Toddler Hunting

by Taeko Kono

  Hisako had been with Hisae in her terror and desperation; and she had experienced sincere, if only fleeting, sympathy on hearing that her baby had died. The idea that Hisae was breaking with Sumita because of the baby’s death made Hisako feel she had to encourage her to stick to her resolution.

  It wouldn’t be true to say, though, that relief and sympathy were all that Hisako felt toward Hisae. With Sumita supporting two households, Hisako could only just make ends meet. Now, to pay Hisae a lump sum would mean either using up their emergency savings or taking out a loan. They decided instead that they would give Hisae as much as they could every month over a period of three years. Hisako was aware that she could transfer the money to Hisae’s bank account: nevertheless, she had chosen to go personally deliver it.

  Her reasons were complicated.

  The main reason, of course, was her determination to look out for any dying embers of Sumita’s and Hisae’s relationship which could burst into flame. In short, she had, as he said, been suspicious. But even free of such worries she would still have wanted to go and deliver the money. Hisae had already inflicted financial strain on her. Though she was resigned to more strain for three more years, she was damned if she would let Hisae sit back, receiving money like a pension. Why should she use a bank transfer — or, for that matter, send a money order? What if the monthly receipts came to Sumita, or if Hisae started telephoning him at work to tell him the money had arrived? That would destroy the whole point: no, she would take it to Hisae herself. That way, she could make her see how bitter it was to have to give it to her.

  The truth was, Hisako at one point had found herself spinning in such a whirlpool of emotion — jealousy, rage, bitterness, rancor, and disgust — that she’d often felt she no longer knew where her face was in relation to her head. She would be walking along a road, brooding about Hisae and Sumita, and a neighbor would call out a greeting. Thinking for an instant that she couldn’t see the woman because her face was at the back of her head, Hisako would wheel around to return the greeting — but the woman would be right in front of her. If someone hailed her from behind, she would assume they were in front of her, she just couldn’t see them — and she would spin around trying to get them in her line of vision.

  The only times she could feel calm, all too briefly, was on the rare occasion of a casual visit at a friend’s home with Sumita. Even then, she was never actually happy. Sumita would be unnaturally cheery; he’d stay away from her, and then rejoin her, making people laugh with comments he knew she would find irritating. She hated him at such times. She hated herself, too, for being unable to ignore him.

  It was only during their most insignificant moments together, with nobody there to make them ­self-conscious, and too preoccupied to be aware of each other, that Hisako was able to feel some relief from her torment. A friend who’d left with them might remember something he’d forgotten and make them wait while he went to pick it up. The two of them might exchange comments like:

  “What is he doing?”

  “Who knows. Oh, there he is! What a slowpoke.”

  “He’s always been like that.”

  “That’s right. Old habits die hard.”

  Or they might be waiting for the train and catch sight of a sign flashing news on the opposite side of the platform.

  “Who died? Did it say?”

  “Wait a minute, the name will run by again.”

  It would suddenly dawn on Hisako that they were chatting like a happily married couple. As the thought struck her, she would carefully observe any other married couples nearby. For Hisako, young couples and old couples were easy, but with ­middle-aged people she found it impossible to tell how well they got along, even though this was their own age group. And perhaps this was why she thought they were conversing like a happily married couple. Or was it difficult to judge such couples’ conversations, because she thought they must resemble their own?

  But she had never actually been able to savor the illusion of being happily married with Sumita. It just felt utterly strange, that was all, and the feeling didn’t develop into anything like hope: it just remained a cold quiet sense of strangeness. But at least the utter turmoil — the jealousy and rage, bitterness, rancor and disgust — was swept out of her mind for a little while. That, Hisako wanted to tell Hisae, is the very best I could do.

