Where the Wild Ladies Are

by Matsuda Aoko

  ‘Of late, these portable lanterns are enjoying a surprising revival, Mr Hagiwara! You’ll find they’re far more fashionable than torches! Many customers like to coordinate them with the design of their yukata when attending summer festivals, and now that it’s Obon, they’re great for hanging outside the house to welcome home the souls of the returning dead. Honestly, they are extremely popular! The exterior is silk crepe with a peony pattern and is very well-received by the ladies. Do you happen to be married Mr Hagiwara? I believe you are, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh Shinzaburō!’ exclaimed Tsuyuko in a high voice. ‘How absolutely despicable of you! What about me?’

  ‘Oh Miss Tsuyuko, how cruel destiny can be! I tell you, she really does have the most awful luck with men. I go out of my mind with worry. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I was just saying that these peony tōrō lanterns are extremely popular with the ladies. Your wife will be absolutely delighted, I am sure. I have heard that those from the Western climes are good at surprising their lady friends with flowers and such little gestures of their affection, but males from Japan often neglect to do such things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to suggest that the same is true of you, Mr Hagiwara! Only that with your unemployment causing your wife such hardship, occasionally gifting things that women like, these lanterns for example, is a rather good strategy, by which I mean to say – it wouldn’t do you any harm, would it?’

  ‘Oh Shinzaburō! How it grieves me to think of you giving presents to another woman!’

  ‘There there, Miss Tsuyuko. Do calm yourself. I’m quite sure that Shinzaburō will be buying two lanterns, one of which he will of course be presenting to you!’

  ‘Oh Miss Yoneko, what are you saying! There is no way that a man as considerate as Shinzaburō would forget about you! He shall be buying three lanterns, for sure! Three, at the very least.’

  So, this is their sales strategy, thought Shinzaburō, utterly aghast. After watching them witter on at each other for a while, he felt he’d had enough of being neglected.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t want any of your lanterns. Contrary to what you seem to think, if I go around buying such stuff while I’m without an income, the only thanks I’ll get from my wife will be a good telling-off.’

  There was a second’s pause and then a sickly, snake-like voice came slithering out of Tsuyuko’s mouth.

  ‘Then we shall resent you, Shinzaburō.’

  ‘W-What?’

  ‘We will resent you,’ she repeated, fixing him with a withering look.

  ‘Now, now, Tsuyuko,’ said Yoneko. ‘It does not bode well to rush Mr Hagiwara into a decision. We mustn’t pressurise him. Let’s allow him first to experience our much-vaunted lanterns. I have no doubt he’ll be delighted by them. Mr Hagiwara, would you mind advising me where your light switch is?’

  Shinzaburō looked towards the switch and, as if in silent understanding, the lights in the room immediately dimmed. Before Shinzaburō had time to register his surprise, the lantern on the table swelled with light, illuminating the darkened room.

  On the other side floated the green-white faces of the two women. Shinzaburō remembered playing this kind of game with his friends at school – everyone shining torches under their faces to try and scare one other. Finally acclimatising to the evening’s unrelenting stream of reason-defying events, Shinzaburō was sufficiently relaxed to reminiscence about his boyhood. Filtering through the peonies, the soft lantern light spilled into the room. It was as if another world had suddenly materialised, right here in his living room. With their legs concealed under the table, the women looked as if they consisted of their upper bodies alone, free-floating in the air.

  ‘You two look just like gho—, I mean, you seem somehow not of this world.’

  Immediately regretting his choice of words, Shinzaburō grimaced.

  ‘You mean us?’ asked Yoneko with a wry smile. She seemed not at all displeased by the remark.

  ‘And what would you do if we were… not of this world?’ asked Tsuyuko, looking up at him through her eyelashes, lips iridescent with gloss, or spit, or something else entirely. Then without waiting for his answer, the two women dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  The lights in the room blinked on.

  ‘So you see, that’s how it works. It’s a rather good product, wouldn’t you say?’

  Yoneko and Tsuyuko smiled in unison.

