Surely Osada had long since ceased to regard her as his friend’s wife. And yet what was this rush of shame as they sat eyeing her? Had she done anything to deserve the looks of pity verging on abhorrence that they combined to give her after all this time? They hadn’t said anything aloud, though; perhaps this suffocating humiliation was just her own childish pique, and a bright smile would set them all at ease. She must snap out of it; but her heart was pounding more and more violently. She could hear voices ringing in her ears. They’ll sleep with the first man who comes along when they’re on their own. It looks that way, doesn’t it? Anyone will do. I’ve known a lot of women, but I can’t handle them when they’re like that. Then she gets high and mighty, swears she’ll see it through and keep the child herself – and look at her now! That’s women for you. You’re right. There’s no stopping them when they start to slide …
Mingled with their voices, she heard something that Hatanaka had once said. It was when he was seeking a separation, and insisting how deeply he loved her. –You probably didn’t know, but I’ve made more than one woman get an abortion before now, for your sake and Kayako’s.– This, he seemed to be saying, showed how much he’d always loved them both, and how hard it would be to leave them, and yet he must, he had to make a fresh start in life; if he stayed where he was it would finish him.
–I’ve left women, too, for your sake. I was thinking of you and Kayako all along. But now you don’t seem to need me any more. It’s time you lived your own life, anyway. You don’t have to let me drag you down. Your family has money. I’ll be penniless from the day I leave. But I’ll survive somehow, you’ll see. And I won’t forget you two. I’ll never love another woman, I know.– Sometimes Hatanaka would be moved to tears.
But it had made Kōko’s flesh creep to hear him offer these proofs of his love – the women he’d left, the children he wouldn’t let them have. Could she really have been prepared to stay with a man like that all her life? It had given her a pang of concern for that unknown young woman whose existence, but no more, had become obvious from phone calls and letters. She felt a certain guilt that went with being one man’s wife.
The legal proceedings followed over a year later, but she was already indifferent to Hatanaka by the time he wanted a divorce. His good looks made his narcissism especially hard to miss. When Kōko reflected that she was one of the reasons for his complacency while she remained his wife, she couldn’t stand it a moment longer. She could never forgive Hatanaka: a man who’d tell his wife unashamedly – no, with pride – that he had made another woman get rid of a baby.
–I can’t take this life any more, though you don’t care, do you? Why the silent treatment? Screw you and your gloomy looks! I’d like to hear some laughter around here, I want to enjoy life, I like women who make a man feel wanted. Come on, say something, if you’ve got anything to say! There’s any number of women just waiting till I’m available. You’ve never tried to share even one of my problems, have you?–
Hatanaka had put Kōko on her guard against emotion in others. Nothing was harder to handle. Like honey, the sweet flood, once begun, would soon engulf him, clogging his eyes and ears. He was trapped, though in his own mind at least he seemed to glow with beauty through the amber liquid. What visions might its sweet intoxication bring? Many a time Kōko had reacted seriously to something he had said, only to hear him flatly contradict it later; after much confusion she eventually learned to pay as little attention as she would to a child’s fibs. Yet she had to admit there was resonance and fluency in the words borne on that torrent of emotion.
When she took up with Doi again, seeing him every few days, what attracted her most was his way of seldom revealing his emotions. At one time – before Doi’s first child was born – Kōko’s patience had often been tried for lack of clues to his feelings; after Hatanaka, she felt affection for the very same reason. His expression was as elusive as ever; he could as easily have been laughing or falling asleep. He was a good talker as long as he was flippant, but when the subject turned at all serious not a word could be got out of him. Certainly he didn’t make theatrical vows of love, but neither did he rise to the most outrageous taunts she could sling at him. Hatanaka, she thought whenever this happened, would have stormed out and never come back, and mixed with her disappointment in Doi she would find a new confidence in him.
