The Woman in the Purple Skirt

by Natsuko Imamura

  “Really!”

  “I asked her if she had ever played any sports. Apparently, she used to be on the athletics squad. For six years, all the way up through junior high and high school.”

  “I see!”

  “Yes, apparently she excelled at short-distance running. It just shows you, doesn’t it? You should never judge someone by the way they look. Well, thank goodness for that. We’ve finally managed to get someone capable!”

  So it turns out the Woman in the Purple Skirt really is speedy and agile and fit after all. I found that hard to believe. On the athletics squad? And for six years?

  And what was all this about her being “conscientious” and “capable”? That set me on edge. Did it mean she had failed over and over in all those job interviews just because of her physical appearance? I would never have described her as “spruce,” not by any standard, but how very odd that all it took was for her to put on a uniform like everyone else, and tie her hair back in a ponytail, to all of a sudden start being thought of as “capable.” Truth be told, since the morning, every time the Woman in the Purple Skirt passed in front of me, I was quite certain I had caught a whiff of that “fresh floral” fragrance. She must have used one of the shampoo samples I had hung on her doorknob. They do say that certain fragrances can have a positive effect on mood and emotion. I was sure that what had really won over the management was the smell of my shampoo.

  At the end of the first day, Supervisor Tsukada gave the Woman in the Purple Skirt an apple. It was a big red one.

  “This is a hokuto apple. Very expensive.” Supervisor Tsukada put a finger to her lips and said, “Shh!”

  The Woman in the Purple Skirt took the apple with both hands. “Really? Is it okay if I take it?”

  “Of course.”

  “But doesn’t it belong to . . . ?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. Come on. Everybody does it. Even me. Look.”

  Supervisor Tsukada pointed at each of her breasts. They stuck out unnaturally, perfectly round and much bigger than usual. If you looked carefully, the shape of each was slightly different. The right breast was an apple, and the left breast, slightly smaller, was an orange. Supervisor Tsukada then plunged her hand into the pocket of her apron and revealed the tip of a banana.

  The Woman in the Purple Skirt let out a little laugh. That same ingratiating chuckle.

  “Well, they are only going to be thrown away otherwise. It’s a waste.” Then, addressing Supervisor Hamamoto and Supervisor Tachibana, she said:

  “It’s fine. Isn’t it, you two?”

  They nodded.

  “Absolutely.”

  “No housewife worth her salt would allow food that’s still edible to be thrown away. Unforgivable.”

  Supervisor Hamamoto and Supervisor Tachibana each brought out what they were carrying in their tote bags to show the Woman in the Purple Skirt: a green orin apple and an orange, and an orange and a banana. These were all leftovers from the supply of fruit that the hotel provided for guests.

  “If anyone says anything, you can say housekeeping had already disposed of it.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Just make sure the director doesn’t see.” Supervisor Tsukada again put a finger to her lips and said, “Shh!”

  “Don’t worry about it, nobody will say a thing,” interjected Supervisor Hamamoto. She pointed at Supervisor Tachibana. “I mean, look at her. It’s an open secret that she fills her water bottle with the champagne that guests leave behind. And no one in charge has ever found out!”

  “Is that true?” the Woman in the Purple Skirt asked politely, looking shocked.

  “Of course not! She’s just making it up!” Supervisor Tachibana waved a hand in front of her face, laughing.

  “Oh, it’s true all right! You see that blue water bottle she carries around? It’s got champagne in it! You just watch: she’ll take a sip from it, and then—mmm tum-tum-tum—smack her lips!”

  “Oh stop! It’s not true,” protested Supervisor Tachibana.

  There was a suppressed snort, followed by an outright laugh, from the Woman in the Purple Skirt. This time it wasn’t just polite laughter. For the first time I heard the Woman in the Purple Skirt laugh and really mean it.

  “Would you like to take this home?” Supervisor Tsukada asked the Woman in the Purple Skirt, holding out an orange that she’d pulled out of the pocket of her dress.

