parted at Shinjuku Station, and I returned to my apartment. I hesitated for a while, but eventually switched on the television.
In a change to the evening’s schedule, they were showing a panel discussion.
“Now, I think we come to a very difficult question at this point,” said the presenter. “If events continue to unfold at this pace, when do you think Morishita and Mikawa might be booking into a hotel? Or do you think it might not come to that? Professor Ohara?”
“Well, this Akiko is a bit of a shy filly, if you know what I mean,” said Professor Ohara, a racing expert. “It all depends on Morishita’s persistence and determination in the saddle.”
“It’s all in the stars,” said a female astrologer, holding up a card. “It’ll be towards the end of the month.”
Why on earth would we want to go to a hotel, I wondered. If we did, our voices would be recorded and our positions photographed. The whole thing would be reported all over the country, exposing us to universal shame.
Things continued in a similar vein for the next few days.
Then, on my way to work one morning, my heart sank when I saw an ad for a women’s magazine inside the packed commuter train.
“READ ALL ABOUT IT– TSUTOMU AND AKIKO’S CAFÉ DATE!”
– it said in large bold letters, next to a photo of my face. And underneath that, in smaller type:
“Morishita masturbated twice that night”
I was boiling with rage and grating my teeth. “Don’t I have a right to privacy?” I shouted. “I’ll sue for defamation! Who cares how many times I did it?!”
On my arrival at work, I went straight to the Chief Clerk’s desk and presented him with a copy of the magazine, which I’d bought at the station. “I’d like permission to leave the office on personal business. I assume you know about this article. I’m going to complain to the company that publishes this magazine.”
“Of course, I understand how you feel,” the Chief Clerk said in a faltering voice, evidently trying to pacify me. “But there’s surely no point in losing your temper, is there? The media are too powerful. Of course, I’d always give you permission to leave the office on personal business. As you know, I’m quite flexible when it comes to that kind of thing. I’m sure you’re aware of that. Yes. I’m sure you are. But I’m just concerned for your welfare, you see. I agree, it’s pretty disgraceful. This article, yes, it’s disgraceful. Yes. I can certainly sympathize with your predicament.”
“It really is disgraceful.”
“Yes, utterly disgraceful.”
A number of my colleagues had come to stand around me and the Chief Clerk. They all started to sympathize with me in unison. Some of the female clerks were actually weeping.
But I wasn’t going to be taken in by that. Behind my back, they were all swapping nasty rumours about me and cooperating with the media coverage. Theirs was the inevitable duplicity of those who surround the famous.
Even the company president came over to have his say. So I abandoned the idea of complaining to the publishing company. Now, the strange thing was that, even though I’d ranted and raved like a lunatic, not a word of it was reported in the TV news that day. Nor was it mentioned in the evening paper. So I took a long, hard look at the way in which news about me had been reported over the past few days.
Everything I did in awareness of the media was omitted from the news. For example, the fact that I’d tried to shake off my pursuers, or that I’d lost my temper and shouted about the magazine article. These were either ignored altogether, or reported in a different context. Not only that, but news of the helicopter that crashed into a building while following me was reported as if it were a completely unrelated event. In this respect, the coverage was quite different to that usually given to celebrities. To be more exact, the media were presenting a world in which they themselves didn’t exist.
But therein lay the reason why the news about me was gradually growing in scale, why people were taking an interest in this news. I’d become a nobody who was known by everybody. One day, for example, the morning paper had an article about me, written with a huge headline straddling six columns on the front page:
“TSUTOMU MORISHITA EATS EELS!
FIRST TIME IN SIXTEEN MONTHS”
Occasionally, I’d stumble across people secretly trying to collect information about