Nureki Chimuo Archive

Dear R-san, I’ve just finished writing “Pleasure Peak,” and I’m feeling unusually hyped. I poured my heart and soul into writing this novel. It’d be a shame to dampen this excitement (though I admit that’s a bit stingy of me). So, I’ll keep writing “Talking Theater” without a break. Thank you for staying with us late into the night yesterday with the “Hasegawa Takeya and Aikyoka Troupe.” I am truly grateful. Do you remember when, during the intermission, I said to you, “I’d like to talk to you about something personal.” My fellow performers in the “Kamome-kai” group, who have absolutely nothing to do with SM, ended up watching that movie I detest (Bakushi. Oh, Bakushi! I’ve written it many times, but what a disgusting, filthy-sounding word it is!) My fellow performers had a vague idea that I was “Nureki Chimuo,” but they never knew for certain or openly acknowledged it. I hid it as much as possible. We didn’t want our hidden paradise to be seen by mere gawkers driven by low-level curiosity (let me be clear; they are nothing but gawkers). We don’t want to expose our hidden paradise to the eyes of those who don’t possess this feeling, who don’t understand this feeling. It is a hidden gem, and for me, it is a sacred place. After catching a glimpse of who we really are, they always say:

“I get it, I get it, I understand. That kind of world, I’m interested in that kind of world too. I understand. I’m convinced.” There’s no way you could understand. Even after fifty years of being completely immersed in it, I still don’t understand. That smug look on their faces as they speak to me and draw near. I find them utterly distasteful and unbearably bothersome. Shall we look up “shitari gao” in the dictionary? “A smug look” or “a boastful look.” I don’t want them to understand. They couldn't possibly understand. This isn’t a world of understanding or not understanding. I don’t want you to be convinced either. This is our sacred place. I do not want the sacred site trampled underfoot by their base, vulgar sexual curiosity, driven solely by their own self interest. After watching that unpleasant movie at the theater, sure enough, they said, “I finally understood the hearts of people in that kind of world. I understand how you felt.” There’s no way you could possibly understand. I don’t want you to understand. For fifty years, I have lived right in the heart of this world, crying and laughing, suffering and enjoying, being scorned and reviled as less than human. And yet, I still cannot understand. There is a folktale called “The Crane’s Gratitude.” It is also famous for its appearance in Junji Kinoshita’s play “The Evening Crane.” The crane who took human form and married tells her husband, “When you discover my true identity, I will leave your side.” Then she vanishes before his eyes. R-san, you know. I now feel like leaving the “Kamomeno-Kai,” where I’ve been for over a decade.

I’m not sure I can bear their curious stares directed at me from now on. I don’t want to associate with ignorant (I deliberately say ignorant) and rude people who pretend to understand when they don’t, then come up to me with a smug grin on their faces. Back when I was editor-in-chief of Uramado (a long time ago now), several men told me that masochistic women were all the ultimate nymphomaniacs, that if they had a man to torment them, they’d become any man’s slave. They asked me to introduce them to such a woman, saying they wanted to enslave her and violate her from morning till night. Even if it was half in jest, I got angry. I’ve written and talked about this story so many times already that I’ll stop now. There are plenty of similar stories out there. At the Kinbiken venue, a man suddenly tried to tie ropes around the body of a woman who was packing up to leave after finishing her day as a model. A woman like you must enjoy being restrained anytime, anywhere. I immediately expelled that man. Now that everyone knows I’m Nureki Chimuo and realizes I’m the kind of person who does movie-like things almost every day, like the “crane” in folk tales and plays…. Well, I’m not a crane. I might be more of a “pig” (lol), but I’ve decided to quit the “Kamomeno-Kai.” R-san, what do you think? You say, “Can someone like me, too sensitive, too concerned with what others think, overreacting to every word from irresponsible bystanders. Can someone so weak-willed really survive in this world?” It was clearly my fault that I appeared in that movie. Why did I ever appear in that movie? I wish I hadn’t. But it’s no use regretting it now. That’s what they mean by “after the fact.” No matter how many times promoters have called me, I have never stepped onto a theater stage or any other stage to show my ropes. It’s because in those audience seats sit people utterly disconnected from our world. It would be fine if they simply didn’t know, but there are those who deeply despise us, who feel revulsion. I don’t want them to see our secret realm, our sacred ground; not even a glimpse. I want to protect my own heart. I call it a “sacred place” and all that fancy stuff, but when you really think about it, it’s a “shameful place.”

