Predatory Instinct
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Vicomte de Valmont: I thought 'betrayal' was your favorite word.
Marquise de Merteuil: No, no. 'Cruelty.' I always thought that had a nobler ring to it.
-- "Dangerous Liaisons", 1988
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You have to understand that I can't exactly be held accountable for what happened. I was driven, you see, driven by the instinctual need to protect what was mine. Does one blame the wolf for being territorial? Does one blame the lion for ripping apart the gazelle? It's gruesome, surely, but that is the natural way of things.
Lions. Sharks. Hawks. All at the top of the food chain, just as I am. But, is not the lion controlled, at least in part, by his hunger? Can you begrudge the shark his need for blood? And if the flying hawk should spy a tasty mouse in the field, and gravitate towards it oh-so-naturally, lunging at just the right second to catch it up in sharp talons...
Is the hawk to blame? Or, perhaps, should we shake our finger at the mouse? That mouse. That naughty, naughty mouse. It was begging to be eaten. It should not have shown itself to the hawk. That's the way things are, ne?
There is never any pity for the animals at the top of the food chain.
I'm not cruel.
In this affair, I only did what had to be done. I'm innocent.
Can't you see?
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"And then sensei taught me all of the states and their capitals. It was so much fun, oniisan, so much fun. He even made a song out of it. Do ya wanna hear it? Because I remember it all, I have a really good memory. Sensei even says so!"
Oh yes. Sing for me, Eiri. Sing. I like the way your voice cracks when you try to hit the high notes. I adore the way you pervert music, scraping it against my ears, clawing at my spine with little nails. Feh. Your nails are so dirty. Why can't you ever stay clean? Didn't I buy you a manicure set?
Oh, that would be lovely, Eiri-kun. Go ahead. Don't mind me. I'll just make us tea, hm?"
Smile. Dig your nail into your palm, and smile. Smile like a contented lion, breath foul with the taste of raw meat. Sated.
And he sings, on and on, names of states tumbling from those lips. He gets lost about halfway through, somewhere around "Kansas". I look over my shoulder to find him repeating the same notes over and over. "Kansas...and...Kansas...and..." He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes imploring the upper realms of my kitchen for help.
"Kansas...and..." His little hand fists and thumps down on the table, "Fuck!"
Quirk your eyebrow. Look shocked. Lock away the sound of that particular expletive issuing from his lips for later use in your sick fantasies.
Oh, isn't that a pretty sight? Little Eiri-kun covering his mouth. Look at how filthy his hands are, his fingernails... Why must he always put dirty things near his mouth?
"I'm so sorry, oniisan! I didn't mean to..."
"Didn't mean to curse, Eiri-kun? Hm. Usually, people don't mean to curse. It's quite alright. I'm just surprised that you know such strong words."
I hand him his cup of tea and sit down at the table diagonally from my confused ward. I do so enjoy these moments we have together. My attention belongs solely to him, and his words are only for me.
I must mold him, you understand. I must create in him a great man. Yes. Uesugi Eiri will be a hawk, flying above the world, his wings spread, feathers ruffling sonorously. I can hear them, just like the pages of a book... Pages that will turn only for me. A story which will be revealed only for me...
Yes. This world is so tedious for those at the top of the food chain. Killing. Eating. Fucking. Sleeping. What is there to amuse the magnificent lion? The hunt grows boring. The heart of the gazelle tastes just like the liver of the zebra, which is remarkably similar to the brain of the wildebeest. Everything is always the same. It's so...stark...
Tell me a story, Eiri-kun. Tell me a story that will keep me interested in...myself.
Tell me a story with those butter-honey lips of yours.
"But, you..." He turns the cup around on his hands, blowing at it softly, making tiny tendrils of steam waft towards my neck. Is he doing that on purpose? I think he is. "You'd never curse, would you oniisan? Because you...you're always...so..."
"Yes?"
Tell me about myself, Eiri.
"I mean, you're so cool, right? Nothing gets to you. I mean, that time the airport lost your luggage, you didn't get upset or anything. You just said, 'Very well. It's human to make mistakes.' Then you smiled at me, and called us a taxi. And remember the time that woman ran into your BMW and took the bumper off? You didn't get angry at all, even though it was -totally- her fault. You just said, 'Do be more careful with yourself, Miss,' and then you helped her out of her car. You didn't even make her pay for the damages! I don't understand how you can be so...so...I mean so kind all the time, to everyone you meet. It's like nothing fazes you at all. I want to be like that, too."
