by Guy Willard
“Yes.”
“And afterwards, did you…?”
“Yes.” She didn’t pause in her motions.
“I see.” He waited for her to say more, but she continued taking off her make-up with vigorous wipes of a moisturizing pad. Faint wafts of her perfume came his way.
Noticing his steady regard in the mirror’s reflection, she made a gesture of girlish modesty. “Don’t stare at me so.”
He turned his back to her and heard her undressing behind him. She still sometimes evinced shyness about undressing before him, even after living together this long, but tonight’s modesty seemed somehow different. It was as if, once another man had possessed her body, even her husband no longer had the right to gaze upon her nudity.
He heard her put on her nightgown and, after turning off the light, slip into her futon. Apparently she didn’t intend to talk about what had happened tonight. Fumio thought of how he’d imagined her every move after her phone call: he’d virtually been with the two lovers the whole time—had even shared their ecstasy.
“Seiko,” he said, his voice trembling. “Tell me what happened, please.” He was still facing away from her.
She sighed softly. “We went to a love hotel. We had sex.”
The casual way she said it made the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Was it good?”
“Yes. He is a very good lover.”
“Better than your assistant professor?”
“The best ever. Period. Tatsuya is in a class of his own.”
Fumio felt a thrill go through him. Nothing excited him more than hearing his friend’s name on his wife’s lips—those lips still fresh from kissing the boy he loved. He turned to her eagerly.
“Did he make you come?”
Seiko was gazing abstractedly up at the ceiling as if she were still with Tatsuya. In a far-off voice she said, “Easily. Again and again….”
“Oh….”
“But he wasn’t what I’d call a tender lover,” she added. “He’s too self-assured, and seems to think that the woman should be grateful for his favors. And I’ll bet many women are, too.”
This observation made Fumio happy, for he liked to think of Tatsuya as being cold-hearted and confident in bed. “He’s had countless women,” he said, as if bragging about an idolized older brother. “So many that he has no idea of the actual number. One time I was walking with him in Shibuya, and during half an hour’s time, three different women greeted him on the street…and he confessed to me later that he couldn’t remember a single one of them.”
She laughed. “The typical playboy. I can see why they fall for him, though. If he had been my first lover, I would have been head over heels in love with him. But I’m a grown woman now, and I can definitely state that he’s not the kind of man I’d want as a boyfriend. He might be ideal as a sex friend, but that’s as far as it goes. And it’s the same for him: after he’s had his fun with me, he’ll just go find himself another woman. I feel sorry for the girl who falls in love with him, because she’s definitely in for a heartbreak.”
This sort of talk thrilled Fumio. Hearing Tatsuya described from a woman’s point of view made him more desirable than ever.
Seiko cleared her throat. “Why are some men like that? As if the challenge of getting a woman into bed is the main point of the game, instead of the physical enjoyment he gets together with her. He didn’t even bother with the usual romantic flatteries, like saying he’d been in love with me from the moment he saw me, and so on. However, he was full of praises for certain physical aspects of my body.” She laughed. “He says that every woman feels different against his skin—in temperature, texture, and tactility—as if he were a wine-taster evaluating vintage wines or something.”
“And what did he say about you?”
She giggled. “He called me a thoroughbred. I had to struggle to keep from laughing, though I admit I was secretly pleased. I think my desirability for him is enhanced by the fact that I’m his best friend’s wife.”
“You would be desirable no matter what.” Fumio glanced at her and thought she’d never looked sexier than she did at this very moment. For the first time, he felt something like physical desire for her. But he knew it was merely a reflected desire for Tatsuya: if he were to touch her skin, he would be touching skin that had been in intimate contact with his. She may have showered after sex, but something of Tatsuya’s essence still remained upon her…within her. He ached for even the slightest physical contact with her body, if only to acquire some of that magical essence, but something prevented him. She had now become the sacred vessel in which Tatsuya’s distillation was preserved, and Fumio felt powerless before her new inviolability.
“It was strange,” said Seiko. “Since you knew all about what was happening, I kept imagining you there, watching us, even while I was in bed with him. And to my surprise, it only seemed to intensify my pleasure. I’ve never been that aroused before—ever. It must have been the illicitness of it which excited me so much—even he was surprised at the degree of passion I showed.”
“Oh?” Fumio’s throat went dry.
“I did things for him I’ve never done before with a man. And afterwards, I felt so ashamed.”
“Ashamed?”
As if the word had cast a sudden pall over her excitement, Seiko now became serious. “Fumio-san, I don’t know if this is right. While it was happening, I didn’t stop to think about the consequences, of course, but on the taxi ride home, I began to have my doubts. Should we be doing this?”
“Why not? You needn’t feel any guilt over it. Both of us decided together that this was the kind of marriage we wanted to have. How many other husbands and wives out there are as honest with each other as we are?”
“I know, but—”
“Maybe you just feel guilty because it was so pleasurable. You’ve been trained to think that any pleasure must be paid for. But you should get over that prejudice and enjoy what you can while you’re still young. We might all be dead tomorrow. Why live with regrets?”