  ‘Indeed, but I really don’t need it,’ said Shinzaburō. The two women shared a glance and nodded, gravely. When they turned to look at Shinzaburō again, their faces bore entirely different expressions.

  ‘If you don’t buy our lanterns, Shinzaburō, I will perish,’ said Tsuyuko.

  ‘Now, Mr Hagiwara, did you hear that? Miss Tsuyuko says she’s going to perish,’ said Yoneko.

  ‘Do what you like to me, I’m not going to leave here until Shinzaburō buys some!’ said Tsuyuko, breaking into a screechy voice like a child throwing a tantrum.

  ‘Oh, listen to that!’ Yoneko went on persistently in a low murmur. ‘If your wife comes home and sees Tsuyuko here, she’ll be terribly jealous, won’t she, Mr Hagiwara? If only you would buy a lantern, we’d leave immediately.’ All the while Yoneko was speaking, she and Tsuyuko snuck glances at Shinzaburō.

  ‘I said I wasn’t going to buy one,’ said Shinzaburō firmly. The more excitable the two women grew, the more he found himself regaining his composure.

  ‘Did you hear that, Miss Tsuyuko? You’d be better off giving up on a rotten-hearted man like this one.’

  ‘No, Miss Yoneko. I trust him. I trust dear Shinzaburō.’

  ‘Now, Mr Hagiwara. Did you hear what Miss Tsuyuko just said? How awfully touching.’

  Observing the farce being played out before his eyes, Shinzaburō found himself unexpectedly marvelling at their teamwork. Yoneko was stunning in her supporting role. There was no way Tsuyuko alone would have garnered such impact. Their methods certainly ran against the grain of traditional sales techniques, but it had to be said there was something formidable about them. It must be down to desperation, Shinzaburō thought – desperation at their lack of success.

  He even began to consider just buying one of the damned things out of pity, but when he pictured his wife’s expression upon seeing the new acquisition, the temptation fizzled away. For two or three years now, his wife had only had eyes for Scandinavian homeware, not this traditional Japanese decor. All the while he was thinking this, Tsuyuko and Yoneko kept up their noisy masquerade. With sudden clarity he saw that whether he chose to buy a lantern or not, hell awaited him regardless.

  The next thing he knew, Shinzaburō was laughing out loud. It felt like a long time since he’d laughed properly like this. If push came to shove, he thought as he chuckled, you could carry on life like these fruitcakes did, and you’d still be fine. Well, depending on your definition of ‘fine’ of course – but at any rate, nothing terrible would happen to you if you broke the rules. With that thought, Shinzaburō felt a hot surge behind his eyes, and quickly clenched his teeth.

  Apparently unnerved by this sudden alteration in him, Yoneko and Tsuyuko spoke.

  ‘Have you had a change of heart, Mr Hagiwara?’

  ‘Have you decided to accommodate my request, Shinzaburō?’

  ‘No, I’m not going to buy a lantern. But, still, thank you, nonetheless.’ His voice sounded dignified, somehow, and free. When he next looked, Tsuyuko and Yoneko appeared to be suspended in mid-air. The next moment, the lights in the room went out again, as if someone had blown out all the candles.

  —

  Shinzaburō woke to the sound of sparrows cheeping outside the window. He lifted his head from the living room floor and saw four lanterns strewn around him as if they’d been blown in on the wind. Tsuyuko and Yoneko were nowhere to be seen.

  At the sound of keys in the door, Shinzaburō quickly sat up and prepared h
imself for the next onslaught. But the person who came rushing into the room with a loud ‘Hi! I’m home!’, carrying her suitcase so the wheels didn’t leave marks on the floor, was his wife. Taking in the messy room, with Shinzaburō stretched out sloppily on the floor, she frowned and said in a tone of utter disbelief, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’

  Shinzaburō couldn’t help but notice that her gestures and her expressions weren’t unlike those of Tsuyuko and Yoneko. Why did all women pull the same face when they looked at him?

  ‘What have you been doing in here? I thought you were supposed to be looking for a job while I was gone! And what on earth are these? Some kind of failed DIY experiment?’