"It's simple," I say, handing him a spoon. Stir, Eiri, don't blow. It's not dignified. "I just treat people as I, in turn, would wish to be treated."
I am the lion. The king of the jungle. And all of these...people...are merely part of some insignificant herd. Gazelles and zebras and wildebeests. Why would a lion get mad at his food? It wouldn't make any sense for a creature so magnificent to rail against migratory beasts.
And you, Eiri. You shall soon learn, a man should save his screams. He should roar only when it will frighten the appropriate parties. And he should purr when a dutiful hand pets him behind the ear. I will purr for you, Eiri. And you will purr for me, too.
We will saunter through the savanna together, sleek creatures with blonde manes, and all who see us will tremble.
I take my hat off and put it on Eiri's head with a sly wink. He laughs, and reaches up to clutch it. It falls forward over his forehead, trapping his loose bangs to his eyes. Golden strands of flax blind him. Ah, little scarecrow, there's no need to ask the Wizard to make you cool. Your Cowardly Lion is already here, here to provide you with any succor you might request.
"I think it's a little big for me," he says, tugging at the brim.
The things that come out of his mouth are truly fascinating. He doesn't even realize the obscenity implied in his statements. Or, does he? Ah, my little sheep, let me peek underneath your wool. I must find out if you are a wolf in disguise.
"I can't figure out how to get it to stay up," he says, as the hat falls back in his face.
Of course. Of course not. You're far too young to be adept at such things.
Let. Oniisan. Help. With. That.
I pick the hat back up off his head, and deftly, with one quick flick of my fingernail, brush his hair out of his eyes. I doubt he even notices.
"Well," I say, clasping the hat back onto my head, "We'll just have to go shopping and get you your -own- hat, hm?"
"Really?"
"Of course. How about tomorrow afternoon?"
What's this? Why is he looking down at the table? He should be infinitely more excited about spending time with me. "Oh. I can't. 'Cause tomorrow, sensei is taking me to the museum and..."
Sensei.
Always...sensei.
"Ah. Well, nevermind then. Some other time... We'll go some other time, alright?"
I look out upon the savannah, over hills and ponds, surveying all which is mine. The scrubby little trees. The zebras, the wildebeests, and the gazelles. The sun has sunk low in its cradle, the sky is gloriously ablaze. Even the wind belongs to -me-.
And I see him, a man, a native, stumbling down a well-worn path, a spear clutched in his hand. He's cleverly fashioned himself a weapon of wood and bone and stone, has he?
I don't like the way he walks, like he owns this place. He's not showing the proper respect. It's like he's not afraid. And, maybe he's not.
So. Either he's immensely stupid...
Or he fancies himself a predator, too.
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(Some years later.)
"I'm really so glad we could have this meeting, Seguchi-san," Kitazawa says, picking up his teacup and blowing across the top, causing the dark liquid to ripple. Well, now I know where Eiri picked up the habit. "I know you're busy, so I will be as brief as possible."
"There's no need, Kitazawa-san, take all the time you require. After all, -I- was the one who set up the meeting, so you mustn't think you're intruding."
I sit across from him on the couch. A good couch is hard to find. Too soft and a body will sink right into the cushion, making you appear much smaller than you actually are. If the couch is too hard, the entire room's decor will be set in too sharp a relief, not to mention you'll be eternally uncomfortable.
At any rate, I suppose I shouldn't call it a couch. Such a vulgar sounding word. Couch. I prefer "davenport", though it can be a bit sticky to say, with all those hard consonants. The perfect medium between the two is "divan". Ah. A divan is divine, don't you think? Though, if I think about it, 'settee' also works...
Kitazawa, however, has chosen poorly. He's sitting on a hard wood antique bench which my wife purchased on one of her ridiculous expeditions through the American countryside. Amish, she said. Ah yes, the Amish. I hated the piece at first, but am thankful now for the genius of people who can so unabashedly manufacture and sell discomfort.
Clever little people they are, those Amish. If this meeting goes on very long, I'm quite certain that Kitazawa-san will end up with a sore back. I shall have to send those Amish a thank-you note. Or a mule. Or whatever it is one gets a bunch of psychotic overly-religious luddites.
Some predator he is. Sitting there, looking around the room with such obvious interest, so guileless.
