“Me? One of the trainers?”
“Well, I don’t mean immediately. But I intend to, as soon as I can. So when your training finishes, I want you to start preparing yourself to be a supervisor.”
“Really? That may be more than I can handle. . . .”
“Nonsense. Look, it doesn’t take any particular skill to be in that job. Surely that should be clear. All you have to do is look at those women—every one of them careless as can be. One or two of them are so lazy that the minute they become supervisors they begin to think they can do whatever they want, and begin blowing off work. I think you might add an element of freshness, Hino-san, if you were to join them—they definitely need someone to make them sit up a little. Still, I’m afraid this won’t make any difference to your terms of employment—you won’t get any perks, and your uniform will be the same one you have now. At most, you could expect your pay to go up about thirty yen per hour. Of course, if you stay, you’ll eventually be considered for a promotion to a regular member of the staff, and, if you wanted to, depending on the results of an assessment you’d have to take, there might even be the possibility of getting assigned to the head office. Did I hear from Supervisor Tsukada that you made a declaration that you wanted to do this job for as long as you possibly could?”
“Em, well, I don’t think I made a ‘declaration’ exactly. . . .”
“You know, when she told me, I felt a sense of . . . how can I put it . . . intense personal joy. That’s right. Personal joy.”
“Director . . .”
“That’s right. I felt a kind of personal joy.”
As I eavesdropped on this conversation, I found myself feeling irritated. Not once had the Woman in the Purple Skirt mentioned that she’d had her nose tweaked.
Perhaps she thought the person who had touched her bottom had also pinched her nose? Well, it wasn’t him. It was me.
The next morning I took my place in line at the bus stop, having decided on a particular course of action. I would try tweaking her nose again. Yesterday so many people had come up to her. Hey, I heard some pervert groped you? You poor thing, that must’ve been awful! And each time someone commiserated, she replied: “Yes, I know! It was awful!” And: “Yes, I know! Some weirdo touched my bottom!”
As far as I could tell, she never mentioned, not even once, that her nose had been tweaked. I had tweaked it—I was sure of that. Or maybe it wasn’t actually her nose that I had tweaked. Had I tweaked someone else’s? It was unclear. Anyway, if things continued as they were, it would be as if something I’d done had not actually happened at all.
So I would do it again. And this time, much harder. I might dig my nails into the flesh on the top of her nose, and make her bleed.
The Woman in the Purple Skirt might fly into a rage, and then grab me and drag me off the bus. But I didn’t care. That would allow me to tell her who I was, and to apologize to her, and beg her forgiveness. And then we could become friends.
But despite my well-laid plans, that morning there was no sign of the Woman in the Purple Skirt.
After watching the 8:02 bus come and go, I sat down on the bench at the bus stop and continued waiting for her. The next bus would get me in late, but if that’s what it took, I could accept it.
By the time the next bus arrived, there was still no sign of her. Maybe it was her day off? Impossible, I thought, and quickly checked my diary. No, her next day off was Monday. Definitely not today.
I ended up waiting a full hour, but she didn’t appear.
Since I had missed the morning meeting, I did a quick check of the whiteboard in the office for the occupancy rate and list of nonbookable rooms. In the column for “Other Items” was a catalog of the previous day’s oversights, written in the director’s messy scrawl—“Room 210: Tea not replenished. Room 709: Bathtub not cleaned. Room 811: Window left unlocked.”—together with the usual stern warning: “NOTE: The figures for toiletries and amenities do not add up! Any items that go missing should be reported to your floor supervisor immediately!” After punching in, I took a look at the Woman in the Purple Skirt’s time card, and saw that she had arrived at 8:50 a.m. This was almost the exact same time that she had arrived on her second day.
What could this mean? If she hadn’t taken the bus, had she come by train? But she still would have had to board the bus to get to the train station. Had she taken a taxi? How much would that have cost—maybe three thousand yen? It was hard to imagine she had that kind of money just lying around. In which case, maybe she had walked to work? That would probably take a good two hours, and she would have worn herself out before the workday even began.
That day, however, she was even more energetic than usual.
When I peeked in on her, I saw her darting all over the room, cloth in one hand, little dust mop in the other.
“Quickly! Hurry up!” Supervisor Tsukada was saying. “Get every speck of dust!”
“Yes! Understood!” came the crisp reply.
This seemed to make Supervisor Tsukada only ratchet up the pressure.
“Five minutes left! Quick! Quick! Tomorrow you’ll have to do this all on your own!”
“Got it! Understood!”
That afternoon, in the final few minutes before the Woman in the Purple Skirt was due to go home, Supervisor Tsukada stamped her seal on a certificate, signifying that the Woman in the Purple Skirt had successfully completed the training.
This was her fifth day at work. It was unheard of for this to happen. Normally it took people a whole month, or two—and sometimes, for the slowest ones, half a year. Everyone, from the director to the other cleaning staff, was shocked.
