The Ten Loves of Nishino

by Hiromi Kawakami

  You want, me? I said, laughing, and Nishino enveloped me in his arms. He caressed my head. It felt good to be caressed. I wondered why Subaru hated it so much. Tama, dear, your hair is so smooth, Nishino murmured. Subaru’s hair is fluffy, you know. The smell of alcohol drifted from above.

  And just like that, we had sex on the floor. Nishino’s arms were strong. Strong and thick. After we had finished, I was sad.

  Why did you do it with me? I asked him.

  But Tama, dear, don’t you like me? Nishino replied. His voice sounded sad. He seemed just as sad as I was.

  I wonder what makes Subaru happiest? Nishino murmured.

  Subaru is happy no matter what she’s doing, I replied softly. But I knew that wasn’t entirely true. If Subaru were to walk in here now, it would make her unhappy. She would be extremely unhappy.

  Are you and Subaru lovers? I got up the courage to ask.

  I thought we were, but I don’t know what Subaru thinks, Nishino replied.

  Hmm, I mumbled. Nishino raised his head. The front door had opened. I was completely still. My ear was pressed hard against the rug. There was the sound of a gasp. Nishino stood up. Subaru must have taken a step back—there was a dull thud against the door.

  Subaru, Nishino called out. She did not reply.

  It’s not what you think, Nishino said.

  Then what is it? Subaru asked, her voice hoarse.

  It’s not what you think, Nishino said one more time. There was the sound of the door closing, followed by the loud echo of footsteps stomping down the stairs. I shut my eyes and just kept my ear pressed against the rug.

  Nishino kept standing there for a while. His legs, right before my eyes, had goose bumps from his ankles to his knees.

  What is it, then, Nishino? In my head, I posed the same question to him. I touched Nishino’s leg. He kneeled down, slowly.

  Tama, dear, he murmured.

  Yeah, I replied.

  Tama, dear, Nishino whispered.

  Yeah, I repeated. Then we held each other gently in an embrace. The refrigerator hummed.

  The refrigerator was the thing that led to Subaru and me living together.

  Someone gave me this big, used fridge, Subaru had said, and I don’t have anywhere to put it. At the time, Subaru was living in an apartment that was even more cramped than the one we lived in now—there was almost no kitchen space to speak of.

  My refrigerator has just broken, I told her, so the two of us ended up looking for a new apartment. We saw lots of places, but Subaru said, “It’s great!” about every one of them, leaving me to grumble about the lack of light or storage space. But the move was easy, after bringing over the refrigerator and just our few personal belongings. Both Subaru and I were poor, so we hardly had any stuff.

  Let’s eat some soba noodles, to celebrate moving in, Subaru had suggested. We went to a soba restaurant in the neighborhood—Subaru had okame soba, which came with fish paste, and I had tsukimi soba, which came with an egg in it.

  Subaru named the refrigerator Zozo.

  I wonder if it’s bad karma to stick my feet inside Zozo, Subaru would say as she regularly opened the fridge door with her foot and stuck in her toes. No matter how often I chided her, she didn’t stop.

  You’re so noisy, Zozo, she would say, and then imitate the refrigerator’s humming sound. Buunnn.

  Come to think of it, Subaru also gave the television a name. Sayoko, she called it. Sayoko is such a hard worker. She’s glowing all day long, Subaru would say as she stared at Sayoko’s screen, motionless. When the picture went to a snow screen, Subaru became even more fixated upon it. She would sit in front of Sayoko and say, I know that Osaka Tower is on the other side of that snow.

  I couldn’t bring myself to use either of these names, Zozo or Sayoko. I thought they were stupid. Subaru was such a fool, with her soft hair and the way she loved to wander.

  Some time after what had happened, I got a phone call from Subaru, and I headed out to meet her, on a bench at a station that she had designated. At that station, she said, there was a vending machine across from the bench all the way at the end, and I was to buy a coffee and wait there. These were Subaru’s instructions.