Shouldn't go hunting...without your spear...Kitazawa.
"So," I say, crossing my legs at the ankle. "How is my ward doing in his studies?"
"He's exceptional, really. Terribly bright. A fast learner."
I don't like the way that last bit rolls off his tongue. My toes curl, but thankfully, I'm wearing slippers. Expensive slippers. Slippers that Kitazawa could never afford, not even if he sold himself on the streets of this enormous city.
"Yes, well, that's magnificent." Now comes the time for acting. I've practiced. Oh, how I've practiced. Every millimeter must be perfect in such a performance. Manipulation isn't just a heavy-handed show of power. No, you must be absolutely subtle in putting an idea into someone else's mind. You must present something which itches, which will worm it's way deeper and deeper into the bone, until they're ready to plunge a knife into their own skin just to scratch it.
I clear my throat lightly and stare at the ceiling, as if lost in thought. Now, wring your hands, just a tad. Keep smiling, but give off a definite aura of nervousness. Just so.
"Is there something which is bothering you, Seguchi-san?"
You're bothering me. This is a time of lions, and you are nothing more than a mouse. You're no predator. You probably call your mother every Saturday just to see how she's doing. It's almost not worth going through the trouble.
"Well, you see..." Go a bit pale. It's not hard to do, just hold your breath. "Eiri-kun is at an age."
"How very true. They do get themselves into trouble, don't they? But, Eiri has a good head on his shoulders, so I doubt we'll..."
Eiri has a perfect head on his shoulders. Like me, he will become a ruler of this concrete jungle. This is an occupation for the truly gifted. Not for some nerdy bookworm who can't even tell Italian leather from Portuguese. As much as you try, Kitazawa, you will never make the transition from literati to glitterati. You just don't have what it takes. I will not have you turn my Eiri into some library dwelling otaku with bad hair and an obsession for nineteenth century poets.
"It's just that, recently, he's been asking some questions." Look mildly shocked, as if you've just suddenly caught a whiff of someone's dirty socks. "Questions about..." A small cough, "...men."
"Men?" He doesn't get it. Kitazawa is so dense, black holes have nothing on him.
"Ahem. In a romantic sense," I say quietly.
Now he gets it. That look of shock is so precious. If only I could bottle it and keep it in my wine cellar...
"But, but..." Sputtering. Sputtering. He grabs the edge of the bench. Maybe it's true. Maybe Kitazawa is in the closet, as I've suspected all along. It doesn't matter, either way. My plan is flawless.
"I'm so very sorry, Kitazawa-san. If you were a married man, I could perhaps overlook..." Never formally accuse him of anything. Always just insinuate, barely insinuate. "You understand, I have nothing against you, as a person. You've done a very fine job with Eiri-kun, but even the suspicion of..."
"Seguchi-san, you have to believe, I've never... I would never... With Eiri, I would never... I couldn't possibly..."
I reach out and touch his hand. I pat it, gently, softly. There, there, little mouse. You've just had a bit of a scare. You were foolish to enter the lion's den unprepared, and you'll go away with several claw marks for your error. I almost feel sorry for you.
"I am afraid I must let you go, Kitazawa-san. You understand how inappropriate it would be for me to keep you on as Eiri-kun's tutor after this, don't you?"
"You can't mean...!" His fingernails sink into his secondhand slacks. Poor Kitazawa. Poor expendable Kitazawa. "But, my schooling... My degree... I..."
"A smart young man like you will have no problems at all finding another job. I'll even write you a wonderful reference letter." I stand up, and offer my hand to pull Kitazawa off the bench. Now, I must speak softly, tenderly, as if this is a truly horrible thing, as if I don't want to kick him out of my life...Eiri's life. "Now, we mustn't mention this to Eiri-kun, of course. It would be too difficult for him to understand that some men..." Kitazawa almost chokes on his own tongue. He can't even put two words together correctly. "Come, let me show you to the door."
He stumbles as he walks, almost like he's been shot. I help him with his coat, that horrible green windbreaker. The fabric feels so greasy, so threadbare. The man has no taste, none. I can't have Eiri taking after such a person.
"Here, I've brought this up for you. Just to show that there are no hard feelings, and should you need anything, ever, you have only to contact me." I hand him the bottle of my best Bordeaux. A parting gift for the loser. I have to practically shove Kitazawa out the door. I think he's become a zombie. He's stunned.
