‘I wonder what it would’ve been like if Father had been there? Mother always looked as though she’d taken on all the worries of the world, but, you know, I think she may have been happy with things as they were, because it gave her a free hand in raising her children … I’ve often thought so, bringing up Kayako. Sometimes I find myself talking to Kayako exactly as Mother did to us, and it’s a shock to realize that I’m my mother’s daughter. I suppose if Father had been alive I wouldn’t have taken after Mother quite so much. We’re stubborn, we solo mothers, we like to have our own way … What about you?’
‘Look, what it boils down to is this: it isn’t right for just one parent to raise a child. The least you can do is come to us.’
Kōko broke in quickly, her eyes flicking to the TV screen. ‘But I don’t want to forget that I grew up the same way. If it wasn’t right then, I don’t want to be right now …’
Her sister fell silent. Kōko went on watching television, letting the silence lengthen. She hadn’t seen this soap opera before, but the actors were familiar. After a pause her sister opened her handbag and placed a sheet of notepaper on the table which Kōko, her face still turned to the TV, pretended not to notice.
‘We’re not really getting anywhere, arguing like this, so I think I’ll go home. You’re an adult, in years if nothing else, and I hope you’ll give it some careful thought. Look, here’s a doctor I know. He’s well qualified, you needn’t worry about anything going wrong, and he keeps things confidential, so go and see him tomorrow if you feel like it. You’re too far along to take chances with just any old doctor … I’ve already mentioned you, so all you have to do is go, and not take it too seriously. I was told you should stay at least three days in the hospital if you can, but, well, you can discuss that when you get there … You’re thirty-six, and you can hardly expect your big sister, at forty-three, to drag you along to a doctor … You will go, though, won’t you? … Kaya doesn’t know about you yet, so you needn’t worry. You are Kaya’s guardian, whether you like it or not, so something’s wrong when you act as if you need a guardian yourself, at your age. No one can take responsibility for your actions. Fancy not even going to see your child start her new school! You know, if you want someone to take care of you, you should find yourself another husband … but take your time. It’s worth thinking about, anyway … Well, I must be off …’
Kōko rose to see her sister out.
When Shōko turned in the doorway after putting her shoes on, Kōko asked something that had just occurred to her. ‘Have you been to that doctor, too?’
Shōko went pale and her mouth opened. Taken aback, for she hadn’t meant to imply anything, Kōko flashed a hesitant smile. The door swung open and shut, her sister was gone. But Kōko felt the light of her eyes, the glare of hatred they had given her, still there at the door. She remembered Mrs Doi’s eyes. When was it? Was it that time she’d visited them, among a group of Doi’s friends, before the first child was born? Or perhaps they weren’t eyes she’d ever really seen. Though she seldom dreamed about Doi, for a time she’d encountered his wife in one dream after another; she made no accusations, but merely stared, unaware that the woman meeting her gaze was Kōko, and letting her loathing show all the more clearly because of it.
Kōko sat down in front of the TV again and had another beer. The soap opera ended and the weather forecast began. Tomorrow was likely to be another fine day.
‘No one’s pleased …’ Kōko tried murmuring the words aloud.
‘No one’s pleased.’
She murmured them again, and added in her heart: but I don’t care. A chill ran through her. She would have liked some kusaya, now that her sister had jogged her memory. The thought of it made her want to break down and cry. It was mean of her sister: why couldn’t she have joined in and chatted about old times? She braced herself and got to her feet. She wouldn’t cry now, that could wait a little longer. She stood there thinking a moment and then picked up the telephone. She already had a finger in the dial when she found she couldn’t remember the number, and had to rummage through her bag for her address book. She dialed carefully, not taking her eyes from the page. Her body seemed to float like an air bladder. Or, rather, the whole room seemed to be floating on air. The unnaturally luminous tanks of the aquarium came to mind. No doubt they would still be there in the same rows if I went back; it was only six years ago. Kayako was six, and I was thirty. The fishes’ names. Pirarucu. Nile lungfish. Spotted gar. Alligator gar.
