A Question of Flesh

“Don’t make a sound.”

Andō Masaiku carefully cut a small piece of flesh from Uchida Noriko’s thigh. The piece was about the size of the first knuckle of a thumb, resting lightly and quietly in Masaiku’s hand. Its surface was stained with blood; before this, it had been smooth, fine-grained, and white. Masaiku leaned in and could see the pores on its surface.

Noriko sat in a dark blue foldable iron chair, her eyes wide as the full moon. She truly hadn’t made a sound. She chewed on a strand of her hair, dyed red-purple, watching with indifference as Masaiku, trembling slightly, removed a part of her body. Saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth, falling into the pool of blood, becoming a negligible diluting agent. Her nails were long and extravagant: rhinestones set above butterfly patterns, or simplified floral prints. With nails like these, she gently brushed Masaiku’s cheek. His whole body shuddered, as if struck by a chill.

Noriko used the tip of her nail to deftly pick up the small piece of flesh from her own thigh. The crimson of blood and the azure of her nails blended together, like a television image collapsing into a deep, remote dream. Under the sharpness of the nail, the flesh deformed; the white surface, coated in blood, gained several sharp creases.

“Look closely at the butterfly on my hand,” Noriko said, her voice cutting through the air.

Masaiku recoiled in horror, nearly losing his balance on legs that had been crouching too long. He accidentally pressed a hand into the pool of blood, staring blankly at his own bloodied hands.

“Don’t make a sound!”

Masaiku shouted at Noriko, pointing his index finger at her. Blood ran down his fingertip.

Noriko stood up from the chair. A few small asteroid-belt-like ripples appeared in the pool of blood. She frowned, looking at Masaiku with resentful eyes.

Masaiku snorted, speaking through gritted teeth: “Please sit back down. We don’t owe each other anything. This was also your request.”

“It was indeed.” Noriko relaxed her taut brow and returned to that expressionless face. Masaiku stepped forward, slid his hand inside Noriko’s shirt, and pressed it against her waist. Noriko smiled faintly. “That tickles. Also, you look kind of funny right now.” Masaiku said nothing more, sliding his hand up and down along her waist. “It feels wet and sticky. A bit unpleasant,” Noriko said. Before long, her lower body was drenched in blood.

“Too much iron smell. Add some alcohol,” Noriko said.

“What kind?” Masaiku asked.

“Whatever. Get a beer.”

Masaiku took a convenience store beer from the fridge and poured it into the blood. A pungent smell hit them; erratic white foam covered the pool of blood.

“How strange. I still can’t quite get used to these interests of yours.” Masaiku washed his hands, then rummaged through a cabinet for black latex gloves and put them on. When he returned to Noriko, he looked at her empty hands and asked, “Where’s that thing?” Noriko looked at him with a radiant smile, like a high school girl who’d just started vacation. She said vaguely, “I already threw it away. Come here, kiss me.” She didn’t wait for Masaiku to move but charged at him, tackling him onto the bed. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and stirred vigorously. Masaiku kissed her for a while, laughing, then pulled away. “Why is it so salty? Is your shampoo sea-salt flavored?” He noticed his own voice had become a bit muddled too, and then suddenly felt something foreign in his mouth. He quickly spat the flesh out.

“You actually…” He wiped his mouth, the latex gloves stinging his skin. After wiping clean, he looked at Noriko, who was giggling vacantly, and said, “Ha, I think I’m starting to understand you a little.” Then he collapsed onto the bed. Noriko lay beside him, watching. After a few minutes, she choked back a sob and ran toward the bathroom, but after two steps the pain nearly made her pass out. She grabbed the chair leg, crawled into the chair beside her, opened a book, and began reading. A few moths fluttered at the edge of the desk lamp. She waved them away halfheartedly, but they circled once and flew back. The rhinestones on her nails gleamed with an eerie gray light.

Noriko opened the drawer and took out a first aid kit to treat the wound.

Once the pain in her leg had dulled, Noriko tried walking around the apartment. Few lights were on. She sat on the sofa, letting the hum of machinery in her ears grow louder and louder. In the dizzy noise, she heard faint human voices. Different voices. She knew it was her neighbor Noizumi watching television. Noizumi had been her classmate in college, always lived alone; they maintained a familiar but not intimate relationship. She thought for a while about what to think about, then stood up and limped back to the room. “I’m going to Noizumi’s to watch some TV with her,” she said. Masaiku lay on the bed, motionless, silent. In the dim light, it was impossible to tell whether his eyes were open or closed.

Noriko turned, bracing herself against the wall as she walked to the door. She opened her own door and knocked on the neighbor’s. “Who is it?” “It’s me, Noriko.” Noizumi welcomed her warmly inside. The lights in her apartment were so bright Noriko could barely open her eyes. “Oh! Where did you get your nails done? They’re so pretty!” Noizumi exclaimed, touching her hands. Noriko smiled and said it was a little shop in Harajuku, half-underground. The two of them sat side by side watching a romance drama that had already been remade to death, eating convenience store snacks. Noizumi didn’t ask anything about the bandage on Noriko’s leg.