  “Is it all right? Is that allowed?”

  “Of course! Haven’t I made that clear? Each of us has already taken one orange anyway.”

  “But what about . . .” For some reason the Woman in the Purple Skirt seemed to feel she shouldn’t. She glanced quickly at someone else, standing a little way away, behind Supervisor Tsukada. Supervisor Tsukada followed her eyes.

  “O-oh. Don’t worry about her. It’s fine. She hates fruit.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Of course it is. Right, Supervisor Gondo?”

  “Well, if it really is all right. Thank you. I will take the orange,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt said, and gave a little bob of her head.

  The Woman in the Purple Skirt took the apple and the orange offered to her by Supervisor Tsukada, hid them in the folds of her black dress, and headed to the locker room to change. Walking past the office, she leaned forward and called out, “Otsukare-sama desu!” like the embodiment of the dutiful new recruit. The regular staff members, apparently forgetting all their scorn at the morning meeting, called out the required exhortations. “Good work today!” “Give it your best tomorrow too!”

  It was the Woman in the Purple Skirt’s second day at work. Today she took the 8:02 bus, the one after the bus she took the day before. During the week, the bus comes every twenty minutes. The earlier bus gets you in with too much time to spare before the morning meeting. But the later one means you end up arriving late for work. The Woman in the Purple Skirt took the middle one, and punched in at 8:52.

  This morning the Woman in the Purple Skirt delivered her greetings in a ringing voice. “Ohayo gozaimasu!” she called out when she entered the office. And again, when she opened the door to the locker room: “Ohayo gozaimasu!”

  The director and other members of the staff glanced up. “Ohayo!” they replied. An approving little smile appeared on the face of the director, who was no doubt pleased with how effective his coaching had been.

  Some of the staff asked her how she was today—whether her body was stiff or sore anywhere. “No!” she replied cheerfully. “I’m quite all right!” For my part I knew for a fact that every muscle of hers must be aching. Her shoulders, her arms, her hips, her legs. As she waited for the bus, I had seen her tilt her neck from side to side till her vertebrae popped, a little frown on her face.

  Today, day two, the Woman in the Purple Skirt changed quickly into her work uniform. Yesterday she had taken quite a lot of time, but today she seemed to have it all down pat. It looked like she had put on her tights at home. The ties of her apron were drawn over her shoulders in a neat X across her back, without a single twist.

  Looking at herself in the mirror on the inside of the locker door, the Woman in the Purple Skirt began brushing her hair. I noticed the brush she was using had the hotel logo on the handle. Yesterday Supervisor Tsukada had told her to take anything she fancied from the hotel amenities, and she had picked out this hairbrush as well as some cotton swabs. Every stroke of the brush sent a strong gust of “fresh floral” fragrance wafting into my nostrils.

  Just before she left the locker room, the Woman in the Purple Skirt did some simple stretches. Grunting softly, she executed a few knee bends and a few rolls of her shoulder blades. It actually looked as if she were in quite a bit of pain. I knew that it wasn’t just her work at the hotel that was to blame. The truth was that after work, the Woman in the Purple Skirt had spent a full ninety minutes literally running around.
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  Yesterday, just under half the hotel rooms were booked. Having punched out at 3:30 p.m., the Woman in the Purple Skirt boarded the 3:53 bus and arrived back in her neighborhood at just past 4:30. Whenever the Woman in the Purple Skirt had got off work early before, she would go straight home. But yesterday, in an unusual break with precedent, she dropped by the park.

  Upon taking her Exclusively Reserved Seat, the Woman in the Purple Skirt reached inside the tote bag on her lap and took out a large, bright red apple—the apple that Supervisor Tsukada had given her. She brought it up to her face, opened her mouth wide, and took a large bite.