As for what it meant for the Woman in the Purple Skirt, well, getting recognized as a full-fledged room cleaner in such a short time clearly gave a boost to her self-confidence. Beginning the very next day, she would be walking around with a master key dangling from her waist, giving her access to all the rooms. As she walked past me, she seemed very pleased with herself.
This was something that everyone on staff experienced, not just her: a definite air of relaxation—call it a lightness in their step—the very second they got that official stamp certifying they’ve completed their training. And it’s understandable. During training, their every move is scrutinized—they get told off, occasionally treated quite sadistically, made to do the same task over and over again till they get it absolutely right—so, not surprisingly, they become cowed. Their recognition as full-fledged employees means liberation—finally they can get out from under those supervisors. They can unlock the rooms, clean them, exit, and lock the doors—all by themselves. At last, they are in charge—of everything. In place of the pressure from all the responsibilities, the feeling of freedom must be exhilarating.
And sure enough, recently, some marked differences did seem to be discernible in the behavior of the Woman in the Purple Skirt, not only in the commitment with which she approached her work but also in the way she spent her days off.
For one, she was getting out much more than she used to. Of course, it still wasn’t to anywhere special—just to the shopping district or the park.
And today she was back to her usual routine. First she bought some groceries in the shopping district, then a few things for her home, and once she had done that, she carried on walking till she reached the park.
“Hey! She’s coming!” The children were already there.
The minute they saw her appear at the park entrance, they all ran up to her in a gaggle.
“Well? Did you bring it?”
The Woman in the Purple Skirt nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Oh, wow!” they all shouted excitedly. Pulling her by the hand, they led her over to the Exclusively Reserved Seat.
Once she had sat down, the children all crowded around. Quickly! Quickly! they urged her. From a paper carrier bag, the Woman in the Purple Skirt pulled out a
box of chocolates.
She gave it to a boy. Evidently the leader.
“Yessss!” he exclaimed as she put it in his hands. Now everyone turned and gathered around him. Come on. I want one! Give me one too!
“Now, all of you, you must share,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt said in a gentle voice. “There should be one for each of you.”
The children barely seemed to hear her, so eager were they to pick out a chocolate. Despite what she had said, they already seemed to be fighting over them.
These chocolates, containing the finest ganache made from specially selected cocoa beans from countries all over the world, and the purest cream made from the highest-quality milk in Hokkaido, cost 980 yen each. The lid was embossed with the hotel crest, comprising the letters m&h with a winged horse that had a ring of flowers around its neck. There was even a little card with a message from the patisserie that had made them.
Oh, yum. It’s so creamy. . . . The children all savored the taste, looking blissful, as if they really could appreciate the difference between these chocolates and the cheap chocolate squares they were used to. Meanwhile the Woman in the Purple Skirt looked on, an expression in her eyes like that of the Madonna.
When the children learned that the Woman in the Purple Skirt had a job, they were all astounded. It seems they had assumed—along with everyone else, myself included—from the way she was so often seen wandering around on weekdays, that she was unemployed.
“Well, I’ve had jobs, but it was always on and off,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt explained to the children, who looked at her wide-eyed. She seemed shyly pleased.
“What kind of work do you do?” some of the children asked.
“Cleaning work,” she replied.
“You mean that kind of work exists?”
“Yes, it does!” she replied.
“You get paid just for cleaning?”
“Yes!”
“That’s not fair! I clean my room every day! And the hallway. But I’ve never been paid a single yen!”
“Well, it’s work. It’s a little different from household chores,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt explained. This was certainly true.
“I’m going to get a cleaning job too, then. When I grow up,” one of the girls said.
“Me too!” echoed one of the boys.
“And me!” Another boy.
“Me too!” This time a girl.
One after another, their hands went up.
“Let’s all get cleaning jobs in the same company!”
“Yeah!”
“You can come and work for my company,” said the Woman in the Purple Skirt. “You know that big building right by the train station? The white hotel? The one with m&h in big letters on the front. That’s where I work. When you grow up, you can all get jobs there.”
“M&H? I’ve seen that.”
“You can see it from the train.”
“That’s right. That’s the one. It’s visible from the train, and the bus. It’s a very grand hotel. Lots of celebrities stay there,” said the Woman in the Purple Skirt.
“Wow! Which ones?”
“Well, last week, Akira Mine was one of our guests.”
“The enka singer?”
“Uh-huh. And the day before yesterday, Reina Igarashi, the starlet, stayed there.”
“Reina Igarashi? How cool is that?!”
“Is she beautiful?”
“Mm . . .” The Woman in the Purple Skirt thought for moment. “Pretty average, I’d say.”
“That’s so cool . . . ! I wish I could meet Reina Igarashi. Do you think someone like me could do cleaning work too?” This was one of the boys.
“Sure.”
“What about me?” asked a little girl.
“Of course, no problem. It’s a bit overwhelming at first. But you get the hang of it.”
“Isn’t it hard?”
“There are some parts that can be hard, but once you’ve done them a few times, it becomes easy. There’s nothing to worry about. If you come work in the hotel, I’ll be the one who trains you.”
