A B E H I N A K O
_________________________THREE POEMS
Translated by Hiroaki Sato
Garden Party
Even though a strong spring wind occasionally brought sand and dust from the direction of the sea, the regular garden party held in the garden on the landfill was proceeding without any mishap, until that lady rushed in.
On the small stage with a tent hastily built to block the sun for the band-playing that was to start at noon, students from language schools invited by the city authorities were taking turns, gathering and lining up for commemorative photographs.
On the tables set out here and there, food was beginning to appear. Hors d'oeuvre made of spring vegetables, lentil soup, and, piled up high on large plates, a fricassée of that disgusting arthropod. Its long legs removed, the arthropod reminds you of the egg capsule of a certain seashell, or it looks like a red pepper or even resembles a gladiolus; yet in fact it is neither an oceanic creature nor something grown in a field, but a new species of insect that evolved on the landfill, now widely bred in city households, in glass tubes packed with vegetable waste that are as tall as you are—an indeterminate protein source.
The next item that the chef himself brought out was a dessert based on a new idea, entitled “Mr. Lamb Was Supposed to Take Care of Me, But While He was Necking and Petting That Woman, My Illness Became Seriously Worse.” Two or three extravagantly large grapes were set right next to the maraschino flavored ice cream that Madame Bovary adored. Then, immediately after silver plates with Gruyère cheese and figs were brought in, that lady, accompanied by a dog, tumbled in, her chiffon scarf fluttering after her.
No, she wasn't accompanied. A large, ferocious electric dog burst in, dragging her in slacks, along with a tiny poodle, at the end of his thick chain, kicking up swirls of dust, panting heavily. The metallic beast, shining black, had a bamboo broom stuck into his anus. The size of a calf perhaps, like a wounded rhino, he dashed into anybody in sight, overturning chairs and tables, throwing the whole place into chaos, with all the people running in all directions, trampling on mountains of food.
Many people were struck and fell bleeding. That day my father, driven up against the brick wall surrounding the garden, and pressed between the belly of the electric dog and the wall, finally died. Some of his own broken ribs stabbed his heart. While his bones were crushing noisily, I, tottering in a storm of cherry blossoms, maneuvered to place myself in front of the snout of the steel dog and fearfully caressed his fluffy nose, which I had always wanted to touch at least once.
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