Reassuring though Doi’s calmness was, it wasn’t long before Kōko had grown impatient and excitable, recklessly indulging her own emotions. And the more she did this in front of him, the greater her shame, which only drove her to more hysterical abuse, to tears of vexation. Still Doi ignored her outbursts. It was clear he wasn’t going to lose his head and move in with her, but neither would her emotional upheavals keep him away. Doi didn’t change, whatever she said or did. He came to see her as steadily as ever.
Doi, she realized, valued his responsibilities more highly than his own emotions. Spectacular collapses were not for him. Though this made him very attractive, in actual fact – since she was neither wife nor sister – emotion was all there was between them. Perhaps they could simply have enjoyed its affirmation in sex, but Kōko began wanting Doi to do more, after all, in irresponsible and foolish ways, until his imperturbability finally became unbearable. With her own emotions in turmoil, feeling at a constant disadvantage, it was hardly surprising that she hadn’t been able to have a baby.
What a fool she’d been. Why did everything go so wrong?
But what on earth was Hatanaka doing here? It was three years since she’d seen him last. Under an expensive-looking brown suit he had filled out an inch or two. He had always liked to dress well, and now he wore his smart suit with perfect ease; Kōko hated to admit it (perhaps, she thought, the good taste was his wife’s) but he looked impressive, without a trace of cheap flashiness, however sourly she inspected him. She supposed anyone would want to take a second look. In fact his air of distinction dazzled even Kōko momentarily.
She used to think, when they were married, that at most the odd college girl or housewife, not knowing any better, might be taken in by his looks; granted he wasn’t bad-looking, but no one with any judgment could miss the hint of meanness in that face. It had been just like him to buy a tailor-made suit and a leather coat when they could barely afford the monthly gas bill. She hadn’t protested, though; she’d merely put her mind to choosing a tie to match. She was like a mother wanting her son to look his best: if he must pay so much attention to his appearance, she often thought, then I wish he’d at least dress well. While he was living with her, though, for all the pains he took and all the money he spent, he’d never managed to look anything but slight and immature.
Hadn’t she seen what was right before her eyes? Or was it that she’d been holding him back? Eight years had passed. To Hatanaka she was probably an ugly memory returning as a sorry shadow of herself to congratulate him on his present happiness. He would know by now that she’d wanted to have a child with Osada. But he would also have heard, of course, that it had been an imaginary pregnancy. Imaginary pregnancy. The words alone must have made him laugh.
Osada ordered extra food for Kōko and filled their three beer glasses. An assortment of sashimi, prawns, and other dishes was already on the table.
‘It’s been a while.’ Hatanaka finally spoke directly to Kōko. ‘I didn’t know what to expect, either, but here I am anyway.’
Glancing at Osada, Kōko asked him quietly, ‘Then, you …?’
Osada nodded and smiled. ‘I asked Hatanaka to come an hour early.’
She wanted to find out why, but suddenly lost her nerve.
‘How’s Kayako?’ Hatanaka asked, clasping his hands and sounding like a court-appointed counselor.
Kōko fell into the deferential tones of the interviewee: ‘She’s fine.’
‘Good. She must be at junior high school by now.’
‘Yes, she’s grown quite tall, too.’
‘And my eldest’s just turned three.’
&nb
sp; ‘… Really?’
‘Are you still teaching piano?’
‘… Yes.’
Kōko’s order of grilled prawns and fish arrived.
‘Better eat it while it’s hot,’ said Osada. Kōko nodded and took up her chopsticks. She was cursing her own timidity. She had nothing to be ashamed of, so why this shrinking? Anyone would think she was begging forgiveness for her sins. She had to pull herself together, if only by a hearty show of appetite. They were both watching the movements of her chopsticks. Kōko took two mouthfuls of fish and a long swallow of beer. She looked back at them with the glass at her lips. Osada straightened under her gaze and opened his mouth, while Hatanaka started to pick apart the prawns on his plate, smiling slightly to himself.
‘… Actually, I didn’t want to take this any further without Hatanaka here, which is why I’ve asked him along.’
