Pathway to Japanese Literature

Mannequin

Sawako Tanigawa

Scattered about were desks, tables, chairs; toward the center upstage, body forms and fabric lengths lay strewn. In the recessed area stood the Mannequin, draped in cloth and holding a pose.
(Note: The Mannequin’s makeup and movements were inhuman.)
In the center stood one large full-length mirror.

Strange music.

Curtain.

The eerie music continues.
The Mannequin begins to move.
As the eerie music stops, the Mannequin also freezes.

From the left, Sawako’s voice.

“That the button won’t fasten—well, that’s because you’ve gained weight.”
“There is absolutely no error in my cutting—I must apologize for that.”
“But it’s true—my skills are precise.”
“I’m not delusional.”
“Never—absolutely never—in any matter whatsoever.”
“The very idea of a miscalculation is preposterous.”

Suwako enters.

Mrs. Mochizuki.
"What an absurd person!"
"Even though she’s the one who gained weight."
"Even though she’s become someone whom the garment doesn’t fit—how on earth could that be my responsibility?"
"Her waist went from twenty-three inches to twenty-five because she overindulged in milk and eggs."

She sat down on a chair and fiddled with the scissors on the desk.

“Just consider it.”
“Have I made a single mistake in ten years?”
“Designer Sawako Tanigawa making a measurement miscalculation—that’s no joke!”
“Even the basting is splendid—ugh, there’s no way someone like me could make a mistake.”

“Yes.”
“Huh?”
“No—it truly is so.”
“What did you say?”
“Do you truly stand by that statement?”
“What—ah—my skill!”
“Your arm.”
“Yes... Arm.”
“Eyes too.”
“Yes... Eyes too.”
“Calculations too—your calculations.”

Suwako: “Calculations too—of course.”

“Twenty-three inches remains twenty-three inches.”
“The measurements are precise.”
“Provided what’s being measured doesn’t change.”

Sawako: “It’s only natural—if what is measured changes，there’s nothing to be done about it.”
Sawako: “Just like with Mrs．Mochizuki’s suit，don’t you think？”

“Yes.”
“So you assumed Mrs. Mochizuki wouldn’t gain weight?”

“Yes—what was that?”

“No—Mrs. Mochizuki’s waist was supposed to remain twenty-three inches permanently.”

“Who ever said that?”

Mannequin: “No one says it.”
“But someone believes it.”

“Who would think such a thing?”
“You yourself.”

“Why?”
“That’s not it—you didn’t factor in weight gain.”

Sawako: “Huh? Well—that’s true.”
“But from basting to completion takes just one week!”
“Gaining or shrinking in just a week—that’s far too self-indulgent!”

Mannequin: “What exactly do you mean by ‘too self-indulgent’?”

Sawako: “It’s Mrs. Mochizuki!”

“Mrs. Mochizuki.”
“No—Mrs. Mochizuki’s waist.”

Mannequin: “Mrs. Mochizuki’s waist—does it have a will of its own?”

Sawako: “Will.”

Mannequin: “Will.”
“Even emotions would do—in other words, there exists a place within that waist measurement capable of thought and feeling.”

Suwako: “You say such incomprehensible things—what on earth do you mean?”
Mannequin: “You’re an incomprehensible one.”
Mannequin: “Mrs. Mochizuki’s waist could hardly be called self-indulgent.”

Suwako: …………

Mannequin: “To call something self-indulgent is something you can say only when there exists a place capable of thought or feeling. There is no such place in the waist.”

“Then who exactly are you saying is at fault?”

“I’m not saying anyone is at fault. There was simply a miscalculation.”

“Whose miscalculation was it?”

Mannequin: “The miscalculation was yours.”

Suwako: “Huh? Me?”

Mannequin: “That’s correct. The error lies with you.”

Suwako: “Why me? How could there be any error on my part?”

Mannequin: “The miscalculation was your failure to consider weight gain.”

Suwako: “What miscalculation? If I had to factor in every trivial fluctuation like that, I couldn’t function as a designer at all!”

“Now, now, don’t get angry.”
“No, you see.”
“It was a miscalculation discovered by chance.”

Suwako: …………

“Do consider it,” said the Mannequin. “Humanity perpetrates miscalculations time and again—somewhere, with utmost earnestness and utmost sincerity of heart. So numerous as to be comical. So pitiable as to be comical.”

“Pitiable…” murmured Sawako. “You call humanity pitiable?”

Mannequin: “Yes.”

Sawako: “You—a mannequin—gazing upon us humans.”

Mannequin: “Yes.”

Sawako: “I’m shocked—you’re the pitiable one! That’s how it seems to me.”

Mannequin: “My, my—how gracious of you.”

Sawako: “You’re putting on airs—this is an insult!”

Mannequin: “(Laughs) What exactly about me is pitiable?”

