No Longer Human ( PDFDrive )

78
about money. I felt, rather, as if being next to her in
itself made it unnecessary to worry.
I drank the liquor. She did not intimidate me,
and I felt no obligation to perform my clownish
antics for her. I drank in silence, not bothering to
hide the taciturnity and gloominess which were my
true nature.
She put various appetizers on the table in front
of me. "Do you like them?" I shook my head. "Only
liquor? I'll have a drink too."
It was a cold autumn night. I was waiting at a
sushi stall back of the Cinza for Tsuneko (that, as I
recall, was her name, but the memory is too blurred
for me to be sure: I am the sort of person who
can forget even the name of the woman with whom
he attempted suicide) to get off from work. The sushi
I was eating had nothing to recommend it. Why,
when I have forgotten her name, should I be able to
remember so clearly how bad the sushi tasted? And I
can recall with absolute clarity the close-cropped
head of the old man—his face was like a snake's—
wagging from side to side as he made the sushi, trying
to create the illusion that he was a real expert. It has
happened to me two or three times since that I have
seen on the streetcar what seemed to be a familiar
face and wondered who it was, only to realize with a