No Longer Human ( PDFDrive )

100
people, and I don't know anything beyond what I
have stated. However, there was undoubtedly something
strangely fish-like about the boy's eyes, leading
me to wonder if the gossip might not be true. But if
this were the case, this father and son led a remarkably
cheerless existence. Sometimes, late at
night, they would order noodles from a neighborhood
shop—just for the two of them, without inviting me
—and they ate in silence, not exchanging so much
as a word.
The hoy almost always prepared the food in
Flatfish's house, and three times a day he would carry
on a separate tray meals for the parasite on the
second floor. Flatfish and the boy ate their meals
in the dank little room under the stairs, so hurriedly
that I could hear the clatter of plates.
One evening towards the end of March Flatfish—
had he enjoyed some unexpected financial success?
or did some other strategem move him? (even supposing
both these hypotheses were correct, I imagine
there were a number of other reasons besides of so
obscure a nature that my conjectures could never
fathom them)—invited me downstairs to a dinner
graced by the rare presence of sake. The host himself
was impressed by the unwonted delicacy of sliced
tuna, and in his admiring delight he expansively
offered a little sake even to his listless hanger-on.