Child of Fortune

by Yuko Tsushima

  ‘Kaya, leave the serving to Misa and sit down, dear. Kaya’s always like this, though I keep telling her she needn’t bother. You’ve got her very well trained, poor girl.’

  Kōko forced a smile as she glanced at Kayako’s red face. The girl was embarrassed, certainly, but above all she seemed tense about the coming discussion. And she wasn’t the only one. Everyone was so preoccupied with what the day might hold that Kōko’s fat stomach had passed for just that: fat. Kōko was disappointed. She’d been sure that the instant she set foot in her sister’s house, exposing her shape to general view, there’d be pandemonium. She had thought out what to say in that case, but now she would have to formally announce that she was pregnant. How should she put it? She hadn’t rehearsed anything suitably inane. Kōko cast her eye around the table till it came to rest on her high-school nephew: surely he would notice? But he sat drinking his soup, looking unconcerned.

  The meal progressed, and the expected scene still hadn’t occurred. Her sister, in a good mood, described how they were finally going to rebuild next year, though her husband wasn’t keen, preferring to spend the money, if it had to be spent, on enlarging his office; but her mind was made up, and she’d insisted that they rebuild the house next.

  ‘I mean, it’s served its time, hasn’t it? We’ve made a lot of improvements over the years, but the actual foundations are nearly forty years old. I hate to think of the state they’re in. And with these high ceilings it’s cold, and dark too …’

  ‘Yes, the ceilings are very high.’

  ‘A good apartment like yours is the best answer – you don’t have to worry. You may turn out to have done better for yourself than anyone else, before you’re finished.’

  ‘Oh, no, not me … Some people fall on their feet, others don’t, and there’s nothing we can do about it … But you’re always so amazingly active. Every time I hear from Kayako that you took her to a concert, or went cycling on your holiday or something, I do admire you.’

  Her sister exchanged smiling glances with her own children for a long moment, then suddenly grew serious. ‘But isn’t there something wrong with you? They say that when your weight changes very quickly it generally means you’re ill. It’s awful, the amount you’ve put on. Have you been to a doctor?’

  Kōko shook her head, unable to find her voice. It wasn’t time yet, not until dinner was over – or so at least she consoled herself. Not only had she lost her voice, but she was beginning to feel hot under the gaze of the three children. Strange, she thought, are people really so vague about what they see in others? Passengers on a train would surely be better judges of this bulging belly. Why were her sister and the children so very certain that she couldn’t be pregnant? The unsuspecting looks on all their faces left her helplessly irritated – though she told herself she was behaving like a child who digs a trap and then feels thwarted when no one falls in.

  Swallowing a mouthful of pork, her sister went on worrying about Kōko’s health. ‘You’d better see a doctor, tomorrow if you can. Not a local man, mind – go to a university hospital. The others all blame everything on a cold. How much do you weigh now, for heaven’s sake? You must be over a hundred and thirty pounds.’

  ‘… I haven’t weighed myself lately.’

  ‘You really are irresponsible, you know. Have you ever considered what would happen if you just dropped dead? I’m always worried about the possibility, myself. Though you mightn’t think so to look at them, these children can’t do a thing for themselves yet …’

  Miho blinked her round eyes, which were just like her father’s, and put in: ‘Papa was told he had high blood pressure the other day, wasn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Shōko seemed to enjoy this subject. ‘Papa has put on a lot of weight lately, like you, and we were all teasing him. So he went for a checkup, because, as he said, it’s best to be on the safe side. Well, there was nothing seriously wrong, but they found he had high blood pressure. The doctor said that if he’d gone on straining himself the way he’s been doing without knowing it, he mightn’t be alive this time next year. That sent chills down our spines. Take my advice – you won’t regret it. Even I go twice a year, though I’ve had no problems yet.’

  ‘My mother isn’t ill. She drinks too much.’ Kayako lifted her head abruptly and spoke up. ‘She’s always drinking, and leaving the place in a mess.’

  Kōko’s eyes met her sister’s, and she burst out laughing. The laughter, reverberating under the high ceiling, sounded unnecessarily loud.

