Inhabitation

by Teru Miyamoto

  “Things like that happen in every country,” Sawamura Chiyono remarked.

  “Whether his wife would go first, or he would, there’s no way to know, but in either case the one left behind would be lonely. He said that they couldn’t bear even to imagine such sadness.”

  “Write a letter to his son. If he’s an attorney, money shouldn’t be a problem for him. Say, ‘For such and such reasons, your parents tried to end their life in Japan. What do you intend to do about it?’”

  “Well, if you insist, I can write something right away . . .”

  “But there’s nothing else we can do, is there? They gave up their house and all their property, and set out on a journey. All they have left is a little over two thousand dollars, not even enough to buy return tickets to their own country. And even if they do return, they have nowhere to settle down except at their son’s place.”

  Listening to this exchange between Kumai and Sawamura Chiyono, Tetsuyuki suddenly recalled the words the old woman spoke in the tea hut: “These two were not able to die here, but they will no doubt carry out their plan someplace else. This was a farewell tea ceremony.” But in spite of that, she was trying to prevent these two foreigners from dying. He felt a kind of eeriness about what she had said, and about Rikyū’s thoughts on death. The maid announced that the meal had been delivered.

  “I’ll go call them.” With that, Tetsuyuki set off at a trot toward the pond. At the sound of footsteps, the Langs looked around and gave what sounded like an apology. Using gestures, he communicated that the meal was ready. The Langs looked at each other. There was a note of contrition in their voices as they said, “Danke, danke schön!”

  Sitting around a low table, the Langs looked at the Japanese food and asked what things were.

  “How to say kōya-dōfu?” Kumai cocked his head. Sawamura Chiyono smiled and said, “I guess there’s nothing to call it but freeze-dried tofu.” At the end of the meal, the maids brought in sliced melon. For a long time, Kumai was engaged in conversation with the Langs.

  “‘After making so much trouble for you, you have treated us to such wonderful Japanese cuisine. We were not able to die. God no doubt did not permit it, and so we certainly won’t be able to attempt it again. Please do not worry about us anymore.’ That is what they said.” After Kumai relayed their words, Sawamura Chiyono stared at her melon, then lifted a spoonful of it to her mouth. “Ask them how they’ll return to their country.” The Langs made no reply. Sawamura Chiyono suddenly raised her head and gave them a sharp look.

  “How very sad! Why must life end up so sad? What have they lived this long for?”

  Kumai relayed what she had said. Mr. Lang loosened his tie and began speaking in a calm tone of voice, with Kumai providing simultaneous interpretation.

  “I wonder the same thing. When I retired and purchased a small, comfortable house in the country, I assumed that a new life was about to begin. But then, what is a ‘new life’? The thought that I was a creature of the past took root in my heart. I came into this life in a poor family. I graduated from high school and became a printer. Then there was the great war, and I fought against French and British troops. I could never verify it with my own eyes, but the bullets I fired no doubt killed several people. Germany lost, and a long and difficult period ensued. In the meantime, I became acquainted with my wife, and we began to live together. At length, the printing company where I had been employed was reconstructed and I returned to work there. For ten years my hands were always pitch-black from setting type, but finally machines deprived me of my job. I demanded that my beloved son become either a doctor or a lawyer. I wanted him to have work that only a human being and not a machine could perform, work that would command respect. My son rebelled, saying he wanted to become a chef. But I would not allow it. We tightened our belts on my meager salary and engaged a private tutor for him. Now that I think about it, I marvel at how docile he was. He didn’t like it, but he fulfilled my dream. But it was my dream, not his. When he brought his girlfriend to meet us, neither I nor my wife liked her, but I thought I should at least grant him the freedom to choose his own wife. It appeared he was suited neither to the work of an attorney nor to his wife. My son was too virtuous and gentle of character to perform the work of a lawyer, and it damaged his spirit. The hysterics of his beautiful but vain and extravagant wife led him to excessive drinking. Each time he consumed liquor, he would scream furiously at me that even now he wanted to become a chef. When he didn’t drink, there was no way he could bring himself to shout like that. One day, I said to him: ‘Let’s not see each other anymore.’ At the time I really meant it. He stopped coming to see us. By then, we were already seventy-six years old. There was no ‘new life,’ and no way to seek one but to die. At some point, we began to think that way. This past spring, two of my friends from my childhood died at about the same time. That urged me to do something. There are lots of lonely old folk and they’re just waiting. I began to be afraid of waiting. Rather than wait, I wanted to go on my own accord. My wife was afraid, but I persuaded her. ‘We’ve lived long enough. Whichever of us goes first, the remaining one will just face loneliness, and that’s even more frightening.’”

