Heaven

by Mieko Kawakami

Genres: Friendship; Literary Fiction; General Fiction

Synopsis

'Mieko Kawakami is a genius' - Naoise Dolan, author of Exciting Times
From the bestselling author of Breasts and Eggs and international literary sensation Mieko Kawakami, comes a sharp and illuminating novel about a fourteen-year-old boy subjected to relentless bullying.
In Heaven, a fourteen-year old boy is tormented for having a lazy eye. Instead of resisting, he chooses to suffer in silence. The only person who understands what he is going through is a female classmate, Kojima, who experiences similar treatment at the hands of her bullies. Providing each other with immeasurable consolation at a time in their lives when they need it most, the two young friends grow closer than ever. But what, ultimately, is the nature of a friendship when your shared bond is terror?
Unflinching yet tender, sharply observed, intimate and multi-layered, this simple yet profound novel stands as yet another dazzling testament to Mieko Kawakami's uncontainable talent. There can be little doubt that it has cemented her reputation as one of the most important young authors at work today.
'An expertly told, deeply unsettling tale of adolescent violence' - Vogue
Translated from the Japanese by David Boyd and Sam Bett.
Translation © 2021 by Mieko Kawakami

Release date: May 25, 2021

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

One day toward the end of April, between classes, I unzipped my pencil case and found a folded triangle of paper between the pencils.

I unfolded it to see what was inside.
“We should be friends.”
That’s all it said. Thin letters that looked like little fish-

bones, written in mechanical pencil.
I folded it up hastily and slid it back into my pencil case.

Taking a breath, I paused a second before looking around the room as casually as possible. The same group of classmates jok- ing around and howling, the usual break between classes. I tried to calm myself down by repeatedly straightening my text- books and notebooks, then I sharpened a pencil, taking my time. Before long, the bell rang for third period. Chairs screeched across the floor. The teacher walked into the room and class began.

The note had to be a prank, but I had no idea why those guys would try something so subtle after all this time. I sighed in my mind, settling into the usual darkness.

Only that first note was left inside my pencil case. After that, they were taped to the inside of my desk, clinging to the underside, where my hand would easily detect them. Whenever I found a note, I got goosebumps. I scanned the classroom, careful not to get caught, but it always felt like somebody noticed my reaction. I was overtaken by a strange anxiety, at a loss for how to act.

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“What were you doing yesterday, when it was raining?” “If you could go to any country in the world, where would you go?” Pieces of paper the size of a postcard with simple questions written on them. I always went to the bathroom to read them. I would’ve thrown them away, but unable to decide where, I ended up stuffing them behind the dark blue cover of my planner. Nothing seemed different after the notes started. Almost every day, Ninomiya and the others made me carry their backpacks, or kicked me like it was nothing, or whacked me on the head with their recorders, or made me run around for them. But the notes kept showing up, and the messages grew longer. They never used my name, and they were never signed, but when I took a good look at the handwriting, I started wondering if maybe it wasn’t Ninomiya or any of those guys, but someone else entirely. But I knew it was a dumb idea, and all my other thoughts crowded that particular one out of my mind, leaving me feeling even worse. All the same, checking each morning for a new note became my little ritual. I started coming in early, when there was no one in the classroom, and it was quiet, a faint smell of oil in the air. It made me feel good to read those little letters. I never lost sight of the possibility that this might be a trap, but something in those notes made me feel safe, however briefly, even with all my distress. At the start of May, just before vacation, I got a note saying “I want to see you. Meet me after school. I’ll be there, from five to seven.” There was a date and a simple, hand-drawn map. I could hear my heart throbbing in my ears. I read the note so many times that I could see the words before me, even when I closed my eyes. I spent the rest of the day wondering what to do, and thought of nothing else during recess, to the point