Suwako: “Well...”
“You’re stuck hanging in this room all day long.”

Mannequin: “And so?”
Sawako: “You’re not loved by anyone.”

Mannequin: “And so?”

“You can’t even love.”
“And so?”
“You intend to mock me.”

“No, absolutely not. And so?”

“You’re being noisy.”
“Then I shall speak this time.”
“Go ahead.”

“The reason is humans are pitiable.”

Suwako: “Go ahead.”

Mannequin: First.

Suwako: “First.”

“They keep gaining and losing weight.”

Sawako: “How is that pitiable?”

Mannequin: “They’re pitiable. That’s why miscalculations occur.”

Sawako: …………

Mannequin: What a stern face you have.

Sawako: And then?

Mannequin: “Second, well… They age, don’t they?”

Suwako: “Of course—I won’t keep crawling around forever.”

Mannequin: How pitiable.

Sawako: Why?

Mannequin: In ten years, ugly wrinkles will crease your forehead.
Because your hair is thin, you might go bald.

Sawako: How vile.

Mannequin: Even with your decent figure now, your waist will curve and your chest will flatten.

Sawako fell silent.

Mannequin: “What’s more, you’ll have to wear reading glasses as well. Unlike the midwife two doors down—since your nose isn’t low—there’s no worry about them slipping.”

“That’s obvious—everyone becomes ugly when they age.”

“Becoming ugly is pitiable.”

“It can’t be helped.”
“How pitiable.”
“And then? Come on—just say it already!”

“Now now, don’t rush—there are countless things to list.”
“Permanent waves grow out，lipstick wears off，and then…”

“That’s no reason.”

“Not at all—it’s a significant matter. After all, you end up wasting money, don’t you?”

“It’s trivial. Even if you spend money, you can enjoy it beyond its worth.”

“Well then, another matter.”
“That is...”
“Loving and being loved.”
“Such things still belong to the category of pitiable.”

Suwako: Why?
Mannequin: Each time, they suffer and cry.
Suwako: You’ve forgotten how to enjoy things, haven’t you?
Mannequin: You’ve forgotten that happy moments are fleeting, haven’t you?
Suwako: You’ve forgotten that you can prolong happy moments, haven’t you?

Mannequin: “You’ve forgotten the anxiety that happy moments might be destroyed someday, haven’t you?”

Suwako: “Anxiety.”
Anxiety? I can’t even fathom it.

Mannequin: “Really?”

“Really.”

“The effort to make yourself believe it’s true is pitiable.”
“Restlessness.”
“Pain.”
“Disappointment.”
“Despair.”
“Humans have many unpleasant experiences.”

Suwako: “It’s only by overcoming such things that true joy—true happiness—exists.”

Mannequin: “True joy—how profound.”
“True happiness—how profound.”
“Do you know what comes after that?”

Suwako: “There’s nothing—it’s the pinnacle.”

Mannequin: “There must be something that comes after the pinnacle.”

Suwako: “What?”

Mannequin: (Laughs) “Death.”
“Death.”
“Humans die, don’t they?”

Suwako…

Mannequin: “Death.”
“Things beyond redemption.”
“Things that cannot be evaded.”

Suwako: “Death.”
“Die.”
“Yes… I will die.”

Mannequin: “Moreover, the time is unknown.”

Suwako: “That’s right.”
“It could be tomorrow—no, even in a few minutes.”

“That’s right.”
“It could be right now.”

“Be quiet.”

“Yes, I will be quiet. There is nothing more to say.”

Suwako…

The Mannequin, which had been moving its limbs oddly until now, suddenly struck a pose and froze.

Suwako: “I’ll just go make a call.”

Suwako exits stage left.

Eerie music.
Mannequin started walking.

From stage left, Suwako’s voice.

“Yes, that’s right—it’s me, Suwako.”

The eerie music stopped; the Mannequin froze in an odd pose.
(This pose: a figure with ears perked up.)

“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know—I just suddenly wanted to call.”
“No... it’s just... You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“Certainly.”
“Yes, I’m perfectly sane.”
“Of course.”
“Yes, nothing happened.”
“Nothing in particular.”
“Wait—there was something. Mrs. Mochizuki’s suit—she went and gained weight.”
“The buttons won’t fasten, she says.”
“That’s all.”
“That’s all there is to it.”
“Look—you can’t possibly blame me for this, can you?”
“Because Mrs. Mochizuki has gained weight—what? What are you saying? Are you busy?”
“Are you really that busy?”
“‘Get back to work’—yes, I will! I’ve plenty of work myself!”
“How cruel—after I went to the trouble of calling...”

The Mannequin took two or three steps and assumed a normal pose.
Suwako entered.

“I’m so fed up,” Suwako said.
“That man just kept saying ‘busy, busy’ and hung up on me.”

