by Taeko Kono
How many times had she had to hear those words? He would sound calm, but actually be very irritated.
Hideko would find it impossible to fall to sleep. Couldn’t he, she would say all of a sudden, hold her, at least? Taking the limp arm he threw over her, she would wrap it tightly about herself. The desire to try again would rise up in her. Couldn’t he, she would beg, grip the flesh on her back — with feeling? Sugino would do as she asked, but with so little enthusiasm that she only became more exasperated.
One night her frustration made her finally burst out: “I’m going to buy a whip tomorrow.”
“A whip? You can count me out.”
“Say what you like. I’m still going to buy one,” she had retorted, stubbornly. “They sell dog whips for six hundred yen. I’m sure I could get a really superb one for a thousand. Black leather, with a square grip, tapering off at the end into a nice, pliant braid.” She’d let herself get carried away. “They sell them in department stores with the collars. A while ago I had a look — I was thinking of asking you to buy me one. I’ll get one tomorrow. Then, when we go to bed, I’ll start by giving myself a whipping. There’s nothing else for us, is there?”
What had she been saying?
When Hideko caught herself, her husband had already moved away. She was brought to her senses by the change in his manner, by the awful, frightening signs traveling silently over to her through the darkness.
“But you’d better not kill me,” she added.
Hideko waited a while, but the space beside her kept silent so she reached for Sugino’s arm. He lifted her hand off him and calmly pushed it away. She’d realized then that it was all over.
Of course, with Sugino you couldn’t tell whether he resented what had happened, but in any case, she knew that their relations would never improve.
Why on earth had she let her mouth run away to humiliate him so cruelly? Whenever she remembered that night Hideko felt a horror that refused to let up. It discouraged her from seeking his attention, making her hesitant, until in the end she withdrew from him of her own accord.
Hideko paid a call on Mrs. Yamashita, whom she hadn’t seen since Rigoletto. The last time Hideko had visited her at home was when she’d attended the obligatory seventh-day service after Mr. Yamashita’s death.
The interior of the house had not changed. Sitting down in the living room she’d once known so well, Hideko felt strangely nostalgic.
“How have you managed to get in such financial straits?” inquired the widow, referring to the topic Hideko had broached over the telephone.
“It’s just that I don’t have a penny to spare,” Hideko said. “And there’s an emergency.”
Sugino, before his departure, had put all his bank account books under lock and key. His company was paying an allowance for his household expenses in Tokyo during his absence, but he had calculated the exact amount of money she would need as a woman living alone, insisting that she use no more, and arranged for the rest to go into a long-term savings account under his name. Of course, Hideko had no intention of telling Mrs. Yamashita these details. She explained that Sugino had left her with about fifty thousand yen for an emergency, but there were reasons why the money was unavailable now.
“And you can’t ask your brother?”
“No.”
“I see. Well, I’m happy to help you, of course.” Hideko had begged her over the telephone not to ask why she needed the money, and Mrs. Yamashita did not press any further. “You’re still so young, my dear,” the widow added. “You can always count on me.” She laid two ten-thousand yen notes on the table.
Hideko had learned that the hunchback’s sister had visited him that day to ask for a loan: she and her husband had won the chance to buy some housing in a public development, but even after scraping together all their money, they didn’t have enough for the down payment. If the balance had been large, they would have given up right away; but it was a trifling sum, and it seemed a pity to abandon the project now. The deadline for the payment was still one month away. She had asked if her brother could lend her just seventy thousand yen.
The hunchback and his wife had said they would. Hideko remembered the beauty telling her that Ken’s sister had been especially kind when his health was poor; and it appeared that the couple was in her debt financially, too. They thought, since over a month remained, they would have plenty of time to come up with the money.
The hunchback was visiting various clients to ask them for loans. One day when Hideko had dropped by, she heard the beauty ask him anxiously: “Will we have enough?”
“Don’t you worry,” the hunchback boasted. “In just ten days I’ve collected thirty thousand yen.”
But as the deadline drew near, he appeared to be having less luck. On her next visit, Hideko heard the beauty say when the hunchback came home: “If we can’t do it, we should let her know soon — if we tell her now, they may be able to get the last twenty thousand themselves.”
“Give me three days,” the hunchback had replied. Witnessing this exchange, Hideko told them she thought she could help. And she had been sure she could get hold of twenty thousand yen.
Even this modest amount, however, had proved difficult for Hideko to obtain. The more she thought about it, the more hesitant she became about using the money Sugino had left her — or asking her brother for help. She was fully prepared to pawn some of her belongings to help her friends. But here, too, she let her doubts get the better of her. In the end, she had resorted to the kindness of Mrs. Yamashita.
The widow made Hideko stay at her home for hours. It had been ages since they last saw each other, she chided. Hideko suspected the woman was shocked that she dared to come ask for a loan after not bothering to visit for so long. Hideko knew how callous and impudent she must seem. Mrs. Yamashita had witnessed her talk with the hunchback at Rigoletto, but when Hideko returned to her seat, she had simply said: “Oh, that’s someone I met last time I was here.” The widow had probably forgotten the incident, but even so, Hideko felt doubly guilty thinking about whom the money was for.