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where my head started to hurt and I lost my appetite. There was no doubt in my mind that when I showed up at the spot, Ninomiya and his crew would be there waiting, ready to deliver the beating of a lifetime. Seeing me show up, they’d cir- cle around and revel in their latest game at my expense. Things were only going to get worse. But I couldn’t just forget it. When the day came, there was nothing I could do to settle down. The whole day in class, I kept an eye on Ninomiya and his friends as best I could, but I couldn’t detect any significant change in their behavior. Eventually one of them noticed and said, “Hey, what’re you looking at?” and whipped one of his classroom slippers at me. It smacked me in the face, then dropped to the floor. He told me to pick it up, so I did. By the end of the day, I was so worked up that I was feeling queasy. As soon as last period was over, I ran almost all the way home. As I was running, I asked myself if I was really going, what the hell I was doing, but no matter how I thought it through I couldn’t say for sure. I had the feeling that anything I chose to do would turn out wrong. When my mom saw me come home, she said hi from the couch where she was sitting and then turned back to the TV. I said hi back. A voice on the TV was reading off the news. It was the only sound in the house. Every room was quiet, same as always. “I’ve been in the kitchen all day,” my mom said. I grabbed the carton of grapefruit juice from the fridge, poured a glass, and drank it at the counter. My mom looked over and told me to drink it at the table. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of fingernails or maybe toenails being clipped. “You mean making dinner?” “Uh-huh. Can’t you smell it? My first pot roast, tied up with string!”

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I wondered if my dad was actually coming home for once, but decided not to ask. “You want to eat soon?” “No. I need to go to the library for a bit. We can eat later.” My town has a big tree-lined street that goes on for blocks and blocks. This is the route I took to school. To get to the meeting place, you turned left exactly halfway down the street with the trees, onto a side street leading to a sandy lot that barely qual- ified as a park. Since I had left the house at four, there was no one at the spot when I arrived. I took the chance to catch my breath. There was a kind of bench made from tires on their sides, and a concrete whale, and between them a sandbox not much big- ger than a mattress, littered with candy wrappers and plastic bags. Among the trash, I could make out all these dry clumps of dog or cat crap. The way the sand stuck to them, they almost looked like tempura. I tried to count the individual nuggets, but new ones kept popping up. The whole sandbox was prob- ably full of them. Then it hit me. Whoever called me here might force me to eat them. The back of my throat burned. I emptied my lungs, in an attempt to make the taste of the crap go away, but the thought alone made me sick. The mouth of the whale was big enough for two people my size to fit inside. The paint had worn away so much you couldn’t tell what color it used to be. People had tagged its back and its head with permanent marker. The lot fell in the shadow of an old apartment complex, and the ground was almost black, like something rotting. I had some time to kill, so I walked back to the tree-lined street. I sat down on a metal bench, let out a huge sigh and breathed in slowly. I kept thinking how I’d made a mistake

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coming here, but if I hadn’t, and Ninomiya and the others didn’t get their way, I’d pay for it in the end. I told myself it didn’t really matter what I did. Nothing would change. I sighed again and looked up, feeling a little dazed. Not long ago, the trees were just a bunch of black trunks, but now their leaves were showing, and when the wind blew you could hear them sway. I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes, then looked up the street again. The world, as usual, was flat and lacking depth. My eyes took in the scenery like a postcard, but when I blinked, it slipped from view, replaced by a new scene. A little while later, still basically unable to think, I returned to the spot. I saw someone sitting on the tires with her back to me. A girl in her school uniform. This threw me off. I looked around the lot for somebody else, but there was no sign of any- one. I approached her cautiously. When I stopped near the mouth of the whale, she heard my footsteps and turned to face me. It was Kojima. From class. She stood up and looked me over, dropping her chin slightly. I did the same. “The letter?” Kojima was short, with kind of dark skin. She never talked at school. Her shirt was always wrinkled, and her uniform looked old. She never stood up straight. She had tons of hair, and it was totally black. So thick it never fell flat. The ends stuck out in every direction. She had this dark spot under her nose, like dirt or maybe hair, and she got made fun of for it. The girls in class picked on her for being poor and dirty. “I didn’t think you’d come,” Kojima laughed, smiling uneasily. “Were you weirded out?” I couldn’t think of what to say, so I shook my head. For a minute both of us just stood there silently. “Sit down,” Kojima said. I nodded and tried, but I couldn’t sit right on the tires.