The ringing signal continued. In the two-room apartment she was calling, four rings should have been ample time to pick up the receiver. As she heard the signal burring five, six times, she knew there was nobody home, and she slowly grew bolder. She held on tight and let the phone ring on and on. She had the feeling that letting it shrill for longer than necessary in the empty apartment was somehow a violation of that person’s property, even though it would pass undetected. It was her first such crime in a long while. She used to call Doi’s house when she knew no one was there and let the phone ring perhaps twenty times before replacing the receiver, satisfied.
Doi didn’t keep secrets from her unnecessarily; after all, they’d been friends from student days. And Kōko didn’t mind being told. It meant she knew quite a number of things: when his wife would be away with her parents, how his child had hurt himself, who had visited them at home. In fact she’d felt she knew all about them, and thought this gave her an advantage, which was why the news that Doi’s wife was pregnant had shaken her so badly.
The pirarucus. Fish like dinosaurs, six feet long, that she and Kayako and Doi had seen together. Their black scales glowed a vivid pink where they caught the light. The small pool holding them was in a dark corner of the aquarium. They seemed close enough to reach out and touch, too big to be kept swimming in a tank like that. Or not so much swimming as nosing through the water like torpedoes. Had there been five of them, or six? Kayako had been afraid to go closer than a yard or so. And Doi had swept her up and thrust her out over the railing so she could view the pirarucus from above. Kayako had struggled and screamed fit to bust every pane of glass in the place.
–The pirarucus would have liked you to say hello– a disappointed Doi had said, setting Kayako down on the floor.
The aquarium building was dark inside. Perhaps that was why the pirarucus seemed on the verge of slithering out of the tiny pool and swarming around them; the idea was even more sinister than their appearance.
She remembered telling Kayako a while ago that she was afraid of water. She imagined blue water flooding into the room, bringing the pirarucus with it, and the black and pink torpedoes circling her. It seemed so imminent that she had to shut her eyes. She’d be all right, she thought, if it would all freeze solid.
Just then the sound of the phone she’d left ringing broke off and a man’s voice burst upon her ear.
‘Hello? … Hello? …’
In spite of the shock – she hadn’t bargained on this happening – Kōko managed to speak up at once and sound tolerably calm.
‘Hello … Mr Osada? Mizuno here. I’m sorry to call you at this hour.’
‘Is that you, Kōko? It’s not so late. I just got home this minute. I was lucky to make it in time.’
‘Oh, yes? … er … How are you?’
Osada chuckled into the phone. ‘As you can hear, I’m fine, terrific in fact. And you, Kōko?’
‘Me too … or maybe not, I’m not sure.’
Osada laughed again. His laughter was catching, but Kōko hastened to set straight what she’d said. ‘I’m fine, of course, though I wouldn’t say terrific.’
Kōko felt vastly relieved, felt saved in fact: Osada was a friend of hers, after all, and not a bad one at that. With his nervousness and his weak health went an openness that Kōko always found reassuring. It was the feeling that a small boy gave.
‘I see. Not the best, but not too bad either, eh? And how’s Kaya?’
‘Fine. She’s already in junior high s
chool. She’s grown so fast.’
‘Hm. Compared to her, I guess we adults haven’t changed a bit.’
‘I guess not … Well, um …’ Kōko fumbled for words. She couldn’t quite remember why she’d had that sudden urge to phone him or what she’d meant to say.
‘What’s up? Something to pass on to Hatanaka?’
‘No, it’s not that …’
‘What is it? It’s not like you to be tongue-tied … I ran into Hatanaka the other day.’
‘Really? How was he?’ Kōko asked, her voice brightening for an instant.
‘Fine. Yes, doing very well. He’s been made head of the sales section. And put on a little more weight.’
‘They make gardening tools, don’t they?’
‘That’s right. He’s got his heart in his work, you know – which is all to the good.’
‘Mm.’
‘People do change, don’t they? It must be nearly ten years now, mustn’t it?’
‘Eight. Not so long, really.’ She was surprised in fact to note what a small number it was.
‘Eight years, is it? … So, did you have something you wanted to talk to me about? If you’d rather we met, that’s okay with me.’
