Evening Proposal

RABBIT’S TOMB

A RABBIT. IT was a rabbit. At the faint rustling sound, the man turned and glanced toward the bushes thinking at first that it was a ball of white yarn. Or perhaps a white dog staring at him, but it was the eyes that convinced him. It was a rabbit. He crouched on his knees in front of it. The red eyes were mesmerizing. He stared at them, forgetting for a second that they were the eyes of a special breed of rabbit. All that occurred to him at this moment was that there existed a life besides his own in this world, a life so worn out and weary, its eyes had actually turned red. This thought gave him a surge of comfort. But that such a life had been abandoned in a dark park for so long that its white fur had started to look like dirty trash made him feel bitter.

Certainly, the rabbit had been abandoned. There was no way it’d been born and bred in the park. Rabbits like this had once been sensationally popular pets for city children. Now, however, parents were secretly abandoning them. As with so many fads, no one knew for sure what had caused the rabbit craze. But commercials starring a well-known, healthy-looking, middle-aged doctor might well have been influential enough to get it going. This doctor claimed that he was raising a breed of rabbit that didn’t grow very large, and that he himself had become a vegetarian as a result of observing its eating habits. Parents may also have been influenced by an amusing animated cartoon on television that featured a charming, witty rabbit with heavy-lidded eyes that suggested it was in possession of a unique personality. A clever picture book about a suicidal rabbit had also been published. It portrayed a rabbit that was neither worn out nor weary, but merely so bored and tired of living that it was playfully attempting suicide.

Children had become tired of dogs and cats, of baby chicks that died so easily, of monstrously prolific hamsters. Street vendors in front of schools still sold the same old machine-hatched baby chicks, but now they were also selling these mini rabbits in paper boxes—baby rabbits that were not yet weaned. Parents were wary, but they were told that raising a rabbit wasn’t at all complicated and that pet rabbits typically thrived on rabbit food alone. Furthermore, a famous professor claimed that a person could learn a great deal from watching rabbits. Thus parents’ apprehensions were allayed. When one or two households began adopting rabbits, other children dared to beg their parents for them too, and parents could find no reason to refuse. According to a survey conducted this year by a company that sold dry alfalfa hay for rabbit food, there was an eightfold increase in the number of households with pet rabbits compared to the year before.

As is true with any pet, however, actually raising the rabbits didn’t turn out to be quite as easy, interesting, or convenient as anticipated. Besides, none of these rabbits were such model vegetarians. Like other pets raised in houses in this city, these rabbits ate only a fixed amount of hard food or dry grass. This was convenient enough, but there were none of those small delights to be reaped from watching them nibble on carrots or other vegetable matter. It was difficult to imagine how on earth anyone could learn to be a vegetarian from observing a rabbit that ate only hard food and dry grass. It was perplexing. It had been asserted that when they grew up, they could be fed fruits and vegetables. However, it soon became apparent that feeding them these foods if they were even just a little wet could be lethal, so their feedings had to be kept under close control.

Thus the rabbits turned out to be parasitic dependents, picky eaters that consumed expensive food and required other costly items for their maintenance. Unlike cats or dogs, they were neither friendly nor affectionate. They could hardly be considered pets, let alone companions. They could justifiably be treated as cows or pigs when one considered their feeding costs, but unlike cows or pigs they didn’t even provide good meat. Owners reported that they had to be fed extremely carefully. The slightest imbalance in their food could cause foul-smelling excrement. Also, they shed their fur, which made you cough. And if you so much as dared to glance at their newborn babies, they retaliated with, as the familiar saying goes, looks that could kill. These rabbits didn’t even commit suicide as the one in the picture book did.

The children soon became bored, and the parents were unwilling to take responsibility for these rabbits, which could become family members for as long six or eight years. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, the longest surviving rabbit lived for eighteen years. Hence, during a rabbit’s life span of six, eight, or possibly eighteen years, a child who’d once begged his parents for a rabbit could conceivably finish high school, enter college, get married, and start a life of his own. Besides which, the economy was so perpetually unpredictable that no one could know when there might be another downturn that would make them feel like getting rid of one of their family members. It was simply infeasible to maintain a rabbit for six or more years when all it could do was chew hard food or dry grass with its long teeth.