  So I bought the coffee and was waiting, as directed, when Subaru came running down the platform. I had wondered what kind of expression she would have on her face, but she looked the same as usual. She snatched the coffee from my hand, pulled open the tab, and took a sip.

  “Why’d you get black coffee?” Subaru complained immediately. “So bitter.”

  “I didn’t expect you’d be the one drinking it,” I said.

  Subaru furrowed her brow. “Haven’t you thought about making amends for what you did, Tama?”

  Sorry, I said quietly.

  You should be really sorry, Subaru said.

  And then we sat there on the bench, chatting for a while.

  Are you still working at Shima?

  Yeah.

  Nishino really misses you.

  He called me, at Shima.

  The fridge is doing well.

  Take good care of Zozo.

  I will.

  I’ll leave the key in the letterbox.

  Okay.

  On the phone, Nishino asked me to marry him.

  Huh?

  I mean, what could grown-ups be thinking? Subaru laughed.

  Like I could ever get married, Subaru said, and then she stood up all of a sudden. The least Nishino could have done was put on some underwear. He looked like kind of a pathetic idiot, standing there naked, Subaru mumbled. And then she uttered a final “Nishinooo” before taking off, briskly walking back up the platform.

  I watched Subaru’s departing figure the whole time. That was the last time I saw her.

  She said she was going to Osaka Tower, Mr. Shima told me. According to him, she said she was going to Osaka Tower, and asked him to lend her some money. And that was it.

  I had gone to Shima with Nishino. I had previously told Nishino that I had no interest in going there, but he had begged and pleaded with me, until I reluctantly gave in. Mr. Shima stood behind the counter, idly chatting with us as he sautéed garlic.

  “How much did Subaru borrow from you? I’ll pay you back,” Nishino blurted out.

  “Why would you be the one to pay?” Mr. Shima asked incredulously, while he garnished a filet of fried horse mackerel with the garlic and some dill.

  “I bear responsibility for it,” Nishino said staunchly.

  “Subaru didn’t say anything about that.” Mr. Shima said, setting before us the dish he called “Spanish-style mackerel.”

  I could see Subaru’s gloves on a far shelf behind the counter.

  She’ll be back here any day now. Once she sees Osaka Tower, she’ll feel better, Mr. Shima said. He started washing dishes. He was humming some kind of tune.

  Nishino and I ate the Spanish-style mackerel, along with “Spanish escargot” and sautéed mushrooms, and we each drank a glass of red wine from Spain that had a bull on the label, which Mr. Shima had recommended.

  The sautéed mushrooms were Subaru’s favorite, I said quietly, and Nishino nodded.

  I don’t know why I didn’t treat her to sautéed mushrooms as often as she liked, he sighed.

  When we went outside, there were snow flurries in the air.

  There’s a statue of Billiken at Osaka Tower, Nishino said. If you rub the soles of his feet, all your wishes will come true. Nishino faced forward as he spoke.

  Billiken—you mean the guy with the pointy head? I asked.

  That’s right. I think Subaru will like him, Nishino replied leisurely.

  I wish I could touch Subaru’s hair again, I thought to myself. Nishino was still facing straight ahead. My next thought was, I doubt I’ll ever see Nishino again. And then I tried to imagine what
Osaka Tower looked like. I had never seen it before. I tried to picture a bright, bustling tower, all lit up. And there at the top was Subaru, smiling.

  I stood on tiptoe and kissed Nishino on the cheek. The light snow was starting to cover the hoods of the cars. Subaru and I never did get to make a snowman, after all. I reached out to gently touch the snow on a car hood.

  KEENLY

  I was Maow’s “lover.” Nishino was her “good friend.”

  Nishino and I used to quarrel and laugh about the different words we used. But it made sense.

  Maow is a tortoiseshell cat. Slender, supple, and serene. She showed up on my veranda one summer day.

  I was fanning myself as I listened to the radio. It was tuned to FEN, the American military station, at a low volume. A song that had been popular about twenty years earlier—when I myself had been twenty years old—was playing. I sang along with it, swaying the fan in time with the music.