‘Mm, that would be … No, I can’t meet you. And …’
‘You’re not making yourself very clear.’
‘Making what clear?’ she asked, blushing against the receiver.
‘You don’t sound your usual self today, Kōko. What’s wrong with meeting?’
‘It’s … you’d know if we met.’
‘But I won’t know if we can’t meet.’
‘That’s true …’ Kōko laughed hastily.
‘I’ll come over right away, if you like.’
Osada’s voice was heavy, now, as though submerged. The pirarucus started to swim again at Kōko’s feet.
‘Oh, no … I don’t want to see you. It’s not about Hatanaka, you know. But it’s nothing to do with you, either. Honestly, nothing at all … So it’s all right. I’m sorry. I can’t talk now. I’ll phone you again.’
‘Just a minute … Isn’t Kaya there? Has something happened? …’
Osada’s voice broke off. As she heard him catch his breath, Kōko suddenly regained her composure. Glancing around the room – there wasn’t a drop of water – she told Osada: ‘Yes, it’s Kayako, she comes out with all sorts of awkward notions. Girls are so difficult … But please don’t worry, I just wanted someone to listen to my woes. I don’t know how I could have phoned you about something so trivial. It was silly of me … Er, let’s have a talk next time we see each other … Bye …’
Kōko hung up before Osada could get in another word. She’d been made aware, for the first time, that this was something she couldn’t tell him. It stood to reason, if she was going to keep the baby on her own.
Kōko went into Kayako’s room and sat down at the desk. Switching on the lamp, she gazed at a postcard of a white flower that was pinned up on the wall. It was a photograph of an alpine plant: just one flower, its pale petals spread against an out-of-focus green. Kayako had bought it herself on last year’s school trip. She’d bought Kōko a souvenir too – a lucky-charm doll with tiny bells that jingled.
She had gone to see Kayako off at the station where her class was assembling for the trip. The pupils waiting in the square outside had segregated neatly into two islands, girls with girls, boys with boys, and the two groups were humming with excitement in the tones of their own sex, which seemed to add enormously to the fun. Taken one by one, however, the children could be seen watching the other island with sharp little animal eyes. In view of their age, though – eleven or twelve – this was a normal, healthy scene. Kayako’s first menstruation had come three months earlier. Many of the boys’ voices were breaking. They were at that age. All that the adults need do was stand back and watch these children, fondly, and a little nostalgically.
But Kōko had to look away. What did it mean, this compulsive awareness of the other sex as children grew up? Let their breasts fill out and their voices break, well and good; but why must they be so acutely sensitive to the other sex that they hadn’t time to heed the changes in themselves? While Kayako was clinging bodily to the girls’ island, her mind was clearly on the boys: she appeared especially nervous of them, and especially self-conscious, regardless of whether anyone was actually looking her way. Kōko couldn’t help being irritated. And a glance around her – at the beaming smiles of the other women, who were wives as well as mothers – was still more provoking, because it suggested a possible reason for her jaundiced view of the children. Was she eyeing them so ungenerously because she had no link of her own with the opposite sex?
It was an unreasoning anger: she wasn’t pleased to discover that she was not the only one who dwelled so fixedly on the existence of men. She was unable to deny the evidence of her own nature, though, for she knew (at the risk of being called obsessed with sex) that this greedy desire of hers had indeed been there since childhood, differing little from an adult’s. Sex had never been far away even when she was playing with her brother; in fact it was the source of the delight she took in him. And when she was younger still, she had dreamed of being cuddled and babied by the father she didn’t remember. The pleasure she felt then, too, was sexual.
As she buried her face in Doi’s bare chest she would turn suddenly defiant: if I was born this way, what’s the use in trying to change now? She supposed she had Kayako’s good at heart, and yet she could never guarantee that she wouldn’t abandon her in some remote place if it were the only way she could have Doi. The selfishness of it chilled her even as she clung naked to him. But it was Doi who’d made her feel alive at last, after those years of deadened intimacy with the husband she’d just lost. She hadn’t spared a thought for Doi’s wife, though she ought to have known well enough what it was like to have her husband taken from her. Meeting Doi again had taught her that, in this respect, she too was in the grip of instincts that had no place in the rational scheme of things: sharp claws and fangs were bared in self-protection. The knowledge brought her close to tears, and yet somehow she made herself strangely at home with it.
