The family consisted only of the husband, Hisao, and Yoko, his wife.
In spite of this lack of human contact, in a mere two weeks Nanase had been greatly influenced by Yoko’s personality and thoughts.
Yoko had an incredibly strong character. Nanase had worked as a live-in maid in a number of homes, but she had never come across a housewife with a personality like this.
At first Nanase hadn’t realized that she had been “influenced”; she simply thought that, overwhelmed by Yoko’s powerful ego, she was in a temporary state of shock. But two weeks later, when she went over her own mental processes, she could clearly detect Yoko’s unique thought patterns.
That day as well, slightly after noon, Yoko, without one wasted word, flung her orders at the diminutive Nanase.
“Mr Kawahara should be home at seven tonight. Have his dinner ready. Just broil some meat and fry some vegetables. I won’t be needing any. Take out his brown winter suit and iron it. If he asks, tell him I’ll be back home at nine. Now that’s only if he asks.”
This abrupt manner of speaking suited the tall and heavily made-up Yoko; oddly it even had the opposite effect and made her seem more feminine.
However, Yoko’s thought processes, which the curious Nanase had allowed to flow uninterrupted into her own mind, were extremely logical – one might even say mannish.
Yoko had not the least personal interest in Nanase. When she gave her orders, she would also be thinking about how to get her point across effectively, and how to make efficient use of the girl. Yoko’s thoughts were linked together like an intricate chemical formula, the patterns changing shape moment by moment. Even Nanase, who had been exposed to any number of superior intelligences, was astounded at these prismlike refractions and dispersions.
It was only natural that under the influence of this strong personality, Nanase would grow more receptive to Yoko’s consciousness. In time, Nanase became able to read Yoko’s mind even at a distance.
When Nanase had turned ten, a few years after she had become aware of her telepathic powers, she noticed that while some people were weak, others emitted great inner strength. She discovered this when she’d undo her latch and peer into people’s minds, only to find some consciousness coming at her full force.
Often this was because the person’s mental make-up bore a close resemblance to Nanase’s – in the case of a relative, for example – or because the person was emanating some strong feeling such as jealousy, love or desire. All the same, there did exist a few people whose inner will was at all times powerful. Yoko Kawahara, for example.
After Yoko drove off in her ivory-coloured sports car, Nanase took down from the top of the wardrobe the box with Hisao’s three suits. The suit she was to iron looked as if it had been made three years ago. Hisao was a graduate of a top university and was on an elite career track in government service, so he could not neglect his personal appearance. Yet for some reason his wardrobe was small, and almost all of his summer suits looked old. Maybe, Nanase wondered, he’s trying to tell Yoko in an indirect way not to be such a spendthrift.
The Kawaharas lived in a middle-class Western-style home on the outskirts of a new town. Nearby was a junction of the highway, which led to other small towns and the city centre. Yoko would always drive her sports car onto the highway, and Nanase would always follow Yoko’s mind as she sped off to the city.
“I wonder how far I can follow her today.”
This day as well, Nanase was chasing after Yoko as she mechanically did the ironing. Although Nanase tried to convince herself that she was doing this to test the limits of her power, the truth was that she wanted to observe Yoko’s consciousness for as long as possible. Of course, before Yoko even left the house, Nanase knew where she was going and whom she was meeting. She was going to shop in the city and, while there, might look up her young boyfriend. Or she was planning to look up her young boyfriend and, while about it, might go shopping. In Yoko’s consciousness, these two objectives were intricately entangled, leaving Nanase unable to determine which one was more important. For Nanase, this kind of refracted psychology was what fascinated her about Yoko. Even now, as her thoughts gradually faded, these refractions continued.
Vogue, Young Pilot, Mackenzie – Which shop has got something good in, I wonder. The other day I spotted a nice suit in Vogue, so I’ll check that out first. Only if I can’t find anything will I try the other two shops. Decided.
Through her usual process, Yoko’s decisions hardened inside her.