Still, one couldn’t say raising a rabbit was a total waste of time. If there was one thing to be learned from raising a rabbit, it was that being stared at for a considerable length of time completely without expression could eventually incite anyone to hatred. This phenomenon often resulted in one of the parents, usually the father, pretending to take the rabbit for a walk in the park, where, in the dark of night, he would release the rabbit into the bushes. Soon after it disappeared, or even before it disappeared, the father would promptly head for home. Without slowing his pace, he might look over his shoulder once or twice, trying to ignore the voice of his conscience by convincing himself that the rabbit wasn’t really being abandoned, it was merely lost. He might even tell himself that being abandoned wasn’t necessarily so terrible. The park after all was like a spot of wilderness in the city. The rabbit would know which grass to eat. It could find a soft place to sleep and in time, it would get sick and die just like any ordinary gnat, pigeon, crow, mouse, ant, or other living creature. Walking home, the father might momentarily have the feeling that something was missing. When he arrived, he would look into the cage to be sure that the rabbit hadn’t somehow returned. Seeing the cage empty, he’d be relieved. With one of his hands, he would brush the rabbit fur from his chest.

And here was one of those abandoned rabbits. The man knelt and caressed its soft white fur. He felt its back beating gently to the rhythm of its pulse. The rabbit remained calm, as if it were used to being handled like this. The man was charmed by the pulsing of its veins and the slow rhythm of its breathing. Returning home with the rabbit, he hurried to order a cage. Only then did he realize that he should never have picked up an abandoned rabbit in the park because he too would eventually have to abandon it. He was scheduled to stay no more than six months in this city, and some of that time had already passed. When he finished this temporary assignment, he would return home. Then, just as others in this city had done before him, he too would have to secretly abandon this rabbit in the dark of night.

*

The man’s work was simple enough. He had to organize documents from his home city, scan information related to it, list it on a simple form, and submit it to the person in charge. While filling in the forms he felt like a student detained at a teacher’s office to write an essay outlining his wrongdoings.

Similarly, the person in charge always smiled and thanked him, receiving the document as if it were an essay outlining his wrongdoings. Seeing the same smile and hearing the same words day after day from the person in charge, regardless of the content of the document, the man assumed that this way of smiling and speaking must be part of the person in charge’s job description. He seemed to appreciate very little about the content or quality of the man’s work, since he always immediately turned around and tossed the document on top of a huge pile of other documents. Still, the man worried about possible errors in the documents he submitted. He was concerned that errors might cause serious economic, diplomatic, or cultural problems in relations between the two cities. He slept badly at night, even having nightmares in which the representatives of the two cities were at odds with each other due to inaccurate statistics that voided their contractual agreement. In reality, no such thing ever happened. Days passed smoothly. He continued to gather information from faxes and the Internet. He continued to fill out forms and submit them to the person in charge.

Once he intentionally recorded incorrect totals in his report, and as usual the person in charge simply tossed the document on top of the huge pile. Fretfully, the man returned to his seat ready with a corrected copy in a submission cover. He waited until closing time, but the person in charge said nothing. Time passed, and there were no major problems regarding negotiations or agreements between the two cities. The man finally relaxed. He stopped having bad dreams. From then on, he interpreted the sound of his documents being tossed on top of the pile merely as a signal that his day’s work was completed. He returned to his seat to kill time fidgeting with papers and organizing his desk. He decided that if anyone should ever inquire as to what kind of work he did, he would reply that he worked to establish cooperation and integration between two cities that had been enemies in long standing. But as it turned out, never once during his whole dispatched time did a single soul ever bother to ask.

He remembered the words of the older alumnus who had told him on the phone that he would be collecting information that would be useful for various purposes.

In general, you will be functioning to build a bridge between two cities.

But what kind of information should be collected? he’d asked, and immediately realized that this type of question wouldn’t be appreciated. He could almost see the older alumnus looking at him as if he were a three-year-old child crying to be fed. He regretted his impulsiveness. He should have inquired in a different manner.

I have collected some information. This information may be useful in some ways but totally useless in others. This is what I understand about the work. Is this acceptable?

That was how, he realized, he should have addressed his mentor. That was how the older alumnus had taught him to behave in the early stages of his company life.

Any information will work, the older alumnus unexpectedly and gently responded. Selecting and making decisions about the usefulness of the information is the role for the person in charge to play. All you have to do is collect. In other words, you should think of yourself as a sort of hunting dog.

A hunting dog? This presented yet another problem. How does one think of oneself as a hunting dog? But he didn’t ask this question. He kept quiet and listened.