But had she been the rule, and not the exception, in all this? She was convinced she saw sexuality in the children’s overloud laughter, the way they hugged and slapped one another’s shoulders, the way they doubled up with giggles. It all began with just such an awareness of the other sex’s presence: they would begin to hold hands, and very soon their bodies would be locked together, then they’d have children of their own and their confidence in their own sex would grow till they became like the matrons who’d escorted them there. ‘Human being’ was a fine-sounding phrase; but did it ever mean more than lust embodied? Was that all there was to it? Kōko had felt as though something she’d trusted in, a kind of salvation, had been taken from her.
No, she could see now that her mind must have been twisted if sexuality was all she could find, even for a moment, in that happy gathering of children. For only a day later she had met Osada and enjoyed that sensual warmth. And now she was carrying a five-month fetus. She wondered how she would have reacted to the same scene now, feeling sure the pregnancy had changed her point of view.
Kōko stayed sitting in Kayako’s chair.
After half an hour she finally got up and took a shower, washing with elaborate care. She lathered her round belly in circular, stroking motions with the palm of her hand.
After putting on her nightgown Kōko poured herself a whiskey. Every time she heard footsteps ringing in the corridor outside, she stared tensely at the door. Every time, the steps went right past. She knew Osada wouldn’t come to see her simply because she’d phoned like that, and yet she couldn’t quite give up hope. I mustn’t behave as though I’m expecting him, Kōko told herself. There’s no point in making myself miserable. But how do I know that actively waiting mightn’t work on his body like a magnet, drawing him here? And so she put off crawling into bed. She was exasperated with herself
for first phoning and then, typically, being unable to come to the point. It had been their first phone call in four months.
Kōko checked over what she’d said. Perhaps it had sounded no different from her other calls, where the names of Hatanaka and Kayako always came out seeming like mere pretexts for the claims of sexual desire. Certainly her calls had sounded like that in the past. Osada was always clear-cut on that point: for him meeting Kōko meant having sex. And Kōko hadn’t sought anything extra from him, for wasn’t it enough that each time they met he gave her all the solace he could, however mistaken about her he might be?
Osada didn’t try to hide from her the shyness and inferiority he still felt in a woman’s presence, like a pubescent boy. He couldn’t see her purely in terms of the opposite sex, since Kōko had been Hatanaka’s wife. He seemed to count on her indulgence when he told her about the twenty-nine-year-old he hoped to marry, or the nurse, just turned twenty, with whom he said he was in love; it seemed he was so timid toward them both that they regarded him as just a softhearted friend. Kōko only half-listened to these stories, controlling the hurt that welled inside her. And since Osada expected it of her, she would throw her arms around his plump body in a show of feeling that she knew was overdone, but believed necessary all the same.
Just this once, though – her temper rising as the alcohol took effect – she couldn’t stand to be misinterpreted in the usual way. She was having a baby. She wanted to drum into his belly, through the layer of fat, that desire never ends in desire alone. She couldn’t help thinking that she might already be remote from sex. Perhaps pregnancy was like that. Though of course she’d been afraid of getting pregnant, perhaps somewhere in her heart she had wanted it as a means of survival. Strangely, her self-respect hadn’t allowed her to avoid conception throughout another affair. She didn’t want to go on living inside the limits of sexual relations with men.
It might have been her age, thirty-six, that made Kōko think like this. She was proud of her resolve. The only way she could escape the molten lava of her own sexuality had been to conceive and have the baby. And when she remembered the looks she’d had from Osada and her sister, and Doi and Hatanaka before them, it was with anger this time. Giving birth to this baby was the only way to show Doi why she wouldn’t become pregnant during her time with him, and how badly she had wanted to escape the power of sex. To Doi her body must have seemed as safe as mud.
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