In which case, I should choose some place close to Vogue for my date with Osamu – college senior, intelligent, athletic, sensitive, introverted, easily manipulated, weak-willed.
Strangely enough, Nanase’s power was unaffected by obstacles. Even if a series of walls were to block the way or if the subject was in an enclosed chamber like an automobile, Nanase’s telepathy was as strong as if there were no barriers. The one thing that did affect her power, however, was distance.
After Yoko had gone about eight kilometres down the highway, her telepathic messages suddenly weakened; from there on Nanase could only pick up fragments.
Tsuganuma Imperial Hotel. Nishikuromine Villa.
Which one…
Some place inconspicuous…
Yoko’s thoughts vanished from Nanase’s mind.
Nanase sighed. Still, that’s not too bad, she muttered to herself, ignoring the real reason behind the sigh. Yesterday I lost her at five kilometres.
Actually, the psychology of an unfaithful wife was in itself nothing particularly new to Nanase.
Just as Yoko said, Hisao came home at seven precisely. Unless he had some business to attend to, he’d invariably return at seven so he could watch the evening news.
After finishing dinner in front of the TV, Hisao finally noticed that Yoko wasn’t home. However, he didn’t ask Nanase where she had gone. He also dismissed her as an eighteen-year-old kid.
Humph. So she’s running around with some boy again. At thirty-seven, no less. Wait, or is she thirty-eight?
What was upsetting Hisao was neither jealousy nor worry over his wife’s extravagances. His only concern was that his colleagues and superiors might learn of her affairs.
When Nanase first read Hisao’s mind, she rather simplistically decided that he was an unfeeling man, and attributed Yoko’s affairs to his coldness. But now she thought that the truth might be more complicated.
Nanase saw the two of them as thoroughgoing individualists, unlike any other couple she knew. Up until now Nanase had thought of individualism as a mere term bandied about by average intellectual couples to maintain an outward harmony and offer some justification for their actions.
After dinner, Hisao continued staring at the TV as he lingered over fruit and coffee. In his consciousness, criticism of his wife, unrelated to the TV show, would appear from time to time. While Nanase cleared the table, she peered curiously into Hisao’s mind. She was interested in how someone other than herself would evaluate Yoko.
Yoko’s logical thoughts were all closely related to her own actions. However, while Hisao’s thoughts were also logical, they were divorced from reality and were almost entirely conceptual judgements of others. For this reason, it was difficult for Nanase to feel very positive towards Hisao.
Nanase could not put up with someone passive being critical of a person of action. For Nanase, this was the consciousness of an old person or a defeatist. Even if the action was – like a spouse’s infidelity – the kind that was not to be admired, she did not see why a person who had lost his youthful energy had the right to criticize it.
It’s about time she acted her age.
Doesn’t she realize how foolish a middle-aged woman looks when she behaves like a young girl?
She’s so intelligent, and yet seems to have no clear idea of herself.
She’s only a woman, after all.
Tonight I’m going to say something to Hisao, thought Nanase. She could identify with Yoko, who was tryin
g to live life to the fullest, and she had a strong desire to defend her.
Nanase did not even consider the consequences of such a defence. Actually, she even thought it might be better if the couple started arguing in the open. She could no longer stomach the way Hisao was content to criticize Yoko only in his mind.
She might be reprimanded later by Yoko, but even though Hisao hadn’t asked her anything, when the clock struck eight, she acted as if she had suddenly remembered.
“Oh. Mrs Kawahara said she’d be home at nine.”
“Humph. Nine o’clock?” For a moment Hisao looked as if he was going to laugh sardonically.
As usual she’s probably made up like a young girl.
“Mrs Kawahara is so attractive,” said Nanase without missing a beat. “And she’s so youthful.”
She was acting out the role of an innocent girl captivated by her mistress. Hisao immediately sensed Nanase’s feelings.
What’s this? She’s on my wife’s side?
He slowly looked up and stared at Nanase.
Come to think of it, Yoko acts just like an eighteen-year-old girl.