  ‘That’s what’s called a bombshell! Don’t startle us like that!’

  ‘But, you know, it just might be true,’ Shōko said brightly. ‘You should be glad you’ve got such a sensible daughter. There’s a lot of her grandmother in her.’

  Takashi asked permission to leave the table and walked off. When she saw this nephew of hers on his feet Kōko was amazed at how he’d grown. If only his features were a little firmer, she thought idly, he’d be the ideal teenager. Did he remember his aunt carrying him as a baby to see the trains and play in the park? He’d been a nervous, timid child. He was the first baby born to someone close to Kōko. By the time Miho was born, Kōko was living with Hatanaka, and she barely remembered her arrival at all.

  Miho and Kayako followed him away from the table and sat down in front of the TV. Her sister, she found, had already finished her meal and was sipping tea. Kōko hurried to finish the meat on her plate. Her sister had moved on to the subject of where to send Takashi to college: he hadn’t a chance of getting into a national university in any case, she said, so instead of doing a second-rate degree in law or economics (which he wouldn’t be interested in, anyway) he might as well study design or architecture or something of the sort, but the boy wasn’t clear in his own mind yet, so they didn’t know what to do. The more they thought about it, the harder it was to decide.

  When she saw that Kōko was finished, Shōko stood up and tried to hurry her away: ‘Look, we shouldn’t really talk in front of the children, so let’s go into the sitting room.’

  Kōko was about to nod, but she hastily shook her head instead. Kayako was staring at her mother. Diffident, confused eyes. Kōko thought of the girl’s father and how often she’d encountered those same eyes; she’d been puzzled to see him so apprehensive, so anxious-looking. Her earliest impressions of Hatanaka and her image once they lived apart had been reduced to those hollow eyes. And yet surely, in fact, Hatanaka had always been inflated with his own importance.

  ‘I’d rather stay here. The children are old enough to listen, they won’t mind.’

  ‘But we can’t be comfortable here, and …’

  ‘I’ll listen to whatever you want to say here.’

  ‘Oh, no, that won’t do. Come along.’

  ‘But it’s about Kayako, isn’t it? In that case I want to know the children’s feelings, too …’

  Her sister, still on her feet, looked over at the big children in front of the TV set, gave a sigh, and took her seat again at the dining table.

  ‘You haven’t changed, have you?’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry … It’s just that I’d like Kayako to be here too, if you’re going to talk about her, and I’ve also got something to tell you all …’

  Kōko spoke apologetically. The maid was unhurriedly clearing the table. Kōko had a feeling that she’d been having the same kind of argument with her sister, and her mother too, all her life. She had bitterly resented things her mother did for her own good when she was a child, and her own attempts to please her mother had only made her angry. Kōko’s role was still the same: the perverse, stubborn one. Yet even now she wasn’t sure how this came about. For her part, all she wanted was an ordinary homely scene. She believed – or thought she believed – that lasting happiness could only be found in such surroundings, but when she told them so they would look at her in bitter perplexity. Had she been cast in this role because she’d once worshipped her brother? Was it because she had learned the meaning of l
ife and death from an intellectually disabled child? Suddenly gripped by tension, Kōko sat up very straight and placed her hand on her belly, where she could feel the stirrings again.

  ‘Well, then,’ said her sister, ‘why don’t you have your say here, first, and I’ll have mine in the sitting room afterward? You can’t object to that. You know, I’m not just trying to meddle …’

  Only half paying attention, Kōko agreed.

  ‘As long as you … oh, it doesn’t matter,’ her sister continued, ‘I’ll tell you afterward. So, what do you want to discuss?’

