“Mr. Takahashi, why don’t you go home and explain the situation to your wife?” Fumi asked against her better judgment.
“I don’t want to.” He shook his head. “She’ll nag me. You couldn’t possibly understand a woman’s feelings.”
His words pierced her. He probably hadn’t meant them to. No, she was sure he didn’t realize how his comment hurt her, though that didn’t mean it didn’t.
“Don’t worry, Miss Fumi,” he continued. “It’s better for me to stay here until she’s gone to bed. Tomorrow, her anger will surely have subsided.”
“But what if she’s waiting up for you at home?”
Mr. Takahashi laughed. “That old woman? She won’t. We’ve been married for so long, she no longer cares about me. She’ll already be asleep if I catch the last train home.”
Fumi knew this was a losing battle. “Is that so? In that case, I’ll drink with you until it’s time for you to go.”
“Yes, please.”
She topped up Mr. Takahashi’s drink and listened to more of his stories, wiping the glass every now and then and nodding politely at appropriate times.
The bar was rather quiet that night. There were only two big groups of guests plus a few regulars. Fumi spotted one newcomer, a bald man in a worn-out business suit who sat next to Sanae. He placed his tattered briefcase on his lap, seemingly uncomfortable here. Hopefully, the new girls hadn’t forced him in. The ones the bar had just hired to solicit on the street could be quite aggressive at times.
The bar wasn’t so big in the first place—at any given time, there were never more than ten girls working. But what they lacked in numbers, they made up for by catering to certain tastes. Though nowadays, men were getting more and more adventurous, so it was no surprise to see more bars like theirs, employing women who hadn’t been born in the right bodies.
Fumi’s fellow hostesses had chosen to work at the bar for many reasons. Most were saving up for operations or supporting good-for-nothing partners. A few were saddled with mounting debts and being hounded by the yakuza, but there were sadder stories. Some had families who had kicked them out because of who they were. And Fumi was sure there were also those who, like her, were just there to be appreciated as girls. But they were all kidding themselves. No matter how beautiful they looked, how elegantly they behaved, their clients never saw them as real women.
“Miss Fumi.”
She leaned in toward Mr. Takahashi, hoping he hadn’t realized her mind had been somewhere else. “Yes?”
“Do you think I should go home now?”
Fumi paused. He was probably hoping for her to give him an excuse to stay by telling him it was all right to spend time with her over his angry wife, but there was no way she could do that.
“Yes, I think so. Your wife might be waiting for you.”
Mr. Takahashi put down his glass. “Only you would tell me that.”
The edges of Fumi’s mouth lifted. She was so used to putting on this polite smile that she did it reflexively whenever she had nothing to say.
“Actually, I know my wife is still awake, waiting for me. She’s most likely watching television in the living room, trying to rein in her anger.” He looked down. “I don’t want to face her. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone back on my word. I’ve disappointed her so many times.”
Fumi reached for Mr. Takahashi’s hand. “Apologize to her and tell her about the situation at work. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your honesty.”
The middle-aged man kept his head low.
“Do you know her favorite snack?” Fumi asked.
He looked up. “She likes milk pudding.”
“You should be able to buy that from the 24-hour convenience store down the road.”
Mr. Takahashi glanced at his watch. “It’s past midnight, so it’s no longer our anniversary.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Fumi said, trying to suppress her impatience. “Better late than never.”
He paused. “You’re right.”
Finally. Fumi breathed a sigh of relief.
Mr. Takahashi stood, and Fumi took his arm. They walked together to the front door. His head was the same height as her shoulders. I really shouldn’t wear these heels, she thought. Out front, Mr. Takahashi waved at her and she bowed to him. She stood in the doorway and waited there until she couldn’t see him anymore.
“Was there something wrong?” Mama-san asked. “Mr. Takahashi left early. He usually stays so long, we have to keep reminding him we’re closing.”
Turning to face her, Fumi gave a thin smile. “He needs to be somewhere. Guess I won’t be getting much business tonight.”
“Ah, about that . . .” Mama-san’s face lit up. “A first-time customer saw you and expressed his interest.”
“The man with the briefcase?”
“Yes, the bald one. He looks so nervous. He doesn’t seem like someone who usually comes to these bars. I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“People have all sorts of objectives,” Fumi said.
And it was never her business to know unless they wanted her to.
19
Lingering
Regrets
and
Pain
Slightly buzzed, Fumi rummaged through her handbag and took out a bunch of keys. Which one opened the front door? Ah, there. Got it. She tried to insert the key but dropped the whole set on the floor. The loud clanking noise echoed in the quiet night. Fumi cursed and picked them up.
She opened the door. The apartment was dark and silent. Well, what had she expected? Someone waiting up for her? Fumi reached for the switch and turned on a lamp. Light flooded the room.
Eiji peeked out over the top of the sofa. “Welcome home.”
Fumi almost apologized to Eiji for waking him up, but she reminded herself she didn’t need to. This was her house.
“How was work?” he asked.
“Same as always,” she said, putting down her handbag. “Nothing really changes there.”