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“It’s not like I have something to tell you. I just thought we should talk, the two of us. Honestly, I feel like we both needed it. I guess I’ve felt that way for a long time now.” Kojima stumbled every few words. I realized this was the first time I had heard her voice. The first time I had ever seen her face straight on. It was also the first time I had ever talked like this with a girl. My palms were moist, I was sweaty all over. I didn’t know where it was safe to look. “I’m glad you came.” Her voice wasn’t high or low, but it was firm, like there was something at its center, holding it together. I kept on nodding. Kojima noticed and seemed reassured. “You know the name of this park?” I shook my head. “Whale Park. See? The whale’s right there. Well, I guess I’m the only one who calls it that.” She laughed. I imagined myself saying it. Whale Park. “Like I said, I’ve wanted to talk for a while. That’s why I wrote you those notes. But I didn’t think you’d really come. I’m kind of in shock right now.” She was rubbing her nose and speaking faster than before. I nodded at this. “I want to be friends,” she said, looking at me. “I mean, if you’re okay with that.” I didn’t understand what she was saying, but I agreed. I felt a surge of misgivings. What did it mean for us to be friends? What was a friend supposed to do? I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Sweat dripped down my back. Kojima smiled. She looked really happy to hear my answer. She let out a breath and told me she was glad. Then she stood up from the tires and brushed off the back of her skirt with both hands. Her skirt had these huge creases crossing the lines of the pleats. The pockets of her blazer were bulging with what looked like scraps of tissue. “Happamine.” She sounded like she was sighing, but never

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broke her smile as she looked down at her feet. In my head I was, like, happy what? I wanted to ask her what she said, but I wasn’t sure of when or how to ask. I wound up saying nothing. “Can I write you another note?” “Yeah,” I said. My voice cracked. My face was hot. “And give it to you?” “Yeah.” I nodded. “You’ll write back?” “Yeah,” I said. This time I spoke at the right volume. What a relief. We stood there for a while, not saying anything. I could hear crows cawing somewhere far away. “Bye.” Kojima smiled and looked at me, then made a tiny wave, spun around and booked it up the side street leading to the street of trees. She didn’t look back. Not even once. In my eyes, it looked like there were two of her, almost overlapping, getting smaller and smaller. I wasn’t sure how long you were supposed to watch someone walk away, but I watched until I couldn’t see her anymore. I could still see the square bottom of her skirt swing like something heavy, swatting the backs of her calves. Even after she had completely disappeared, the bulky action of her skirt stayed with me. “Not so fast, Eyes.” Class was over, but I turned around, because I had no choice, as rotten as I felt. One of Ninomiya’s friends grabbed me by the neck and dragged me back into the classroom. This happened all the time. Ninomiya was in the middle of the room, sitting on a desk. That was his style. When he noticed me, he laughed, then said “Hey buddy.” He told me to shove a stick of chalk up my nose and draw something hilarious on

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the blackboard with it, something that would make them shit their pants. His friends all cracked up. One of them dragged me to the blackboard and the rest of them circled around to watch. I’d known Ninomiya since elementary school. Even then, he was the center of attention. He was the best athlete in our grade, but he also got straight A’s, and he had a chiseled face that anybody would consider beautiful. We were all supposed to wear a navy sweater, but he wore whatever color he wanted. His hair came down to his shoulders. His older brother, three years ahead of us, was even more popular. The two of them were school celebrities. Ninomiya gave off a special aura. There was always a crowd of kids who wanted to be friends with him. When we entered middle school, he started wearing his hair tied back and making girls laugh with his jokes, but it wasn’t just the girls. When Ninomiya told a joke, everyone who heard it laughed. He was always at the top of the class, and took upper-level classes after school while the rest of us were struggling with our homework. None of us could keep up with him. Not even the teachers. “Hurry up.” I stood there paralyzed and silent. “You never learn, do you? We’ve been doing this how many years now?” Ninomiya threw up his hands in disgust. His friends dou- bled over laughing. They couldn’t get enough of this. That’s when I saw Momose, standing with his arms crossed, a little ways behind the wall of kids. Momose had shown up in middle school. His grades were just as good as Ninomiya, and I heard they went to the same advanced after-school classes. I had never exchanged words with Momose. He was always with Ninomiya, but he never said much, and I never saw him get worked up like the rest of the kids. For reasons I didn’t understand, he watched gym

