No Longer Human ( PDFDrive )

50
The two cousins in whose house I was living while
attending school used to visit my room whenever they
had the time. Their knock on my door, no matter
how often it came, never failed to startle me so that
I almost jumped in fright.
"Are you studying?"
"No," I would say with a smile, shutting my book.
I would launch into some silly story, miles removed
from what I was thinking. "Today at Bchool the
geography teacher, the one we call the Walrus . . ."
One evening my cousins came to my room and
after they had compelled me to clown at unmerciful
lengths, one of them proposed, "Yozo, let's see how
you look with glasses on."
"Why?"
"Don't make such a fuss. Put them on. Here, take
these glasses."
They invariably spoke in the same harsh, peremptory
tones. The clown meekly put on the older
girl's glasses. My cousins were convulsed with laughter.
"You look exactly like him. Exactly like Harold
Lloyd."
The American movie comedian was very popular
at the time in Japan.
I stood up. "Ladies and gentlemen," I said, raising
one arm in greeting, "I should like on this occasion
to thank all my Japanese fans—"