It was easy to imagine how the sensitive Tenshu had been abused by his wife. Worries at work, the burden of having a famous artist for a father, the impossible expectations and lack of understanding of everyone around him, culminating in their selfish disappointments – these wounds must have run deep. Nanase had no idea when he had adopted this defence mechanism, or how long it had taken him to develop such a singular power. Perhaps it had all come about naturally, without his even being aware of it, under the burden of these interminable attacks on his artistic pride.
Was she overestimating the nature of the artist or just falling prey to sentimentality? Nanase wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t come up with any other explanation. She herself had often wanted to shut out the hostile thoughts that invaded her mind non-stop, so Tenshu’s ability posed very interesting possibilities.
Toshi started to speak again, still getting no response. The longer Tenshu kept quiet, the more Toshi wanted to scream at him. Any reticence she might have felt in front of Nanase paled before her desire to revile her husband.
“Since we’ve hired a maid, you’re going to have to produce more paintings that can sell.”
I know what he’s thinking: “this was your decision, so leave me out of it.” Well, I won’t let him say it. If he makes even the smallest objection, I’ll give it to him.
Toshi had the habit of imagining how people might react to her rantings even before they said anything, and then driving herself into a frenzy over it. For her, Tenshu’s silence was more galling and humiliating than any complaint he might have uttered. Toshi’s pent-up fury was now on the verge of exploding. She couldn’t put it into words, but she felt as if her vanity was being laid bare and ridiculed.
Nanase, the third party, had vanished from Toshi’s reasoning. Her hand holding the chopsticks trembled violently.
“Why don’t you say something!” she screamed, letting her venom out. Her eyes were aflame.
The images in Tenshu’s mind started blinking – a warning signal that he had better make some reply.
“Right, right.”
“What do you mean ‘Right, right’?” Toshi said, grimacing.
I won’t put up with being ignored by this idiot.
She picked up a boiled potato and shoved it into her mouth. At least her anger hasn’t affected her appetite, Nanase observed.
This seemed to calm Toshi down a bit, and once Tenshu sensed this, he resumed his mechanical eating. Of course, he must have been aware that his silence only made her more angry. But if he spoke rashly to her, she’d lash out at him with greater force, and he’d end up more abused. The best thing to do was to keep quiet. Tenshu had learnt from bitter experience that any argument would drag both of them down into a bottomless pit of hate where they would torture each other endlessly.
Nanase wondered whether this could be considered a “crystal consciousness”. Was Tenshu someone capable of looking at life through a philosopher’s eyes? For Nanase, Tenshu came closer to this state than anyone she had met before. This was because Nanase had so often glimpsed the ugliness in the hearts of people revered as saints by the world at large.
As Nanase’s feelings of goodwill and respect for Tenshu grew, she began to wonder how she herself appeared in his mind. Careful study of his thoughts during dinner revealed that she was nothing more than a white speck on the horizon of his consciousness. Nanase was both disappointed and relieved. White seemed to indicate feelings of amiability, at least if the colours of the other figures in his mind were any indication.
Dinner over, Nanase was carrying dishes into the kitchen when the son, Katsuki, entered the living room. Katsuki was slightly shorter than his father, skinny, and had a smile brimming with contempt and meanness. One glimpse into his mind made it clear to Nanase that Katsuki had inherited his mother’s aggressive, self-centred wilfulness. But for Nanase, Katsuki was much more of a threat. From the moment he spotted her, he stared lewdly at her body. His mind oozed with sexual secretions. Nanase particularly disliked this type of consciousness.
“Who’s this?” Katsuki gestured with his chin at Nanase, leering at her across the table. “Did you hire a maid?”
“Uh-huh,” Toshi answered indifferently. She could not shake off her anger at Tenshu.
“She’s beautiful. What a waste, being a maid.”
Katsuki was trying to catch Nanase’s eye. He kept staring at her suggestively. It occurred to Nanase that some women probably found this attractive. Hoping to avoid his eyes, she smiled at him, looking down as she cleared the table. But even managing this small smile required tremendous effort.
