I Wonder What Human Flesh Tastes Like Read Online Free Page B

set most of the table without him noticing. Two parallel glasses faced each other on either side. He looked down at the man — his face already returning to the pieces — and closed the sliding door behind him. Taking his place at the table, he stared across at Nanako and waited for her to start.
    — I’m not a cook, she said. Stop looking at it, it’s not going to get any better.
    He started on his salad.
    — It’s good to see you again, he said. I’ve been too busy recently and lost touch with half my friends.
    Nanako held up a slice of raw whitefish and dipped it lightly in the small dish beside her plate.
    — I’m busy, too.
    As he watched her raise the whitefish to her lips he remembered her face, its soft stone surface, the movement of her jaw and the vague sleepiness that settled on her eyes as she ate. There was nothing to compare it with now. The woman across from him raised and lowered her chopsticks in neat, quick movements, looking away as she spoke. As in the dream, he felt his intrusion on some private sacrament. I’m not real, he thought: not at all real.
    — Do you want some tea?
    — Thank you.
    He took a piece of salmon, let it cool his tongue. Nanako was quiet, then, and he waited for her to finish. They ate mostly in silence, her occasional questions leading to nothing. He tried to hold her gaze, but it was difficult to concentrate. He finished his salad and took a last sip of tea.
    — Let me help you with the dishes.
    — All right.
    By the time he finished with the masses of tiny plates, Nanako had moved to a chair by the window. He sat next to her as she lit a cigarette and pulled an ashtray over from the table. He looked at her fingernails, their neat trim.
    — I thought I should tell you... one of the reasons I called, the other night, I had a dream about you...
    — You dreamed about me.
    — Yeah.
    She looked over.
    — I’ve dreamed about you before.
    He nodded, moved closer.
    — Back then, she said. When you were with Aoi, I mean.
    — Uh huh.
    — I never liked her. She said I had a fat face.
    He remembered the two girls walking, before. They’d held hands, sometimes.
    — You were roommates though. When I met you. You...
    Nanako finished her cigarette and crushed the stub in the ashtray.
    — Yeah. I haven’t talked to her in a long time.
    — Uh. I couldn’t figure her out either.
    He didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed her nails before. They were the same short fingers he remembered, but the nails had been cut and polished, a faint pink tinge at their edges. He was close enough to her now to see their lining.
    — What happened in your dream? she asked.
    — Nothing, really, it was just your face. I saw your face. You weren’t looking at me though…you were looking at something else and you seemed happy, I think. But you were off-center…I don’t know how to describe it. It was like a photograph that’s been blown up, and you were just part of the background, but everything was focused on you...
    Her eyes lowered.
    — Your face was so peaceful, I thought you looked like a Buddha.
    A smile, but not one he recognized.
    — Oh... Nanako said. Oh, no, I’m not the Buddha…
    He wanted to tell her that he remembered her sadness, the sight of her tears and the need to save them, somehow, from being eaten... a mummified world appeared in his thoughts, delicately tended.
    — I hadn’t thought about you for a long time. I started thinking about when we used to know each other... just seeing your face made me remember all that.
    He was perched on the edge of his chair now, close enough to touch her.
    — What did you remember? she asked, looking at him.
    — The way you walked, I guess... you had your own way of walking. I remember meeting you, coming back to my flat. You stood out from everyone else.
    Ignoring his own words now, he met her gaze.
    — I think I’ve forgotten everyone else from then, you’re the only person I really remember.
    A mote of ash had caught on