  Immediately she took another bite, and then another one. Three bites in quick succession. She was about to take a fourth bite when some children called out from beyond the fence. “Hey! There she is!” “She’s eating an apple!” Suddenly there they were, laughing and pointing at her. With a chorus of whoops, they hopped over the metal wicket gates at the park’s entrance. Forming a circle not too far from her bench, they started cheerfully playing rock-paper-scissors. For three rounds, the game ended in a tie, and on the fourth round someone who’d thrown out scissors lost. “Aw! Son of a bitch!” he cursed, looking upset, of course, but also, predictably, rather pleased. He trotted up to the Woman in the Purple Skirt, arm raised.

  Wham! The impact as he brought his hand down on the Woman in the Purple Skirt’s shoulder knocked the apple out of her grasp, and it fell to the ground.

  The boy let out a little cry, and turned pale. Surely he should have known this would happen if he hit her so hard? The boy stared at the apple as it rolled along the ground, and the other children too stared.

  The apple rolled right up to the garbage can, where it finally came to a standstill. The leader, the one who had whacked the Woman in the Purple Skirt, seemed to return to his senses, and ran after it. He picked up the apple, which now had some dirt on it, and brought it back to her with a look of apology on his face.

  “Sorry.” The boy held out the apple to her, timidly.

  Immediately the other children, all of whom had been looking on, ran up to the Woman in the Purple Skirt, one after another, and stood before her, heads bowed. Sorry! We didn’t mean it! Truly, we are very sorry! We apologize! We made a mistake! So sorry!

  The sight of all the children, heads bobbing, was so bizarre, I half thought they were starting another of their games.

  But I was wrong. That wasn’t the case at all. The children were apologizing from the bottom of their hearts. The eyes of the boy who had whacked her were even pooling with tears.

  “It’s quite all right!” The Woman in the Purple Skirt waved her hand slightly in front of her breast to show no hard feelings.

  It’s quite all right! Had she really said that? The surprise of it seemed to stun the children.

  She actually said something!

  Yeah, amazing, isn’t it?

  The children exchanged glances, and looked curiously at the Woman in the Purple Skirt.

  “I’ll go and wash it!” The boy who had whacked her dashed off toward the water fountain. And the other children ran off after him.

  “You don’t have to do that. It’s quite all right!” The Woman in the Purple Skirt stood up from her bench and went over to the water fountain.

  Together the children washed the apple meticulously, passing it one to the other, each taking it in turn. Finally, the apple, now washed absolutely clean, was pressed into the hands of the Woman in the Purple Skirt. When she returned to her seat, the children followed, gathering around her. Then she took a bite of the apple.

  “It tastes good.” The Woman in the Purple Skirt handed it to a boy who stood next to her. The boy who had whacked her on the shoulder. After taking a bite, he announced: “It does taste good.” He then passed the apple to the girl standing next to him. She too took a bite, and then passed it on to another girl, who was standing next to her.

  “It tastes good.”

  “So sweet.”

  “And juicy.”

  “It’s delicious.”

  Round and round the apple went, counterclockwise, with the Woman in the Purple Skirt standing in the middle of the children. One boy took a bite, and then a girl took a bite next to his, and then another girl next to her bite, and then a boy next to hers, and another boy next to his, and yet another boy took a bite out of the place next to his, and then the Woman in the Purple Skirt took a bite next to the place he had bitten into. After two rounds of this, the apple was reduced to its core.

  Once they had finished the apple, the Woman in the Purple Skirt and the children began to play a game of tag. This was the first time the Woman in the Purple Skirt had ever been made a member of the children’s little gang. The game of tag continued on and on, till well after nightfall, and each and every one of them had a go at being “it.”

  The Woman in the Purple Skirt was the last one to be “it.”

  Scattering all over the park, the children ran hither and thither like little mice, their darting, unpredictable movements keeping them easily out of reach. Even for someone like her, with her background in competitive sports, it seemed impossible to catch them. Round and round she went for a while, trying her very best to tag them, looking as if she were putting her heart and soul into it, but then, at a certain point, unaccountably, she suddenly stopped running.