That's all it takes.
That's all it takes to remove something unnecessary from your life. A little bit of unprovable innuendo, and a bottle of wine.
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So, maybe I never did write Kitazawa that recommendation letter. Maybe I did arrange for his University scholarship to mysteriously dry up, and for him to eventually be expelled during a terrible scandal involving the blackmail of a certain professor. Maybe I did secretly buy his apartment complex and evict all the tenants. Maybe I did.
But, don't you see? It was for Eiri. It was always for my Eiri. I couldn't have him go looking for Kitazawa at the University, or his old apartment. I was just tying up loose ends. For Eiri's sake.
At first, of course, I told Eiri that Kitazawa had been asked to do some research overseas. I figured that, in a few months, Eiri would forget about him. But, he just kept asking and asking, "When will sensei come back? Why doesn't he write me? Can't we take a trip to see him, Tohma?"
My excuses and explanations were never enough.
Maybe I did learn that Kitazawa had become a hustler on the Lower East Side, selling his body for pocket change. It was a hard time in the city, with the economy being what it was. And maybe I did drive past the corner where Kitazawa sold himself, just to get a glimpse, to discern the truth for myself, and to gloat just a smidgen. Just a tiny little bit of gloating. That's not so wrong, is it?
I don't know, I don't know how Kitazawa contacted Eiri again. I thought I'd closed up all of the loose ends. I thought I'd separated them forever. But, no...
No.
Was it the tough streets? The nights of sweaty men and cheap liquor? Is that how a mouse becomes a hawk? How a gecko becomes a snake? How a zebra becomes a lion?
When did you become a predator, Kitazawa?
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"Seguchi-san, please, please call me back. I've gotten myself into...a bit of trouble, and...I need your help. Please."
That's the message that Kitazawa left on my answering machine. Nothing more, nothing less. Who knows what kind of trouble he got himself into? Gambling? Drinking? Debts to someone powerful? If you aren't a predator, you're just a constant victim.
Of course, I never called him back. His phone messages became more and more demanding. Then almost rude. I had half a mind to change my number.
Maybe that's how Eiri found him. Maybe Eiri played back one of my phone messages, and heard him. I don't know. All I do know is that I came home to find a hastily scribbled message lying on my kitchen table.
"Sensei is back! Went to see him!"
I ran, of course I ran. I had to stop Eiri before he saw what had become of his favorite sensei. No, I had to stop him before Kitazawa told him... I sped through the streets. I might have hit someone, I don't even know.
And there he was, trembling, that gun shaking in his hands, Kitazawa's blood mixing with my expensive Bordeaux. Right then, and maybe even for several days afterwards, I actually felt guilty. I really and truly felt sorry for what I had done. At that time, I really meant it when I said...
"You are not to blame..."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's all my fault."
My lie, my insinuation... Kitazawa had blamed Eiri for everything. Blamed Eiri for being the catalyst of events which ruined his life. I am far too good at what I do. That's all. I'm far too good at ruining people.
Oh, Eiri, please do not fret. I've learned my lesson. I have. It will never happen again, because I've learned...
That a lion should never toy with his food, chase it, taunt it, make it fear for it's life. Because, although the taste of adrenaline is sweet...
It's always far more merciful...
Just to kill your prey.
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"Did you want anything in particular, or are you just here to waste my time?"
"I don't have any ulterior motives." I'll feign 'hurt', that's one I've perfected over the years. But, I don't really mind. I never mind you, Eiri. "I just thought I'd bring you this houseplant. Maybe get some oxygen in here."
"Whatever."
I put the plant down on the window ledge, and turn it until it looks perfect. Well, perfect, except for its proximity to a vase full of handpicked wildflowers, all wilted. How gruesome. That Shindou doesn't even know that you're allergic to daisies, does he?
"Don't!" What's that face? Why must you grow attached to dead things? "Quit moving my shit around."
"They're dead, Eiri-san. It's unsightly. They'll grow moldy and attract insects."
Such magic I work on you. I can see it in your eyes, the horror as you think of Kitazawa's pretty face being consumed by maggots. The terror as you imagine Kitazawa's flesh turn splotchy and green. You always did have an overactive imagination, Eiri. It's so easy now, easier than spilling a few drops of blood into the waters to attract the sharks. It's instinctual, it's programmed, and I only have to say a few words to remind you how much you need me.
