{"id":159405,"date":"2022-05-12T13:33:14","date_gmt":"2022-05-12T17:33:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=159405"},"modified":"2022-05-13T13:05:20","modified_gmt":"2022-05-13T17:05:20","slug":"two-in-the-afternoon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2022\/05\/12\/two-in-the-afternoon\/","title":{"rendered":"Two in the Afternoon"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Illustration by Na Kim.<\/p><\/div>\n

Saki\u2019s Moment<\/strong><\/p>\n

Saki once had sex with Jin the Actor, and she couldn\u2019t be any prouder. She hasn\u2019t told anybody yet, so maybe pride<\/em> isn\u2019t the right word for it. Still, wherever she is, whenever she starts thinking about that intimate moment and everything it means, she slips into ecstasy. She\u2019s in ecstasy when she thinks about how it\u2019s going to feel to share her moment, when she thinks about the day the rest of the world will finally know what happened\u2014when her moment will become a full-fledged point of pride. She imagines standing in front of all the women burning for Jin, the women who fantasize about him. She clears her throat and comes out with it as if delivering the best news they\u2019ve ever heard: I had sex with Jin, Jin the Actor. In bed, in the middle of the afternoon, fair and square.<\/p>\n

On Saki\u2019s side table is a magazine with Jin\u2019s face on the cover. Last weekend, at the drugstore, there were some young women\u2014younger than Saki\u2014who picked up that magazine and sighed audibly at Jin\u2019s image. \u201cHey, maybe you don\u2019t know this,\u201d she imagines saying, \u201cbut I\u2019ve slept with him.\u201d Saki pictures herself smiling, resting a hand on one of their shoulders as she sets the record straight. But why bother? If you really think about it (or even if you don\u2019t) these random girls don\u2019t have what it takes to process what I\u2019m saying. They don\u2019t deserve my moment. Drugstore girls caught up in fantasy could never in a million years comprehend why the only man who could make all their boredom and talentlessness and emptiness go away would sleep with some other woman and not them. There\u2019s no way they could accept that a woman who\u2019s actually been with Jin were standing right in front of them in some drugstore, of all the places in the world, because it had always been distance that made them jealous, that made things unbearable. The confusion swirling in their throats would soon turn to hate, and they\u2019d direct those feelings at me, even though they\u2019ve got nothing to do with me or my moment\u2014so why should I go out of my way to let them in?<\/p>\n

Saki\u2019s in ecstasy. Who really deserves her moment? Lying in a bed warmed in places by the afternoon heat of her own body, she shuts her eyes and sinks deeper into her moment. That moment. The firm bulge of his bicep against her cheek. That moment. The smell of his armpit. That moment. The soft curls of dark brown hair on the back of his neck. That moment. The heft of his penis as he slept. But for some reason, Jin\u2019s face\u2014that wonderful face, the thing that makes Jin Jin\u2014escapes her. Saki grabs the magazine from her side table and studies the cover. Right, that\u2019s right. She lets out a sigh of relief. The moment continues to warm her as it radiates outward toward its intended targets. It enters them and starts to move, bringing them even more pleasure. Yes, it reaches those women<\/em>, the women who have had sex with Jin. Saki imagines them coming together in a beautiful ring, with Jin\u2019s penis taking the middle. The women stroke each other\u2019s hair and kiss, they put their arms around each other\u2019s hips and use their fingers. They moan as they look after Jin\u2019s penis in the right way. Again and again, they bring their triumphant moments and watch them grow; they make each other wet with their tireless enthusiasm and the circle expands little by little. Saki\u2019s ecstasy gains speed as she thinks about the women drowning in a swamp of their own hatred, the women who could never enter the circle. Yes, this is what she\u2019ll do with her moment. And when she\u2019s done, it\u2019ll be out in the open for all to see. She\u2019ll make sure that the rest of the world properly documents her moment. Then she\u2019ll do it again. She\u2019ll stand in front of the others, the women who think that burning for Jin can keep their hard, shriveled, useless desires alive. She\u2019ll hold one hand high and clear her throat, then smile as she expresses her thanks. In bed, in the middle of the afternoon, all alone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Who\u2019s Eating Emma\u2019s Grapes?<\/strong><\/p>\n