  Turning her back on the children as they darted around her, the Woman in the Purple Skirt started looking at the flower beds, then cast a glance up at the park’s clock and walked very slowly all around, as if she were taking a stroll. Something wasn’t right, the children realized, and they ran up to her with expressions of concern. I too was concerned. What on earth could have happened?

  “What’s the matter?” asked one, peering up inquiringly into her face.

  “Are you mad at us?”

  The Woman in the Purple Skirt let out a sigh. “I’m so tired.”

  “You’re tired?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Would you like to take a break?” a little boy asked her, standing right in front of her.

  And then—

  She gave him a sharp tap on the shoulder. “Ha-ha! Gotcha! You’re ‘it’!” she cried with a huge smile on her face.

  Auuugh! It was a trick! The children all squealed and laughed and clapped their hands. Quite the player, aren’t you? You had us completely fooled! The children gave the Woman in the Purple Skirt pats of congratulation on her shoulders and back. With every pat, clouds of dust rose into the air and wafted on the night breeze all the way over to me as I sat on the bench closest to the park’s entrance.

  A few minutes later, the park was deserted. I spotted a single orange underneath the Exclusively Reserved Seat. I picked it up and sank my teeth straight into it, not even bothering to peel it. Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp. Just like they’d done with the apple. I didn’t actually reach the flesh of the orange on my first bite, but I carried on guzzling, and gradually the juice started to fill up my mouth and drench my chin.

  I gave myself over to chomping the orange. All that watching from a distance had left me parched.

  But of course the Woman in the Purple Skirt could hardly take today off for being sore all over from too much tag. So her second day at work was just as exacting as her first, and she started her training first thing in the morning.

  Every so often, I would hear Supervisor Tsukada through the door, which was left open, saying to her: “Well, this is a secret, but how about . . .” It seemed some sort of person-to-person transfer was taking place of the tips and tricks for cleaning rooms quickly without exerting too much effort. As someone who made no bones about refusing to teach anyone she considered a shirker, Supervisor Tsukada evidently thought highly of the Woman in the Purple Skirt, who hung on her every word and wrote down in her notebook even the most trivial bit of advice. At this rate, I could see her completing her t
raining within a month. Once that happened, she would be working on her own much more, making it easier for me to get to talk to her face-to-face—certainly easier than it was now, when she was working among all these people.

  Today, yet again, I managed to miss the opportunity to introduce myself.

  I’d had one chance in the final few minutes before the afternoon shift. She was alone in the cafeteria, enjoying a cup of tea. Just as I was working up the courage to go up to her, the director appeared and sat down next to her—right where I was hoping to sit.

  “How are you finding everything? Do you think you’ll stay?” I heard him ask her, evidently taking an interest in how the new employee was coming along.

  “Yes! I am doing quite all right!” the Woman in the Purple Skirt answered with a smile.

  “Ah, good. Between you and me, I was concerned that the supervisors might be bullying you.” He lowered his voice as he said this last part.

  “Everybody’s being very kind,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt replied.

  “Hm. I hope that’s the case. It’s a motley crew we’ve got here. Especially those supervisors. Some of them are very eccentric. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Er . . . Um. Well . . .”

  “Take Tsukada-san, for example . . .”

  “Er . . . Um . . .” And she gave a little giggle.

  “Hamamoto-san’s pretty weird. And Tachibana-san, and Shinjo-san, Hori-san, Miyaji-san . . . Not forgetting Nakaya-san, or Okita-san. Nonomura-san . . . Every one of them is an oddball, frankly. Very fierce, all of them.”

  “Fierce . . . ?” Another little giggle.

  “It’s like a zoo.”

  “Oh, that’s going too far. . . .” Again she emitted a giggle—slightly longer this time.

  “Have you managed to remember who everyone is?”

  “You mean the supervisors? Em, well, actually, no. . . .”

  “I see. Well, I suppose they change every day, don’t they, except for Supervisor Tsukada. It won’t be long before you know them by name.”