For the first time, Hisao was thinking of Nanase as a woman. And Nanase could tell from the way he was looking her over that he did not find her in the least attractive.
She’s so skinny. Nothing but skin and bones. She has no sex appeal. Young girls these days are all like that. What’s worse, the media is playing up this image. Fashion models – they’re all the same. That’s why the styles popular nowadays are just for this type. And Yoko forces herself to wear the clothes. It’s so stupid. Why can’t a middle-aged woman take pride in the maturity of her body? What’s so great about the body of an undeveloped chit of a girl?
Images of buxom beauties – in particular, motherly women of the kind Rembrandt and Renoir liked to paint – paraded through Hisao’s mind.
I’m sure those artists never showed any interest in skinny girls.
Nanase picked up on Hisao’s strong Oedipus complex.
“I can see why you think she’s pretty but…” – Hisao turned back to the TV and spoke slowly – “that’s not the beauty of a middle-aged woman.”
As soon as he said it, he reproached himself for having taken the girl seriously.
“Bring me a cup of tea in my study,” he said, somewhat embarrassed, as he stood up.
When Nanase brought his tea, Hisao, his eyes focused on an administrative instruction manual lying open on his desk, was still thinking intently about middle-aged beauty.
She shouldn’t wear ready-made clothes. They’re all designed for a teenager’s waist. But she thinks it’s dowdy to have her clothes tailored, so she runs around buying outfits she can’t wear without using a belt or something. Which is even more unbecoming.
Behind Hisao’s logic lay the memory of a recent humiliation. He had been shopping in a department store for a pair of summer slacks, but couldn’t find anything without a youthful cut and narrow waist; a young clerk, spotting his confusion, had smiled at him condescendingly.
Why should a sophisticated middle-aged couple with economic means run around buying ready-made clothes designed for the young at the expense of elegance and a fully developed femininity? It’s subordination to the youth. Am I wrong? Only by having your clothes tailored can you free yourself from these popular youthful crazes and, as a mature human being, assert your own perfected individuality.
The more Hisao repeated his thinking, the more Nanase began to sense the desperation of someone about to lose his own youth. In fact, Hisao had little interest in clothes, and behind his insistence on “a wardrobe suitable for middle age” some subconscious force must have been at work unconnected with criticizing Yoko. When a fragment of Hisao’s logic overflowed the study into the dark hallway, Nanase smiled wryly to herself.
She had been watching TV for a while in the living room when the telephone in the corner rang.
Nanase picked it up. “The Kawahara residence.”
“Oh Nana? It’s me.” It was Yoko.
According to the wall clock, it was exactly nine o’clock.
“I’ve had an accident,” said Yoko.
“Oh my.” Nanase held her breath. She couldn’t read thoughts over the phone.
“It’s nothing serious. Tell my husband I’ll be home a little late.” Her manner was as confident as always.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m all right. So long.” She hung up.
Nanase lost her usual composure. Judging by the way Yoko had said “I’m all right”, someone else must have been injured.
Yoko had a racer’s licence and until now had probably never had an accident. Had the accident been beyond her control? Or had Yoko been in an unstable mental state?
No, that couldn’t be. Nanase denied the idea vehemently. Nanase didn’t even want to think that Yoko, with her unbending personality, could ever be disturbed enough to commit a driving error.
When she reported the news to Hisao in the study, his eyes widened a bit as he turned around.
“An accident, you say?”
So she finally did it. It only stands to reason – the way she acts, like a kid racing about in a sports car.
“But… uh… she said it wasn’t anything serious.”
“Is that so?” Hisao nodded. “Then there’s probably nothing to worry about.”
Since Yoko was always honest with him, Hisao had no reason to doubt what she said, but in this case he seemed to be eager to reassure himself. He did love Yoko in his own way but, perversely enough, he could only show it by criticizing her inwardly.
For a long time Hisao and Nanase faced each other in silence.