Damn, with her around, I can’t ask for money.
Katsuki wanted to tap his parents for money to go mountain-climbing.
If they’ve got enough to hire a maid, why don’t they give some to me? Mum’s so pretentious.
But Katsuki didn’t say anything. He figured he’d be better off scheming with his mother to get his father to paint something marketable.
“Can I fix you a light meal? You must have already eaten with your friends,” said Toshi. She also wanted Katsuki on her side.
“OK.”
“Nana, will you get out the pickles?”
While Nanase was preparing Katsuki’s snack, he started staring at her again.
Why is such a pretty girl working as a maid?
Katsuki’s suspicions made Nanase stiffen.
Recently she had begun to sense a certain danger in her own blossoming figure. There was no denying that her looks were the kind men noticed. She was careful to wear plain clothes, use no make-up and keep her hair in a childish style, but she wasn’t able to hide her looks any longer.
Why would an attractive girl with a high-school diploma be working as a maid? Anyone aware of the labour shortage might begin to wonder. Even if such a doubt did not directly result in the discovery of Nanase’s ESP powers, there was ample danger. For Nanase had become a household maid precisely because it was a job where she could move easily from place to place without arousing suspicion, all the while avoiding society’s prying eyes. I have to be careful, she told herself. I’d better watch Katsuki’s mind like a hawk.
“Isn’t Dad gonna do any more illustrations for the newspaper?” Katsuki asked his mother. He would always talk about his father as if he were out of the room – a reaction to the way Tenshu always ignored them. Despising this in his father, Katsuki had secretly begun to call him “Helen Keller”.
“Not unless they specifically ask him to…” said Toshi, sighing heavily. She was delighted to find Katsuki on the same wavelength as her.
“You must have made a lot of money on that job,” Katsuki goaded his father, staring at him.
“Hmm.” Tenshu looked at his son with eyes devoid of feeling.
In Tenshu’s consciousness, Nanase watched as two concentric circles, the outer one dark green and the inner one orange, suddenly expanded. Apparently the circles represented Katsuki.
He’s playing Helen Keller again.
Katsuki screwed up his nose in disgust. His nose was perfect for this – big, flaring nostrils and a tip pointing upwards.
“OK, OK.” Katsuki gave up.
What’s the point of talking to the moron? He’ll just say he doesn’t want to do anything commercial. Posing like an artist. What an idiot. Who does he think he is anyway? He’s just a fraud. First make some money. Then you can act so high and mighty.
“The ward office has asked him to do a painting,” said Toshi with an exaggerated sigh. “They want him to do a large oil to hang over the staircase landing.”
If only he’d do it, we’d make a bundle.
In one corner of his consciousness, Tenshu was aware that he was the topic of their conversation, but for him their words were simply hundreds of tiny right-angled triangles appearing and disappearing inside his head.
“Couldn’t he sell them one of the big paintings in his studio?” Katsuki asked his mother, excited over his own idea.
“Impos
sible,” Toshi answered, giving Tenshu a nasty stare. “Those crazy paintings are no good. The ward office wants something more realistic.”
“Then why don’t you paint something more realistic? A real painting that anyone could understand instead of something crazy. Come on, Dad,” Katsuki urged. His light-hearted tone made it sound as if he himself would be doing the painting. “You can do it. All you have to do is put your mind to it. It’ll be a cinch. Come on, come on.”
Katsuki patted his father twice on the shoulder. It was an exaggerated, condescending gesture, and the insolence made even Nanase momentarily furious. But since Tenshu had not allowed Katsuki’s words to enter his mind, he didn’t register the slightest sign of anger. Tenshu looked up absently and stared at his son as if gazing at an object of little interest.
“Right, right,” Tenshu muttered.
What is this “right, right” business?
Katsuki cursed his father inwardly.
You’re thinking that art isn’t like that. That someone like me can’t possibly understand art. That a true artist can’t so easily paint to order. Arrogant bastard! I’ll put you in your place. You pompous ass.