“You must be tired.”
She answered with a shrug.
“Why don’t you treat yourself to a late-night dessert?” he asked. “There’s a milk pudding in the fridge.”
Her eyes widened. “A milk pudding?”
“Yes, in a plastic bag. You’d better eat it now. It expires tomorrow.” Eiji glanced at the clock. “Oops, it’s already way past midnight. But I doubt a couple of hours makes much of a difference.”
Fumi went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was a small white plastic bag she hadn’t noticed. Opening it, she found a milk pudding she didn’t remember buying. Could it be Ryu’s? But he didn’t usually eat sweets.
Eiji looked over her shoulder. “You forgot about it, didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t the one who bought it,” Fumi said. “Maybe my brother got it for me but forgot to tell me.”
“Good thing I reminded you, then. It might’ve gone to waste.”
“Yes, thank you.” She peeled open the seal. “But if you think that I’ll let you stay longer just because you’re being nice, you’re mistaken.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. I’m not angling for anything.” Eiji laughed.
Fumi rolled her eyes and dug into the pudding. It was so soft, melting instantly on her tongue. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, then?”
“Maybe another time,” he said, lying down on the sofa. “It’s already late. You should sleep.”
Fumi took another spoonful of the dessert. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was nice to have someone else in the house when Ryu wasn’t around. Since he’d left, the apartment had felt too big, too quiet. Too lonely.
She still couldn’t believe it when a week ago, her brother had told her he was taking a long trip by himself. Prior to that, apart from school trips, he wouldn’t leav
e Tokyo without her.
“Where are you planning on going?” she asked Ryusei.
He shrugged. “Anywhere but here.”
She caressed her neck. “Is this because of Miwako?”
Ryusei avoided her eyes. “Sorry I can’t keep my promise about Tama, but I’ll stock up on canned food for her.”
I’m not worried about that, Fumi wanted to say, but no words came out. She couldn’t stop him, knowing how much he was hurting after Miwako’s suicide. And she wasn’t sure how to explain her unease at being alone.
“I take it that you’re not going to tell me where you’re going or how long you’ll be away?” she said, trying to remain calm.
He nodded. “I’ll be back before Tama’s food runs out, and before Waseda kicks me out.”
“Oh, that’s a relief.”
But not quite, since the next day, Ryu bought enough canned food for Tama to last an entire season. How long was he seriously planning to travel? Still, Fumi didn’t stop him. She couldn’t. When it came to Ryu, she couldn’t bring herself to be selfish.
“Fumi-nee?” Eiji’s voice roused her from her thoughts. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she said, scooping up the last spoonful of milk pudding. She could taste a hint of vanilla. If only life were as sweet as her dessert.
As the days went by, Fumi got used to having Eiji around. His presence was comforting, even though he was only there because he didn’t have a ton of money or anywhere else to go. But it soon became obvious he wasn’t even looking for a job.
Eiji lingered in the apartment day and night. Fumi had no idea how much money he actually had, but he would probably only leave when he ran out of cash.
“Move,” she said, running the vacuum cleaner near his legs.
Eiji got up on the sofa, which had become his personal island. “Are you not working today, Fumi-nee?”
“There’s not much to do right now in the studio,” she said. “After I’m done cleaning, do you want to go out? I can show you around the neighborhood. You seem to be home all the time. Shouldn’t you be out sightseeing?”
“You make it sound like I’m a country bumpkin.”
“Aren’t you?”
He laughed. “You don’t need to say it out loud.”
“I’m not going to force you if you’d prefer to be at home.”
“I’d prefer to be at home,” he said. “Why don’t we just spend some time together?”
“Where did you steal that cheesy line? From a romantic drama?” she asked, teasing him. She turned to Eiji. “So tell me, what do you want to do?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Watch a movie?”
She rubbed her neck. “I don’t like movies.”
“There. You did it again.”
“What?”
“Touched your neck.” Eiji chuckled. “So you do like movies.”
“Shut up.” Fumi put down her hand. She hated when he called her bluff.
“Let me guess,” he said, laying down on his stomach. “You love romantic movies with sappy endings, but you’re afraid I’m going to laugh at you when you cry.”
Fumi had no comeback, since Eiji was one hundred percent correct. “What kind of movies do you like, anyway?” she asked.
“I don’t usually watch movies.”
“There’s no movie theater in your hometown?”
“I prefer books.”
“Oh.”
Eiji had no reason to lie, but Fumi found it hard to imagine a young man like him would choose books over movies. Fumi wasn’t a book person, unlike Ryu.
“Do you want to go do karaoke?” Fumi turned off the vacuum cleaner after she had finished the whole apartment. “Or what about board games? I’m sure there are a few in my brother’s room. His friends come over every once in a while to play.”
Eiji was quiet.
“Or do you want to look at some photo albums?” she suggested. “I’ve got a lot of pretty friends.”
He jumped from the sofa. “Let’s do that.”
