The Apprenticeship of Big Toe P by Rieko Matsuura

Author:Rieko Matsuura [Matsuura, Rieko]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kodansha International
Published: 2009-04-18T17:00:00+00:00

The minibus pulled into the parking lot of a plain-looking hotel of the sort used by companies for training sessions. As he got out, Shigeki glanced around, not knowing where to go. He had mentioned earlier that the sponsor of the evening’s performance was new and that the venue was new, too, so he wasn’t sure what to expect.

A thin man, who looked to be about thirty, emerged from the building and approached Shigeki. His complexion was peculiarly smooth and fair; he had a moustache and a beard about a sixteenth of an inch long. He was dressed in a style that wasn’t quite up-to-date—a white polyester-blend shirt and brown pants, which contributed to a vague sense of his otherworldliness. As he explained, he was giving a seminar in Human Development, and he had engaged the Flower Show as instructional material. He would be lecturing between each segment of the performance, but asked that the performers not let it bother them, and just to do the same show as always.

We were shown into the building, and as we were walking down a hall, Shunji asked, “What’s a seminar in Human Development?”

I told him what I had learned from the media. “They’re training programs that try to help people break through their emotional shell and release their true nature, which is sealed inside them. Something like that.”

“Their emotional shell? What’s that?”

“The fetters we put on ourselves, maybe.”

“Why would we put fetters on ourselves?”

“Afraid I can’t answer that one.”

Aiko came over to me and whispered, “That guy who’s leading the seminar … does he seem kind of religious-cultish to you? Those eyes of his aren’t looking at this world.”

“I’ve read that these seminars aren’t supposed to be religious.”

“But I’ve also read that some rather suspicious seminars have been popping up lately. The guy’s nametag says HIJIRINUMA TAKESHI. Seems kind of weird.”

She was right. The characters he’d used for HIJIRINUMA meant “swamp of saints”; TAKESHI was written in hiragana.

The setup for us was a smallish room that functioned as one of the wings of the stage. To get up onto the stage, you had to climb a short flight of stairs. I could tell that there were a lot of people out there, but I couldn’t see them unless I stood on tiptoes. Hijirinuma told the troupe members to come out in sequence when he raised his hand, then left, closing the door behind him. As we sat waiting for things to get underway, two young women, dressed in the bland style of female office workers, brought in an electric pot for hot water and the fixings for tea. Their nametags read HIJIRITANI KAORU and HIJIRISAWA YUKARI.

I went up onto the stage to set up the synthesizer. There were about thirty men and women in the audience, all gazing respectfully at the stage. Another ten men and women stood along the wall. Everyone looked calm, everyone wore nametags. No doubt all were in the saintly hijiri series: HIJIRIKAWA, HIJIRIUMI, etcetera. It was the sort of atmosphere that made me nervous.

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