  I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Without moving, I looked through the screen door and there was a cat. She ambled in circles on the veranda, and then perched on the washing machine. As I watched her, the cat returned my stare.

  I put down the fan and called out, “Meow.” The cat was silent. I tried again, “Meow,” and the cat gave a mew. It sounded more like “Maow.”

  I opened the screen door. The cat just looked straight up at me, without running away. “Are you hungry?” I asked. The cat gave another “Maow.” I went back into the apartment, brought out a plate that had a peach stone left on it, and set it on the floor. The cat leapt down softly from the washing machine and began to lick the remaining flesh from the stone. The way that her little tongue darted over the peach stone was lovely to watch. The stone had seemed so small on the plate, but it looked much larger now when compared to the cat’s face above it.

  After a while the cat jumped back onto the washing machine and hopped to the railing of the veranda. Then she vaulted to the ground. The moment she landed, there was a soft sound, like a drop of water.

  “Meow,” I called out. The cat turned around.

  “Maow,” she replied, and then she was gone.

  Ants had started to assemble on the plate that was still out on the veranda. I took a tissue and carefully wrapped up the peach stone in it. I brought it inside and threw the entire tissue package into the trash can.

  I’m going to call you Maow, okay? I said in a low voice to the cat that was now gone. On the radio, the news was being read in fast-paced English. The clamor of the cicadas echoed in the trees of the park before me.

  Maow. I tried saying it in a slightly louder voice. It had a nice ring to it.

  Maow, I called out once more. And then I headed toward the bathroom to take a shower.

  It was around that same time—when Maow started showing up at my apartment—that Nishino and I had our first conversation. Nishino lived in the apartment next door to mine. Both of us had moved in when the building had been completed, so we had been neighbors for at least five years. But it was only after Maow had started coming by that we began having frequent conversations. Up until then, even if we passed in the corridor, we would only nod at each other while trying to avoid eye contact.

  Nishino’s voice called out just as I was getting some horse mackerel ready for Maow on the veranda.

  There was a heavy brown plate that I had decided to use for putting food out for her. Some time before, I had bought it on a whim at a small antique shop located along the way from my building to the station. The shop was crammed with bowls and teacups and saké cups. The design of the plate featured two or three carp swimming around the edge. It may have been an antique, but perhaps because it was chipped, it hadn’t been all that expensive. I had washed it well (the shop was a bit dusty inside) and had been putting it out with things like dried sardines on it.

  “That’s a nice plate,” Nishino said, looking up at me where I stood on the veranda, which was slightly elevated from the ground.

  “Yes,” I replied. I must have worn a skeptical look.

  “Is that for the cat?” Nishino went on, seeming not to have noticed my expression.

  “It is.” I thought about saying, It’s for Maow, not just any cat. But the desire not to offer up Maow’s name so easily won out.

  Nishino didn’t move, he just stood there looking up. I set down the plate I was holding on the floor of the veranda. Nishino’s upturned face bore a slight resemblance to Maow’s. There was something feral, and yet delicate, in his expression. Though he must have been well past thirty, there was still a strange youthfulness about him.

  Soon enough, Maow arrived, mewing true to her name. She ate the boiled horse mackerel heartily. As I watched Maow, I completely forgot about Nishino. Once Maow had polished off the fish, she jumped onto the railing and plopped down onto the street.

  “Meow,” Nishino called out. Maow had nestled up to him. She allowed herself to be petted by him, closing her eyes halfway and purring.

  “She’s a friendly cat,” Nishino said as he petted Maow.

  “She really is,” I replied, feigning calm, but on the inside I was annoyed. Why should she purr for a random guy like him?

  “Maybe I’ll try feeding her too,” Nishino said, with the same amiability as Maow.

  I just smiled weakly, without replying. Then I picked up the plate and hurried into my apartment. Nishino had been looking up as if he was about to say something else, but I smacked the glass door closed.