It had been only a day or two since the director had suggested that one day he might make her a supervisor. In front of him, she had downplayed the possibility, but privately she must have been delighted. And now here she was, coming out with all these confident pronouncements. One would never have thought this newly certified housekeeper was only a few days into her job.
When they had finished their chocolates, one of the boys put his hand on the now empty box.
“Can I have this box?” he said.
“All right, you can have it. What do you plan to use it for?”
“To store coupons. My mother collects them to use in the school bazaars. The box she’s got now is way too full!”
“I want it!” A girl spoke up.
“No, it’s mine. She gave it to me!”
“I’ll let you have the next one, Mika-chan,” said the Woman in the Purple Skirt.
“When will that be?”
“I can’t say for sure. As soon as I manage to get hold of one.”
“I want one too,” another boy said.
“All right. Then we’ll make a waiting list. Top of the list, Mika-chan. Then it’s you, Mok-kun.”
“Promise?”
“Hey, I think I’ve seen this picture before,” one girl said suddenly, peering across the lid of the box now in the boy’s hands. “Now where did I see it . . . ?”
“That’s the logo of the hotel where I work,” said the Woman in the Purple Skirt. “The same logo is on the boxes of all the sweets I’ve been giving you—the cookies, the Baumkuchen cake, everything. It’s on all the hotel’s products.”
“Oh. What is it? A horse?” This from the boy she had called Mok-kun.
“It’s Pegasus,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt replied.
“Ohh!” The girl staring down at the box suddenly looked up. “I remember! It’s the same as the mark on some of our towels at home!”
“Your towels?”
“Yes. It’s on our bath towels, our hand towels, and on the really small facecloths as well. They’re easily the prettiest and softest of all the ones we have!”
“Hmm. Maybe someone in your family bought them at the hotel. But I wasn’t aware that they were actually selling towels. . . .”
“No! We bought them at the local bazaar!”
“The bazaar?”
“Yes, the bring-and-buy sale at school! I went along with Mommy, and that’s where we bought them. You mean you don’t go to the bazaar, Mayu-san?”
“I have to admit, I don’t.”
“Really?” one boy asked with a surprised look on his face. “I always make sure to go, every time. They sell hot dogs and everything! And there’s also a game center. It’s a blast!”
“I see. Well . . .”
“Whenever I go, I get my mom to buy me manga and sneakers!” a girl said.
“No kidding. And when does this bazaar take place?”
“The third Sunday of every month! Next time, come, Mayu-san!”
“All right, I will. If I happen to have the day off.”
Well, it appeared they were now all on first-name terms. To me, the children’s faces were indistinguishable, but from this conversation I was able to divine that one of the boys was called Mok-kun, and one of the girls Mika-chan. As for the rest, there seemed to be a Yuji, someone else called Kanepon, and a girl called Minami-chan. The person they were calling “Mayu-san” was the Woman in the Purple Skirt. This conversation was soon followed by another in which “Mayu-san” entertained the children with a story of how she’d nearly brushed shoulders with a celebrity at work. The children hung on her every word.
The day after she completed her training, the Woman in the Purple Skirt was assigned to the
thirtieth floor, where TV celebrities and idols often stayed. Each floor had specific cleaning teams, which meant I could hardly ever just pop by to see her. It was now extremely rare that I caught sight of her at work. In recent weeks, I was more likely to be able to get an idea of how she was doing from my sightings of her in the park and on the shopping street.
Ever since the groping incident, the Woman in the Purple Skirt had stopped riding the bus to work. I would see her take the bus home, so it seemed it was only the morning bus she avoided. The only other ways she could get to work were by train, foot, or taxi, but which of those she was using was still a mystery to me. Judging by her time card, for a while now she seemed to have been getting in a good fifteen minutes earlier than when she’d been taking the bus. In the mornings, by the time I got to the locker room, more often than not she had finished changing, and was looking at herself in the mirror and assiduously brushing her hair. With every stroke of the brush, that “fresh floral” fragrance wafted around the room. I’d given her only five days’ worth of samples. Two weeks passed, then three weeks, and yet her hair was still smelling of that sweet perfume. It seemed impossible. But there was a simple explanation.
Not long before, I had seen her on the shopping street buying a shampoo refill pouch at the pharmacy, which meant she had already purchased a whole bottle of the shampoo. She must have taken a real shine to those samples I’d given her. I considered all the hotel shampoo she could have availed herself of at absolutely no charge. And not only shampoo: conditioner, body wash, bars of soap . . . I knew that nearly all the cleaning staff had bottles of shampoo with the hotel crest on their bathroom shelf at home. Everybody’s hair smelled exactly the same, day after day. The only one who was any different was the Woman in the Purple Skirt, whose hair had that special floral fragrance.
A couple of days before, I’d heard Supervisor Tsukada ask her about it.
“Hino-chan. Is there a reason you don’t use the hotel shampoo?”
“Em, well . . . ,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt answered. She looked a bit uncomfortable.
“Well, why don’t you use it? It’s pretty good.”
The Woman in the Purple Skirt Page 6