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“You’re not very poetic, are you? Well, then, what’s the antonym for entrails?”
“Milk.”
“That’s pretty good. One more in that vein. Shame. What’s the antonym of shame?”
“Shameless—a popular cartoonist I could name.”
“What about Masao Horiki?”
By the time we reached this point we had gradually become incapable of laughter, and were beginning to experience the particular oppressiveness, as if one’s head were stuffed with broken glass, that comes from getting drunk on gin.
“Don’t be cheeky now. I for one have never been tied up like a common criminal the way you have.”
I was taken aback. Horiki at heart did not treat me like a full human being. He could only consider me as the living corpse of a would-be suicide, a person dead to shame, an i
diot ghost. His friendship had no other purpose but to utilize me in whichever way would most further his own pleasures. This thought naturally did not make me very happy, but I realized after a moment that it was entirely to be expected that Horiki should take this view of me; that from long ago, even as a child, I seemed to lack the qualifications of a human being; and that, for all I knew, contempt, even from Horiki, might be entirely merited.
I said, feigning tranquillity, “Crime. What’s the antonym of crime? This is a hard one.”
“The law, of course,” Horiki answered flatly. I looked at his face again. Caught in the flashing red light of a neon sign on a nearby building, Horiki’s face had the somber dignity of the relentless prosecutor. I felt shaken to the core.
“Crime belongs in a different category.”
Imagine saying that the law was the antonym of crime! But perhaps everybody in “society” can go on living in self-satisfaction, thanks to just such simple concepts. They think that crime hatches where there are no policemen.
“Well, in that case what would it be? God? That would suit you—there’s something about you that smells a little of a Christian priest. I find it offensive.”
“Let’s not dispose of the problem so lightly. Let’s think about it a bit more together. Isn’t it an interesting theme? I feel you can tell everything about a man just from his answer to this one question.”
“You can’t be serious. The antonym of crime is virtue. A virtuous citizen. In short, someone like myself.”
“Let’s not joke. Virtue is the antonym of vice, not of crime.”
“Are vice and crime different?”
“They are, I think. Virtue and vice are concepts invented by human beings, words for a morality which human beings arbitrarily devised.”
“What a nuisance. Well, I suppose it is God in that case. God. God. You can’t go wrong if you leave everything at God . . . I’m hungry.”
“Yoshiko is cooking some beans downstairs now.”
“Thanks. I like beans.” He lay down on the floor, his hands tucked under his head.
I said, “You don’t seem to be very interested in crime.”
“That’s right. I’m not a criminal like you. I may indulge myself with a little dissipation, but I don’t cause women to die, and I don’t lift money from them either.”
The voice of a resistance weak but desperate spoke from somewhere in my heart. It said that I had not caused anyone to die, that I had not lifted money from anyone—but once again the ingrained habit of considering myself evil took command.
It is quite impossible for me to contradict anyone to his face. I struggled with all my might to control the feelings which mounted more dangerously in me with each instant, the result of the depressing effects of the gin. Finally I muttered almost to myself, “Actions punishable by jail sentences are not the only crimes. If we knew the antonym of crime, I think we would know its true nature. God . . . salvation . . . love . . . light. But for God there is the antonym Satan, for salvation there is perdition, for love there is hate, for light there is darkness, for good, evil. Crime and prayer? Crime and repentance? Crime and confession? Crime and ... no, they’re all synonymous. What is the opposite of crime?”
“Well if you spell ‘crime’ backwards—no, that doesn’t make sense. But the word does contain the letters r-i-c-e. Rice. I’m hungry. Bring me something to eat.”
“Why don’t you go get it yourself?” My voice shook with a rage I had almost never before betrayed.
“All right. I’ll go downstairs, then Yoshiko and I will commit a crime together. Personal demonstration is better than empty debates. The antonym of crime is rice. No—it’s beans!” He was so drunk he could barely articulate the words.
“Do as you please. Only get the hell out of here.”