  Listening to his wife’s protestations as she picked up the lanterns littering the room, Shinzaburō thought suddenly of his wallet, which would probably be a few notes lighter, and a pang of dread spread through him. Of course, for a salesperson to take money without permission went against every rule in the book, but he wouldn’t have put it past those two. It was basically theft! How much were they charging for those blasted lanterns, anyway? Ah, there was nothing for it – now he really would have to find a job as soon as possible. Shinzaburō gingerly pulled himself up from the floor, from where a pool of light filtering through the curtain gently flickered.

  —

  Shinzaburō spotted Tsuyuko and Yoneko only once after that encounter.

  He’d been on the early shift at his new workplace and was back home preparing dinner when he heard a woman’s voice outside the window. Peering through a gap in the curtain, he saw the two of them standing at the gate next to the nameplate. They appeared to be in serious conversation.

  Shinzaburō remembered. It had slipped his mind entirely, but after coaxing the truth about the peony lanterns out of Shinzaburō, his wife had bought a sticker at the home store that read No Sales Visitors! and had stuck it up next to their nameplate. That had been about a year ago now. The business cards they had given him that evening many months ago had mysteriously vanished, and for some reason he couldn’t recall the name of their company, though he was sure he’d made a mental note of it.

  ‘There’s one here too! How cruel.’

  ‘We can’t go in now, not with this talisman stuck up… What a pity!’

  ‘It’s so heartless.’

  ‘It really is sheer heartlessness.’

  Tsuyuko and Yoneko were wearing the same outfits as before.

  A talisman, indeed! Shinzaburō smirked. Such melodrama, as usual! Just what exactly was the deal with these two? And yet, he couldn’t deny that he was a little bit pleased to have seen them again. The next moment, they both looked towards the window in unison and Shinzaburō lunged away from the curtain.

  Smartening Up

  I am a beautiful woman.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent woman.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexy woman.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexy, caring woman.

  I am—

  ‘Okay, that’s the right side done. I’ll start on the left now.’

  From just beside my ear, the beautician’s voice cut through the affirmations with which I was busy filling up every inch of my headspace.

  ‘Sure, thanks,’ I responded automatically.

  The woman adjusted the towel draped over my chest, then moved to stand on my left. She pressed some buttons on the machine, and it bleeped twice – beep, beep. Thinking it wouldn’t do to stare too intently, I directed my eyes up at the ceiling. Soon enough, I began to feel a faint, tingling pain traversing my arm. This level of pain I was totally fine with. The machine bleeped again – beep, beep.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexy, caring woman with a fantastic dress sense.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexy, caring woman with a fantastic dress sense and unique taste in furniture and accessories.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexy, caring woman with a fantastic dress sense and unique taste in furniture and accessories, and I’m a superb cook to boot.

  In time with the rhythmic beep-beeping of the machine, I went on adding to my list of qualifications. Like a line of cans moving down a factory conveyor belt, my future assets flowed past me in a steady stream, offering the promise of a new me.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexy, caring woman with a fantastic dress sense and unique taste in furniture and accessories, and I’m a superb cook to boot who sometimes rustles up delicious cakes and sweets in no time at all.

  Beep, beep. Beep, beep.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexy, caring woman with a fantastic dress sense and unique taste in furniture and accessories, and I’m a superb cook to boot, who sometimes rustles up delicious cakes and sweets in no time at all, and everybody loves me the moment they meet me.

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexy, caring woman with a fantastic dress sense and unique taste in furniture and accessories, and I’m a superb cook to boot, who sometimes rustles up delicious cakes and sweets in no time at all, and everybody loves me the moment they meet me, and my skin is so soft and smooth that people just want to reach out and touch it.

  I am—

  ‘Right, you’re all done! I’m going to cool it off for you, so don’t move just yet.’