“How about you, Fumio-san? I’ve just slept with the man you love, and—”
“Seiko, as I told you before, since I can’t ever have Tatsuya for myself, the next best thing is for you to have him. Tonight, just the thought of you being in bed with him was enough to get me so excited that your mother thought I was ill. Maybe it’s only a secondhand excitement, but at least for me, it was real.”
“But….”
“Don’t you see, Seiko? Your pleasure is my pleasure.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. She tried again and managed to say weakly, “Well, as long as it’s all right with you….”
“Did he make another date with you?”
“Yes. He said he wanted to see me again, though he didn’t say when. He said he’d call.” She sounded somewhat bitter.
“Don’t worry. That’s just his way of keeping you on a string. He’ll call you.”
“Do you think so?”
“I guarantee it.” He felt like a woman reassuring her girlfriend about a philandering lover...a lover they both had in common.
31
Fumio woke up first. From his futon he glanced over at Seiko’s sleeping face, and she looked so peaceful that he didn’t want to wake her. Stealthily he crept out of bed and left the room, re-tying his yukata sash. Downstairs, Seiko’s mother was already up, busy in the kitchen.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Good morning. Are you feeling any better?”
“Much better, thanks.”
She gave him a curious look and went over to the refrigerator. “We have some fresh salmon I just bought yesterday.”
“Mother, please don’t bother. I’m just going to make myself some coffee and Seiko will cook something for me later.”
“It’s no bother at all.” The older woman seemed intent on making his breakfast so he refrained from challenging her will. She had a frown on her face as she worked, and her movements were a b
it stiff and mechanical as she brought him his miso soup and rice. The pickled daikon were already set out on the table.
A little nervously, Fumio sat down and unfolded the newspaper. An earthquake in Indonesia had caused massive damage, leaving dozens of people dead and thousands homeless. Poor construction standards were blamed for the calamity.
The door slid open and Seiko came in, rubbing her eyes, her hair a little disheveled. “Good morning, everyone. Father still hasn’t come home yet?” She looked at the clock. The professor was on a research trip to Kyoto.
“He’ll be back in the afternoon.”
“Mother, I’ll make that.” She went over to where her mother was setting out the salmon, and took over. The older woman gave up her place in the kitchen, joining Fumio at the table and picking up her cup of green tea. She took a loud sip and set the cup down with a little bang.
“Seiko,” she said, her voice trembling a little. “Do you realize what time you came in last night?”
“I tried to be as quiet as possible. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Two or three o’clock in the morning. Is that any time for a married woman to come home?”
“Mother—” interrupted Fumio, but he was brushed aside.
“You keep out of this, Fumio-san. This is between Seiko and me.” She turned back to her daughter. “I didn’t want to say so last night because it was late, but it’s my duty as your mother to say it now.”
Seiko had stopped preparing the fish and was standing at the counter looking downward, pulling nervously at her hair. Her mother was sitting with her hand clutched around the tea cup, her thick-lensed glasses magnifying the pupils of her eyes.
“Seiko, do you know that Fumio-san was so upset last night after he received your phone call that he went straight up to bed with an anguished look on his face?”
Fumio was startled. The real reason for his look had been so different.... He looked at Seiko hoping she’d realize the misunderstanding, but from the shocked expression on her face, it was hard to tell if she did.
“Yes,” the older woman went on. “You should have seen him. He looked positively ill with worry. He couldn’t concentrate on watching television at all. I’m sure he was fretting anxiously over where you were.”
“Mother,” he interrupted again. “I gave her my permission to stay out late with her friends. It was Etsuko-san’s birthday.”
“That doesn’t matter. Such things just aren’t done. A woman who’s married must stay at home to look after her husband at all times.” She turned back to Seiko. “How do you think your father and I feel before Fumio-san? I, for one, am deeply ashamed.”
“Mother,” repeated Fumio weakly.
But she was not to be swayed in her anger. “Seiko, you don’t know how lucky you are. Most women have to live with their husband’s mothers, which is not easy, no matter how nice she may be. And here you are, living with your own family within the shelter of your childhood home. How many other women can enjoy such a privilege?”
Seiko hung her head and Fumio felt sorry for her. He sensed a little envy in the older woman’s voice. He knew that she’d had a hard time in the early days of her own marriage, having to live with the professor’s late mother, a very strict authoritarian of the old school. Seiko, who had been her grandmother’s pet, had told Fumio of the countless humiliating ways in which her mother had been bullied by the older lady. He had felt quite sorry for his mother-in-law.
Having vented her initial anger, she now calmed down somewhat, taking a loud sip of tea. “We gave you too much freedom as a child. I can see that now. But because you are an only child, we showered all our love on you. It’s no wonder you turned out the way you did.”
Seiko had tears in her eyes. “You used to be so much more open-minded before. But it seems that the older you get, the more conservative you’ve become. Or maybe it’s only since I’ve gotten married. You expect me to be the perfect Japanese wife because that’s what you were. But you had no choice in the matter. Things are different now, in case you didn’t know. Fumio-san understands. In fact, he’s the most understanding person I’ve ever met. He cherishes me much more than my own family ever did.”