Kōko nodded in silence. She was concentrating on the hand that held the chopsticks, determined not to let it shake.
‘I’ve already told him the whole situation, so it’s all right.’
What does he mean, all right? Kōko muttered to herself.
‘It hasn’t taken you long, though, has it? You seem to be almost back to normal … It’s hard to believe without having seen her, but she was way out to here. Anybody would have said she was pregnant.’ Osada made a circle with his arms to show Hatanaka, who nodded and raised his glass.
‘You don’t seem too impressed, but it’s quite serious, from what I understand …’ Osada turned toward Kōko. ‘I’ve done some reading. And asked a few questions – just casually – of a psychiatrist friend of mine … It seems to vary from patient to patient. Some will go on insisting that they’re pregnant in spite of all the evidence, and I’m told the doctors will even fake an abortion in such cases. Apparently, imaginary pregnancies don’t follow simply because the woman wants a child. When you look into the background, you’ll always find some block, some unsolved problem between the man and the woman …’
Osada broke off and, with his eyes on Kōko, lifted his beer glass to his lips.
‘… And?’ Kōko prompted in a barely audible voice. She couldn’t see what he was getting at, but her growing uneasiness was now a pain in the pit of her stomach. Hatanaka continued to sip his beer in silence.
‘… And, well … forget about the other cases. It’s us that matters.’
‘Us?’
‘Yes, us. You’re not in this alone. If it was an ordinary pregnancy – but we needn’t go into that, because it wasn’t … I’m talking about the question of responsibility. I used to think you were different from other women, Kōko. I mean that in a good sense – that you were strong. Of course you are, but you have a weak side, too, and I always avoided getting involved with that side of you. I didn’t want complications, you see. Only this time, whatever you might say, Kōko, what your body has done has given you away … A phantom baby. You remember the other day I said I’d acknowledge it? I meant what I said, of course, and I hadn’t ruled out the idea of marriage, either … But it wasn’t a true pregnancy. So why don’t we lay it decently to rest and make a fresh start, the two of us? I won’t take you at your word any longer, Kōko. You’re bluffing … And I’ve got to compromise, too, at my age … And so I thought the first thing was to talk to Hatanaka, which explains why he’s here. It’s important that he understands.’
‘Why? … If it concerned Kayako, yes, maybe – but why in this case?’ Kōko had managed to speak out at last. Braced by the sound of her voice, she sat up very straight.
Hatanaka answered her gently. ‘It does concern Kayako, as well. In other words, Osada is … We’re old friends from way back, you see, and in meeting you he was doing me a favor – providing a neutral zone. And so he wanted me to understand before he set things straight with you. Because on paper, anyway, Kayako will become Osada’s child …:’
‘… What do you mean? What are you talking about?’
Kōko could tell that the blood was rushing to her face. She was ready to scream, to flail her arms, to smash everything in sight. Hearing Osada’s voice, she watched his mouth move while she gripped her hands beneath the table and fought the impulse down before it drove her to extremes. She had to go cautiously now or she’d step right into a trap.
‘Perhaps “understand” is the wrong word – I wanted to discuss it with him. Kaya is at a difficult age, for one thing … And you know, Hatanaka said something really helpful: it’s true that the parent-child bond is absolute in biological terms, but in social terms it’s more relative. And, uh, then he said that the relation between the parents, which forms the child’s environment, is a contractual agreement based on their mutual wishes, and they both have the right – and the duty – to seek a more ideal relationship. Which means that if they renounce their right to choose, and with it the chance of giving the child a better environment, then they stand to lose their self-respect. That was the gist of his lecture, anyway. The point is that Hatanaka has no objection to my acting as Kaya’s father. Am I right?’