  And Hisako had one more reason for delivering the money: to make a good impression on Sumita. She didn’t want him thinking she was smug and ­self-satisfied now that she had her husband back — he’d hate that. No, she’d show him that she knew she couldn’t afford to be smug, and that she cared about Hisae enough to look after her in her own way. Well, perhaps it was more truthful to say that if Hisae — who’d come to occupy so much room in their life — were suddenly to drop out of it, they would’ve been forced to wonder whether they actually had a relationship at all. Of course, none of this meant that she could refer to Hisae in casual conversation. But it was enough to be able to say to Sumita, once a month, “I went over and delivered it today.”

  And then there was finally the fact that she’d already delivered money once to Hisae — her trip to the clinic during the child’s operation seemed to make paying in person less outrageous now.

  Now that he mentioned it, Hisako did remember Tsuneko chiding her two or three times. Hadn’t she gone far enough, Tsuneko had asked; why not stop delivering it in person; it was stupid. “Your husband must hate being reminded, even more than you,” she’d commented. “And yet you still go, every month. It can’t make him feel very good.”

  “I know,” Hisako had replied. “I feel bad myself. I realize it’s uncalled for. But I think it is necessary — for all three of us. It wouldn’t be right if she automatically received the money every month like a pension — or if Sumita and I tried to pretend that nothing happened, that we have a relationship when we don’t. No, we need reminding for a while longer. It’s more natural.” She’d given her a few more justifications, and then added, “Surely you don’t think I would just creep meekly back, just because now he’s got rid of her? I want to feel bad, and I’ll make sure he does too. I don’t care if it is over between them. I want to be mean to her. Every time I’m spiteful to her, I get closer to him.”

  “Spiteful how?” Tsuneko had asked.

  “What? Oh,” Hisako answered vaguely, “I have my little ways.”

  All the time she spent with Hisae, Hisako felt she was being spiteful. Sometimes, as she was signing the receipt, Hisako would rest her eyes on Hisae’s profile and silently shower her with scorn.

  Once, finding herself staring at Hisae’s pink ­well-shaped earlobe, the image of Sumita came to mind: he drew Hisae to him and touched her earlobe. Hisako realized he was nibbling it. “Oh! Not like that!” Hisako pushed him away. “Bite it like this!” Placing between her teeth one of the strawberries from the dish Hisae had put before her, she imagined she was biting down on Hisae’s ear. And she was disappointed by how easily the fruit yielded, which made her long for the earlobe all the more.

  But Hisako hadn’t ever actually acted spitefully to Hisae. And Sumita was wrong — she had, in fact, only delivered the money ­thirty-five times. She’d asked Sumita’s friend to do it for her at the very beginning.

  The first time she herself went to deliver it, she got everything accomplished standing in the corridor. To enter the room her own husband had been staying in till very recently was repugnant. Hisae hadn’t seemed eager for her to enter; she didn’t press her after her initial refusal. “Are you well?” Hisako had asked, and handed over the envelope. Hisae went back inside and brought out a receipt, which Hisako folded and put in her handbag. After remarking on how pleasantly quiet the area was, she had taken her leave.

  Hisako didn’t go inside on her second visit, either, but Hisae had thanked her as she left, and added, “Well, I’ll see you next month, then.” Her tone hadn’t been patronizin
g — and, at that time, she couldn’t have known Hisako’s intentions. She’d simply meant to convey her gratitude at the regular payments, and her hope of being able to count on the same thing next month.

  “Yes, see you,” Hisako had answered, to reassure her.

  There’d been a time when Hisae herself had showered Hisako with scorn: “Don’t think, just because he’s your husband, you can treat me like dirt!” She remembered Hisae yelling at her: “Ask him who he’d prefer to commit suicide with — me, or you!” But she seemed a nice woman at heart. Hisako had even come to feel a kind of intimacy during their monthly encounters. Sometimes, seeing the small Buddhist altar, its doors open, in a closet in the next room, she’d want to light a stick of incense to put inside. She wouldn’t be saying a prayer for her husband’s ­ex-mistress’ child; it would be for Hisae’s baby.

  When Hisae took a job as an insurance saleswoman, she asked Hisako to take out a policy.