  Tetsuyuki thought about the frail constitution of his own mother, who about now was probably cleaning the restaurant, and did not realize that he was being addressed by Sawamura Chiyono until Yōko nudged him.

  “Please call the hotel and inform them that the Langs will be staying in Kyoto tonight. Rather than returning to the hustle and bustle of Osaka, they’ll relax here this evening.” With exaggerated gestures, Mr. Lang declined her offer, but she replied with a smile. “Since you’ve put us to great trouble, you’re obliged to do as I say.” Only then did he dejectedly droop his shoulders. Tetsuyuki sensed that it would be better to return to the hotel and explain the situation directly to Section Chief Shimazaki, and suggested this to Sawamura Chiyono. She conceded. “It would be a bother for you, but that would no doubt be best.”

  Tetsuyuki and Yōko went down the slope from the front gate and hailed a taxi. Once inside, Yōko languidly pillowed her head on Tetsuyuki’s shoulder. The scent of her usual perfume now smelled like sunshine. He wanted to embrace her so badly he could no longer bear it, and evoked the usual code the two of them employed at such times.

  “Kin-chan is calling.”

  He thought she was sure to put him off, accusing him of being out of his mind. But she muttered, “Mm, all right,” and grasped his index finger.

  “As long as we’re back in Osaka by nightfall, it should be okay, huh?” Yōko also clearly indicated her desire, her glum countenance and the deliberate lisping of her words notwithstanding.

  Beyond the street-front buildings the neon-lit tower of a love hotel left one wondering what colors it must project at night onto the roadside trees and roofs of houses. Tetsuyuki told the driver to stop.

  “Didn’t you say you wanted to go to Kawaramachi?” The driver deliberately slammed on the brakes and glared at Tetsuyuki through the rearview mirror.

  “Sorry, I suddenly remember that a friend’s house is in this area,” he said to vindicate himself as he paid the fare, thinking at the same time, It’s the customer’s business where and when he wants to get out.

  Why must people be so brutal? The street was filthy and noisy, and everyone was irritable and short-tempered. The driver clicked his tongue to show his annoyance as he handed over the change, and then drove off at breakneck speed. The driver’s decidedly unhappy face emblazoned in his mind’s eye, Tetsuyuki glanced at Yōko.

  “I feel exhausted. Somehow, everything has become repulsive to me.”

  “Didn’t you just say that Kin-chan is calling?” Bathed in the autumn sunlight, Yōko’s face appeared more beautiful than usual. What was this strange wholesomeness her features possessed? At the same moment this thought came into his head: he had no confidence in his ability to make her happy.

  “In the middle of the day like this, you won’t like pe
ople seeing you come out of the hotel, will you?”

  “Well, no, but then there’s not enough time to go to your apartment.”

  Tetsuyuki looked down silently at the scattered leaves around his feet. Yōko whispered, “Kin-chan is calling,” and pulled him by the hand. Following along the wall of a temple, the street turned to the left and led directly to the entrance to the hotel. Across the street, several boys of junior high school age were playing on roller skates. One of them spied Tetsuyuki and Yōko and began to jeer, “Oh, they’re going in! They’re going in!” As they entered, they could hear shouts peppered with obscene words. A man appeared, muttering, “Every time customers come, those kids taunt them like that.” Leaving Tetsuyuki and Yōko there in the entranceway, he went out front.

  “Hey! Get out of here!”

  “We can play wherever we want!”

  Hearing the footsteps of the man in pursuit and the sound of fleeing roller-skaters, Tetsuyuki and Yōko smiled at each other.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” the man said as he returned and set out two pairs of slippers. “Until six o’clock the price remains the same no matter how many hours you stay. We offer three courses: for three thousand yen, four thousand yen, or five thousand yen. So, which would you like?” He explained in a lively tone of voice, as if he were a merchant in a fish market bargaining with customers, “The four-thousand-yen room comes with its own bath.”