During the past few months, Hideko had started to understand why she had neglected Mrs. Yamashita after her husband’s death. It had happened naturally: had Mrs. Yamashita been the one to die, she realized, she would have dropped Mr. Yamashita in exactly the same way.
It was already seven o’clock by the time she left Mrs. Yamashita’s house. She could take a train from the nearby station directly home, so rather than proceeding to the home of the hunchback and his wife as she’d planned, Hideko stopped by the main post office and sent the borrowed money by mail.
She received an acknowledgment soon. Though signed by the hunchback, the note had clearly been penned by the beauty; the handwriting and polite phrasing were hers. She thanked Hideko for the money, and invited her to attend a party at four o’clock on Christmas Eve. “We’ll have all sorts of fun!” the letter read: “But no more visits until then.” At the end came a p.s. scrawled in brash red ink, the only words from the hunchback himself: A grand time will be had by all!
Christmas was still eight days away, and more than ten days since their last communication, when she had sent the money. Lately, she had seen them much more frequently. What did they mean, “no more visits until then”? Was she forbidden to go and see them? That was a rude acknowledgment of a loan. Judging from the flourish of the p.s., though, they were not upset with her for anything. . . . Feeling a little out of sorts, she sent a postcard inquiring discreetly whether they were busy, but she received no reply.
When the day finally came, Hideko set out and arrived at the appointed hour.
The hunchback and the beauty were sitting at the heated table, which had been moved into the parlor from the larger room. They expressed a few words of gratitude for her loan, and then said, one after the other:
“Well, how did you feel?”
“Did you die from waiting? How patient you’ve been.”
Hideko smiled and moved to join them. But they didn’t let her: “No,” the beauty admonished and pushed down the blanket that Hideko was trying to lift up. “There’s no room for you, Hide. We’ve already got company under here. Right, Ken?”
They both burst out laughing.
“There’s a chicken under the table,” the hunchback said at last, seeing the pained look on Hideko’s face. “It’s been delivered. For dinner tonight.” He glanced at the other room. “Look. We’ve cleaned everything — even the glass.”
Hideko saw that the glass doors, normally left just to gather dust, had been polished. Through them she caught a clear glimpse of the wintry evening sky.
“The two of us cleaned up just to welcome you, Hide,” the hunchback said. “It was quite a job.”
“He’s right,” the beauty chimed in. “I had to drag out that enormous charcoal brazier. We’re exhausted. So we’re going to rest now. You can do the work. The mats in the other room still need help.” She reached around behind her. “Here, catch!” She tossed two ragged towels at Hideko. “A light dusting will do.”
She couldn’t move freely in her kimono, so the beauty told Hideko that she should change into some of her clothes. The skirt the beauty brought out was far too tight, but somehow she forced Hideko into it.
As Hideko crawled over the mats on her hands and knees, she got an inkling of why they were welcoming her in this way, and what kind of time she was in for tonight. How wonderful they were to her, she thought. Meanwhile, sitting at the table, the two of them didn’t stop taunting her.
“Don’t try to skip anything. Remember, we’re watching you,” warned the hunchback.
“She’s got tears in her eyes,” commented the beauty.
“Dust underneath the brazier, will you? Hey! Don’t just drag it. You’ll ruin the tatami!” ordered the hunchback.
“You’re warmer now, aren’t you, Hide?” teased the beauty. “See, you don’t need to sit here with us. Maybe you’re even a little hot.”
When Hideko finished dusting, the beauty announced that it was time for a bath. The hunchback went into the room with the tub beside the kitchen, and the beauty followed.
“Hide,” she called after a while, “Come and scrub his back.”
Hideko hesitated.
“Come on,” the hunchback added softly.
Hideko did as she was told. Thick clouds of steam drifted up around the bathroom light. The hunchback was sitting with his back toward the door. The beauty, fully dressed, perched behind him on a section of the bath’s square wooden cover.
“Now, put some water in the dipper,” said the beauty. “And rub some soap on the towel. . . .”
Hideko found it impossible to take in all of the hunchback’s body, even though he was puny. His hump, which she’d thought was set just below the nape of his neck, jutted up from a low, unexpected position and twisted around to the right. On either side his shoulder blades rose and fell faintly with each breath — and there was something indefinable that made them much more striking and raw than a normal man’s. Hideko went up with a towel in one hand, touching his wet shoulder with the other, and tried to focus on his hump. But the whiteness foaming over the strange shape, and the slippery sensation of rubbing it with the warm wet towel was stimulating, and called all sorts of thoughts to mind.
“It’s no good. She’s just barely stroking it!” the hunchback complained.
“She’ll get it. Come on,” the beauty exhorted Hideko: “Use some force!”
This sent Hideko’s head reeling; she found herself less and less able to comply.
“It’s no good. You take over, Haru,” the hunchback said, at last.
“That’s enough now, Hide. Go away.”
Hideko rinsed her hands in the wooden bucket’s hot water and stood up. As she closed the door, laughter and splashing sounds rang in her ears.
The beauty had already finished her own bath by the time the hunchback emerged.