Emma had never gone grape picking. Even in her dreams, she thought it was odd to dream about picking grapes. Picking grapes? This wasn\u2019t the first time, either. For whatever reason, she had this dream all the time. At some point, Emma always found herself in the dream. Was there some sort of pattern to it? Maybe, Emma thought, maybe not. She couldn\u2019t be sure.<\/p>\n

You can\u2019t pick grapes without grapevines. So, whenever Emma had the dream, she was in the fields, where the trees were planted neatly in rows. Their leaves formed a thick canopy under which the grapes were hanging down in bunches. Sometimes, when Emma looked up from a certain angle, she could see patches of sky through the web of leaves. The clumps of grapes changed color, from light green to blue or purple. Lovingly, the overlapping leaves looked after their charges. Emma had a hard time finding the words to express what the leaves had given her and how. It was much more than shelter. More like home. On summer afternoons when the merciless sun burned brightest, the leaves shaded her; on winter nights when the wind and rain hit hardest, the leaves shielded her.<\/p>\n

After a couple of years, the flower parts dropped from Emma\u2019s head. Then, one year, when the smell of autumn filled the fields, Emma\u2019s body began to change, just like the others. In time she became a cluster, full of color. Emma didn\u2019t know how many grapes she was or how big. She didn\u2019t know what color she was or how sweet. But she saw other grapes dangling nearby and figured she probably looked something like them. Then, one day, the men showed up. In the distance, Emma could see their wives and children and babies. She saw old women, too. The men approached with tiny clippers in their hands, baskets on their shoulders and at their hips. The men pushed back the leaves and went right for the berries. Thick fingers held the grapes as they were snipped free and tossed into the baskets until there was no room left. The men hadn\u2019t noticed Emma behind the leaves, but the other grapes were all taken away. Years of intertwining vines were ruthlessly undone in a matter of moments. The land was utterly spoiled and autumn\u2019s abundance was gone. Emma was alone. Then a boy came. He looked up at her. Emma\u2019s grapes were just out of his reach, but he stood on his toes and grabbed the lowest of her fruits. He tore the grape loose and popped it into his mouth. He peeled off the skin with his tongue, then spit it out onto the ground. He did it again, over and over, picking berries from Emma\u2019s bunch until she was reduced to a single grape. Even on his tiptoes, the boy couldn\u2019t reach the last one. In frustration, he leapt up with everything he had and managed to land holding Emma\u2019s final grape. She was crushed in the boy\u2019s hand. Juice dripped between his fingers, down his wrist. Men and women in the distance called to the boy. There was nothing left of Emma now but a flimsy stem, which the boy flicked into the dirt at his feet. He wiped Emma\u2019s indigo stain on the back of his pants and ran off. The days went by and Emma dried up. She could feel herself becoming indistinguishable from the earth\u2014when she woke up on the couch. It was two in the afternoon. She rubbed her eyes and turned over. She had no memory of having been a grape, but the vineyards still echoed quietly within her. I\u2019ve never even gone grape picking, she told herself, back at the edge of sleep. The gentle shadow of a single leaf fell over her trembling eyelids. Emma was back at the beginning of the dream.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Translated by David Boyd.<\/em><\/p>\n

\n

Mieko Kawakami\u00a0is the author of<\/em>\u00a0Breasts and Eggs. Her novel\u00a0<\/em>Heaven\u00a0is on the short list for the 2022 International Booker Prize, and her most recently translated novel is<\/em>\u00a0All the Lovers in the Night. She lives in Tokyo.\u00a0<\/em>This week, she headlines two events in the 2022 PEN World Voices Festival in New York: “Writing in the Country of Women<\/a>,”\u00a0with Le\u00efla Slimani, and “World Voices: An Evening of International Poetry<\/a>.”\u00a0For more information about the festival, please visit\u00a0worldvoices.pen.org<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n

David Boyd is an assistant professor of Japanese at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. With Sam Bett, he is cotranslating the novels of\u00a0Mieko Kawakami.\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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