  “Well, then, we’ll take that one.” After Tetsuyuki stated his choice, the man called out in a loud voice, “Show these guests to a four-thousand-yen room!” They thought that perhaps an usher would appear at such a signal, but the same man brought a key from the reception desk and pressed the elevator button. When they entered the room, he knocked on the mirror in the bathroom, then on the wall, and took down a framed cheap art reproduction.

  “There are no peepholes, so don’t worry about that.” Then he took out a business card on which was printed an unusual name: Mata Kitarō. (Meaning, you’ve come again, haven’t you?) Tetsuyuki stared at the characters.

  “How are these characters read?”

  “Mata Kitarō.”

  “Huh?”

  “The name is Mata Kitarō.”

  “That isn’t your real name, is it?”

  “Of course not. If I had really been given a name like that, I’d resent my parents.” He smiled congenially as he left the room. “Please come again.”

  Tetsuyuki kept staring at the business card with knitted brow when he heard Yōko’s suppressed giggle near his ear. Controlling her laughter with both hands over her mouth, she fell back on the bed. Joining in the hilarity, Tetsuyuki fell over on top of Yōko. He asked her to get in the shower with him. Still laughing, she refused, saying that it would wash out the curls she had set in her hair. He persisted: she could just take care not to get her head wet. Her glee suddenly stopped and, with eyes only inches from his, stared silently for a long time. Wrapping both arms around his head she asked quietly, “What’s to become of me?”

  Indistinct voices, reverberating in such a way as to leave the direction of their source obscure, filled Tetsuyuki and Yōko with a sort of sadness. The heat in the room, so high that they were perspiring, preventing their anxiety from taking shape in words.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know what things will be like an hour from now.” He finally managed to get that much out, and leaned his forehead against her neck.

  “I wonder . . . if a woman marries, maybe she has to throw all caution to the wind, not really caring what he’s like.” With that, she drew her lips close to him, then pulled back, asking, “Are you strong?”

  “I’m weak.”

  Yōko again drew her lips near. They covered his with a pleasant, tumbling sensation.

  “Can you live to an old age?”

  “I have a feeling that I’ll probably die young.”

  “Are you good at making money?”

  “That’s what I’m worst at.”

  “Will you cheat on me?”

  “I might.”

  Yōko sensed that he was not merely joking, and stood up. “It’s hot.”

  “Of course it is. This is a place for getting naked.”

  “You’ve come again, haven’t you?” Yōko mumbled as she went into the bathroom. Her figure as she took off her clothing was projected onto the frosted glass, and at length he could hear the sound of the shower. Tetsuyuki shed his clothes and went into the bathroom, where he gazed to his heart’s content at her naked body as she tilted her head backward under the water. The cramped bathroom was soon steamed up, and spray from the stream beat against and ran down Tetsuyuki’s face and chest. He reached out and grabbed her by the waist, turning her to face him, then massaged the stiffness in her muscles.

  “I have moles,” she said, putting her arms around his neck after he had lathered her body.

  “I know. There’s one on your butt, and a big one on your stomach.”

  Yōko shook her head and said that there was one in a very embarrassing place. The steam of the shower had already taken the shape out of their hair. They both sat down on the tiles under the shower stream. Tetsuyuki lathered every part of Yōko’s body, washing each part again and again with the palms of his hands. No matter where his hands explored, she did not recoil, but just clung to him tightly. He released himself from her arms and sat cross-legged, placing both hands on the tiles and praising her beautiful body. Yōko listened, leaning to the side and with hands also on the tiles.

  He asked her to show him the mole in the embarrassing place. She had to open her legs and bend back as far as possible, but she did as he asked. Steam and water running down her body alternately hid and revealed it. To Tetsuyuki, it looked like one of Kin’s tiny, blinking eyes. He closed her legs and embraced her.

  “Actually, I’m strong,” he said. Yōko nodded.

  “I’ll live to an old age.”

  “I have a knack for making money.”

  “I’ll never cheat on you.”