The front door opened and they heard a delivery man call out his greeting.
“Ken,” said the beauty, “let’s use the cash we got from you-know-who.” She took an envelope of money from the tea cabinet drawer, cut it open, and left the room.
She returned bearing a splendidly garnished fowl on a large china platter. She glanced at Hideko, tittered, and told her to hurry up and have her bath.
By the time Hideko came out, the table had been dragged back into the larger room and covered with a sumptuous feast.
“It’s Christmas! We ought to be extravagant!” exclaimed the beauty, throwing a heap of red-hot coals on the brazier, her face flushed from the bath. She had removed her over-jacket, Hideko noticed, and now wore just a silk kimono with that same yellow sash.
It was time to gather around the Christmas dinner. Hideko started to feel intoxicated — the hunchback was filling her glass again and again. “You can manage it,” he was saying. She knew he was trying to get her drunk, but it began to be too much of an effort to refuse him. Finally she just sat there, gazing at the rim of her wine glass, a twinkly circle that tipped up to meet the purplish stream.
“Hide, you’re getting a lot of attention today,” the beauty was saying. “Don’t you agree, Ken?”
“I do,” the hunchback replied.
And then suddenly Hideko gasped — the beauty had sprung to her feet: “It’s unfair! Unfair!” she was screaming. “What about me! Now it’s my turn, Ken! I’m begging you, please!”
She was unwinding her yellow sash.
The hunchback obeyed. When the beauty had stripped down to her last piece of lingerie, he used the yellow sash to tie her hands behind her, binding her to the ring handles of the wardrobe doors.
The beauty began to gasp and moan. “There you two are enjoying yourselves,” she said, deliriously: “But I’ve hardly eaten a thing. I’m starving!”
The hunchback threw a gnawed drumstick at her naked shoulder. “There you are.”
With all her might Hideko tried to think of Germany, about the town she had never seen, called G—— . Was it snowing there tonight? Were the church bells ringing? Had her parcel arrived on time with its festive rice and red beans, and the ingredients for fish-balls and broth?
But it was no use. She let the fork fall from her hands with a clatter.
“What’s up, Hide?” The hunchback looked at her. There was a pause. “All right, all right,” he said, getting up. “It’s your turn now.”
Crabs
Kani, 1963
The rest cure Yuko had insisted on so stubbornly did improve her health remarkably. Only ten days away from Tokyo on the Sotobo coast, and all those feelings of enervation and helplessness had vanished completely. Day by day she sensed the strength returning to her body. Spring had finally come, and with it she could feel her own rejuvenation.
“Now, it’s only to be for one month,” Kajii, her husband, escorting her there on the train, had said once more: “You understand?” Beyond the window on the right side, the Boso sea, only glimpsed before in between huddles of cottages and cliffs, had suddenly burst into full view. All along, she reflected, Kajii had denied her need for a change of scene.
When she’d first talked about a rest cure, he had listened, humoring her, certain she was only half-serious. But when he realized it was no joke, he had stared at her, amazed. Why, he asked, would anybody want such an old-fashioned remedy? Wasn’t she already receiving the best possible medical treatment for her tuberculosis? He had then reeled off all the reasons she should not go. First of all, it would cost a great deal of money: she’d have to stay at an inn, or room with a family. He could accept that, of course, if there was any reasonable hope for a cure; but he would not tolerate wasting money on something that would probably not help at all. In fact, she would be lucky if it
had no ill effect. What if, after having made such strides toward recovery, she acted on this whim — and then suffered a relapse as a result? And besides, she was bound to get depressed in such an isolated place: once that happened, she would never improve, whatever the climate. Why go to all this trouble, and waste money in the bargain? he demanded, now adamantly opposed to her plan.
Each point he raised was true enough, Yuko knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to abandon the idea. So she persisted.
“I’m sure I’ll recover completely if I go,” she pleaded. “I just know it. I admit it’s selfish, but please let me. It won’t be for long.”
It had been late autumn, two and a half years before, when Yuko’s first symptom of tuberculosis had appeared. She had spat up a small quantity of blood. The winter that followed had flown by and she scarcely noticed it. The experience of being hospitalized for the first time in her life; her sense of panic at the disaster that had befallen her; and her impatience for the signs of recovery promised by proper treatment: all this had made her oblivious to the passage of time.
By the second winter, Yuko could only wonder at the miracles of modern medicine. Her treatment was working: the injections had had no side effects; and despite all her fears, her stomach had absorbed with no signs of strain the sandy para-amino acid she had to consume in such large quantities. With each new X-ray, she could see the TB lesions — at first three thick branches spreading out from the middle of her right lung — slowly getting smaller and fading away.
“You’re responding remarkably well to the treatment,” the doctor told her. “It won’t be long now.”
By the following autumn, Yuko was well enough to return home and commute to the hospital as an outpatient. Kajii had been having the elderly woman from the little cooper’s store, Takara-ya, near their apartment complex come in twice a week to do his laundry and clean the house; she cooked dinner for him too, on the days she came in, and ran his bath. They decided to keep her on even after Yuko returned home. The woman took charge of the heavy housework, though Yuko could soon handle some tasks herself.