Even if I exposed my shameful parts before them, I wouldn’t feel a shred of pleasure. My sense of inferiority only grows. It only hurts my heart. In front of our comrades, we can show our “shameful parts” as much as we want. The more shameful the shameful part, the more marketable it becomes. But in front of people who aren’t comrades or friends, I want to put on a straight face. “What an amazing world, I see it clearly now.” I don’t want people who casually spout off half-baked opinions to easily understand it. Looking up “half-baked know-it-all” in the dictionary yields: “A half-baked manner; the act of pretending to know something one doesn’t. Also, such a person.” It is precisely because I recognized my shame and kept a low profile that I have been able to live in this world for over fifty years. I don’t want to get used to being looked down upon. I don’t want to become complacent. (Though Mimomura Kou-san would sometimes declare “Let’s get familiar," and boldly become a clown.) I suppose I’m still the same cowardly person as the “Section Chief” portrayed by Yusuke Aoyagi in that previous “Talking Theater.” R-san, you know. Last night’s traveling theater troupe (I’m sorry, everyone in the Takeya and Kyoka Troupe, I don’t use this term with contempt. Please don’t misunderstand. I like you. I really like you. That’s precisely why, together with R-san, I went to see your play twice this month. And I promised to go see it one more time while you’re performing in Tokyo. Right now, as I write this, a flyer for your troupe is taped to my desk) performed a play called “The Tale of the Last Chrysanthemum,” which included this line: “Once you’ve picked up the smell of the travelling stage, you can’t easily return to the grand theater.” I listened to those words with mixed feelings.

For today’s young actors, the term “travelling theater troupe” is probably already obsolete. Fifty years ago, if you openly called someone a lowlife, to put it dramatically, it would rain blood. “If you keep writing nothing but perverted stories, you’ll lose the ability to write proper fiction. You’re someone who can write, you should get out of this perverted world while you still can.” An editor at an SM magazine once told me that. That was a long time ago, though. Ah, this person isn’t one of us, I thought at that moment. How on earth is someone like this editing an SM magazine? R-san tells me, just by seeing my face or even talking on the phone, “Keep writing the Talking Theater. Write more. Write without delay.” I’m truly grateful. R-san says that no matter what I write, even if it’s not about SM, it still carries the scent of Nureki Chimuo’s SM. This is the highest praise. I am encouraged. So I keep writing. I’ve actually held the belief since the Kitan Club era that the world of perversion cannot be fully captured unless written in pure literature. I’ll refrain from bringing the conversation back to the “Pleasure Peak” I just finished writing, as it would make the artifice a bit too obvious. But I’m excited right now. A combative, youthful blood boils within me. But that doesn’t mean I want to hang out with guys who just get all clingy around me out of morbid curiosity about perverted desires. I want to tell them not to look at me. To be honest, I don’t even want to talk to them anymore.

That’s what it means to be combative. It’s a fighting spirit to cut ties with them. I absolutely do not want them to desecrate the sacred place within my heart. Well, what should we do? Right now, the rain is pouring down. It’s the rainy season. In this rain, are the patrons who favor that troupe heading to that little theater? I’m sure they’re going, aren’t they? And those beloved actors, once the play ends, will surely see the audience in this rain, just like last night, without umbrellas, with their usual charm and smiles. Even after performing on stage for four solid hours straight. Amazing acting spirit. Entertainer’s grit. Those actors are strong. I am weak. ＊ ＊ ＊ To Rakka-san, Thank you for spending almost the entire day with me yesterday. Thanks to you, my heart feels lighter. Come to think of it, this kind of timid fear that occasionally assails me seems to stem from trauma, from being battered and wounded during that storm of the “anti-obscenity campaign” back in my Uramado days. It was a pleasure chatting with you by the shores of Ukima Pond, known as a primrose colony in the Arakawa River basin, surrounded by the songs of various wild birds. You told me, “This place, with its wide sky and the scent of water, appears in Nagai Kufu’s ‘Katsushika Souvenir’ and Tayama Katai’s ‘A Day’s Outing.’” Never mind Kufu, I never expected the name Tayama Katai to come out of your mouth. I was surprised.

Learning that Rakka-san, while working as a graphic designer, was even more of a “literary girl” than I had understood, made me happy all over again. I own a first edition copy of Tayama Katai’s “A Day’s Outing,” which I bought about ten years ago at a used bookstore in Kanda. It’s stained and tattered. Talking with you has really lifted my spirits. I’ll keep going to the “Kamomeno Kai” too. I felt like I wanted to study classical rakugo with a renewed spirit. Actually, a friend had been recommending it to me for quite some time. “My master has been asked by some foundation to start a classical rakugo class as an instructor. Would you like to join?” he said. “Thank you, I’ll go” and just now, I sent my reply. So I’ve decided to continue studying performing arts. If I hear something unpleasant again, I might get really down, but for now I’m okay. I bounce back pretty quickly. I feel like I’ve caused you quite a bit of worry. I may not look it, but I’m surprisingly tough. After all, I was born and raised in Asakusa. Let’s go together again to the Higuchi Ichiyo Memorial Museum in Ryusen. I was born in that area. You could say it’s my spiritual home. R-san’s Note The 42nd installment posted above was written in two parts, the first half, beginning with an address to myself, was written first, followed by a full day’s break before the second half, beginning with an address to Rakka-san, was written (Completed on June 24, 2008). Though compiled as a single installment, Chapter 42 chronicles the emotional journey of Nureki Chimuo over these days. Consequently, the tense used for “yesterday” differs between the first and second halves. Please be aware of this.