Toddler Hunting

by Taeko Kono

  Ants Swarm

  Ari takaru, 1964

  For a moment, Fumiko thought of sinking back into that deep, free world she’d just been immersed in. But no, she couldn’t go back to sleep; she had to get up. . . . She pushed the thin quilt away with one hand, and then paused, reluctant: it worried her to think how her body might feel if she changed her position. Enclosed in the warm darkness, she lay on her side without moving, her body curved like a bow, her legs strictly aligned.

  Her husband Matsuda was still fast asleep, his breath deep and powerful. The clock on the wall reverberated with each swing of the pendulum, but this didn’t tell her the time. Lying there, keeping her body as immobile as a person being forcibly held down, Fumiko began to feel her chest constrict; it became difficult to breathe. Laziness and hesitation kept her there for a while, but she finally stuck out a hand to help raise her upper body. This didn’t seem to make any difference in how she felt, so she let her legs relax out of their strict line, bent one knee, and slid the other onto the cool tatami mat. Still she felt nothing. She moved both feet firmly on to the tatami.

  Sliding open their bedroom door she was surprised to discover that it wasn’t night after all. The corridor was hushed and still. Various objects were dimly visible: the white patch of frosted glass on the door of the bathroom met her eye. She was hardly ever awake this early, she realized. If anything, this was when she slept most deeply — worry had awoken her. Her hand touched the knob of the door to the toilet.

  Fumiko’s period was overdue — by almost a week now. This was very unusual for her. From the start, her period had always been regular, so punctual as to be almost amusing. Even the time of day it came — the evening — was usually the same. She had been married to Matsuda, a man one year her junior, for six years now; and all that time her period had been as regular as ever. The two of them had agreed to avoid having a child, and until now, nothing had ever happened to concern them.

  After her period didn’t come, she had waited three days before telling Matsuda. He responded with a surprised grunt.

  “I told you, didn’t I?” she continued. “I told you I felt something that time.”

  In fact, though they did not intend to ever have children, their only precaution was the regularity of Fumiko’s periods. Fumiko worked at an American law firm — there wasn’t any overtime, she could leave the office at five, and she had Saturdays and Sundays free. Matsuda, however, was a journalist who covered political affairs: his hours were unpredictable. When things got hectic, he would stay all night at the office, or for days at a stretch, and come home at dawn. Often when he did get a breather, Fumiko would be entering a risky phase in her cycle. Reluctant to have sex at these times, she still felt guilty; but the one time she suggested that they use another method of birth control, he had flatly refused.

  “I can hold back if I want to,” he told her. “Like a ­lion — lions only need to feed once in a while.”

  Well, she could see it his way.

  Whenever Matsuda started to caress her before making love, Fumiko’s body would feel a craving for physical pain. Matsuda seemed especially aroused by the sight of her imploring him to hurt her, and he would direct his efforts at her arms first, then her legs. Eventually, with increasing force, he would use various objects to give her pain. Before she knew it, she would be moaning in a voice hoarse with excitement: “So, you’ll do this much for me, will you?” This would spur him on all the more, as a result of which she would madly beg for more — only to plead in near delirium, “Forgive me! Forgive me!” until, in the end, Matsuda would have intercourse with her, inflicting pain all the while. It was not unusual for him to want them to spend the following night in the same way.

  When Fumiko entered an unsafe time of her menstrual cycle, however, Matsuda amazed her with his ability, as he said, to hold back. Occasionally their lovemaking would leave a few bruises on her body, but he never demanded anything more. She’d always loved this controlled side of his nature, which coexisted with the more unrestrained side.

  So she had felt quite annoyed when, one morning two weeks earlier, as she got out of bed, she suddenly found herself being dragged back. It was risky, she warned. “I know that!” was all he replied. She frowned. This wasn’t like him — the Matsuda she knew stayed sound asleep in the morning, even when it was safe to make love — only waking up when she placed his stack of newspapers by his pillow; and he would go straight back to sleep after reading them. Perhaps it was the contrast with his usual restraint that she found shocking, but then again, since this behavior was so unusual, she couldn’t reject him too adamantly. When she realized he still had apprehensions despite his eagerness, she even urged him on.

  But the truth was, Fumiko from start to finish was not pleased. For an instant, she managed to persuade herself that she didn’t care, and was able to gain a sense of release; but the fear of getting pregnant was always there, weighing her down. It was also almost time for her to go to work, and besides, he was making love without giving her pain, which made it impossible for her to get carried away.

  She got out of bed, and as she hurried to get dressed, she felt even more irritated and indignant. She looked over her shoulder, and saw Matsuda, the top of his head peeping out of the blankets.

  “I think I conceived,” she said. “It felt different than usual.”

  “Think so?” he replied from under the covers.

  She couldn’t suppress a sour smile, but the next moment a strong premonition overcame her — what she had just told him would come true. In the middle of zipping up her skirt, she froze. Yes, now carefully thinking about all the sensations she could remember, she did recall, though she’d experienced nothing like pleasure, having felt something special — something different.

