Child of Fortune

by Yuko Tsushima

  Yet Kōko had underestimated the working of Osada’s emotions. He snatched up her arms and, looking hard at the belly where a growing fetus should have been, he asked her in a low, hoarse voice: ‘Have you really gone and done it?’ Then, leaving Kōko standing, he sat down heavily and remained still for some time, one hand pressed to his eyes.

  In her alarm at his reaction Kōko turned to the sink and, without thinking, put the kettle on to boil. Liar though she was, she couldn’t pile other lies on top of the first in her own defense. The longer Osada remained silent, the more terrifying her lie became, till she felt unable to breathe.

  When the water boiled over with a rattle of the lid and a hiss of water meeting the flame, Osada finally raised his head and broke his silence. And as she turned quickly toward him Kōko thought she saw clearly, for the first time, what all this had meant to him. His dark complexion made it difficult to tell, but she saw now that his face was the sickly shade of tarnished metal. His eyes seemed larger, suggesting how sunken his cheeks had become. She remembered how, until very recently, she had sneered at people’s failure to notice her pregnancy.

  ‘But how could you get it done so easily when it was so advanced? Didn’t you have to stay in the hospital? Even I know that much … You’re lying, aren’t you? It wasn’t yesterday, was it?’

  Kōko hesitated, but nodded anyway.

  ‘I see … No, I don’t … Sit down, will you, Kōko? It’s hard to talk with you standing.’

  Kōko hurriedly pulled up a chair. Osada, sighing as though it was more than he could bear, glanced away toward the balcony, through the open doors.

  ‘But I don’t understand. Was it a week ago? Was that what you went to the hospital for that day? But in that case …’

  Just as Osada turned back to face her with piercing eyes, there was a ring at the door. Saved, thought Kōko, as she ran into the hallway; she was trembling so hard that her teeth chattered.

  Kayako was standing with her back to the door, wearing a sheepish smile. Kōko’s expression startled her. ‘Mom, what’s wrong? What are you looking like that for?’ And she pushed past her disconcerted mother into the next room. Blankly Kōko watched her go, then heard them greet each other. There was nothing at all alarming in the sound.

  When Kōko, her head reeling, made her way into the room as slowly as she could, Kayako looked around at once from where she was sitting, very correctly, facing Osada.

  ‘Mom … you’re looking a bit off-color. Auntie’s worried. She says I’ve got to come and see how you are sometimes. But I never knew you had a visitor.’

  Kōko nodded helplessly, a smile fixed on her face. ‘Don’t you remember who this is?’

  Kayako darted a timid glance at Osada and shook her head. He told her in his friendliest manner that they’d seen a lot of each other when she was a baby.

  ‘I knew you when you were so high, and I even know that when you were five you used to wet your bed.’

  Yes … so she did: some corner of Kōko’s confused brain echoed faintly to his words. For a time, she’d been worried – a commonplace worry, but serious enough – that the girl’s bed-wetting might be due to the divorce, or perhaps connected with her relationship with Doi, and once, she remembered, she had consulted Osada – or rather aired her worries to him, for as a bachelor he could hardly be expected to know the answer. Osada had probably reacted by looking very uncooperative and quickly escaping to some other subject. And yet it seemed he hadn’t forgotten Kōko as she was then.

  She glanced back and forth from Osada to Kayako without their noticing. Her hands were clutched tightly together and her heart was suddenly racing in her breast. How could she think of sending him home still believing she’d had an abortion?

  ‘Mom,’ she heard Kayako say, ‘I can’t stay long today, either … especially since you’ve got a visitor. I’ll come another time.’

  ‘Isn’t Kaya living here now?’ Osada interrupted.

  ‘Right now she’s …’

  When Kōko faltered, Kayako answered loudly, in her very best voice: ‘Yes, I am. It’s just that today I have to go out for a little while … You see, my mother can’t do anything for herself, even though she’s going to have a baby. She couldn’t possibly take care of it without me.’