Hisao was mulling over what stance to take towards Yoko. No matter how much he criticized her in his mind, when they were actually face to face, he’d end up being nice to her. Tonight, however, he seemed to be leaning the other way.
Nanase realized that it was she who had provoked him into it.
“I’ll wait up for her in the living room,” said Nanase, shutting the study door.
Hisao didn’t even seem to hear her; still in a daze, he was thinking over what to say to Yoko.
It was after ten when Nanase finally picked up Yoko’s consciousness as she returned from the freeway. Her mind was unusually confused, making it difficult for Nanase to understand what had happened. Clearly Yoko was tired and in ill humour.
This is a fine mess, thought Nanase.
With the proud Yoko in a bad mood, she was bound to blow up at Hisao if he spoke arrogantly to her. As Yoko’s consciousness became more and more intelligible, Nanase’s agitation kept on increasing.
Yoko had been stood up by Osamu, the boyfriend she had dismissed as indecisive and weak-willed. Then in Vogue she had been unable to find a dress that fitted. After that, she had gone alone to see a movie, became irritated by the insipid film, and on the way back had run into a drunk who had dashed onto the road. She hadn’t been going fast, and the drunk didn’t seem to have been injured, but even so, she had been carted off to the nearest police station and given a hard time.
“I feel so sorry for her,” murmured Nanase with a sigh. What a cruel day it must have been for a woman with Yoko’s self-esteem.
When Yoko returned, she was exhausted, her face pale almost beyond recognition.
“See. Even if you think you can drive a car like some kid, your responses have dulled. That’s why you hit him.”
After coming into the living room and hearing the details from Yoko, Hisao launched into his rebuke, harbouring a subconscious desire to have Nanase hear it as well.
“He was drunk,” Yoko replied, irritated. “It was his fault. Otherwise they’d have never let me go home so soon.”
But in spite of what she said, Hisao seemed to have made an impact.
I wonder if my driving really has got worse because of my age. Come to think of it, in the past, with that much distance, I probably could have avoided him.
Then she immediately rejec
ted the thought.
No, the accident happened because I was overwrought today.
Hisao, oblivious to what his wife was thinking, staunchly continued his attack.
“Do you think you can regain your youth by driving a sports car designed for kids? You’re just fooling yourself. And don’t forget you’re a woman. A woman’s driving skills decline much faster than a man’s. Sure, young people do have the highest accident rate, but their accidents are the result of speeding. Accidents by the middle-aged are clearly due to weakened responses. Young people are still minors, so they can’t be held responsible for their actions. As a middle-aged woman, you’ve got to have a sense of social responsibility.”
He’s gone far enough, thought Nanase anxiously. She was hoping that Yoko would lash back. But tonight Yoko had lost her energy. With nothing to stop him, Hisao’s criticisms dragged on interminably.
“Let me go to sleep. I’m tired,” Yoko broke in suddenly.
Who would have believed that Yoko would give in so easily? But Yoko meant what she said.
Why does he keep harping on about youth? Perhaps he’s not in love with youth the way I am. Or maybe he’s jealous of my youthfulness.
Depressed as she was, Yoko was trying to fathom her husband’s feelings.
“Then go to sleep,” said Hisao. “But I want you to give up your sports car.”
Yoko seemed taken aback by Hisao’s uncharacteristic tone.
“Is that an order?”
For a moment Hisao’s usual timidity returned and he flinched. But then he answered emphatically: “That’s right, it’s an order.”
All that night Nanase was disturbed by Yoko’s intense thoughts emanating from her bedroom. Yoko was trying to heal her wounds by reinforcing her ego. She had suffered a traumatic blow by being told she was no longer young. Once she had been the centre of the world, the essence of youth itself. For her, youth was the lead in a lavish production, whereas middle age was only a supporting role. So for Yoko to acknowledge herself as middle-aged would be the same as throwing away her self-esteem.
Have I been cast aside by Osamu?
Have I lost my hold on youth?
Is this the end of my era?
The Maid Page 4