really high-pitched voice. 'In reality, to use the term for the sake of convenience, what you're doing is an easygoing attempt at self-justification. You are a totally pathetic, historical example of the phallocentric, to put it mildly.'
'A pathetic, historical example,' Oshima repeats, obviously impressed. By his tone of voice he seems to like the sound of that phrase.
'In other words you're a typical sexist, patriarchic male,' the tall one pipes in, unable to conceal her irritation.
'A patriarchic male,' Oshima again repeats.
The short one ignores this and goes on. 'You're employing the status quo and the cheap phallocentric logic that supports it to reduce the entire female gender to second-class citizens, to limit and deprive women of the rights they're due. You're doing this unconsciously rather than deliberately, but that makes you even guiltier. You protect vested male interests and become inured to the pain of others, and don't even try to see what evil your blindness causes women and society. I realize that problems with restrooms and card catalogs are mere details, but if we don't begin with the small things we'll never be able to throw off the cloak of blindness that covers our society. Those are the principles by which we act.'
'That's the way every sensible woman feels,' the tall one adds, her face expressionless.
'How could any woman of generous spirit behave otherwise, given the torments that I face,' Oshima says.
The two women stand there as silent as icebergs.
'Electra, by Sophocles. A wonderful play. And by the way, the term gender was originally used to indicate grammatical gender. My feeling is the word 'sex' is more accurate in terms of indicating physical sexual difference. Using 'gender' here is incorrect. To put a linguistic fine point on it.'
A frozen silence follows.
'At any rate, what you've been saying is fundamentally wrong,' Oshima says, calmly yet emphatically. 'I am most definitely not a pathetic, historical example of a patriarchic male.'
'Then explain, simply, what's wrong with what we've said,' the shorter woman says defiantly.
'Without sidestepping the issue or trying to show off how erudite you are,' the tall one adds.
'All right. I'll do just that-explain it simply and honestly, minus any sidestepping or displays of brilliance,' Oshima says.
'We're waiting,' the tall one says, and the short one gives a compact nod to show she agrees.
'First of all, I'm not a male,' Oshima announces.
A dumbfounded silence follows on the part of everybody. I gulp and shoot Oshima a glance.
'I'm a woman,' he says.
'I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't joke around,' the short woman says, after a pause for breath. Not much confidence, though. It's more like she felt somebody had to say something.
Oshima pulls his wallet out of his chinos, takes out the driver's license, and passes it to the woman. She reads what's written there, frowns, and hands it to her tall companion, who reads it and, after a moment's hesitation, gives it back to Oshima, a sour look on her face.
'Did you want to see it too?' Oshima asks me. When I shake my head, he slips the license back in his wallet and puts the wallet in his pants pocket. He then places both hands on the counter and says, 'As you can see, biologically and legally I am undeniably female. Which is why what you've been saying about me is fundamentally wrong. It's simply impossible for me to be, as you put it, a typical sexist, patriarchic male.'
'Yes, but-' the tall woman says but then stops. The short one, lips tight, is playing with her collar.
'My body is physically female, but my mind's completely male,' Oshima goes on. 'Emotionally I live as a man. So I suppose your notion of being a historical example may be correct. And maybe I am sexist-who knows. But I'm not a lesbian, even though I dress this way. My sexual preference is for men. In other words, I'm a female but I'm gay. I do anal sex, and have never used my vagina for sex. My clitoris is sensitive but my breasts aren't. I don't have a period. So, what am I discriminating against? Could somebody tell me?'
The three of us listening are flabbergasted and don't say a word. One of the women clears her throat, and the jarring sound reverberates through the room. The clock on the wall loudly ticks away the seconds.
'I'm very sorry,' Oshima says, 'but I'm in the middle of lunch. I'm having a tuna-spinach wrap and had eaten half of it when you asked me over. If I leave it much longer the neighborhood cats will make a grab for it. People throw away kittens they don't want in the woods near the sea, so this neighborhood is full of cats. If you don't mind I'd like to get back to my lunch. So excuse me, but please take your time and enjoy the library. Our library is open to everyone. As long as you follow the rules and don't bother the other patrons, feel free to do whatever you'd like. You can look at whatever you want. Go ahead and write whatever you like in your report. We won't mind. We don't receive any funding from anywhere and pretty much do things our own way. And that's the way we like it.'
After Oshima leaves the two women share a look, then they both stare at me. Maybe they figure me for Oshima's lover or something. I don't say a word and start arranging catalog cards. The two of them whisper to each other in the stacks, and before long they gather their belongings and start to pull up stakes. Frozen looks on their faces, they don't say a word of thanks when I hand back their daypacks.
After a while Oshima finishes his lunch and comes back inside. He hands me two spinach wraps made of tuna and vegetables wrapped in a kind of green tortilla with a white cream sauce on top. I have these for lunch. I boil up some water and have a cup of Earl Grey to wash it down.
'Everything I said a while ago is true,' Oshima tells me when I come back from lunch.
'So that's what you meant when you told me you were a special person?'
'I wasn't trying to brag or anything,' he says, 'but you understand that I wasn't exaggerating, right?'
I nod silently.
Oshima smiles. 'In terms of sex I'm most definitely female, though my breasts haven't developed much and I've never had a period. But I don't have a penis or testicles or facial hair. In short, I have nothing. A nice no- extra-baggage kind of feeling, if you want to put a positive spin on it. Though I doubt you can understand how that feels.'
'I guess not,' I say.
'Sometimes I don't understand it myself. Like, what the heck am I, anyway? Really, what am I?'
I shake my head. 'Well, I don't know what I am, either.'
'A classic identity crisis.'
I nod.
'But at least you know where to begin. Unlike me.'
'I don't care what you are. Whatever you are, I like you,' I tell him. I've never said this to anybody in my whole life, and the words make me blush.
'I appreciate it,' Oshima says, and lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. 'I know I'm a little different from everyone else, but I'm still a human being. That's what I'd like you to realize. I'm just a regular person, not some monster. I feel the same things everyone else does, act the same way. Sometimes, though, that small difference feels like an abyss. But I guess there's not much I can do about it.' He picks up a long, sharpened pencil from the counter and gazes at it like it's an extension of himself. 'I wanted to tell you all this as soon as I could, directly, rather than have you hear it from someone else. So I guess today was a good opportunity. It wasn't such a pleasant experience, though, was it?'
I nod.
'I've experienced all kinds of discrimination,' Oshima says. 'Only people who've been discriminated against can really know how much it hurts. Each person feels the pain in his own way, each has his own scars. So I think I'm as concerned about fairness and justice as anybody. But what disgusts me even more are people who have no imagination. The kind T. S. Eliot calls hollow men. People who fill up that lack of imagination with heartless bits of straw, not even aware of what they're doing. Callous people who throw a lot of empty words at you, trying to force you to do what you don't want to. Like that lovely pair we just met.' He sighs and twirls the long slender pencil in his hand. 'Gays, lesbians, straights, feminists, fascist pigs, communists, Hare Krishnas-none of them bother me. I don't care what banner they raise. But what I can't stand are hollow people. When I'm with them I just can't bear it, and wind up saying things I shouldn't. With those women-I should've just let it slide, or else called Miss Saeki and let her handle it. She would have given them a smile and smoothed things over. But I just