You must catch and bring back the targeted object, the older alumnus continued. It’s as simple as that. What to catch and what to do with it afterwards, broil, boil, throw away or stuff, making these decisions isn’t the role for a hunting dog nosing through the woods. It is for the owner, who orders and watches. Therefore, all the dog has to do is run in the field with all his might—even to his death—until he makes the catch.

Well, that’s not a very amusing figure of speech.

Ha, ha, isn’t it true, though? Sorry. Really it’s not you but I who feels this way, the older alumnus shyly apologized. Judging by this metaphor, the older alumnus felt no no differently than he did. Now he understood. Neither of them was the owner of the hunting dog.

If the appointment had been for a longer period of time, he would have hesitated, but since it was only six months, he agreed to take the dispatched work. The older alumnus, in a strangely reluctant voice, thanked him for making that decision. Later, however, he would come to realize that he’d actually been appointed before he’d made his decision—a realization that clearly indicated to him his place in the hierarchy. This appointment convinced him that he was of little worth.

Since the information he could obtain about the city was limited and he rarely had contact with anyone, he spent most of his time at his desk, shuffling papers and examining their contents. As he had plenty of time and little work to do, he worked as slowly as possible. He walked hurriedly when crossing the office or the hallways in order to appear busy and not raise suspicions that he had too little to do. His wasn’t the type of work where mistakes occurred, except for deliberate ones. He didn’t make mistakes, so that he wouldn’t have to spend time correcting errors. If the person in charge had asked him to correct errors on a submitted paper or to somehow supplement it, he would have gladly agreed to have something more to do. But this never happened. His work received no comment. No part of it was ever cited as being especially well done or as requiring supplementation, nor was it ever mentioned that there were too many typos or errors to count.

He had no complaints about the person in charge. On the contrary, he was rather fond of him, if just because he was the only person he conversed with in the office, and the formal greeting when he submitted his documents was the only recognition he received. In fact, he hardly spoke all day long. He said hello to the superintendent of his building when on occasion he ran into him. But otherwise, his only words were, here is what I’ve done today, which he said whenever he submitted his documents.

It seemed to him that all his coworkers were so busy that they never moved except during their lunch hours. They sat in front of well-organized desks, staring at their computer monitors as though watching interesting movies, or they stared at papers on their desks with their heads inclined as though they were asleep. Even during the lunch hour, instead of noisily flooding out in companionable groups, each individual bought a lunch box of his own preference from the row of food trucks in front of the building, found a seat by himself, and quietly ate alone.

At times he left his desk to submit a paper to the person in charge and, pretending that he had other work to do as well, he deliberately walked across the whole length of the office space, which was as huge as a plaza. The office was like an enormous beehive composed of endless divisions subdivided by cubicles. It was arranged by region and city, and each cubicle was marked with a section indicator and a seat number so that it could be easily located. Large directories, like those at performing arts theaters, were posted next to the entrance door.

The day after he found the rabbit, he was about to submit a document but, at the last moment, quickly put it behind his back instead. The person in charge had been just about to take it from him, and wasn’t pleased with this gesture. He stopped smiling and glared at his subordinate, who quickly realized that such playfulness wasn’t deemed appropriate. Confused and unsure of himself, he nevertheless gathered his courage, opened his mouth, and asked his question.

Is there by any chance anyone among the workers here who is raising a rabbit?

A rabbit?

Yes, do you happen to know? he asked as he pulled the document from behind his back and handed it over. I’m looking for some help. I happen to have a rabbit, and having been dispatched here not too long ago, I’m having a difficult time making friends.

The person in charge took the document from him and tossed it on top of the pile.

Anyone can raise a rabbit. It’s easy. There should be no need for special help. Furthermore, most of the people here are on temporary dispatched terms. Dispatched work isn’t that unusual. Having said this, the person in charge was about to turn away from him to avoid dealing with the matter any longer, but the man was determined to get an answer.

Who? Who is someone like that? he asked hurriedly.

What do you mean ‘like that’?

I want to know who has raised a rabbit. And who is a dispatched worker? he said, pleased that he was at least being listened to.

I wouldn’t know. No one would know. As I already told you, a rabbit is an animal anyone can raise, and all of us are similarly dispatched—just for different time periods.

Having spoken these words, the person in charge lowered his head to make it quite clear he didn’t wish to deal with