“Seiko,” he protested.
“It’s true.” She turned to her mother again. “You say you gave me too much freedom. It wasn’t freedom you gave me, it was indifference. You let me have my way because you didn’t care what I did, just as long as our precious name wasn’t sullied. And when I did sully it—”
“Stop it!” The older woman looked horrified at what her daughter was about to say.
Seiko, realizing that Fumio wasn’t supposed to know, calmed down. “Even now, Father treats Fumio-san like a beloved son, while he barely notices me. You ask me why I go out all the time, well, I’ll tell you. It’s because I can’t stand living in this house. The atmosphere here is simply stifling. As soon as we can afford it, Fumio-san and I are moving out.”
“Wait!” Fumio called. But Seiko had rushed out of the kitchen and dashed upstairs.
As he got up to follow her, his mother-in-law tried to restrain him. “Don’t worry, Fumio-san. She always gets like this when she’s been scolded. Just let her have a good cry and she’ll be back down, contrite as a kitten.”
But Fumio was already on his way up. “If you’ll excuse me, Mother.”
Upstairs, he found Seiko sitting blankly before the bedroom TV. A morning housewives’ show was on, but the sound was turned down. The remote control lay limply in her right hand.
Fumio sat down near her and for a long time didn’t say anything. Outside the veranda window, he could see wispy white clouds etched like scratches on the pale blue sky.
“Seiko, you shouldn’t lose your temper like that. Your mother might get the wrong impression.”
“I know. But I couldn’t help it. I guess I had a lot of resentment built up inside me, and it all came out at once. I’m sure it’s because of the guilt I feel about last night. I couldn’t get a wink of sleep from thinking about it.”
Fumio had likewise spent a sleepless night, but for very different reasons. He’d felt the presence of Tatsuya in their room the whole time, an eerie illusion which even now he couldn’t shake.
Seiko, her lips in a defiant pout, looked so cute that he was tempted to hug her. But something was preventing him: Tatsuya. He had masterfully possessed Seiko’s body last night, and Fumio felt he had no right to come between the two lovers. Seiko is Tatsuya’s woman now, he told himself with pride, suppressing a shiver of delight.
Seiko turned off the TV with an impatient flick of her wrist. “Maybe we should stop playing our little game now that we’ve proved our point. Before we realize it, we might get in over our heads.”
But Fumio didn’t want to lose the magical bond he now shared with Tatsuya. Even talking to Seiko like this was like being with him. A new excitement had entered their marriage, and Fumio knew he wasn’t the only one who felt it.
“Do you really want to back out?” He gazed closely at her face and saw by the look in her eyes that she too was secretly thrilled by the “little game” she was involved in. “If you’re so worried about Mother,” he said, “there are ways we can get around her. You can arrange to meet Tatsuya during the day. Go back to taking your English conversation lessons at the language school. You can use them as an excuse for leaving the house in the afternoon. How about that? Your mother can’t complain then.”
She gave a half-hearted laugh. “I suppose I could brush up on my English.”
Fumio smiled, and then remembering her earlier remark, said, “Do you really want to move out of here?”
“Yes. I think we should. That way we can live our own lives.”
For a moment Fumio pictured a house of their own, and the freedom it would allow them. To his shame, he thought mostly of the erotic possibilities—the ease with which Seiko could invite Tatsuya to spend the afternoon with her while Fumio was out. Might there not come a time when they could be more open ab
out their “little game” and let Tatsuya in on the secret? Trying to keep the excitement from his voice, he said, “Let’s think about it for now. We would have to consult your father first, of course.”
“But why? He’s sure to be against it, seeing how much he dotes on you.”
“Actually, your father is much more understanding than you give him credit for. In fact, I think you’d be surprised at just how liberal his leanings are.”
The professor was sure to oppose the plan at first, but Fumio was already thinking of ways to bring the older man around.
32
Fumio was finally able to speak with the professor alone on the following Sunday, when Seiko and her mother were both out of the house. Seiko had gone downtown to do some shopping, while her mother was exercising at her sports club with some friends.
The two men were sitting in the old wing of the house, with its eight-mat Japanese-style room. The day was overcast with a hint of rain in the low clouds. Because of the strong winds, the glass doors of the veranda were shut, and their panes rattled slightly with each gust.
The professor seemed particularly expansive this morning. He’d poured out the tea for both of them, and now sat back on his floor recliner, with one knee up. The sedate pattern of his informal kimono contrasted with the fresh, youthful look on his face. His skin had never looked so healthy and animated.
Fumio, having just come in earlier from his midday jog, was still in his sweat suit.
The professor cleared his throat. “How are your juku students doing on their mock exams?”
“Just fine. Almost half of them will have no problems getting into their schools of first choice, while the rest seem likely to at least make it into their ‘safety net’ schools. Only two of my students will have trouble being accepted by any schools.”
“That’s a very good showing. If you keep it up, we might even be able to raise the tuition. And that will raise the standards of the new students coming in.”
“The standards of the students are pretty high as it is. A couple of the boys have already mastered the exam-level math and are asking me to give them even more challenging problems. It’s going to be hard to keep up with them.”