“You really mean it!” Katsuki exclaimed with feigned cheerfulness, anger boiling inside him. “You can start painting right away. Tomorrow. Better yet, you can start tonight. Wow, I’m so excited. Since it’s a commercial painting, you can paint by electric light. I can’t wait for you to start.” The more Katsuki talked, the more worked up he got – until he could no longer hide his sarcasm. “Wow, this is really great. If you make some money, I can go to the mountains with my friends. You’re a wonderful dad.”
Those eyes! He has eyeballs like a fish. Why don’t you say something? Look how your son is making fun of you. Why don’t you try getting angry for a change? I think I’ll punch you in the nose. Maybe that’ll get a rise out of you.
Nanase suddenly sensed danger. Katsuki was in a rage. His hatred and disdain of his father, now at irrational levels, had tainted his world bright red. Deep down Katsuki knew that he was the one who was selfish and in the wrong. But for this very reason, all morality and restraint had fled elsewhere, leaving his perverse mind out of control. A primitive anger burned inside him. He might actually resort to violence, Nanase thought nervously.
Tenshu as well seemed to have sensed that something was wrong. He began to make an effort to understand what Katsuki was saying. At the very moment when Tenshu’s consciousness tuned into the reality around him, Nanase stepped in. “Would you like some more tea?” she asked him.
Immediately, instinctively, Tenshu caught on that Nanase was telling him to get out of the room – and quickly. He seized the opportunity to stand up.
“Uh, no thanks,” he said. Then, with remarkable speed, Tenshu dashed out of the poison-filled room, not giving Toshi and Katsuki the chance to pursue their attack.
He’s run away, dammit.
Katsuki almost slammed his rice bowl down on the table. He cursed his father furiously in his mind.
The bastard’s run away. I’m not good enough to talk to.
“No matter how we plead, it’s hopeless,” Toshi spit out, her lips quivering.
He’s waiting for us to come begging on our hands and knees. I’ll never do that. Pompous idiot. He can go to the Devil.
“I’d like to step on his face,” Katsuki threw in.
Mother and son were closely bound by their common hatred of Tenshu. Katsuki was graphically imagining beating his father to death while he consumed two bowls of ochazuke. He enacted the drama over and over in his mind, changing the details each time.
Nanase was staring at him in disbelief when Katsuki suddenly lifted his head and their eyes met. He took the opportunity to look her over suggestively. Nanase quickly glanced down. Thoughts of his father abruptly vanished form Katsuki’s consciousness and he started replaying the various scenarios he had come up with for seducing girls.
It’ll be easy. She’s so innocent. From the country. Obviously inexperienced. No urban sophistication. If I come on strong. She’s just a maid, so I don’t have to worry about the consequences. A movie. The park. Kissing. A motel.
Then, in his mind, he began to remove Nanase’s clothing, one article at a time. When she was stripped of all but her panties, Nanase, still looking downwards, smirked and went off to the kitchen.
She smirked at me! Maybe she guessed what I was thinking. In which case, she might be a real swinger. Nah, she’s not such hot stuff.
Katsuki had been caught off guard for a moment, but he would never admit defeat. It was a trait he had inherited from his mother.
This was the first time Nanase had challenged the thoughts of someone she found offensive. But she immediately regretted having taken the chance. That she would hate Katsuki enough to take such a risk might be because she had finally met someone she could actually like. I have to be careful, she cautioned herself again. I have to watch myself most of all.
Toshi picked up where she’d left off. “Even with the newspaper serial last year,” she whined to Katsuki, “it was like pulling teeth. ‘I can’t do pen drawings, I can’t draw people,’ he grumbled the whole time. All he did were landscape sketches in pencil. The newspaper editors were appalled. With that kind of attitude, you can be sure he’ll never work for a newspaper again. Maybe it’s his way of hiding how bad his paintings really are.”
How much ability does Tenshu have, Nanase wondered while she washed the dishes. She had a feeling that his paintings couldn’t be bad, but she wanted to make sure that she wasn’t overestimating him.