  ‘I don’t really think that’s so …’ Osada mumbled uncertainly while his eyes sought Kōko’s; but she was lost for words, her mouth stuck open. Kayako continued with mounting excitement:

  ‘Ever since I was a child, I’ve always thought it wasn’t any fun being the only one. I always wished we had a baby. So I’m really looking forward to having a little brother or sister …’

  ‘Kayako … be quiet a moment.’ It was all Kōko could do to force the words out. Kayako turned to her mother with an affected expression. ‘The baby … it’s gone. So …’

  ‘The baby?’ For an instant Kayako almost giggled, then, open-mouthed in shock, she looked toward Osada. He was good enough to meet her eyes.

  ‘In other words, Kaya,’ he said, ‘there was a miscarriage, and the baby died. I’m sure you know what a miscarriage is, don’t you?’

  Kayako nodded.

  ‘It’s a sad thing – but it can’t be helped.’

  Kayako nodded again.

  ‘Your mother’s still feeling weak, so you’ll take good care of her, won’t you? She’s always done everything she could for you, Kaya, and now it’s your turn …’

  Kayako’s nose reddened about the tip and her eyes glistened. Osada went on talking as soothingly as he could. Kōko took one deep breath after another, unable to make a sound. At last, when Osada paused, her voice emerged.

  ‘… No, it wasn’t a miscarriage, or an abortion.’

  Why was this feeble tremor all she could manage? Osada’s and Kayako’s eyes were fixed dubiously on her. If she wasn’t careful, a blast of freezing air would rush down her throat when she opened her mouth. But she had to do it just once more. One last time, Kōko told herself as she met their stares.

  ‘… I was only making myself think there was a baby. That’s what they told me at the hospital. In other words it was – you know, what they call an imaginary pregnancy. Isn’t it ridiculous? So there’s no need for any silly arguments … That’s all. Kayako, you’ll tell your aunt, won’t you? Well, you’d better be going … You too, please, Osada … if you don’t mind …’

  When she had said all that had to be said, Kōko turned her back on the pair of them, went into her room, closed the sliding doors, and dived into bed. Her limbs were numb, her sight dimmed by exhaustion. All thoughts of Osada and Kayako were gone from her head. She was lying on the bottom now, she decided, and there was only one direction from here: toward the surface. She must survive till she reached it, whatever happened; right now she must nurture the energy to carry her there. Her position reminded her of a shriveled fetus afloat in a glass cylinder of clear culture medium.

  She and Doi had discussed test-tube babies once. Doi had said: –The culture medium would have to be perfect, and you’d probably need total darkness as well. But the experiment would be impossible under those conditions, wouldn’t it?–

  –Yes, but we have no idea whether the womb is absolutely dark or not– Kōko had replied.

  –Of course it is, it’s pitch-dark.– Doi grinned. –Where could light enter from? Aha, there you go again. Expecting something crude, aren’t you? It must be dark – pitch-dark – it has to be.–

  Doi’s voice came back to her gaily. Kōko tried to remember his profile, as though missing someone long dead, but she’d got no further than the oval outline of his face and the always puffy-looking eyelids when she was enfolded in sleep.

  … Kayako was sitting by herself in the kitchen watching TV. She jumped up and went in to Kōko when she noticed she was awake. Half submerged in sleep, Kōko asked: ‘What are you doing? Have you been here all along?’

  ‘I’ve just got here. You’re always crabby first thing in the morning, Mom, so I didn’t like to wake
you. I’ll serve breakfast, if you’ll wait a bit.’

  ‘Good grief! What time is it?’

  ‘Let’s see … a little after eleven.’

  ‘In the morning?’

  ‘That’s right. Now, you wait there.’

  Kōko obediently laid her head on the pillow. She felt good – alarmingly so. She shut her eyes again, hearing the television and the clatter that Kayako was making in the kitchen. She’d forgotten how pleasant the faint murmur of a TV set could be – and while she was taking this in she drifted back to sleep.

