The House of the Sleeping Beauties by Yasunari Kawabata

Author:Yasunari Kawabata [Kawabata, Yasunari]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: prose_contemporary
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

3

Eight days after his second visit old Eguchi went again to the 'house of the sleeping beauties'. It had been two weeks between his first and second visits, and so the interval had been cut in a half.

Was he gradually being pulled in by the spell of girls put to sleep?

"The one tonight is still in training." said the woman of the house as she made tea. "You may be disappointed, but please put up with her."

"A different one again?"

"You called just before you came, and I had to make do with what I had. If there is a girl you specially want I must ask you to let me know two or three days in advance."

"I see. But what do you mean when you say she's in training?"

"She's new. And small."

Old Eguchi was startled.

"She was frightened. She asked if she mightn't have someone with her. But I wouldn't want to upset you."

"Two of them? I shouldn't think that would be so bad. But if she's so sound asleep that she might as well be dead, how can she know whether to be frightened or not?"

"Quite true. But be easy with her, She's not used to it."

"I won't do a thing."

"I understand that perfectly."

"In training?" he muttered to himself. There were strange things in the world. As usual, the woman opened the door a crack and looked inside. "She's asleep. Please, whenever you're ready." She went out.

Eguchi had another cup of tea. He lay with his head on his arm. A chilly emptiness came over him. He got up as if the effort were almost too much for him and, quietly opening the door, looked into the secret room of the velvet.

The 'small' girl had a small face. Her hair, disheveled as if a braid had been undone, lay over one cheek, and the palm of her hand lay over the other down to her mouth. And so probably her face looked even smaller than it was. Childlike, she lay sleeping. Her hand lay against her face, or rather, the edge of her relaxed hand lightly touched her cheekbone, and the bent fingers lay from the bridge of her nose down over her lips. The long middle finger reached to her jaw. It was her left hand. Her right hand lay at the edge of the quilt, which the fingers gently grasped. She wore no cosmetics. Nor did it seem that she had taken any off before going to sleep.

Old Eguchi slipped in beside her. He was careful not to touch her. She did not move. But her warmth, different from the warmth of the electric blanket, enveloped him. It was like a wild and undeveloped warmth. Perhaps the smell of her hair and skin made him think so, but it was not only that.

"Sixteen or so, maybe?" he muttered to himself.

It was a house frequented by old men who could no longer use women as women. But Eguchi, on his third visit, knew that to sleep with such a girl was a fleeting consolation, the pursuit of a vanished happiness in being alive.

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