“Of course,” I said, trying furiously to recall who she was.
She wore natural-looking makeup, the right amount to give her a pleasing glow. Her long hair was secured with a black clip above her right ear. Could she be someone from work? But no one there addressed me as Ren.
The woman pulled over a chair. “Are you surprised to see me here?”
“Kind of,” I said. “Can I get you a drink?”
She smiled and got up. “Don’t trouble yourself. Let me order something, then we’ll talk.”
As she walked to the counter, I weighed the various possibilities. Was she a former classmate? Perhaps a distant relative? No, I was certain I didn’t know this woman. But she might be important, someone I ought to remember.
She returned to my table with an iced coffee. I still couldn’t figure out who she was.
“I’m here for our company retreat,” she said, playing with her straw. Her nails were painted beige, and none were chipped. “It’s a three-day, two-night trip. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
I decided to play along. “What have you done so far?”
“The usual—shopping, monuments, temples, more shopping. To be honest, I don’t know why we chose Akakawa instead of someplace like Nara or Kyoto. I do think small towns have their charm, but they don’t necessarily appeal to everyone.”
I nodded.
“This place certainly doesn’t appeal to me. I was hoping for a hot spring, like the previous years.” She stirred her drink with the straw and took a sip. “What about you, Ren? What are you doing here?”
“I’m working. I teach English at a cram school nearby.”
“That’s good,” she said. “I mean, back when we last spoke, you were having a hard time figuring out what to do after graduation.”
“Right. That was . . .”
She counted on her fingers. “Three, four weeks ago?”
I felt like I’d been walking in a fog so thick I couldn’t tell the color of my shoes. And then a gust of wind blew, clearing it away when I realized who she was.
Starting from the mole behind her neck, the memory of the night I’d spent in her apartment came flooding back. I could even recall the fragrance she wore. A refreshing blend of tangerine and cherry blossom—she had the scent of spring on her warm skin. I remembered her curved back, illuminated by the moonlight, her loud, sensual moans, and her perfectly painted fingernails, digging into the pillow. Flustered, I took a sip of my coffee.
“Do you think I was too forward?” she asked. “Usually it’s the man who approaches the woman, but I walked up to you that night and talked to you first.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She stirred her drink again. “This might sound odd, but I had a dream about you last week. I swear, I wasn’t obsessing or anything. Somehow, you just slipped into my sleep.”
I wasn’t sure how to react to this, so I shrugged and said, “Sometimes it happens.”
“When I woke up, I wanted to see you. I had this strong urge to pick the phone up and call, but it would be weird for me to be the one asking you out. What do you think? Be honest.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter. This is the nineties—it’s completely normal for the woman to make the first move.”
“Do you prefer women who take the initiative?”
That depended completely on the situation, but I didn’t want to go into detail.
“Anyway, that’s beside the point,” she said. “Even if I’d decided to call you, I couldn’t. You didn’t give me your number.”
I forced a smile. “Is that so? It must have slipped my mind. I was quite drunk that night.”
“You looked perfectly fine.”
“I hardly ever look drunk, no matter how much I’ve had. To be fair, you didn’t give me your number, either.”
“I did. I wrote it on a piece of paper and slipped it into your pocket.” She covered her mouth. “Don’t tell me you didn’t realize. Who did your laundry?”
“I did it myself, but I never check the pockets before tossing my clothes into the washing machine.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “Still, it was cruel of you to leave without a word. If you had waited until I’d woken up, I would have made you breakfast.”
“I had an early appointment, and you were sleeping so well. It would have been a crime to wake you up.”
“A crime? What a charming way to put it.”
We both laughed. She knew my excuse was lame, but appreciated the attempt enough to go along with it.
“Do you regret it?” she whispered. “Is that why you left so quietly?”
“You’re mistaken,” I responded quickly, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “It’s not like that. You looked peaceful, so I didn’t want to wake you up. That’s all.”
Leaning closer, she stared at me for a moment, as if searching for something in my face. I cleared my throat and stared into the distance. I didn’t want to meet her gaze.
She let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I can trust you. You seem sincere. I guess it doesn’t hurt that you’re pretty good-looking.”
I mustered a smile. We were just humoring each other at this point. What else could you expect from someone you’d had a one-night stand with? Were we supposed to become friends? Continue to have sexual encounters?
She leaned in toward me. “My hotel is down the block. Do you want to come over?”
I couldn’t answer. I’d seen it coming, but I hadn’t expected to be asked so quickly, or so straightforwardly.
“Let me guess,” she said, sensing my hesitation. “You’re married.”
“No, but I’m in a relationship.”
“That’s fine. I have a boyfriend, too, even though he’s overseas most of the time.”
This wasn’t surprising; I hadn’t gotten the sense that she was looking for a relationship.
“That puts us in the same position, doesn’t it?” She took a notebook from her purse, tore a page out, and scribbled on it. Shoving it into my hand, she said, “Let’s be clear about it this time. Here’s my number. Don’t lose it.”