  The beautician’s slightly dated make-up was immaculately applied, her beige-slicked lips thin as an archer’s bow. She parted them now to smile broadly at me. A saying that I’d read or heard somewhere came back to me: ‘You can change your destiny simply by lifting the corners of your mouth. Good fortune comes spilling out of every smile.’ The beautician had perfect teeth, I thought, and this set me off, processing every detail of the open-plan hair removal clinic: her uniform so white it was almost blue, the potted plant in the corner of the room, the melancholy sound of a music box churning out synthesised versions of popular songs. Suddenly, it occurred to me that the towel laid out beneath my head was cruelly crushing the perm I’d had done at the hairdresser’s just three days ago. Lifting my head slightly, I slipped a hand underneath to check the extent of damage. The flattened spread of warm, limp hair felt as frail as a baby’s.

  —

  The department store by the station was still open when I came out of the clinic, so I went in and browsed the new range of colours in the cosmetics section, splurged on a selection of expensive Dean & Deluca deli items for my dinner along with a baguette from the artisan bakery, then got on the train, half-intoxicated by this version of myself. From my earphones came the sweet voice of a Western singer. I couldn’t understand the lyrics at all, but I assumed she must have been singing a love song. On the album cover that popped up on my screen, the singer’s long tresses glistened like those of a fairy princess. Why hadn’t I been born blonde? I wondered to myself.

  Examining my reflection in the window of the train, I reached a hand up to touch my jet-black hair. In my next life, I decided, I would be blonde. Then I would meet a gorgeous man with blond hair to match mine, and we would fall in love, and talk in English. In that incarnation, I would be surrounded with beautiful things, all day every day. My life would be full of the sorts of things that brought instant contentment, and my heart would sing just to look at them. I would own so many wonderful things I wouldn’t know what to do with them, and then I would truly be happy.

  I walked down the street with a spring in my step, practically skipping. On my way I passed the supermarket that by now would have started to reduce its prices before closing; next to it, the shop run by a wrinkly old couple selling Japanese sweets, its shutters already half down; then a mess of ripped posters for some jumble sale that was happening or had already happened; and the barber’s where I had never seen a single customer, only the owner who sat reading his newspaper by the window. Those things had no part to play in my world.

  Back home at my one-bedroom flat on the first floor of a three-storey
block, I’d just managed to arrange the selection of deli foods on my Scandinavian dining table and press play on the romantic comedy I’d chosen starring Michelle Williams, when the doorbell rang.

  Life is full of dangers for a woman living by herself. I crept to the door silently so I could pretend I wasn’t home if necessary. I peered through the peephole, but could see nobody.

  The doorbell rang again. Who could it be? A pushy door-to-door salesman, somebody soliciting for some organisation, a burglar, a rapist, a pair of rapists, a whole gang of armed rapists… and then another possibility occurred to me, appending itself to the terrifying list of options, and I found myself opening the door without having meant to. My aunt was standing outside.

  ‘Auntie! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Goodness gracious, what’s happened to you? You look dreadful.’

  Examining my face with narrowed eyes, my aunt kicked off her cheap outlet-shop sandals so that they landed right on top of my Fabio Rusconi heels and Repetto ballerina pumps neatly arranged in the entrance.

  ‘What a poky little doorway you’ve got!’ she squawked, before clumping through into my flat. ‘Your posture’s a disgrace, too… But that’s nothing new, I suppose. Come on, come on, stand up straight, that’s it.’

  She tapped my spine with the back of her hand and I straightened up, staring in disbelief at the ugly scratches on the heels of the shoes she’d deposited in my doorway.

  ‘Your hall’s titchy too!’ she exclaimed, before continuing, ‘You’re just like your mother! She had awful posture ever since she could walk. Born miserable, that one was. I was always pulling back her shoulders for her, but as soon as I let go she’d be straight back to slumping again. A person’s character expresses itself in their body, you know. Oh heavens, look at all this!’

  Without a moment’s hesitation, my aunt sat down at my perfectly laid dinner table. The elegant minimalist chair, which matched the table, groaned as it accommodated a body significantly heavier than that of its usual sitter. I remained standing, staring incredulously at the finger-sized puncture that had suddenly appeared in the roast vegetable terrine. The film kept playing. The hair on Michelle Williams’s arms shone beautifully in the sunlight, and I felt a wave of jealousy towards all the blonde women in the world who had never had to give depilation a thought.