Hatanaka nodded repeatedly, expansively. Kōko remembered and gritted her teeth: this was the Hatanaka she couldn’t endure. Eight years hadn’t made him any more sensible to shame. And he could talk of self-respect! But there was something else that made her ache all the more to get away, for she’d been reminded of a time when, anxious to secure Doi firmly by her side, she had harangued an invisible audience day and night with precisely the commentary that she’d just heard quoted by Osada.
Hatanaka’s relaxed voice took up the theme.
‘What it comes down to is how we understand love. The trouble is that Japanese society doesn’t distinguish clearly between parental love and the marriage relationship itself. And that leads to far too much unhappiness. The important thing is for both the father and the mother to show the child that they love someone. Children whose parents hate each other grow up not knowing what love is, that’s the tragedy of it …’
‘Look … Osada, what did you want to see me about?’
Hatanaka had been about to say more, but he chuckled at the firmness of Kōko’s tone. ‘You haven’t changed, have you? There’s no need to take offense when it’s you who’s causing all the worry. I know you, you can’t stand people being nice to you.’
‘… Will you please tell me at once.’
She felt a cold shiver; it set her hair on end. Despite the hard look she gave him, Osada had turned, smiling, toward Hatanaka, who spoke again.
‘You must know by now, surely.’
‘But nothing definite has been said yet …’
‘Nothing definite? Trust a woman. Still talking like a starry-eyed girl … Come on, Osada, you sure you haven’t changed your mind? Maybe it’s not too late. It beats me why you have to be so conscientious. You’re a loser, a born loser.’
‘I’m just doing things in my own way …’ Osada gave his tipsy friend a slap on the shoulder and finally looked Kōko in the face. His smile stiffened.
‘Fair enough,’ said Hatanaka. ‘Right, then, shall I pop the question for you? I’ve already proposed to her once … This is going to be kind of strange.’
‘Propose?’ Kōko murmured the word as though all her strength had deserted her, and dropped her eyes to the table. Hatanaka laughed his high-pitched laugh again, the way he did when he was in a good mood. At one time the housewives in their apartment building had come to Hatanaka for dancing lessons. Every one of them, in her embarrassment, would tuck her head down and trip over her own feet. And that laugh of Hatanaka’s would ring around the tiny apartment as he guided each carefully through the steps. When the neighbors had all gone home, Hatanaka would take Kōko in his arms and murmur –What a bunch of old hens! Not a real woman among them.–
‘You seem surprised … At least it’s not an unwelcome surprise. And Kayako should get along well with him, too. He’s a good fellow, you won’t find many like him. Don’t look so down in the mouth, though – you’ll hurt his feelings.’
‘The toilet?’
It was Hatanaka’s voice. Kōko shook her head and whispered quickly, ‘You’ve got it all wrong …’
‘No, I don’t think so. Sit down, anyhow.’ Osada spoke gently, his fingers touching Kōko’s hand. She brushed his warm, damp fingers away and went on, looking steadily at the gleam of the beer bottles and glasses on the table.
‘You know, if you’d said the same thing to me a year ago, I might have shown the gratitude you seem to expect – I might have jumped for joy. But now … no … I’m afraid I’ve been a nuisance, Osada. I came today to apologize. But … it’s not going to work out as you planned … You won’t catch me playing your buddy-buddy games, you two … I’m going home. You can go on with your cozy chat …’
On trembling legs Kōko turned from Osada and Hatanaka and walked away.
She heard Hatanaka calling. She walked on without looking back. She heard Osada’s voice and her arm was tugged from behind.
‘Come on, calm down. Don’t be so touchy.’
Bringing all her strength to bear Kōko prized her arm free from Osada’s grip, beat his grasping hands off with a switch of her shoulder bag, and walked on again.
After a moment she heard him say: ‘How much longer are you going to put on this act? You’re not fooling anyone, you know.’
Kōko plunged ahead, bumping into waiters and customers, chairs and tables, her eyes only on the glass doors to the street. How could she have come here, unarmed and unsuspecting? But it will never happen again, she told herself, and by letting her chagrin rule her she managed – barely – to get out without looking back.
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