The very next day she had the chance to find out. Toshi asked her to clean Tenshu’s atelier, to wash the windows in the main house and to straighten up Katsuki’s cottage. She seemed to have been saving up jobs for Nanase to do.
As soon as she finished breakfast, Nanase went to the atelier. Except for a bit of dust collecting in the corners, the modest-sized room was extremely clean. Judging by the state of the paints, canvases and other equipment, Nanase could tell that Tenshu himself had done the cleaning up until now.
In the centre of the room an abstract painting – evidently a work in progress – sat resting on an easel. As Nanase had imagined, the design consisted of geometric figures. Although the composition itself was extremely erratic, the exciting coloration made the work dynamic. Curiously enough, Toshi and Katsuki were also present among the geometric figures: on the canvas, a dark-green quasi-rectangle and orange and dark-green concentric circles inside a morass of the sepia of everyday life.
Nanase gazed untiringly at the painting, then suddenly wondered whether she found it interesting only because she was aware of the make-up of Tenshu’s consciousness. Toshi and Katsuki, of course, could not possibly understand his work. Toshi hated the kind of painting that did not depict real objects, and one glance at Katsuki’s cottage told Nanase that his sense of colour was a cut below average.
Nanase felt she had a good eye for art. As she looked through the ten-odd paintings propped up against the wall in the corner, she gained confidence in her notion that if she had seen these paintings without knowing Tenshu himself, she would not have found them great works of art. They were a kind of autobiographical novel in the form of painting – Tenshu’s own consciousness preserved on canvas. Even the most perceptive of critics would hardly be likely to comprehend that. Still, this did not mean that the works were failures. The world was inundated with fakes that made free use of superficial, showy techniques. Tenshu completely ignored fashionable styles, and his talent was real.
The stronger Nanase’s affection for Tenshu became, the stranger it seemed that he could have fathered such a gross child. Even looking at Katsuki in the best possible light, she could not find in him the merest similarity to his father.
Once again Nanase wondered whether she were overestimating Tenshu. After all, she had only observed him in a state where his perceptions were cut off by his abstraction of his surroundings. How did his consciousness work wh
en he perceived reality? She had no idea how capable he was at his job, but the very fact that he had a managerial position suggested that his ability to judge reality couldn’t be all that poor. And considering his mathematical mind, he probably was an extremely capable accountant.
Since it was Saturday, Tenshu came home early. He dropped by the atelier for a moment, then spoke to Nanase, who was working in the garden.
“Did you clean my studio?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling as he walked off to the main house.
Nanase’s blush refused to go away. The white dot that represented her in Tenshu’s consciousness had expanded into a perfect circle. The situation is getting more and more dangerous, thought Nanase. True, she was pleased that Tenshu showed signs of liking her, but enjoying a man’s attentions was a first-time experience for her, and that in itself made her uneasy.
That evening, Nanase avoided eating with the Takemuras. She holed herself up in her room, reading. She couldn’t bear to watch Tenshu being bullied by his family, and she was afraid that she might impulsively say or do something imprudent in order to protect him.
Toshi seemed displeased that Nanase wasn’t serving dinner, but did not demand that she do it. If Nanase were present, she couldn’t abuse Tenshu to her heart’s content. The next day was Sunday – the day Tenshu spent painting in his atelier – so she had to badger him into doing the commercial paintings before the night was over. Nanase predicted that the air in the dining room would get even more poisonous than the night before. Still, no matter how his family reviled or pleaded with him, Tenshu wasn’t likely to give in. Nanase laughed to herself: Tenshu’s ability to transcend his surroundings made a farce of his scheming family.
As expected, Toshi and Katsuki’s joint attack lost easily to Tenshu’s silence. When Nanase was certain that Tenshu and Katsuki had retreated to their own rooms, she went into the kitchen. She found Toshi furiously washing the dishes, a storm of curses raging in her heart.
The Maid Page 12