  I thought you were kind of scary, Nishino later reminisced to me. At the time, my mood had been rather scary. I had no way of knowing that two months later, I would become something like a lover to Nishino.

  Nishino slipped into my apartment the same way that Maow slipped onto my veranda.

  He may not have cried out, “Maow,” but Nishino stole into my heart just as smoothly as she did. I only had to leave the door ajar and beckon him inside—first with peanuts or crackers instead of a peach stone—and in good time he too was welcomed with his own plate and bowl.

  “Does the cat come every day?” Nishino asked.

  “She’s not ‘the cat,’ she’s Maow,” I corrected him, which made Nishino laugh.

  “I’ve been calling him Prince Meow.”

  Well, it’s a she, and Maow suits her better anyway. As I said this, Nishino planted a light kiss on me. Then he picked up Maow’s heavy plate that was under the low table.

  “This is a nice piece of pottery,” Nishino said, scrutinizing the plate.

  “It was cheap.”

  “It’s a waste to use it for Maow.”

  “Maow’s my lover, after all.”

  “Maow’s your lover, is she?” Nishino laughed. “So then, what does that make me, Eriko?”

  “My good friend, I suppose.”

  Nishino laughed, and he kissed me, this time more deeply than before.

  “Is this what good friends do?” Nishino asked, his voice soft.

  “Of course,” I replied, grinning.

  “Maow really is your number one,” Nishino said, as if he was very unhappy about it. Although his eyes were beaming.

  “Maow is tops for me, and I’m tops for her.”

  “Well, I guess that means I’m just a good friend—not only for you, Eriko, but for Maow too.”

  Nishino heaved an exaggerated sigh. Then he covered his face with his hands and pretended to start sobbing.

  Oh, don’t be so discouraged, I said. Nishino peered out from between his fingers, and in the next instant, he let out a huge laugh. I laughed in unison with him.

  “You’re really cool, Eriko,” Nishino said in a falsetto, embracing me. Then he lay my body down gently on the rug, and kissed me ever so tenderly.

  Maow’s brown plate was above my head, and every so often my outstretched arm would touch it, making a clattering sound. I had started to f
all in love with Nishino. At any moment, I was about to fall in love with him. But I wouldn’t love Nishino. I absolutely refused to love him. I had already decided that.

  I had failed at marriage once already. My husband and I had been deeply in love with each other. But things fell apart. It wasn’t my husband’s fault; it wasn’t my fault either. We just knew that it didn’t work. One day. Out of the blue.

  It’s not that I’ve lost my nerve. But since then, perhaps, I’m much more watchful, much more pensive. And when it comes to love, watchfulness and pensiveness lead to a sense of hesitation.

  “Why can’t I be your lover, Eriko?” Nishino asked me this constantly. Like a spoiled child. A thirty-five-year-old brat. One who was five years younger than me, at that.

  “Because I can’t be responsible for you,” I replied, caressing Nishino’s cheek.

  “I don’t know why you say such arrogant things to me,” Nishino said with indignance.

  “Arrogant?”

  “It’s arrogant to think that you can take responsibility for another person. It’s patronizing.”

  I see your point, I nodded. As I continued to nod, Nishino grew more indignant.

  I’m not looking for your admiration—I want you to be my lover! There was outrage in Nishino’s tone but, again, his eyes were beaming.

  If Nishino felt some kind of attachment to me, it was probably because I treated him coolly. The moment I stopped being cool toward him, I had no doubt that Nishino would bolt. I would have done the same. Nishino and I were of a similar ilk. That was my conclusion, after much watchfulness and pensive consideration.

  “There is something very sincere about Maow,” I said, and Nishino hung his head in disappointment.

  “You mean you trust a random cat more than you trust me?”

  “Well, I guess that’s what it comes down to.”

  “Do you really think so little of me?”

  Nishino seemed like the epitome of a frivolous man. After ten o’clock at night, Nishino’s cell phone rang again and again. It was always a woman calling. And Nishino was amiable and kind to each one of them. When Nishino came to my place, I would ask him to turn off his phone. His response was always the same.