  Startled by the firmness of her tone, Kōko finally turned to face her and realized what she was saying. Her sister’s eyes were red. Once before, Shōko had burst into tears at something Kōko had said. Kōko had been dumbfounded: she couldn’t believe that she was the reason for it. As Kōko and their mother watched in silence, her sister had finally sobbed –Do you enjoy saying things like that?– Her mother had joined in: –That’s right, Shōko would miss you terribly if you left us, and here you are hinting she wants you out of the way. Aren’t you getting a little too big for your boots?–

  Kōko had said she wanted to move into an apartment on her own. Her sister and brother-in-law had their baby, Takashi, by then, and there was much coming and going about the house. Their mother had brightened up, too. Kōko was still using the smaller room upstairs, while the married couple had the larger one, and the baby slept in their mother’s room. It was an unnatural and cramped arrangement. Staying up late at night, Kōko couldn’t help appearing to have the couple in the next room under surveillance, and in fact she could hear clearly if her brother-in-law so much as coughed. Kōko was sure he must feel ill at ease in the crowded household into which he’d married, and she wasn’t happy herself, caught inadvertently in a tight spot.

  The way she saw it, it was simple: she would be leaving home sooner or later, and if she was going to have to move into another room of the house anyway, for the couple’s sake, then why not move out altogether and rent an apartment of her own? Since she’d already begun taking piano pupils, she should be able to afford the rent herself. If she was really going to set up house alone, all she had to do was take on more pupils. It was irresistible in its simplicity. In another six months she’d have finished college. Though she hadn’t decided what to do after graduating, she knew she’d be working, and she’d have no money worries then. That night Kōko had told her mother and sister of her decision, adding that she wanted to move out as soon as possible, now that her mind was made up, since that would no doubt suit her sister’s family too.

  Kōko had completely misjudged the effect on them both: her sister had cried, and her mother had lectured her without giving her a chance to finish. Taken completely by surprise, Kōko had gazed at them, forgetting to explain what she’d meant. Both these people had been at her side ever since she was born, yet, when it came to the point, she simply didn’t know what they saw or thought. And she, in turn, probably couldn’t expect them to understand her. She sensed vaguely that it was weakness that made them cling even to someone like her. And though she didn’t consciously identify this weakness of theirs, she saw no sense in frightening them any more than she could help.

  A week later, with nothing by way of apology, she rented an apartment. Her friends lost no time in coming to see her. Both Doi and Hatanaka came to the apartment. And a year later she began to live with Hatanaka.

  To some extent she had to admit, on looking back, that she mightn’t have been able to leave her family quite so coolly if she hadn’t been the youngest and still untested by life. It was no misfortune to Kōko that her father had loved another woman, nor that her brother was born handicapped, but perhaps her mother and sister were always lonely, always bereft, for they remembered her father and brother more clearly as part of their day-to-day lives. And that would help explain, at least a little, her sister’s continuing watchfulness over her. As she said: ‘You’re the only sister I’ve got, so of course I’m concerned about you.’ Whenever they came face to face, Kōko would be on her guard; but before she could say anything, her nervousness would give way to a strangely subdued mood, as she realized the affection they shared.

  Returning Shōko’s gaze now, she tried to urge herself on: you can’t go home today without having said anything, you absolutely must tell them about the baby. Yes, she would, but … she shifted her eyes to the clock on the wall.

  She would tell, but only after hearing her sister out. She could just mention it briefly on her way out of the house. There was no need for explanations or apologies. There was still plenty of time.

  Since Kōko clearly was not going to break the silence, her sister said firmly: ‘What’s wrong? Is it so difficult to talk about? Don’t worry, hardly anything would surprise me now where you’re concerned.’

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Kōko answered in a small voice, ‘but I’d like to listen to you first. What’s it about?’

  It was her sister’s turn to fall silent. The tip of her nose was reddening, like her eyes. Kōko was reminded that she shared their mother’s chronic sinus trouble. Kōko’s trouble was with her ears, and her brother had been the same. But anyone could have told at a glance that they were sisters – in fact they were very alike in many ways, from their features to their manner of speaking. Kōko wanted to say so, but the confusion on her sister’s face put a stop even to this stray remark.