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class from the bleachers. While he was no match for Ninomiya, he had a face that anyone would describe as handsome, and both of them were at least four inches taller than me. Momose always had this expression that told you nothing about what he was thinking. He never bullied me directly. He just stood off to the side, crossed his arms and stared. “We’ve got places to be,” said Ninomiya. “We’ll have to save your masterpiece for another day. Make all three pieces of chalk disappear, and you can go.” Ninomiya told the others to stick two of the pieces of chalk up my nose. He waved the third piece in front of me like a sar- dine and said “Come on, Eyes, where’s your please and thank you?” He kicked me right in the knee, with the instep of his foot. Whether they were kicking or punching or pushing me, Ninomiya and his friends were careful not to ever leave a mark. When I got home and saw I had no bruises, I always wondered where the hell they could have learned this kind of trick. They kicked me in the knees and thighs, but never hit the same place twice. One of them booted me in the chest, like he was checking to see how soft I was. They pushed me, threw me into a wall. I staggered and crashed into a desk. Happens all the time, I told myself. It’s nothing. It happens. I waited for it to end. Pulling me up by my hair, they forced the chalk up my nose and made me eat the other piece. I bit it with my front teeth. Ninomiya and his friends just watched, laughing like crazy. Thus far I had been forced to swallow pond water, toilet water, a goldfish, and scraps of vegetables from the rabbit cage, but this was my first time eating chalk. It had no smell or taste. They yelled at me to chew faster. I closed my eyes and broke the chalk apart inside my mouth, focusing on chewing, not on what it was. I heard it crunch. The broken pieces scraped the insides of my cheeks. My job was to keep my jaw moving and

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to swallow, so I swallowed. Chalk coated the inside of my mouth. I did this for all three pieces. One of them yelled “Lemonade! Lemonade!” and brought me a plastic cup streaked with paint and full of a dirty milky liquid. Chalk dust dissolved in water. Pushed against the wall, cup pressed into my face, I drank it all. As the liquid traveled down my throat, I felt the urge to vomit, and the next thing I knew I had thrown everything up. Tears and spit dripped from my nostrils and my eyes. Dry heaving, both hands on the floor. One of the guys asked me what the hell I was doing and stepped back, but he was clap- ping. Cheering. They pressed my face into the mess and said “Clean it up.” Everyone was smiling, laughing. That was the first day I wrote back to Kojima. I had never written anyone a letter, and I had no idea what to say or how to say it, but with my freshly sharpened pencil, I wrote whatever came to mind, then erased most of it, until finally I had something I could keep. Try as I might, I could never seem to fill more than a single page. We only ever wrote about unimportant things, but over time we came to under- stand each other. To make sure no one saw me, I showed up at school before anyone else and stuck my note inside Kojima’s desk. The morning after that, I would pick up her reply and read it in the bathroom. We never made a rule about it, but neither of us said a word about school or being bullied. When I finished a note, I took off my glasses and held the paper close to my left eye so I could read the words I wrote. Rereading them gave me a headache, but only on one side of my head. I had a lazy eye. What my right eye struggled to see was part of what my left eye saw. Because everything had its blurry double, nothing had

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any depth. I had a hard time touching things even when they were right in front of me. I would miss. It didn’t matter if I used my fingertips or my whole hand. I was never certain that I was touching the right thing, or touching it the right way. Hi Kojima. I read your notes a bunch of times today. You’re using a mechanical pencil, right? I use a regular one. To answer your last question, I guess my hobby is reading, but I don’t know if I have a favorite book or type of book. Talk to you soon. Hey hey. Thanks for your letter. It rained so hard today. It was so loud under my umbrella I thought it was about to rip. On my way home, by the Yokoyama building, a huge truck ran through a puddle and splashed water all over me. It was like something from a manga. If it was, what do you think the speech bubble would say? Maybe I suck at it, but I like writ- ing letters. I’m excited to get your next letter. Hello. It’s nighttime and the wind is blowing like crazy. I think writing is hard. It’s probably harder than talking. Maybe I’ll get better if I practice. I’m trying. I’ve been sitting at my desk for over an hour and this is all I’ve managed to write. Talk to you soon. Hey again. Thanks for your letter. My midterm came back and I’m devastated. I barely passed! I won’t ask you what you got, but I’m sure you did way better than me. Oh yeah, your speech bubble idea was super funny. If another truck rushes by and splashes me again, that’s what I’m going to say! By the way, this is my second time trying to write this let- ter today. The first time didn’t work out, so I gave up and started sewing. Nothing too advanced, just a little cross-stitch- ing. I really wanted to make a cushion cover, but I didn’t have