  It was only for a brief twenty or thirty minutes, but as she dozed Kōko dreamed she was sunbathing, lying on her stomach beside a pool. It was the one in the grounds of her college. She had seldom seen anyone but the swimming team use it. Though she’d often thought what a waste it was, Kōko had never swum there either. In the dream, she had the pool all to herself; there was no one about. The water reflected the light so intensely she couldn’t keep her eyes open. I wish Kayako had come too, she was thinking. I wonder if I should go and tell her. But Kōko couldn’t get up, she couldn’t even lift her head, she was feeling so good where she lay.

  She heard Kayako’s voice.

  ‘Mom, breakfast’s ready … It’s gone a bit funny.’

  She found herself back in bed, and sat up. The white kitchen ceiling dazzled like the pool’s surface.

  Kōko admired Kayako’s breakfast more for the beauty of its color scheme than for the way it tasted. She sat down to eat at once, watching the girl’s face. The green of the salad. The yellow of the omelet. The red of the ham. Kayako filled a bowl with strawberries and set it in the center of the table. It was all so colorful that the meal had something delightfully bizarre about it. There was a movie once that changed midway into Technicolor, a feat that had amazed young Kōko more than any magic trick.

  It was just last night that those two met up, then. Kayako must have come back about half an hour ago, after buying the food at a supermarket earlier in the morning. Something told Kōko that this breakfast was her sister’s idea. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed when her guess was confirmed.

  ‘But don’t you have to go to school?’ Kōko asked. Little by little the events of the night were coming back. How had Kayako reacted? What had Kayako and Osada talked about afterward?

  ‘Today’s a holiday. It’s Founders’ Day.’

  ‘Oh … How is junior high, by the way? Do you think you’ll enjoy it?’

  ‘Can’t tell yet …’

  When she realized she hadn’t asked before about life at the new school, Kōko fell silent.

  She could almost hear her sister’s advice to Kayako:

  … An imaginary pregnancy is a kind of nervous breakdown, you see. Your mother, poor thing, probably convinced herself that she could forget how lonely she is if she had a little baby to look after. But she’ll get over it, all right. We’ll just have to be gentle and keep an eye on her. We must get her to come here, whatever we do. Kaya, dear, see if you can persuade her, somehow, though I don’t suppose it’ll be easy …

  Kōko was forced to take another look at recent events: what had she been hoping for in trying to have a baby? It was after Kayako moved out of the apartment that she found she was pregnant. Which would seem to prove her sister right. But was that all? She couldn’t help thinking she must have missed some vital point, something more than the rift between her and Kayako. What was it she’d expected of the baby? There must have been something.

  Kōko tried hesitantly to get Kayako talking.

  ‘Which did you want, a little sister or a little brother?’

  Kayako’s reply was unexpectedly lighthearted: ‘A brother, of course.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, one girl is enough. Girls are no fun.’

  ‘… When you were born, I was hoping for a boy, too … Yes, I felt the same way as you. There weren’t any men in my family … or there was one boy, but he died young. You know about him, don’t you, Kayako? Your uncle, between your aunt and me. I loved him very much … He couldn’t talk properly, and his clothes were always dirty, but, well, he was just like a big baby who never grew up. It didn’t matter how dirty he got, or that he couldn’t do anything. He was such a baby. When I cried because Granny was angry, he’d be concerned and try to comfort me. It was a shock to know he could care so much about other people.

  ‘I loathed piano practice and was always trying to worm out of it. One day I said that hateful piano could fall to bits for all I cared, and he made a mighty effort to pull it over. I only just stopped him by yelling no, don’t, you’ll get hurt … That’s the kind of person your uncle was. When we had a treat he’d let me go first, but, being a pig, I’d help myself to his share as well while he wasn’t looking. There would be tears, of course, when he found his helping gone, but I’d look innocent and let him howl. The way I saw it, he’d never figure out what had happened, so I wasn’t scared or ashamed … Your uncle was like that …’

  Suddenly noticing how talkative she’d become, Kōko checked herself and looked at Kayako. Kayako said nothing, simply meeting her mother’s glance with a nod and a smile. Kōko returned uncomfortably to her subject. As her lips shaped the words, the brightness outside kept attracting her attention: it must be an exceptionally fine day. The ceiling rippled with sunbeams cast up by the balcony; they could have been at the bottom of a pond awash with sunlight. The vivid pink of Kayako’s face reminded Kōko inescapably of a flamboyant tropical fish.

