Salmonella men on Planet Porno: stories - By Yasutaka Tsutsui Page 0,29
I had tears of mirth in my eyes, and my head was starting to feel numb.
The clapping started again.
“Who’s next, who’s next?!”
“Let us do the whole hog!”
“All do it in turns, all in turns!”
The driver of the train danced out from his place in the corner to the centre of the wooden-floored room. The mere sight of that was so comical that the women were already laughing hysterically. He was obviously an accomplished buffoon. As I reeled with laughter, a thought flitted dimly across the back of my mind. If this funny man were to dance the same dance as the others, I might just die laughing, or failing that, go stark raving mad.
The train driver started to dance, singing in a crazy high-pitched voice:
Nanjoray Kumanocky!
Kanjoray Eenocky!
Kuckay Kuttaraka,
Zockay Zottaraka,
Pockay Po-po-po-po-po!
I was pole-axed, laughing so much I could hardly breathe. Some of the women just couldn’t bear it any longer. They ran across the wooden floor, jumped down to the earthen floor, crossed to the hearthplace and crouched down there for comfort. Next, the young man sitting next to the driver was urged out by the clapping, and moved to the centre with a sheepish look. It really seemed that everyone would have to sing and dance in turn. As I clapped time with the others, I wondered if I would have to join in as well. Because if that were the case, I would be next in line. The young man started to dance, singing in a woeful voice:
Nanjoray Kumanocky!
Kanjoray Eenocky!
Sickay Sittaraka,
Gockay Gottaraka,
Kackay Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka!
By now, they’d repeated the song so many times that even I knew more or less how it went. As long as you started with “Nanjoray Kumanocky! Kanjoray Eenocky!,” you could change the second part as you felt fit.
The young man returned to his seat, accompanied by a thunderous ovation. Now they all started clapping the beat again, and smiled over at me. I hesitated for a moment. Perhaps it would seem a bit impertinent of me, a stranger, to sing and dance in front of these people. But they were evidently expecting just that. And besides, I’d been so generously wined and dined. It would have been rude not to dance for them.
As I dithered, the Village Elder, still clapping to the beat, suggested: “Well. P’raps our dance is a bit too hard for the guest.”
That got me up on my feet. “No, no. I’ll do the dance!” I said.
Everyone applauded. “The guest will do the dance!” they exclaimed.
“Good old guest, good old guest!”
Luna and the other women now came closer, and watched with looks of expectation.
This dance was funny, whoever danced it. So the same should be true for me. First, I moved to the middle of the room. Then, after swaying two or three times in rhythm with the clapping, I started to sing the song and dance the dance.
Nanjoray Kumanocky!
Kanjoray Eenocky!
Buckay Buttaraka,
Yackay Yattaraka,
Bockay Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo!
I finished the song, I finished the dance. Laughing aloud at my own foolishness, I waited for the plaudits. And then I noticed.
Not a single person was laughing.
All of them – the Village Elder and the other seniors, the bearded man, the women – they’d all stopped clapping, and now cast their heads down with uneasy looks. The red-faced man and the train driver, visibly paler now, examined the bottoms of their liquor cups and scratched their heads in embarrassment. Even Luna, standing there on the earthen floor, looked down awkwardly at her feet.
I knew I shouldn’t have done it, I thought as I flopped down onto the floor. I, a stranger, had danced the dance badly and ruined the wake.
With trepidation, I turned to the Village Elder to apologize. “I really am very sorry,” I said. “I, a stranger, have danced your dance badly and ruined your wake.”
“No, no. That’s not the problem.” The Village Elder lifted his face and looked at me with pity, shaking his head. “You sang and danced most well. Almost too well, in fact, for an outsider.”
“Oh?” I said. Maybe I was wrong to dance too well! “In that case, why did no one laugh as they did before?”
“The words you sang were not good.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “The words? But all I did was sing nonsense, like everyone else!”
“That’s true,” the Village Elder replied. “The others all sang nonsense because they were trying not to sing the real words. But you, intending to sing nonsense, accidentally sang the real words.”
“The real words?!” I said, aghast. “You mean, what I sang was