Suwako sat down in a chair.

“But it’s strange—what was I thinking, making a call like that?”
“Come on, work—work.”

Suwako spread out a magazine on the desk.
She took out paper and a pencil and began scribbling lines wildly.

Suwako: A sea of clouds.
Moonlight suddenly swept over the sea of clouds.
Gray taffeta with gold lamé.
The shoes were also, of course, gold.

“How many years ago was that? I saw it at a mountain lodge in Norikura.”
A midnight sea of clouds.

Mannequin: “Reminiscence?”

“Yes—it’s reminiscence.”

Mannequin: “They say reminiscence is a sweet thing.”

Suwako: “That’s right.”
“Nostalgic.”
“Back then.”

Mannequin: “You were young.”

Sawako: “What.”
Mannequin: “You were young back then.”

Suwako: “Even now…”

Mannequin: “You are young.”
Suwako: “Why must you mock me like this every single time?”

“I’m not mocking you.”

“Please stay silent.”
“You’ll destroy this hard-won illusion.”

Mannequin: "Gray taffeta and gold lamé."
Suwako: "That's right."
Mannequin: "A tedious illusion."

“Why is it dull?”

“A sea of clouds and moonlight.”

“That’s right.”
“Grand and majestic.”

"That is nature."

"That's right."
"Nature."

"The things you create."

“What are you saying?”
“It isn’t natural, is it?”

Suwako: “Of course it isn’t.”
“It’s art!”

“How does art measure up against nature?”

Suwako: “What do you mean?”

“Art that imitates nature is more beautiful.”

“Beautiful, you say?”
“The things you create.”
“Beautiful. The most beautiful thing.”
“More than nature?”

“…………”

“What is your response?”

“It’s beautiful.”
“It should be beautiful.”

“Art? Humans concocted that clever word, then toil away—staking their lives—for its sake. It’s utterly absurd.”
“Imitating nature to create something surpassing it—that’s your goal.”
“You can’t possibly achieve that.”

Suwako: "...I can't understand what you're saying anymore."

Mannequin: "It’s not limited to art. There there—earlier, you went and called your dear husband."

Suwako: "Yes, I made that call."

Mannequin: "Think carefully about why you made that call."

Suwako: …………

Mannequin: “That’s because you grew anxious.”

Suwako: …………

“Humans get so rattled over such trivial things.”

“Worked up? I’m not broken.”
“You’re falling apart.”
“Where am I broken?”

Mannequin: “Everywhere.”
“The only thing unbroken is your physical body.”

Suwako: “Everywhere except my physical body?”

“That’s right.”
“The very fact of having been a designer makes you an entity already coming apart.”

“Designer.”
“I am a designer.”
“A person who creates things.”

“There’s no denying that.”
“But what an utterly dull profession it is.”
“Among humans, that is.”

“No, it’s a sacred profession. A designer is an artist.”
“It most certainly is sacred!”

Mannequin: “Sacred?”

Suwako: “That’s right. It’s something you can’t do without innate talent.”

Mannequin: “Talent.”

Suwako: “That’s right. You could even call it talent.”

Mannequin: “Talent. Talent. That’s the part that’s stuck to you.”

Suwako: “That’s right. That’s why I built my current position. My talent. Japan, Suwako, Tanigawa—we’re known in America and France! I have dozens of disciples, get invited from every major city like Tokyo and Osaka to speak on radio, get featured in newspapers...”

“So.”
“So what?”

Mannequin: “You are great.”

Suwako: (After a long silence) I am great.
I have talent.
I am great.

Mannequin: “Humans are strange, aren’t they?”

Suwako: “Why are they strange?”

Mannequin: “Because you’re prone to illusions—if only occasionally—it might be charming. But it happens all too often, you know. Foolish.”

Suwako: “What illusion? Why foolish?”

“Shall I clarify it for you?”
“Stand up. Look here—there’s a mirror, isn’t there?”
“A large full-length mirror: position yourself before it, and you’ll understand.”

The Mannequin pulled Suwako’s arm and positioned her before the mirror.
The two of them stood side by side before the mirror.

“Look closely at yourself.”

Suwako: “I’m looking.”

“What’s reflected there is you.”

Suwako: “Yes, that’s me.”

Mannequin: “A designer of status and fame.”
“Ms. Sawako Tanigawa.”

Suwako: Yes, that’s right.

Mannequin: A great artist, hmm?

Suwako: …………

“You’ve admitted it, haven’t you?”

Suwako: That’s right.

Mannequin: “So you’ve been blessed with such extraordinary talent, have you?”

Suwako: “Why?”

“An artist—how grand I am.”
“That’s why you must shoulder such unreasonable suffering yourself and stand perfectly straight.”

Sawako remained silent.

