And see how their old friend “Mayu-san” now has long, pointed scarlet fingernails. With those sharp nails of hers, “Mayu-san” taps at the buttons on the pay phone’s keypad. After dialing, she quickly replaces the receiver. Calls, then hangs up. Calls again, hangs up again. Calls, then hangs up. Calls, waits, then quickly hangs up. After replacing the receiver, she sighs and tuts with chagrin. On her days off, every hour she has is spent making such calls. In the early morning, late at night . . . No matter the time of day. Again and again she calls—and again, and again. Calls, then almost immediately hangs up. I have watched her do it so many times that now even I know the director’s telephone number by heart.
The woman in the Purple Skirt seems to be going through the most terrible time. She is distraught. She doesn’t know what to do.
She is upset nearly every hour of the day. And what’s more, she’s all alone in her distress. Because what is causing it is not something you can actually confide in other people. And anyway, who is there that she could confide in? She still doesn’t have a single close friend.
As far as I can tell, though, she’s determined to keep denying whatever it is that she has with the director. Apparently, if anyone asks her even jokingly whether they might be having an affair, she furiously denies it.
“. . . and then she said: ‘No, we are not having a relationship!’”
“Ha ha! I can totally picture her when you say it like that.”
“Does she really think people don’t see through that?”
“So dishonest. . . .”
“Hey, you know how when she’s cleaning a room she locks the door from the inside? Don’t you think that’s kind of gross? I mean, she could be doing anything in there . . . !”
“Yeah, she’s probably got the director in there with her . . . ! Ha ha ha.”
“Shh!”
As soon as the Woman in the Purple Skirt stepped into the elevator, everyone fell silent. The moment she stepped out, everyone resumed talking.
“Oh my God! What a stink! Like rotten bananas!”
“And did you see those nails? The color of blood!”
“Somebody told me the manager took her aside and gave her a talking-to. If she breaks any more rules, he said, apparently she’ll be out on her backside.”
“Well, I hope she does get tossed out on her backside—and quickly. Did you hear what she’s getting paid?”
“How much?”
“Well, I heard one thousand five hundred yen per hour! Can you believe that?!”
The gossip being spread about her grew worse every day—and more and more exaggerated. And the more it swirled, the more pitiless the other staff members became.
But then, just when they had decided they could not have the director’s little lady friend running roughshod over them a moment longer—if she didn’t get the sack, they were going to take the matter directly to the head office—a certain rather decisive event occurred.
It was reported that some of the products for sale at one of the elementary school bazaars were suspiciously like the complimentary items offered to hotel guests.
The person who made the report did not leave a name. Immediately an official from the hotel rushed over to the school to investigate, and confirmed that the items were indeed taken from the hotel. Ten bath towels, ten hand towels, and five bath mats—exactly what had gone missing the previous month.
And who had been selling them? Some children enrolled at that very school.
Each of the children apparently gave the same explanation. “We only set up a stall because we were asked to—by someone else.” A woman, they said, had promised that she would reward them with some pocket money.
“It’s not that we suspect any of you.” It was a Monday. The hotel manager looked strangely calm as he began to speak. This was the second meeting he had attended this month. “The cleaning staff aren’t the only ones who have access to the rooms, after all. Guests enter, of course. Bellhops, room service, maintenance staff, and others enter regularly—even people who have nothing whatsoever to do with the hotel. I can only repeat what I told you all before: Please keep a close eye on the list of supplies. If you see that something has gone missing, you must report it immediately to whoever’s in charge. If anyone doesn’t report a complimentary item that’s missing, or marks it on the checklist as being there when it’s not—in other words, if anyone attempts to cover up for missing inventory—I will want to know why. Now, ladies. All I want from you is honesty. If you come forward and own up to it now, you won’t be accused of anything. But if no one comes forward, then the hotel will have no option but to report this to the police as theft, and ask them to open an investigation. I repeat: If you come forward now, you will not be accused of anything. The hotel management is fully in agreement. If there are any questions, you can call me on my personal cell phone. I’m available twenty-four hours. Utterly confidential.”
Although normally the cleaning staff would have expressed outrage—“What does he mean, he doesn’t suspect us? It’s practically stamped all over his face!”—today they just stood there, meekly accepting his instructions. It was obvious that they were just as convinced as he was that the culprit was someone in that very room. And every one of them—not only the supervisors but also the junior staff—had one particular person in mind. There was a perfectly good reason for this: the primary school that was the scene of the crime was just a stone’s throw away from that person’s apartment.
“I bet you it’s Hino-san.”
“Yeah. Me too. I’m sure of it.”
“Her apartment is right by that school. It’s got to be her.”
“I wonder whether the director is aware that this has been going on?”
“Don’t you think he’s the one pulling the strings behind the scenes . . . ?”
“Why would he do that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He’s in need of some extra cash.”
“Well, you don’t exactly make millions by selling things at a bazaar. . . .”
“It shows how desperate he is for money, I suppose.”