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a cushion, so I used what I had to sew these small flower- shaped things. I really like making stuff like that. My hobbies right now are writing letters and sewing. Can’t wait for your next letter. Hi. How are you? I said in my last letter that I was hav- ing trouble writing in my own voice. I think I know why. It’s my pencil. I like 6B pencils because they almost never snap. When I was writing, I realized something. Your voice reminds me of a 6B. I’m not sure if this is going to make sense, but it’s like they’re soft and rigid at the same time. Almost unbreakable. Sorry for not making sense. Just thought I’d give it a try. It’s 8:30 at night. I have to do my geography homework. Bye for now. Hello, hello, good evening. Well, I bet it’s morning by the time you read this. How’s the weather over there? It’s raining where I am. It’s not supposed to be this rainy in May, but it is. Yeah, it’s rain- ing. More importantly, though, how many times do I have to ask you to tell me what books you like? Is it a big secret? I’ve never read a whole book for fun, so I was just curious. I’ve read . . . let’s see. Oh wait, in elementary school, I think I read some Chinese history book that we had on the bor- row-a-book shelf. I can’t believe I just remembered that. If I hadn’t written you this letter, I would never have remem- bered that. By the way, I wanted to ask you. What is it you like about reading? I forgot to ask before. Do you think it’s fun? Language class is enough reading for me, but tell me if you ever find something interesting. My house is just like what you said about your house. So boring. It’s funny, but when

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I’m doing nothing, I get this feeling like I’m fighting some- thing. Stuck . . . fighting. It never goes away, even when I’m in bed, even when I’m walking around. There’s a year and a half left of middle school, but if everything goes smoothly, we have three more years of high school after that. We’ll be doing the same thing for years. Don’t you think that’s weird? I do. What do you think the future is going to be like? I think about that stuff a lot. What if the world really ends in 1999 like everyone says? But if it doesn’t, nothing’s gonna change, though, right? Hey, I have an idea. You can tell me if you don’t like it. I almost don’t want to say it, but I’m going to. What if we met up again on the second Wednesday of next month? It was a Wednesday when we met at Whale Park the other day. It can be our day. If you don’t like the idea, you better keep it to yourself. Just kidding. You can tell me. Write back. Hello. Today felt like summer. Can’t believe May’s already over. Thanks for the pad of paper, by the way. It’s great. I’ll use it when I’m done with the one I’m using now. Thanks for saying yes to meeting in the fire stairwell. I don’t know how to put it, but I think we’ll be more comfort- able up there. It’s quiet and it has a nice breeze. No one will bother us. Just take the elevator all the way to the top. Open the door on the right and you’ll see the stairs. You’ll see what I mean. I’ll be waiting there on Wednesday, two weeks from now. I’m looking forward to it. See you soon. I was thinking of Kojima in a completely different way. Not like it was anything new, but it got harder and harder for me to watch and listen to the other girls in our class bully- ing her, just like it was stressful knowing that Kojima watched me being bullied. I didn’t want to hear them, but we were all

n the same room, and my ears couldn’t block them out. I didn’t want to see it, but I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. To them, I was “Eyes.” They called me over and made me do random things, or knocked me down, or made me run for my life around the track at recess while they watched me from inside. Ninomiya and his friends laughed at me, as usual, from the windows. They called Kojima “Hazmat” and said she smelled like fish or worse. I watched them send her to the store. I saw them kick her the same way they kicked me. Once, I saw them yell “Time for a bath!” and dunk her head in the fish tank. In her notes, Kojima was energetic and alive, an entirely dif- ferent person from the girl I saw in class. Whenever I saw things happen to her, I got this sharp pain in my chest, but as bad as it hurt there was nothing I could do. I didn’t want her knowing that I saw her. I had to look away, pretending not to watch.