I nodded. “I won’t.”
“I was joking about the hotel. I’m sharing my room with a colleague, but you can stay over at my apartment anytime you want. My boyfriend comes only once or twice a year, usually for less than a week. Most of the time, I’m on my own.”
I wanted to ask whether this open arrangement with her boyfriend was mutual, but stopped myself.
“When you’re in Tokyo, give me a call. We can keep each other company,” she continued.
“And you can make me breakfast.”
“Right. I make an excellent omurice.”
My heart skipped a beat. One of my sister’s specialties. I cleared my throat. “Sounds like a good plan.”
She gave me a coy smile. “The sex or the breakfast?”
“Both.”
“It’s a deal, then.” She stood and bent over to pick up her bag. Her white lacy bra peeked out from the gaping neckline of her blouse. “I would love to talk to you for longer, but I have to go now. I’ll wait for your call.”
After she left, I realized I hadn’t given her my number. I folded the paper she’d given me in half and slipped it into my pocket.
11
You’re
Going
to
Be
Fine
I had another dream about Pigtails.
I stood in the middle of the street I didn’t recognize, a fine mist coating my skin. The place appeared deserted, with not a single soul in sight. There were puddles everywhere. It must have rained recently.
Slow, gentle waves formed on the surface of the water. The ripples intersected with
each other. It was starting to rain again; I had to find shelter.
A screeching noise came from above, shattering the silence. I saw a flock of black birds high above me, but they weren’t moving. They were suspended, frozen in the air. Time had stopped for them. I wondered if they would ever fly again, or would they remain there forever?
The gray clouds in the distance moved closer. The sky was getting darker, but the birds were still as stone.
“Ren, is that you?”
I looked around, recognizing the soft voice. No one was nearby, but I knew it belonged to the woman with the mole behind her neck. She spoke as if she was whispering a secret song.
“Hey, are you alone? Mind if I join you?”
Her voice came from behind me. I turned and saw Pigtails. As I was about to say something, she brought her index finger to her lips.
Not now, Ren, not now. It’s not the right time yet.
The pounding of the rain against the window woke me up. I wanted to go back to sleep, but it was too noisy. Eyes wide open, I recalled a paragraph from the article in the newspaper the kimono lady had given me.
The estimated time of the attack was around 11:30 p.m., just before the rainstorm. Due to heavy downpour and poor visibility, no one noticed the victim. The postmortem established her time of death at approximately 1:00 a.m., the cause being a massive hemorrhage. A jogger found the victim’s body at 5:40 a.m. and alerted the police.
An hour and half had passed between the time of the attack and the time my sister succumbed to her injuries. How had it felt for her, lying on the street in the rain in the middle of the night, sinking slowly into death? She had bled out as the water washed her wounds clean. And she had always been so afraid of drowning.
Getting up, I glanced at the clock. A quarter past eleven. I should have enough time.
I changed into a sweater and jeans and left the house. The bus service had already stopped, and hardly any cars were on the road. I picked up my pace and ran along the main road in the pouring rain, passing deserted alleys and empty fields. In no time, I was completely drenched. The rubber soles of my sneakers had worn off. I tripped and fell twice, but got up and continued to run until I reached the declining slope. The police had removed the yellow sign, but I still remembered the exact spot. It was etched in my mind, never to be forgotten, no matter how hard I tried.
I lay down on the ground, panting. The rain hit my face, but I stayed still and closed my eyes. All I could hear was the sound of rain.
My sister should have been able to guess nobody would come in this kind of weather. She would have known she was about to die. What was on her mind in those final minutes? Had she thought about Mr. Tsuda, or the guy she had gone out with in Akakawa? Had she thought about me?
Since the day my sister had left Tokyo, I’d hoped for her return, but I’d never told her that. Had I been too proud, or too indifferent? If I’d asked her to come back, would she still be alive?
I clenched my fists. No use in asking myself that now—no answer would bring her back. The day my sister died, a part of me died, too.
The rain got heavier, and I stayed there, losing track of time. I waited until it stopped before opening my eyes. I turned over to face the road. The puddles shone, reflecting the streetlights. So this was what she saw before she died. I got up and walked back with an unbearable heaviness.
It was still dark when I reached the house. I took off my wet clothes and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wiping up the water that had dripped all over the floor before taking a long shower. By the time I was back in bed, it was already four in the morning. I was tired, but I stayed awake until the sun rose. I needed its warmth. With the bright rays shining on me, I finally fell asleep.
I awoke around nine with a terrible headache.
My body was burning, but I forced myself to get up. I dragged myself to the convenience store to buy lunch. I also grabbed some medicine, a thermometer, and a pack of face masks. Using the pay phone near the shop, I called the school to let them know I couldn’t turn up for work that day.
“What happened, Mr. Ishida?” Abe asked.
“I got caught in the rain last night,” I answered. “It’s just a common cold. I’ve bought medicine already. I should be returning to work tomorrow.”