  “Someone else will come to the house to collect your payments,” Hisae had added, trying to encourage her.

  “Well, we can barely make ends meet,” Hisako replied. “And we also have to pay you. . . .” They both laughed, feeling foolish.

  Nevertheless, on her way home from Hisae’s lodgings, Hisako would be conscious of being exhausted by the day’s task. Not wanting Hisae to think that she was avoiding the subject, and even welcoming the chance to needle her a little, she’d casually drop little facts — just small, inconsequential things — about her husband into the conversation. Sumita had had the flu, but he was better now; he was away on a trip. She would hungrily observe Hisae’s response, trying to see whether Hisae in her heart was still gasping with love for him.

  “Yes, I know,” Hisae might reply. “So he said, last time he came. . . .” Hisako refrained from any outright lies about Sumita.

  When Hisako had finished paying the settlement two months ago, she’d felt relief — matters had finally been brought to a close. True, she had chosen to do it; and she had enjoyed the challenge in a way. But it had placed a strain on her finances and taken an emotional toll. Yet with every trip she had felt sure that her relationship with Sumita was returning to normal. Perhaps it was after her third or fourth visit that he had remarked, “Considering how poorly I’ve taken care of you, you haven’t aged much, have you?” The words made her shed hot tears. What a natural way to express his feelings! If he and she had just erased all memory of his affair, and pretended everything was all right — surely, he would never have said anything so tender. Yes, she thought, their relationship would recover, in time. And after about a year, when she reported having made a visit, Sumita had thanked her, joking, “I could do with a little pocket money myself.” Hisako had been surprised at his easygoing manner, and loved him for it.

  But now she’d learned that Sumita had been viewing her in a different light entirely. To think that everything — the way he had made her shed hot tears, and love his easygoing air — had been an illusion! He had told her her behavior disappointed him so much that he wanted a divorce. Why hadn’t she realized what was happening? How could she have been so blind? Had he deceived her, or had she been too ­self-righteous to see?

  “I think I understand your disappointment,” Hisako told him. “But disappointed in what sense?”

  “By your suspicious nature!” Sumita retorted. “I told you, didn’t I?”

  “All right. But I didn’t go just because I was suspicious, you know. Didn’t Tsuneko say anything else?”

  “Yes, she did — I’ve never heard such nonsense. It’s bad enough having a suspicious nature, but that’s ridiculous.”

  “Are you angry because I wasn’t able to forgive you and Hisae for three years after you split up?”

  “Idiot!” Sumita shouted. “It’s not just that you’re unforgiving! It’s because you continued for so long! Even if women are unforgiving and suspicious by nature, don’t you think I would have noticed if you’d bothered to pretend you’d forgiven me — just once, in three years? Forget whether I would have been taken in. You didn’t think to even pretend, not once! That’s what disappoints me!

  “I didn’t even feel as if the money was going to her,” he went on. “Forget her. I feel that I’ve been used. I earned all that money, just so you could take it away. It’s so cruel, so damn cruel.”

  Hisako felt the blood leaving her face. Nausea blocked up her throat. For the moment it was all she could do to lie down on the tatami.

  “Did you go and see the show?” Tsuneko asked, as soon as Hisako sat down.

  “Oh, I meant to, but I missed it.”

  “It’s on till tomorrow. I saw a poster. But tomorrow’s Sunday, isn’t it. It’ll be crowded.”

  “Yes,” Hisako said, pretending to be uninterested. “By the way, sorry I stayed so late last time I was over. I shouldn’t have just sat on and on. . . .”

  “That’s all right.”

  “But I should have left much earlier. It was half past eleven by the time I got home. It was stupid of me.”

  “Did your husband come back from his trip a day early, or something?”

  “No, but — ”

  “Well, that’s all right then,” Tsuneko said. “I won’t be a minute — I’ll just put the kettle on.”

