The Pillow Book Page #2

Please, write your name

on my arm.

Go on.

I met an English translator

at the cafe typo.

He said he spoke four languages,

including Yiddish.

I'll give you

another chance.

Write on my back.

Well,

what shall I write?

Write...

"we met for the first time

at the cafe typo. "

Write in three languages-

Japanese, French

and English.

Waitress!

Are we going to do

more writing?

Perhaps.

You smell strange.

Do you use perfume?

And your fingers.

What's wrong

with my fingers?

I'll give you another chance.

The last one.

Write on my breasts.

A little inappropriate.

I'll decide what's

inappropriate.

Write in Yiddish.

What's Yiddish for "breasts"?

If you're a writer, surely

you'd write on anything?

This is not going to work.

You're not a writer.

This is not writing;

it's scribbling.

Distasteful scribbling.

Get out.

You're not a writer;

you're a scribbler.

I've watched you with your little

typewriter go click, click, clack.

Get out. Go!

You could show me.

Go on.

No. I can't.

How can I get pleasure

writing on you?

You have to write on me.

Go on.

Use my body

like the pages of a book.

Of your book.

not a special

writing instrument at all.

I began very tentatively,

Thinking of Sei Shonagon's

lists of anatomical comparisons.

The thoughts were often hers,

But the words

were entirely mine.

For my first experiment

in using flesh as paper,

I made a deal with an Englishman who was

entirely ignorant of oriental languages.

Hoki, this is where you can prove

you have my interests at heart.

Come here quickly.

off you go.

Beautiful photographs.

And you don't get paid

because you owe me.

This is where I begin

to do the writing.

I'm now going to be the pen,

not just the paper.

I could help you.

I think not.

Why not?

What's wrong with me?

Because you are from Kyoto,

and you're young.

And your handwriting

is illegible.

Besides, your skin

does not make a good paper.

Watch.

You see? In my diary,

I called you "the blotter. "

Hoki the blotter.

I could help you.

I think not.

Why not?

You're none too smart

with compliments.

let me try.

Let me try.

hoki set off at dawn for

a foreign language bookshop...

In Kowloon city in a street

full of restaurants.

He finally gave the packet

to some doorman.

"we feel that we are unable

to consider...

"publication

of this material.

It's not worth the paper

it's written on. "

So they're not satisfied

with the quality of the paper.

Perhaps it's not

Japanese enough.

Try writing on me.

Seduce him.

I met Jerome in the cafe typo...

And asked him for the services

of a translator.

He gave me a choice

of six languages.

They had increased by two.

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