No Longer Human ( PDFDrive )

51
I went through the motions of making a speech.
They laughed all the harder. From then on whenever
a Harold Lloyd movie came to town I went to see
it and secretly studied his expressions.
One autumn evening as I was lying in bed reading
a book, the older of my cousins—I always called her
Sister—suddenly darted into my room quick as a
bird, and collapsed over my bed. She whispered
through her tears, "Yozo, you'll help me, I know. I
know you will. Let's run away from this terrible house
together. Oh, help me, please."
She continued in this hysterical vein for a while
only to burst into tears again. This was not the first
time that a woman had put on such a scene before
me, and Sister's excessively emotional words did not
surprise me much. I felt instead a certain boredom
at their banality and emptiness. I slipped out of bed,
went to my desk and picked up a persimmon. I peeled
it and offered Sister a section. She ate it, still sobbing,
and said, "Have you any interesting books? Lend me
something."
I chose Soseki's I am a Cat from my bookshelf
and handed it to her.
"Thanks for the persimmon," Sister said as she
left the room, an embarrassed smile on her face. Sister
was not the only one—I have often felt that I would
find it more complicated, troublesome and unpleasant