“Well, he needs it now that he’s getting a divorce. . . .”
“What?! He’s getting a divorce?!”
“Well, he’s got a new woman now, doesn’t he!”
“He’s not getting a divorce. Just recently he was telling me about a trip he took with his wife to Ishigaki Island, to celebrate their tenth anniversary. He went on and on about it. I hadn’t even asked.”
“Oh. Well. Pretty soon, then, you can be sure that girl’s going to find herself dumped.”
“She must be stealing all this stuff as a way of intimidating him.”
“Ah-hah. That’s possible.”
“Shh. Here she is.”
The Woman in the Purple Skirt had silently appeared in the foyer outside the elevator. As usual her face betrayed an utter lack of concern.
“Thief,” Supervisor Tsukada said under her breath. Maybe the lack of concern had irritated her.
“Did you say something?” The Woman in the Purple Skirt turned and looked in the direction of the voice. At long last, a reaction. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh really now,” said Supervisor Tsukada sarcastically. “Even though the elementary school is in your neighborhood?”
“So? You think that proves anything?” The Woman in the Purple Skirt glared at Supervisor Tsukada.
There was a tense silence.
“You lock the rooms from the inside, don’t you, when you do your cleaning?” This was Supervisor Hamamoto. “Do you mind telling us what you get up to in there?”
“I don’t see why that—”
“Just tell us what you get up to!” Supervisor Tsukada demanded.
“I drink a cup of coffee . . . ,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt replied in a quiet voice.
“From
the hospitality tray?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all?”
“I might also sometimes eat a cake.”
“You mean a cake from the minibar? That the guests have to pay for?”
“Yes. . . .”
“Did you hear? She steals cakes from the minibar!” Despicable! The very worst kind of behavior! everyone muttered in agreement.
“Hold on a minute,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt retorted. “I’m not the only one who does so. Everyone does it—I know for a fact! And anyway, you, Supervisor Tsukada . . .”
“What about me?”
“Well, you were the one who encouraged me to do it in the first place. ‘If you want to have a cup of coffee, just lock the door from the inside. The front desk is always notified automatically if you watch a video. But the minibar is safe—we supervisors can always make up some excuse for cakes and snacks going missing.’ Isn’t that what you said? So I was only doing what you taught me.”
Supervisor Tsukada gave a sigh. “Huh. Shifting the blame.”
“Well? Didn’t you say that? I seem to remember you saying, ‘One of us even likes to help herself to the champagne!’ Yes, Supervisor Tachibana, don’t you remember? That water bottle I can see poking out of your bag. It’s filled with champagne, isn’t it?”
“What? You actually believed that?” Supervisor Hamamoto widened her eyes. “What’s wrong with you, girl? That was a joke!”
Everyone burst into laughter. Supervisor Tachibana was laughing just as hard as everyone else, holding her belly. “I admit I like my drink, but I’m not that stupid!”
Just then, the Woman in the Purple Skirt reached out and snatched Supervisor Tachibana’s bag.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!”
The Woman in the Purple Skirt pulled out the light blue water bottle, twisted off the cap, and sniffed.
“Give that back now!”
One of the older ladies wrested the bottle and the bag from the Woman in the Purple Skirt, and returned them to Supervisor Tachibana.
“Why snatch her bag like that? How rude can you get?!”
“It’s mugicha,” Supervisor Tachibana snorted, screwing the cap back on. “No champagne in it. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“If that’s really what you think,” Supervisor Tsukada said, “why not check all our water bottles? You can start with mine!”
She pulled her water bottle out of her bag and shoved it under the Woman in the Purple Skirt’s nose.
“And mine.”
“Mine too.”
“Here, smell mine.”
“And here’s mine.”
Everyone pulled their water bottle out of their bag, one after the other, twisted off the cap, and held it up to the Woman in the Purple Skirt’s face.
The Woman in the Purple Skirt now found herself penned in by a ring of faces. Powerless, she glared silently at all the bottles held out in front of her.
But what was this? If I wasn’t mistaken, she was wiggling her nose. She really did appear to be smelling all the water bottles, going from one to the other, checking, quite carefully, whether any had alcohol in them. At this, everyone burst out laughing all over again.
“Can you believe this? Is she insane?”
It was only nine in the morning. The day’s work had not yet begun. Not one of the water bottles had a trace of alcohol in it.
Finally, the Woman in the Purple Skirt set her eyes on a water bottle just outside the circle of women. She bent forward to sniff it.
“You idiot!” Supervisor Tsukada scoffed. “She doesn’t even like alcohol!”
Just then, the Woman in the Purple Skirt, who had been keeping her eyes lowered, looked up.
“Can’t you tell?” Supervisor Tsukada continued. “Look at her! The face of a straitlaced prude, if I ever saw one!”
For a brief second, there we were, our eyes locked.
The Woman in the Purple Skirt was the first to avert her eyes. She threw a quick glance at my water bottle, which still had its cap screwed on. But that was as far as she was going to go.