  As she waited for her period, Fumiko grew more and more nervous. When the day at last came around, there was no sign of her period — not then, and not on the following day. So, she had been right, she thought, nodding bitterly. Even if it were impossible, rationally speaking, for a woman to feel the moment of conception, she was sure she’d had a presentiment. That knowledge couldn’t have arisen simply from fear.

  When she informed Matsuda her period was late, and referred again to “that time,” there was a touch of rebuke in her tone: “What should we do?” she demanded.

  “This is bad,” replied Matsuda, hugging his knees.

  “Of course it’s bad!”

  “But surely you don’t expect me to apologize?” he countered.

  Fumiko sensed he was chiding her for the way she had spoken. “You’re right,” she said. “I guess I got carried away, too. But we are going abroad. What bad timing.”

  In July, the two of them were supposed to go to the United States for a year: Matsuda had won a Fulbright to attend C — University. Since he’d applied in good time, he had managed to arrange for Fumiko to enroll too, in her own right. She had completed all the paperwork and entrance procedures. Before the start of the fall semester there was an orientation program, so only a month or so remained before they were due to leave the country.

  Fumiko wasn’t certain, as she didn’t have any experience, but surely, she told Matsuda, they didn’t have enough time left for her to have an abortion and recover — and she’d heard it was difficult to get an abortion in the States. And anyway, even if she could get one there, it would be impossible to arrange as soon as they arrived.

  Matsuda listened in silence.

  “Anyhow,” he said, after a while, “you’re not certain yet, and — ”

  “— It’s been three days! This never happens to me.”

  “All right. Calm down.”

  “But what if I really am pregnant?”

  “Hmm.” Matsuda thought for a minute, and then raising his eyes to hers, he said: “Can’t you give up the trip to the States?”

  “If I really can’t get rid of it before we go.
”

  “So you would stay?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well,” Matsuda said. “Why not have the baby?”

  Fumiko was stunned.

  “Do you really mean that?” she asked, eventually.

  “Why not? It might be nice to have a kid. One, at least.”

  “Since when have you . . . ?” Fumiko broke off, staring at him. “You mean, that was on purpose that time?”

  “No. It wasn’t.”

  “I didn’t think so. But when did you change, and decide you don’t mind?”

  Matsuda was silent.

  “Was it after I told you about my period being late? It was, wasn’t it?”

  “Well, yes, but . . .”

  “I see.” Fumiko sighed, and looked away.

  Fumiko had her job when she met Matsuda, and she kept working after they were married. At first they had avoided having a child without really thinking about it, but soon they realized that neither of them was particularly fond of children or felt the need to have any of their own. Then they started being explicit about her never becoming pregnant.

  “Not many men get obsessed with kids,” Matsuda would say to her: “It’s women end up insisting on having them. I know two couples like that. I’ll be okay, as long as you don’t change your mind.”

  Fumiko would always assure him that she’d stick to their resolution. For the past few years she had assumed that they were both so used to the decision that they no longer needed to discuss it.

  Fumiko loved it whenever Matsuda talked about his childhood.

  “When my grandmother died,” he’d told her once, “nobody knew where to find me. I had my air gun up on the roof — I was shooting pigeons. Nobody heard the sound of the gun, they were all too caught up in their own grief.” Another time he had told her: “I’m average now, but I was small when I was in primary school, the second smallest in my class. In lineup I’d always be number two. It made me want to cry.” Matsuda would jump up, hold his arms out straight, and pretend to be standing in line. “ ‘Line up,’ the teacher would say. I hated those words.” Fumiko would feel so attracted to him when he acted like this. And in bed, sometimes in the middle of tearing off her clothes, he would suddenly become calm and press his head up against her chest like a child. The next moment he might produce a button he had ripped off her blouse and place it on her pillow, saying, “I found it!” Fumiko would feel so happy she had to laugh out loud.

  But she had never once wanted to have a child of her own. The very thought of giving birth and having to raise a baby repelled her. Even now, when her period was late, all she felt was fear, resentment toward Matsuda, and worry about how she could get an abortion. She had never once wondered longingly about what it might be like to be a mother. Matsuda’s announcement that he wanted a child shocked her: so, she thought, despite all their promises, he had secretly started to want one. Seeing him excited about being a parent made her feel deceived and jealous — contemptuous, too, when she recalled how boyish he was. How could such a boy imagine that he was mature enough to be a father? She forgot that he was thirty years old, only one year younger than herself.

  Nevertheless, in the evenings, before going to sleep and after laying out their futon when he’d asked her to, she would make a final trip to the bathroom, come back to bed, and tell him: “It still hasn’t come.” The tone of her own voice would surprise her: she sounded so calm. It seemed naturally that the number of times she visited the bathroom increased. She didn’t go to the toilet so much at the office, but at home for some reason she made frequent trips. She made sure to give Matsuda an update if he were home. Though he never asked, she knew just from looking at him that he was waiting to hear.

