Salmonella men on Planet Porno: stories - By Yasutaka Tsutsui Page 0,50

they lack nutritional value, but they also encourage you to eat more of the main dish. And as you know, overeating is bad for your health. Well there! Just as I thought. Look how much rice you’ve made!” he cried as he took the lid off the rice-cooker.

My wife blushed and hung her head. “I’m sorry. I only wanted to make our humble meal look a little grander,” she said. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

My feeling of misery was beyond description. I put my chopsticks down and turned to the moustache man. “You make us sound like paupers,” I said with some sarcasm. “I’m not sure if I like that!”

But he didn’t take it as sarcasm. “What’s that, sir?” he said. “I make you sound like paupers?” He rose from his seat and knelt on it again. “You mean you don’t see yourselves as paupers? How wrong you are. You are paupers. It’s an undeniable fact that salaried workers today are the lowest class of all in this country. People selling bananas at late-night markets, tradesmen with special skills, they all earn more than salaried workers do. They may not save much, but even beggars are better off than you. You’re just going to have to accept it. Salaried workers often fail in life. Why? Because they’re weighed down by their superiority complex. The successful ones are those who quickly discard their sense of superiority. Prudent salaried workers are the ones who, though not actually saying it, know they’re all paupers.”

“How wretched we are,” my wife said, starting to sob.

“What makes you think you’re wretched, madam? You mustn’t,” the moustache man continued. “Because you see, being paupers also proves that you have no vices. All you’re doing as salaried workers is using your meagre income to save for your own home, pay for your children’s education, and contribute to pensions for your old age. In that way, you’re helping the national economy and maintaining the healthy state of the country. There’s nothing to be ashamed of at all, madam.”

I’d been staring sideways at the moustache man as he cheerfully launched into his lecture. “How can you possibly understand how miserable we’re feeling?” I countered. “After all, you can afford the prime steak lunch, can’t you.”

His eyes widened. “How could you say that, sir? How could you?! Oh, that you should be so petty in mind! Spying on others while they’re eating, envying them! When did you succumb to such sordid thoughts? They bring far more shame on you than poverty ever will. How sad. How truly sad.” He looked up to the ceiling as tears fell from his eyes. “How poverty dulleth the wit. Well fed, well bred, ’tis true. Alas, alas. Doth a life of poverty corrupt a man’s heart so?”

Starting to loathe myself, I felt so utterly full of remorse that I too burst into tears.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” I pleaded. “I had no intention at all of saying that. Oh God! I feel so ashamed!” I slumped down on the kitchen table, held my head in my hands and cried uncontrollably.

“Darling! Darling!” My wife rushed up and held me from behind, weeping aloud herself.

The moustache man, who’d continued to weep and wail like a baby, now stopped abruptly and fixed his bloodshot eyes on me. “Please, cooperate with me. I’m trying my very hardest for you. No – for everyone in this block. The others are being most cooperative. Some of them are being much more frugal. For example, your neighbours the Hamaguchis. They haven’t bought a new TV, they haven’t bought a new washing machine. They’ve just persevered and persevered, and now they’ve saved fifteen million yen – nearly enough to buy a brand new home!”

“What? Fifteen million yen?!” My wife’s eyes were gleaming.

“That’s right, madam. With just a little more effort, they’ll reach their target saving. What’s more, they’re both only forty-eight. What a truly wonderful couple. And it’s all because they cooperated with me. They were as frugal as frugal could be, and saved up the money. So. You should try your hardest too!” The moustache man slapped us both on the shoulder with each of his hands.

“Yes,” we both answered meekly, nodding like schoolchildren.

“When things are getting hard, when you’re feeling low, I’ll come and share your tears with you,” he said. Then he pulled out a pure white handkerchief and wiped his cheeks.

“Thank you,” we said in unison. “We’ll be even thriftier than before. We’ll try hard to