“Are you satisfied now?” Supervisor Tsukada said. “Not one of us is doing anything we have to feel the least bit guilty about. Except, that is, for you.”
“You should admit your own guilt before slinging mud at other people!”
“Exactly! Why not do it? If you own up now, the manager says you’ll have nothing to answer for!”
“Or do you want us to report you? Is that it?”
“Oh now, don’t give us that dirty look!”
“If you have something on your mind, just say it!”
The Woman in the Purple Skirt stood her ground, staring angrily at everyone, but then, all of a sudden, she turned and made a dash toward a side door.
“Hey! Come back! Where do you think you’re going!”
“What about your work?”
But the Woman in the Purple Skirt was gone, never to return.
That evening, after work, I headed over to the Woman in the Purple Skirt’s dilapidated apartment.
I’d taken it for granted that she would be at home, but no lights were on. I strained my ears listening right outside the door, but there was not a peep.
For a while I hung around by a wall at the side of the road, to see if anything would happen. After thirty minutes, I thought I might check out the park, but just as I was getting ready to go I noticed a car making its way along the deserted street in my direction.
The black car came to a stop in front of the apartment building. I was quite familiar with this car. Today was a Monday. I made a quick note (“Visited”) in my diary.
The driver’s-side door opened, and out came the director. I got a good view of his dark shape, even more rotund than ever, slowly ascending the external stairs to the second floor.
The director stopped outside the apartment farthest from the stairs and knocked softly. Again and again he knocked, for about ten minutes. Then, suddenly, a light came on, visible in the previously dark window. The door opened, and through the crack I caught a glimpse of the Woman in the Purple Skirt’s face. So she had been home after all.
After a brief exchange, the director stepped forward and attempted to go inside. The Woman in the Purple Skirt stopped him, obviously angry.
“Don’t you dare come in here . . . !”
Then I heard her ask, “How was Ishigaki Island?” referring to the trip he’d taken with his wife for their tenth anniversary. Someone must have told her what the supervisors had talked about this morning. The trip was clearly news to her.
“Why do you bring that up?” the director shouted. “It’s irrelevant!”
She too shouted. “It’s relevant to me!”
“I didn’t come to talk about that, but about another thing!” the director yelled.
“Well, what is it? What is it you need to talk to me about?!”
“The things you’ve been stealing.” And here the director lowered his voice.
“So, even you think I did it?”
“Well, I mean, I have seen . . .” The director glanced inside her room. “You do have stuff from the hotel here. Cups . . . glasses . . .”
“These are for me to use,” the Woman in the Purple Skirt retorted. “Why would I sell any of these?”
“Also, well—the elementary school where the items were being sold is only a few blocks from here.”
“I’m telling you, I would never do such a thing!”
“Shush. Keep your voice down.”
“Did it not occur to you that someone else may be selling those items? Why do you assume it’s me? I know—it’s because you don’t love me anymore. That’s why you went to Ishigaki Island with your wife. . . .”
“I told you, don’t bring Ishigaki Island into this!” There was a smack. Th
e director had slapped the Woman in the Purple Skirt across the face.
“Ow!” the Woman in the Purple Skirt yelled. “That really hurt! Ow!”
“Look, sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. Please, calm down and listen to me for a minute. The fact is, I’m under suspicion too. They know about my affair with you, and they think I’m the mastermind behind it all! That’s what they’re all whispering. Ridiculous, isn’t it? Impossible! Why would I sell something in a bazaar? Oh God, what a mess! I’m really in for it!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, how else could you look at it? You must know why I’ve come today. . . . You don’t? Well, let me spell it out for you. I want you to write out a formal statement.”
“A statement?”
“Yes. Saying you were the one who thought all this up. That I had nothing to do with it! To give to the hotel manager.”
“Huh?” The Woman in the Purple Skirt raised her voice a notch louder. “I’m telling you, I didn’t do it!”
“You’re lying.”
“I am telling you the truth!”
“You are not! Stop lying to me! You used to give out cookies and chocolates from the hotel to the kids from that elementary school, didn’t you? What were those, if not hotel property? Well, actually, they belong to the guests. So, in effect, you were stealing things from the guests and passing them along to schoolkids. The same kids who were selling the hotel towels and dishware at the bazaar! Did you know about that? And guess what, those kids claim they were told to do it—by a woman! Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it—of course you did.”
“I didn’t! I didn’t know anything!”
“You made use of your position as a member of the staff and sold things that belonged to the hotel.”
“Stop! Shut up! What do you mean, ‘member of the staff’? Don’t you dare take that superior tone with me. What gives you the right? Don’t think I don’t know what you get up to. Taking naps every day in the nonbookable guest rooms. Locking the door from the inside. Treating yourself to a nice cup of coffee after taking forty winks. And just leaving the dirty cup there when you’ve finished with it. . . .”
The Woman in the Purple Skirt Page 9