  But that didn’t mean that if she turned out to be pregnant, she had decided to have the baby. If in the next few days her period still didn’t arrive, she would start investigating how to get rid of it. And if she could have that all over and done with by the beginning of the semester, she fully intended to go abroad. Surely, if an abortion were possible, Matsuda would give up the idea and consent. But then again, if it were not . . . Her only option would be to stay behind. But even then, she couldn’t imagine she’d want to have the baby. And in that case, why was she bothering to keep Matsuda so informed? He would only assume she’d come round to his way of thinking.

  Fumiko saw his face shine every time he learned her period had not come.

  “Imagine,” he would say. “You’ve got this little thing inside you — just a speck at the moment — about the size of a sesame seed. We’d better look after our sesame child.”

  Fumiko found herself affected by this. She gave up saying, “It still hasn’t come,” and started telling him, “It’s still all right.” Sometimes she would add, despite herself: “Are you happy?”

  “Of course!” Matsuda would reply.

  “You really want me to have it, don’t you,” she would sigh. He would put his head against her chest and nod two or three times, looking just like a child who wanted something with all his heart but was worried that his mother might not allow it. This look made him irresistible to Fumiko. But he also seemed to be playacting, which made it easy for her to answer him insincerely. “You want me to have it, don’t you?” she would repeat, wanting him to do it again. Matsuda would nod again, still pushing up against her chest.

  “All right, then: I will, just for you.”

  Hardly even a week had gone by, but already Matsuda’s fantasies had reached ridiculous proportions — and her attitude removed his last compunctions about sharing them with her.

  Fumiko couldn’t help being dismayed, seeing Matsuda like this. She still privately prayed that her period might start. It wasn’t only that she wanted to go abroad to study: she simply had no interest in a baby. She could not bring herself to want one. It seemed such an unending, hopeless thing to do — to have to carry a child around inside her, to give it birth, and then to look after it. And yet, on the other hand, there she was, letting Matsuda entertain these fantasies, which seemed to have taken on a life of their own.

  The fact was she quite enjoyed it when Matsuda talked to her about their baby. Sometimes, as if to be a double hypocrite, she would even start the conversation herself.

  “We’ll have a baby, this time next year,” she would say.

  “That’s right,” Matsuda would reply. “I’m sorry I’m not going to be with you when you’re in labor, though. I wish you could have a baby easily — have it pop out from between your fingers, say.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. By the time you come back — ”

  “— There’ll be a baby. That’s great. He’ll be the apple of my eye. You just see how many presents I buy him.”

  “What kind of things?” Fumiko asked. She took out a cigarette, but then, seeing Matsuda’s anxious look, put it down without lighting it.

  “Oh, toys, a tricycle. . . . I’ll take him to the zoo. I wonder if you can buy season tickets.”

  “What for?”

  “For the zoo — it’d be cheaper that way. When he grows up, I’ll make sure he can charge his drinks at bars. If he’s a drinker, that is. I hope he will be.”

  “Well! The doting father!”

  “That’s me,” Matsuda declared: “And I’ll go to his PTA meetings.”

  “Good. It’ll save me the bother.”

  “I’ll have to bow when I meet his teachers, won’t I? Like this.” Matsuda almost knocked his head on the table. “But just let one of them punish my son: I’ll beat his brains out!”

  Fumiko wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. As she laughed, she thought how much she’d love to see him act that way. She could not bring herself to have a baby, and she was not ­broad-minded enough to let him have one with another woman, but to watch Matsuda act the father . . . That was something she longed to see.

  Her p
eriod had started, she discovered, just a moment before. Pure relief was her first emotion. Anxiety and stress must have delayed it. Well, at least her immediate worries were over, and the matter of her study trip abroad returned to occupy her mind.

  As she left the toilet to return to the bedroom, however, Fumiko paused in the silent corridor, and glanced back. She looked at the wash basin and at some of Matsuda’s discarded razor blades on the little shelf above it. A few feet away, through the open door of the kitchen, she could see a cupboard. Directly ahead was the entry, where the thick winter curtain they used to keep out the cold still hung. The hallway, their bedroom door, the door to the sitting room . . . They had moved to this rented house over a year ago now. But for the past week, after she had told Matsuda that her period was overdue, life here had utterly changed.

  Mourning, Fumiko reflected on the past few days. Matsuda’s footsteps as he came in at night had sounded different. While she prepared his dinner, he would be eager to talk about the child. When she headed to work in the morning he’d see her off, whereas before he’d just gone straight back to sleep. And even in this room, she thought, looking behind her at the toilet, there had been a difference. She did not want to dismiss everything that had happened as a silly delusion. The curtain, the corridor, the door, the walls . . . Everything in their daily life had been filled with a special significance. Now, she realized, the significance was fading away.

  She slid open the bedroom door. Matsuda was still sound asleep. As she went back inside, she saw by the light in the corridor that it was about six o’clock.

  Slipping her body back into bed Fumiko considered in the darkness whether she should tell Matsuda about her period. He would be so disappointed. But no sooner had her head rested on the pillow, than she raised herself and leaned over against him. The sound of his breathing faltered, he mumbled something, and his arms moved, as if they would wake alone. His cheek was warm. She pulled his head toward her, embraced it, rubbing her nose against it and sniffing in the smell of his ears, which she loved.