  Yōko nodded at each declaration. Yet it was Tetsuyuki who was being caressed, both physically and psychologically, and so it was after they had gotten into bed. He poured his whole heart into performing the few sexual techniques he knew, but felt that it was he who was the recipient, though Yōko remained passive with her eyes closed.

  Several hours later, they both recalled the Langs at the same time. During their ecstasy they had forgotten about the life drama they had just witnessed. As they lay in spent embrace they thought of the depressing sadness that constantly flitted through their rapture. Why sporadic gloom during such supreme bliss?

  He concluded that it certainly owed to his poverty. Even after graduation and employment, more than half of his meager salary would disappear in repayment of his father’s debts. Despite that, Yōko had accepted his command and assumed that posture in the bathroom. No doubt she would blush and shed tears every time she recalled it. What did that mole mean to her that she was willing to show it to him? Why had she loosened up so much as he was lathering her body in the shower? And why had he felt so caressed by her, though he was the one moving and she was still?

  His mind’s eye saw the long way from Osaka Station to his apartment: the crowded, bright brick-red train to Kyōbashi; from the platform at Kyōbashi Station, caked with a thick film of sputum, phlegm, and vomit mixed with cigarette butts, mud, and dust, descending the stairs to the platform for the Katamachi Line; the sewer ditches and construction sites visible from the window of the well-worn and metallic-smelling old car; the sound of cranes; the oil film and methane gas spreading over the ditches; the dirty fluorescent lights blinking at Suminodō Station, a place that felt alien to him no matter how many times he got off there; the smell of garlic always wafting around the shopping arcade where country toughs hung out; the stand-up bars where someone would always be babbling in his cups; the toy store; the pack of mangy, stray dogs; the railroad crossing; the smokestack of the public bath; the single path that was either cold or
hot; the laundry waving on the drying platforms of housing complexes all of the same shape; the metal stairs; and his own room: his own room, where Kin was waiting. Tetsuyuki held tightly to Yōko.

  “My hair’s a mess. My mom is sure to be suspicious.”

  “You could just tell her that it rained only in Kyoto.” Yōko giggled as she rearranged her hair in front of the mirror.

  When they went down to the front counter, the man said, “Oh? You’re leaving already? Until six o’clock, it’s the same price no matter how long you stay.” With an ambiguous smile on his face, Tetsuyuki handed over the money.

  “When I was young, I’d have kept a knockout like this young lady for a good five or six hours.” Then he went outside and beckoned to the two of them. “There’s no one out here. You can leave without embarrassment.”

  At the corner, Tetsuyuki and Yōko looked back. The man suddenly raised his hand and bowed his head. “Please come again.”

  “If we come back to Kyoto, let’s really come here again.”

  “With a hair dryer and curlers in hand . . .” Yōko responded, blushing.

  After hearing Tetsuyuki’s explanation to the end, Section Chief Shimazaki lowered his voice. “Well, this has turned into a fine mess.” He called the front desk. “Please get me the extension for the front-desk manager.” The receiver pressed to his ear, Shimazaki nodded a few times as if to say, “Leave it all to me.”

  “Is Section Head Imoto on duty today?” Shimazaki asked the person in charge at the front desk, then, covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he explained to Tetsuyuki with a wink, “Imoto came here when I did. He can be trusted to keep a secret.” When Imoto came to the phone, Shimazaki asked him to come by to discuss an urgent matter. Section Head Imoto appeared immediately. He had the serious, honest face of a country school principal and possessed the greatest language aptitude of anyone in the hotel, his facility with English and French such as occasionally to earn the straightforward praise of foreign guests. He pondered the matter for a while, then went out of the office. When he returned, he announced, “Mr. Lang paid in advance for tonight.” Then, taking a puff on his cigarette, mumbled as if weighed down by anguish, “I’ll refund the charges for tonight. Under these circumstances, they’ll need to reduce any expense possible. I have an eighty-eight-year-old mother who doesn’t get along well with my wife. I’m embarrassed to say so, but last month she decided on her own to enter a rest home in Nishinomiya. It’s a private establishment with good facilities, not gloomy or anything like that. In a way I feel relieved, and in a way I feel very unfilial.”