The sound of "Music": Izvestia publishes a fragment of Yukio Mishima's novel
The late novel by Yukio Mishima, a classic of Japanese literature and one of the most prominent figures of the twentieth century, plunges the reader into a whirlpool of suppressed sexual desires, incest, lies and criminal passion. Mishima torments us with riddles that are not so easy to find the answer to. For example, is the "music" in question a metaphor or not? And if it's a metaphor, what exactly is it? You can read about all this today — from May 1, "Music" by the ABC publishing house goes on sale. In the meantime, Izvestia publishes one of the first chapters of the novel.
Yukio Mishima "Music" (fragment)
My clinic consisted of three rooms with tightly closed doors and excellent sound insulation. To prevent the natural associations that arise from overexciting the senses, there were no flower vases or framed paintings, but I tried to create a pleasant atmosphere in the reception area as much as possible: large windows, comfortable armchairs, the upholstery of which was thoughtfully combined with the color of the walls, illustrated Japanese and European magazines on the magazine stand, a vase with fresh flowers. Once, a patient, forced to wait a long time for his turn, ate yellow chrysanthemums from a vase, but that was an exceptional case.
Chrysanthemums came to my mind because in the morning, when Yumikawa Reiko first came to my clinic, they were standing in a vase — it was definitely a clear autumn morning.
The day before, we called and arranged an appointment, and that day Yumikawa Reiko was the first visitor. On the phone, she made a normal impression, although her rather low voice betrayed a change of mood, and there was a slight nervousness in her tone. She had a letter of recommendation from a doctor at the hospital, an old friend of mine. No matter how you look at it, this case didn't seem difficult to me.
That morning, I came to the clinic, greeted Assistant Kodama and Nurse Yamauchi, and changed into a white lab coat by the time I had agreed with Yumikawa Reiko. She arrived in a bright red coat, about seven minutes late. There was a state of mind behind her commitment to eye-catching color.
I was struck by Reiko's beauty: she was 24 or 25, but against the background of a bright red coat, expensive, discreet cosmetics seemed to have a natural complexion.
Regular, but not cold features. Her well—shaped nose made her profile very attractive, but it didn't make her feel like she was arrogant-she was cute enough. Plump lips, a small, elegant chin. Clear eyes—there was nothing abnormal in them.
But when I came out to say hello, she tried to smile pleasantly, and it was at that moment that her cheek twitched in a tic.
I pretended not to notice this spasm, a clear sign of hysteria. The tick wasn't that bad: it slid across my cheek a few times with a slight ripple and disappeared.
The girl was clearly confused. I skillfully pretended that I wasn't paying attention, but she understood everything. Perhaps such a comparison will sound strange, but at that moment she looked like a beauty who, for a brief moment, turned into a fox.
On a clear day in late autumn, office buildings, a theater, a hotel, and other multi-storey buildings lined up outside the window, and in my waiting room, where every visitor felt like they were in a modern clinic, the fantasy that arose was completely inappropriate.
I invited Reiko into the office and assured her that there was no reason to worry about prying eyes and ears. Then I invited her to sit in an armchair, which during the session assumed a comfortable position for the patient, put a notebook on the table in front of me and, trying to pretend that I did not attach much importance to the notes, settled myself on a low chair.
When we were alone, she explained the matter in a pleasant voice.:
— For some reason, I have a bad appetite since this summer. I thought there was nothing special about it in the summer, but sometimes I felt sick. This has happened more than once, over and over again, and it is very disturbing. I tried to drink ready-made stomach pills, but it didn't help at all. I noticed it recently and was scared. Reiko licked her upper lip with the sharp tip of her tongue and faltered. "I assumed I was pregnant."
— Was there any reason to suspect? I asked at once.
"Yes," Reiko said proudly, and after such a bold answer, she continued, "I want to tell you about this later, in order. I went to the doctor, but it turned out that there were no signs of pregnancy. I visited the therapist, Mr. R, several times, but after various examinations, no one understood anything, and based on my complaints, I was sent here.
Then, of her own accord, Reiko began to talk about her family, about how she grew up; I did not interrupt, giving her the opportunity to speak. That's what she told me.
Yumikawa is a wealthy family from the city of Kofu, his father belongs to the 17th generation of the famous old family. When Reiko graduated from a girls' school in her hometown, she wanted to continue her studies in Tokyo at S Women's University and lived in a dormitory there. She promised to return home immediately after graduation, but then she resolutely abandoned these plans, because she could not stand the groom, a second cousin, convinced her father that she needed to study society a little more, and got a job in a large foreign trade company. Two years have passed since then, and if she leaves for her hometown now, she will be married to a man who is repugnant to her. So she decided to stay in Tokyo, rent an apartment, live as she likes, and her loving father, although verbally angry, sends her enough money.
It's an excellent position, and it seems that you couldn't ask for more. The salary that Reiko receives at the company is essentially pocket money: there is no need to send money to her parents, they fully provide for her. The father seemed to be convinced that with a successful life in all respects, everything would be fine with his daughter's health.
However, with the onset of autumn, the tic I noticed earlier was added to the symptoms mentioned above — lack of appetite and nausea.
"It's so weird." It's like my face is getting ahead of itself...
Such a statement, typical for a psychologist, indicated an extraordinary mind, but as she spoke, her cheek twitched again, and I felt that Reiko was trying to keep a tense smile on her face —it seemed as if she was winking at me. She tried to overcome the tic, but on the contrary, it manifested itself: such jokes are always played by hysterical resistance.
And then Reiko suddenly said something strange.:
— Doctor, why is this happening? I can't hear the music.
Переведено сервисом «Яндекс Переводчик»