“All right. If the medicine doesn’t help, please go and see the doctor.”
I thanked her and hung up. Wearing one of the masks, I returned to the Katous’ house. After putting down my stuff in the kitchen, I took my temperature: 102.5 degrees. No wonder I felt terrible. I had no appetite. I ate only half of my deep fried breaded pork cutlet, throwing away the rest. After popping a pill with some water, I returned to my room.
I was usually lucky with illness; I didn’t fall sick easily. As far as I could remember, it had happened only once before. I was down with a high fever the entire first week after my sister left Tokyo.
At the time, I’d been angry. I felt betrayed and abandoned. I hadn’t expected her to disappear without a word, so I walked out in the heavy rain to get sick. It was so childish. I went to play soccer at the field near my school, alone in the storm. It was a challenging feat, running on the sloshy, slippery grass. The ball’s movement became unpredictable, and it often skidded farther down the field than I intended.
The next day, I had a high fever and terrible headache, as expected, but my sister didn’t return. Mother bought porridge and medicine, but she had to leave at the usual time.
“I’m sorry, but I promised my friends I would come over.” She wrote down a phone number on the calendar. “If your fever gets worse and you need me to take you to the hospital, just call Mrs. Koyama and ask for me.”
I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t call. She was going for mahjong, and they needed four players. They couldn’t continue with one player missing, just like my sister and me. We needed each other; or had it just been me?
I remember lying on my bed with that horrible cold, feeling alone. When I think about it now, it’s so embarrassing. But so many years later, I ended up in the exact same situation. This time, too, I felt she had abandoned me. And this time, too, she wouldn’t return.
Keiko Ishida, why did you always leave without a word?
I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.
I stood in front of a white, Western-style mansion when the bell rang and the door opened. Hundreds of men in dark suits stormed out of the building, each carrying a black briefcase. The sudden rush caught me by surprise. I tried to avoid the onslaught, but was pushed farther and farther from the building.
Amidst the crowd, I saw a familiar face. A bald man with his beaten-up leather briefcase, he’d been the only other guest at the Katsuragi Hotel.
“Excuse me,” I shouted, but he couldn’t hear me, and kept walking.
I followed, but the sheer number of people around us made it hard to cut through to him. Giving up and going with the flow of the crowd, I felt a gentle tug on my sleeve. Pigtails stood next to me, her hand grasping tight onto my right cuff.
“It’s you again,” I said.
She nodded before letting go of my shirt.
“Wait.” I tried to stop her. “I need to talk to you.”
But the little girl had already walked away.
More people shoved against me. I felt like a salmon, caught in an upstream migration. I had no choice but to move with the crowd. Tripping on someone’s shoes, I lost my balance and fell to my knees. I thought I would be trampled, but the crowd around me simply vanished.
Picking myself up, I saw a white coffin, circled by rows of mourners. Honda, the principal, Abe, Hiroko, and other teachers from Yotsuba. Everyone was dressed in black. Not far from me, the kimono lady sat beside the hotel cleaning lady, whose trolley was nowhere to be seen.
The bald man came and sat next to the kimono lady. Opening his suitcase, he took out a white handkerchief. “I�
�m sorry for arriving late,” he said to me, wiping sweat from his face. “I was caught in a traffic jam.”
I nodded at him.
The funeral ceremony began. A Buddhist monk in a black robe bowed to the coffin before lighting the incense. With gentle movements, he waved the burning stick through the air, disseminating a sweet and musky fragrance.
The monk read the sutra and invited me to pay my respects. I stood and bowed. Taking the granular incense from the bowl, I held it in front of my forehead and dropped it into a burner. After that, I took a step back and bowed one more time. Pigtails came up and reached for my hand. She pulled me toward the coffin, but I stood still. She turned to me and stared, as if saying, You’ve got to see it.
I obliged, despite knowing my sister would be inside the coffin. Leaning closer, I saw a sleeping face surrounded by flowers. I held my breath and froze.
It wasn’t my sister’s face. It was my own.
I woke up drenched in sweat. My T-shirt was wet, and it clung to my skin. I took it off and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.
I looked up, and the man in the mirror stretched his hand out to me. Our fingers met on the shiny hard surface. In my own voice, I heard my sister say, “It’s okay, Ren. You’re going to be fine.”
Closing my eyes, I was my thirteen-year-old self again, crouched in the living room in my pajamas and holding the phone tightly.
“I heard you were sick,” my sister said. “Are you all right? Have you gone to the doctor?”
I sulked. “Why don’t you come here and see for yourself? I’m telling you, I’m going to die.”
“Stop that. It’s bad luck to talk about death,” she said. “Actually, I want to see you too, but I can’t yet. I need to find a job and save up first.”
“All the more reason for you to come back.”
She forced herself to laugh. An awkward silence ensued.
“Your new place, is it really better?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, a slight hesitation in her voice. “Only time will tell.”
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