  Hisako watched her back leave the room, and wondered what words would come out of her mouth when Tsuneko returned. Would she say, “Something awful’s happened!” Would she tell her everything Sumita said, break down, and beg for her advice? Or would she accuse her: “Tsuneko, you’ve really let me down!”

  For some time now, Hisako hadn’t felt up to crossing swords with Tsuneko. She did not remember feeling this way when they were classmates, or when Tsuneko was Sumita’s colleague, or when Tsuneko continued working even after her second child, able to call her mother over and make her do the housework. She hadn’t even felt it when Tsuneko started to go out on dates with her husband. No, the feeling had first started when Tsuneko told her about educating her three daughters.

  “Do you know the most important thing in educating girls?” Tsuneko had asked her. “Apparently, the only way to make sure girls grow up normal is for their mother to be a gossip. It’s important for a daughter to hear her mother poking her nose into other people’s business, and passing gossip on. It’s the only way they’ll learn what’s logical common sense, or interesting — and you only tell them not to pass it on after giving them an earful. Children who grow up without mothers, or whose mothers are eccentric and unsociable, or proud, or ­know-­it-all, or gullible, or ­feebleminded, end up eccentric themselves. It’s not that they inherit that eccentricity — they’ve just been deprived of vital information.”

  Hisako was sure that even if she’d had three daughters she would never have been so practical and ­clear-minded. In fact, she would probably have become even less so. Ever since that conversation, she felt Tsuneko outclassed her in every respect. And because of this, though she thought of Tsuneko as a source of support, she also began to find her repellent at times. She found her repellent now, as she remembered the magic show. Offering to go and watch it for them, to go and be the judge, she’d thought herself so kind, but now she was beginning to suspect that she’d been duped by Tsuneko right from the start.

  The day she discovered her scarlet palms in the bus, overwhelmed by a sense of panic and foreboding, she had resolved to keep on the alert — and surely, some of her consternation had stemmed from realizing how false was the security of having completed Hisae’s payments. And then last night, her forebodings proved correct, and Sumita had brought up divorce. She was certain all this had happened because she’d stupidly gone to the magic show. She had only gone to see it at Tsuneko’s suggestion — that she had been so manipulated and deceived was what she found repellent. Well, at least she could deprive Tsuneko of the satisfaction of knowing she’d gone.

  And Tsuneko still had not confessed
that Sumita had asked her to warn Hisako. If he’d asked her to keep it a secret, Tsuneko still kept her pact with him, never admitting to Hisako what had really happened. Wasn’t that a betrayal of their friendship?

  Tsuneko returned with the cups of coffee.

  “Tsuneko, you’ve — ” Hisako stopped herself from saying, “— betrayed me!” and said, “— been put out, haven’t you, by my coming by so early?”

  “Not at all,” Tsuneko replied. She placed a cup in front of Hisako and seated herself in the armchair. “It’s Saturday. The children come home early. I’ve done everything I had to do. Is your husband well?”

  “Yes.”

  “You seem a little gloomy,” Tsuneko remarked, looking at her. “Is anything the matter?”

  Hisako stirred her coffee and looking at the silver spoon and the cup’s gold rim, she imagined she was watching the flimsy metal ladder and the swords swaying back and forth in ­midair. High up, Hisako was swaying between her options — “You betrayed me, didn’t you!” and “Can you blame me for being gloomy? Oh, Tsuneko, can we talk?”

  Instead she said: “Last night I realized something that made me a little sad.”

  “So something did happen.”

  “No, not really. I just had a sudden thought.” Hisako strained her whole body to correct the angle between the swords balancing in her mouth. “You know the payments I’ve been making. For three years, I put my heart and soul into it, and now it’s over, I feel a little empty.”

  “Relief, probably.”

  “Well, yes. . . . You told me, didn’t you, that I should stop delivering it, that it was stupid.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “Well, you gave me lots of reasons, and I knew what you meant. When I said stupid, though, I meant stupid to be giving money to a woman who had done you wrong, and even more so to deliver the money yourself. It was really the latter I wanted to stress.”