Shortly after she had suggested the idea, Fumi wondered if it was wise to show him old photos. What if he realized something was off? But whether it was her identity or her night job, he was bound to learn sooner or later—his intuition was so sharp. If this was going to make him uncomfortable, it would be better for that to happen now.
“Why are you spacing out, Fumi-nee?” he asked.
“Be patient.” She pulled a bunch of photo albums from a shelf and put them on the floor. She started with the vacation pictures with the girls from the bar. “These women are my colleagues. We took these photos last summer, when the lady boss brought us to Kyoto. We stayed at a ryokan.”
“I’ve never been to Kyoto,” Eiji said. “Or to a ryokan.”
“It wasn’t as luxurious as the ones you see on TV, but there was a nice open-air onsen, and the food was heavenly. We had seasonal nine-course kaiseki dinners. The sashimi was so fresh. We also had high-grade Wagyu beef. The meat was so tender I could split it with my chopsticks.” Fumi sighed. “I hope I can go there again one day.”
Eiji scanned through the pages, seemingly paying no attention to what Fumi had said. “You do have a lot of good-looking friends, Fumi-nee, but you’re still the most beautiful.”
Fumi rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you learned? Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I’m just telling the truth,” he said. “But why do I feel like you’re overly concerned about me looking at these? If you don’t want to show me, you don’t need to.”
“It’s not that,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear.
He looked into her eyes. “If there’s something you want to share with me, I’ll listen.”
Fumi was moved by this, but she could practically hear Ryu lecturing her on protecting herself.
“If you don’t want to talk, then don’t,” Eiji said. “It’s fine to keep things to yourself.”
She took a deep breath. “You probably already know I work as a bar hostess.”
“Yes, I guessed as much,” he said. “You’re gorgeous, you dress up really prettily, and you work at night. When you left the house that first time, I thought you looked like a modern-day Cinderella.”
If he was teasing, it didn’t show. He said it like what she had just told him was an ordinary statement. As if she worked as an office lady or a shop assistant.
“Fumi-nee, you work very hard. You should be proud of yourself.”
Hearing that, something inside her stirred, warm and glowing.
Eiji looked at another album. The photograph on the cover was of Ryusei and Fumi, both smiling. Behind them, herds of spotted deer roamed freely.
“That’s your brother, right?” Eiji asked.
Fumi sat next to him and flipped open the pages. “Yes, his name is Ryusei. We went together to Todaiji Temple after he got into his first-choice university. Waseda, can you believe it?” Even now, Fumi’s heart still beamed with pride whenever she recalled that particular trip. “My brother and I took the train from Tokyo to Nara, and we stayed there a couple of days for sightseeing.”
“The two of you really look alike.”
She nodded. “A lot of people say that.”
Looking at the photograph of grinning Ryu brought Fumi pain. She hadn’t seen him smile like that since Miwako’s death. A few times when he thought he was alone, she’d caught him staring silently into the distance.
“Fumi-nee, you mentioned your brother didn’t say where he was headed. Do you think he went back to Todaiji Temple?” Eiji asked.
“Perhaps,” Fumi said. “But no matter how you beg, the gods won’t bring back the dead.”
“You sound so sure, like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I am,” she said. “When I was young, I used to as
k the impossible from the gods at the shrine by our house. But I eventually grew out of it.”
Eiji said nothing.
“My brother is chasing his past. He needs to let go and move on.”
Eiji didn’t say a word. Had she revealed too much?
As they continued to flip through the pages, a photograph fell from the album. An old family picture, one of the few photographs Fumi still had of their late parents. Taken in front of their home—a shrine—it was of her father in a white Shinto priest robe. Her mother looked serene in her elegant mauve kimono, cradling baby Ryu in her arms. In front of them was Fumi, still dressed as a boy.
Fumi held in a breath and put the photograph back between the pages. After that, they went back to perusing the rest of the photos. For a moment, she contemplated saying something. Had Eiji noticed? Either way, she decided not to say anything. She hated difficult conversations.
“Isn’t this the orphanage?” Eiji pointed to a photograph. “Was this taken at Christmas?”
Fumi turned to look at the photograph. “No, not Christmas.”
She and Ryu were posing with the orphanage’s pastor and a few volunteers. The children, each holding a present, were all around them.
“After that visit to Todaiji Temple, we brought back some souvenirs from Nara. I thought the kids might like to receive them as presents, so I wrapped them.”
Eiji nodded. “They look happy.”
“Yes, they were ecstatic,” she said and paused. “How did you know about the orphanage?”
“Oh, Kenji must have mentioned it.”
Fumi began to feel uneasy. Pointing to the adults in the photograph, she said, “This is the pastor who runs the orphanage, and these are the volunteers.”
“They look like university students.”
It took her a few seconds before she answered, “Most of them are.”
Fumi excused herself to the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she took a deep breath. There was no mistake. Eiji was lying. He didn’t know Kenji. He had never even met him. She had no idea how he’d learned the studio belonged to Kenji, but for sure, he hadn’t recognized him, clearly standing amidst the volunteers in the photograph.
The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida Page 18