Mannequin: "You who love your husband are Ms. Suwako—the designer."
"You love your husband through your position as Ms. Suwako."

Suwako: …………

Mannequin: "Waking up to drink coffee and eat toast, reading the newspaper—all are Designer Ms. Suwako."
"When cutting fabric, of course; when basting; when meeting clients; when standing at lecterns; when giving interviews."

Suwako: “Stop it.”
“So what does that matter?”

Mannequin: “A life spent acting like an artist—like a designer—like Ms. Tanigawa Sawako—no matter the occasion.”

Suwako: “Stop it.”

“A constricted life.”
“That constriction is something you fashioned yourself.”

Suwako: …………

Mannequin: “How absurd it all is. You strike a pose in every situation. You’re always posing. My poses belong to a mannequin. Yours belong to a human. How commendable—you go out of your way to seek it out, yet still must pose.”

Suwako: “There is honor. You wouldn’t understand honor.”

Mannequin: “Honor. You know it well—that mask humans fabricated.”

Suwako: “What mask?”

Mannequin: “That’s a false face.”
“A prim facade.”
“After all, it’s just another pose.”
“A pose of wanting someone to erect a statue for you.”

“Then what on earth are you telling me to do?”

Mannequin: “Look closely.”
“Yourself.”

“I’m looking. I am looking, aren’t I?”

“The futile force that tries to oppose nature.”
“An artist’s power—how much does such a thing give value to you yourself?”
“A grand delusion. A fundamental misconception, isn’t it?”
“It has absolutely no value at all.”
“Zero.”
“It’s futile.”

“Enough.”
“Stop it already. More than that—what on earth am I supposed to do?”

“Do you intend to receive guidance from me—from a mannequin?”

Suwako: …………

Mannequin: "Crumbling away."
"No—you have already crumbled."

Suwako: "Are you saying there’s nothing to be done?"

Mannequin: “You are pitiable.”
“You who say nothing can be done—you are pitiable.”

Sawako: I am pitiable.

Mannequin: You too belong (forcefully).
"Others besides you as well."
"Humans."
"You are pitiable."

Suwako…………

Mannequin: “Look. My form.”
“Your form.”
“Compare them.”

“Your eyes don’t move.”

“That’s right.”

“Your face is always the same.”

Mannequin: “That’s right. And do you know why?”

Suwako: “Because you’re a mannequin.”

Mannequin: “Isn’t it because I have no heart? The heart is a strange place created by humans, though. In other words, it can be a danger zone and a safe zone.”

Suwako: …………

Mannequin: “When convenient, they emit transparent liquid.”

Suwako: “So it’s tears, then.”

“That’s right.”
“But.”
“It isn’t only for convenient times.”
“The heart may seem convenient, but it’s dreadfully inconvenient.”
“At least in the twentieth century, it’s a useless appendage.”

Suwako: When I stare at myself in the mirror, the self I thought was real gradually begins to look like a lie.

“If you keep looking longer, it will turn into a complete lie.”
“That’s why humanity is pitiable.”
“Someone like me could stare into a mirror forever, you know.”
“There’s no contradiction whatsoever in me being a mannequin, you know.”
“Of course there isn’t—it’s something unchanging.”

Suwako: “It’s terrifying.”

Mannequin: “Pitiable human.”
“You feel terrified, don’t you?”

Suwako: It’s so sad.

Mannequin: “Pitiable human.”
“That you feel sadness.”

I can’t look.
At myself.

(She covered her face.)

Mannequin: “Even if you stamp your feet in frustration, you remain human.”
“And not just any human—a waste of a human.”
“An artist harboring such foolish intentions.”

Suwako: “Please—please, make me a mannequin.”

“That is impossible.”

Suwako moved toward the chair as if fleeing from the mirror.
The Mannequin clattered over, stood before Suwako, and struck a pose.

Mannequin: “Come now—you must have a mountain of work piled up.”
“How about you begin your work?”
“Ms. Suwako.”

Suwako: …………

“Or perhaps you might deign to telephone your husband?”
………

Suwako remained still.

Suddenly, eerie music played.
In response, the Mannequin began dancing grotesquely.
The telephone rang.
The music ceased, and the Mannequin froze mid-motion.

Mannequin: “There, there. It seems to be from your husband.”

The phone continued to ring.
Suwako did not answer.
The phone stopped ringing.

Mannequin: “Oh ho, human life is such a busy thing.”
“So complicated.”

“Please don’t say another word—I beg of you! Be silent! I cannot become a mannequin!”

Mannequin: “Ah, correct.”
“Now then.”
“Please take up your scissors and cloth to create forms.”
“Beautiful forms.”

Eerie music.

The Mannequin starts dancing again.

—Curtain—

(Written in December 1952, from *Hisako Kusaka Collected Works: Woman*, Jinbun Shoin, June 1953)