  ‘It’s a long, long time since your uncle died. But whatever I do I don’t want to forget him. I wonder why? And I want you to remember too. He was your uncle, after all. And, no matter what anyone says, I was happiest when I was with him. So I wanted you to know what it was like too – even if it wasn’t quite the same. I don’t know how it would have turned out if there’d been a baby brother for you … but that’s what I was thinking, without consulting you …’

  Kayako’s bright lips moved and a small voice crossed the space between them.

  ‘… I’m sure I would have loved him too.’

  ‘Mm … Knowing you, I’m sure you would,’ Kōko murmured, her eyes on Kayako’s face. ‘When you were little, though, you wanted a big brother or sister rather than a baby one. And before I knew it you started believing they existed. For a while you were quite insistent that big brother did this and big sister did that … You’d say “My brother told me to do it” with such regularity that you had even me worried. I thought about taking you to see a specialist, but before I got around to it you gradually stopped … It must have been after you went to school. I know I thought that starting school certainly makes a difference … Do you remember?’

  As Kōko smiled encouragement, at the back of her mind she knew that wasn’t how it had been. Doi had been behind that big brother business. The child’s image of a protector – an older brother or sister – had served to camouflage his connection with her mother; and it had lasted just as long. How careful Kayako had been to avoid the word ‘father’, though, when Doi was still coming to the apartment. The odd remark such as –I’ve been here with Daddy– might slip out, but would be covered up quickly with an –Oops, I mean Uncle.– –Where does Uncle Doi live? Is Uncle Doi nice?– she would ask. Yes, she was careful, but still the words would tumble out: –Mommy, you mustn’t go away and leave me. Does Uncle Doi belong here? Where does he always go? I wish my Daddy would come and see us too.–

  Kayako pouted dubiously. ‘That’s funny … You mean, they weren’t really there?’

  ‘No, they weren’t anywhere. Why? Have you always thought they were real?’ Kōko asked in surprise, and Kayako, no less surprised, nodded.

  ‘Because … I can clearly remember lots of things. So I thought those two kids must have lived near us. But they didn’t?’

  ‘No. They were entirely in your mind.’

  Kōko stood and went out onto the balcony flooded with white light. They’d tried growing house plants there
– Kayako’s idea – but they could never remember to water them. The blue pots were still standing in a corner. She could feel the sun’s warmth through her clothing. The streets were bathed in the same light, and the blue sky soaked up the street noise. Long ago her science teacher had asked the class why the sky was blue. The sun’s light, they learned, can be divided into seven colors, with other bands invisible to the eye. And why is blue the only one of these that we see in the sky? Well, because the air absorbs the others. Blue is the only color reflected by the atmosphere, and that’s why the sky is so blue.

  Kōko marveled at the warm radiance spread over the scene below. How impartial the light was! It streamed into the tiniest crevices between roofs, missing none. It might go unnoticed by people passing in the street, but it was there. It caught each leaf on the roadside shrubs. There was no shadow without good reason, without some object in the way. Light simply obeyed the physical laws that generated it, dispassionately. Surely nothing else fell to us with such perfect equality? She drew a deep breath at the thought. And yet how strangely it had turned out: there was light; then living things, engendered by light, evolved into the human species; and there, at the end of the line … call it petty emotion, or the mind; whatever it was, it was impenetrable to light. Yet this stream was constant and immutable, reaching us every second: that was another thing she didn’t understand …

  The part of the city she surveyed from the seventh-floor balcony appeared to have changed little in thirty years. There was a surprising amount of greenery: temple grounds, a park, a university campus. Kōko had known the area nearly all her life. Had the influx of light not varied a fraction in that time? Here and there new high-rise buildings towered like tall-stemmed plants above a rolling meadow, glinting in the saturating sunshine. Kōko was dimly reminded of the scale of time in which she stood, of how that unchanging cityscape could be transformed by light at any moment to become an ocean floor, a desert, or a glacial tract. What a sparkling day it was, though! Not a speck of cloud in sight.