"Well, if you want, I'll just leave them here," I say.
"No, throw them out."
In the end, you always come around to my way of thinking, don't you? Everyone does. There's no shame in it, Eiri, don't be ashamed. There are plenty of other shameful things in this world which are far more interesting. Like why you always close the document you're writing whenever I enter the room. Or why you've got a paperback copy of 'Juliette' by the Marquis de Sade hidden behind several fat dictionaries. The more you hide it, Eiri, the more it festers. Let me be the outlet your sick, sick, mind so desperately needs.
I throw out the dead flowers, and come back to find you in your office, tapping on the keys. You pretend not to notice when I pick up a printout and begin to rifle through the pages.
Tell me a story, Eiri. Reflect me with your words.
"What's this?"
"A bunch of shit. Notes. Whatever."
I sit down on the divan and begin to read through your mismanaged thoughts. I know you're worried, I know it because although you keep typing, every few seconds you press the delete key a dozen times.
How impatiently you'll wait, desperate for me to tell you that you're still such a good boy, exceptionally bright, worthy of all the attention the world gives you. Now, I have to be just a little cruel to you, just a little, just to make you want it all the more. Poor Eiri, this will hurt you far more than it hurts me.
"This is very..." Pause just long enough so that he thinks I have to search for the correct, polite, word. "...random."
Actually, they're quite beautiful, these little snippets from inside your mind. These parcels of your madness, chopped up like the most tender morsels of raw steak. You spoil me, Eiri. You spoil the lion in me when you show me such delicious things.
You storm over, looking terribly cross, and yank the pages out of my hand. If you were really upset, you'd toss them out, but you spend several seconds skimming the top page, checking to make sure that I read exactly what you wrote, and not some random shopping list or fax printout.
I spend the entire time leering at the zipper on your pants. You're far too engrossed in verifying your own brilliance to notice.
Your falling self-esteem...
Let. Oniisan. Help. With. That.
"Still, it's good," I say quite suddenly, "Different from your usual tone, quite completely. It's so jagged and raw."
"Yeah." Your posture relaxes, and you're not clinging to that paper quite so tightly anymore.
"Reminds me of Mishima Yukio, in his formative years."
How you adore it when I compare you to a nihilist. You sit back down and put the paper very close to your keyboard. You need it. It's proof that someone appreciates what you're really trying to say. It's proof that you were able to achieve something new, even without Kitazawa's bookish insights guiding you.
"Speaking of Mishima," I say, "There's a new exhibit opening in tribute to the twenty-fifth anniversary of his death. Why don't I take you tomorrow? It'll be good for you to get out of here."
I know you want to go. 'Confessions of a Mask' is your favorite book.
You spread your fingers over the paper, barely touching it, unable to -not- touch it.
"Tomorrow... I told Shuichi I'd go to the fucking beach with him. He'll be obnoxious if I tell him I can't. Heh. Like he isn't already obnoxious."
Shuichi.
Always Shuichi.
"Ah. Well, nevermind then. Some other time... We'll go some other time."
I look out upon the savannah, over hills and ponds, surveying all which is mine. The scrubby little trees. The zebras, the wildebeests, and the gazelles. The sun has sunk low in its cradle, the sky is gloriously ablaze. Even the wind belongs to -me-.
And I see him, a boy, a pink-haired native with an imbecilic smile, stumbling down a well-worn path, a spear clutched in his hand. He's cleverly fashioned himself a weapon of wood and bone and stone, has he?
I don't like the way he walks, like he owns this place. He's not showing the proper respect. It's like he's not afraid. And, maybe he's not.
But, I'm not worried.
Shindou Shuichi is no predator.
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The end.
A/N: I found this story in my pile of unfinished fanfics, mostly written. I don't recall writing it, but I thought I might as well finish it to see where it went. I wanted to create a self-view of Tohma which wasn't completely honest, which incorporated many lies that he told himself about himself... Well, I am not sure how to explain it. I'm sorry if I've offended any Tohma fans. I didn't mean to completely pervert your favorite character into something nasty and unwholesome, just for the sake of making Tohma into a "bad guy". That certainly wasn't my intent.
I also apologize if I've gone astray from the manga, as I've still only read a few volumes. I've probably missed out on a lot of Tohma/Eiri/Yuki developments. Hopefully, you won't mind judging this based just off the anime universe.