  ‘… All right, then. I expect you’ve just about guessed what I have to say, anyway … But you don’t need to beat about the bush with me, you know, not after all that we’ve … Oh, Kōko …’

  Shōko’s eyes suddenly widened. Kōko went rigid with embarrassment. Her sister was staring at her body again, fearfully now. Kōko gave a nod, realizing at the same moment that she wouldn’t get to hear Shōko out today. Her hands, resting on the table, had started to tremble. She could only smile, no words would come. She was aware that Kayako was staring fixedly at her too, from a distance, but she couldn’t make her head turn that way.

  It was some time before Shōko attempted to speak. She didn’t seem to know what to say, or how. Kōko waited to hear her voice, listening meanwhile to the sounds from the TV: an emcee’s patter, and buzzers; a quiz show, it seemed. Shōko got up slowly.

  ‘… Look, why don’t you come into the other room?’

  Kōko also stood and shifted her chair. ‘First let’s talk about Kayako.’ She was trying to compose her expression to match her sister’s seriousness, but it only crumpled further into a meaningless smile.

  ‘How can you go on saying that?’ Her sister was almost whispering, and averting her eyes.

  ‘Doesn’t Kayako’s school start tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s right. And you’ve gone and …’

  ‘But I keep telling you, I want to attend the ceremony tomorrow, and …’

  ‘What are you saying? It’s out of the question. Does this sort of thing amuse you?’

  ‘Amuse me! It’s just that I can’t ask you to go on looking after Kayako forever, so …’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at. What are you grinning for? Stop it, it’s disgusting.’

  Before she knew it her sister was almost shouting. Kayako and her cousins were staring. And Kōko felt as if Kayako had thrust her away. Kayako – she wanted to say – it’s not like you to be shocked so easily after all you’ve seen. Before she turned two, the girl had seen her parents tangling, beside themselves with emotion, and hitting and kicking each other; and she had seen her mother and Doi arguing with clenched fists, and sharing the same bed, too. Kayako had grown up that way, she was that kind of child. She wasn’t some delicate hothouse plant like the children of this household. Kōko was slowly growing impatient with her sister, who stood there needing to be won over first before she’d allow her to deal directly with Kayako. Shōko wasn’t about to back down – but what real help did she think she could give Kōko? And why did she constantly come between Kayako and herself? The person she wante
d to talk to was Kayako.

  At her sister’s outburst, Kōko’s silly grin finally faded.

  ‘I intend to apologize where apologies are due … But apologizing won’t put things back as they were. I’ve always done the best I could, even if you mightn’t think so. And that’s all I can do in future. Though it may turn out even worse than in the past. Kayako understands. And so … I want you to give her back …’

  Faltering, she stopped and looked around. Although she hadn’t seen her move, Kayako was standing beside her aunt now, watching her mother in bewilderment. She was the image of Shōko – or was it merely their expressions that were the same? That isn’t my Kayako, she thought. Her head swam with helplessness and embarrassment. With a rush of emotion close to rage she shouted at Kayako: ‘What are you gawking at? How long are you going to go on sponging off your aunt? Whose child are you, for heaven’s sake? Go and pack your bags. You’re coming home with me.’

  Kayako covered her face in a childish gesture and burst into tears. Shōko let out a shrill cry. ‘Now just a minute! What nonsense is this? Calm down, will you? And sit down. You’re not well, and all this excitement isn’t good for you … It’s all right, Kaya, go to your room. Leave your mother to me, there’s no need to worry.’

  Kōko jumped up from the dining chair where she’d been made to sit and followed doggedly after Kayako, who was doing as she was told.

  ‘No, Kayako, listen to me!’

  ‘Will you stop it! You’ve tormented her enough already! Now run along, Kaya dear.’

  ‘Don’t you dare …’

  Gripping Kayako by the arm, Kōko dragged her back to the table. Kayako stopped crying and glared red-eyed at her mother. Kōko stared back at her. A long, firm-featured face. A mature face for her age. She was tall as well; she might have passed for fourteen. She had been a round-faced baby, with chubby cheeks that all but hid her nose and mouth. Kōko didn’t know what to tell her. She gave her an uncertain smile and glanced aside at Shōko.