape that could be mistaken for ruins. Explanatory text floats in the space. When a man reaches his thirties, He starts to think, “Ah, This is the extent of my abilities.” Not an age Where I can laugh out loud Not an age Where I can be swept away by love Not the age These days,

While brushing my teeth, I sometimes think… What a dry and uninteresting Age 30 is51 ! These few lines of text likely represent the overall mood and theme of this work. Reading these words while looking at the image of the dark ruins alone makes my heart grow still. Even so, how desolate is this protagonist’s state of mind, barely past thirty. And throughout Aoyagi Yusuke’s SM, this desolation persists. The story begins on the next page. A panoramic view of the city buildings. Evening. In one of the company’s rooms, a man called “Section Chief” gazed out the window and murmured, “What a beautiful sunset…” “Looking at clouds like these makes me want to travel somewhere…” Beside him, his subordinate office lady, Keiko Hagio, was clacking away at the typewriter (computers weren’t around yet in those days). “Hagino, sorry about keeping you out so late….” “It’s nothing…” “How about it? Fancy grabbing some sushi?” “Wow! Really? Section Chief?” “Haha…. If a little sushi makes you this happy, it’s embarrassing for me.” “But…” The town’s night view. The lanterns of the sushi restaurant. “Just order whatever you like. Though if you order too many expensive things, we’ll go broke…” This is written in poetic form, so this was a bastard to translate. I did my best but this may not be accurate.

“I just joined the company this year, so I don’t really understand… But watching you work, Section Chief, I can’t help but think it must be really tough…” “...haha, it’s nothing special. I’ll probably just stay a ‘Section Chief’ forever anyway…” (Here, I, that is, Nureki, mutter to myself. Oh boy, I’ve gotten myself into a messy situation. If I have to explain the manga like this, it’s going to be a pain. Hmm… maybe I need to cut more corners. But if I do, the emotional depth of this work won’t come through. Hmm, what should I do, R-san? Are you bored reading this far?) Generally, with manga or gekiga, the order is to write the script first and then draw the pictures. But I have to do the opposite. Write the script while looking at the finished artwork. That’s why it’s backwards. Today I woke up at five in the morning, sat down at my desk, and am writing this “Talking Theater.” But now I have to head to a photo shoot for a certain publisher. As the bondage specialist, of course. To the studio on the eighth floor of a certain building. I’ll be there by eleven in the morning. Therefore, I will temporarily suspend work on this manuscript. In this manga, the section chief will take this young office lady on an overnight trip. And that night… hmm, I suppose I really should write about this. The section chief’s inner turmoil that night was quite fascinating to me. Anyway, R-san, I’ll give you a call sometime during today’s shoot. I’ll fax you the draft up to this point. ＊ ＊ ＊ At 7:00 PM, filming wrapped up. I’d like to jot down a few words about what we shot. The model was a so-called amateur who had applied directly on her own initiative. She is apparently a student currently studying spatial design at a certain university. An amateur, in other words, is not a professional model, but a woman with a fetish who desires to be bound and tormented. She was a plain, unassuming girl with a rock-like physique. She lacked the air of a typical young person these days. A woman with a rock-like physique, a shallow person like me can’t help but assume her heart is rock-like too.

(I’d had that experience several times before. Women with bodies as rigid as rock would immediately start wailing “It hurts! It hurts!” when bound, pleading for the ropes to be cut loose.) The photographer must have been convinced of that too. The photographer, who was in charge today, kept demanding harsh poses from her throughout the entire shoot. And he remained true to his own aesthetic. He was a photographer who clung to the aesthetic he aspired to. She must have her own inner personality (every female enthusiast has her own particular obsessions), but that personality was completely suppressed and ignored. Both I and the model are, to put it bluntly, hired for money. We must cooperate as directed by a strong-willed leader. We are not permitted to voice our own opinions. The rock-like girl endured her suffering silently, steadfastly, patiently and faithfully. (Ah, I just meant to jot down a quick note, but this is getting long. I’ll stop talking about the shoot now. I’ll probably write about this shoot another time.) Shooting wrapped up after 7pm. As usual, I quickly stowed the rope in my bag and stood in front of the elevator, ready to leave the studio alone. Then, she emerged from the shower room, her body wrapped in nothing but a towel, and approached me. She then bowed her head respectfully. “Thank you for today. I’ve bought and read all of your books. I haven’t gotten the new one yet, though.” I was astonished. The rock had spoken. The rock had feelings after all. No, it wasn’t a rock. I apologized to her in my heart. I had placed a brown paper cover on that paperback for reading on the train. My fingerprints were on that cover. Standing in front of the elevator, I signed my name on the cover with a ballpoint pen. I also added today’s date.

“This book’s a little dirty, but I’ll give it to you. Thanks for doing such a good job today.” I said, handing it to her. Her expression brightened for a moment, turning rosy. “Thank you! I’ll read it!” Holding the towel wrapped around her chest with one hand, she bowed her head politely. She was genuinely pleased. I thought again: she wasn’t a rock after all. Once filming ended, she’d return to being an ordinary girl. “See you again, take care,” I said as I stepped into the elevator, though I thought I’d probably never see her again. Once in a lifetime. Currently a student studying, this is her first time modeling. It must have been incredibly embarrassing for her to be naked in front of people. All around me were men, five - no, six including me. Their gazes were fixed solely on her. It is the men’s duty to keep their eyes fixed on her naked body, staring intently without looking away. During the first half of the shoot, her body felt especially stiff, so rigid that I couldn’t even bring her arms behind her. I think it was probably due to embarrassment and nervousness. When her body is rigid, the ropes feel especially tight and painful to her own senses. For us, it was business as usual, but for the girl doing nude modeling for the first time, it must have felt like a series of extreme poses. Even so, she saw it through to the end. I might be done with SM modeling gigs. I was recalling the “Scat-Loving Beauty” from my new paperback, “Bondage: As Long as I Live.” Today’s model didn’t engage in coprophagia, nor was she particularly a “beautiful girl.” Out in public, she was just an ordinary, plain-looking young lady.

But when she was stripped naked, her lower body spread wide, and hoisted high into the air, I sensed the same thing in her heart as that terrifying “scat-loving beauty.” Though she didn’t cry out loud like that “beautiful girl,” today she too must have been crying inside, shedding tears of the same color. Working in such a specialized field as mine, I encounter all manner of misfortune. No, perhaps I shouldn’t call it “misfortune.” What is misfortune and what is happiness, these things cannot be known now. Today, even if only for a short time, she tasted the “pleasure” she desired and received her “model fee.” She must have felt a sense of fulfillment and set off on her way home. No good. It couldn’t be summed up in a single word after all. That habit of mine, digressing, has reared its head again. I had intended to explain Aoyagi Yusuke’s graphic novel “Camouflage” here. I’ll write about that next time.