“They?”
“Yes, three boys of about ten or eleven.”
“What do you mean by ‘inspired’?”
“Since last Tuesday I have come to notice that those boys kept watching me dropping things from that bridge.”
“But it alone doesn’t tell anything, Maya, does it? There is no physical evidence.”
“But I saw one of boys trying to put glass beads into an empty can of soda. Fortunately, however, he failed to do so at that moment. It seemed that his glass bead was a bit too large for that purpose. I even have several snapshots of those boys.”
“Oh boy.”
“Oh girl,” says Maya and giggles.
Then a sudden silence has fallen on the table between us.
Someone bursts into laughter near the entrance of this tearoom.
Maya sips a cup of cocoa with a vanilla ice cream on and I a glass of cold matcha au lait.
“What are we going to do?” I give a grimace.
“We? This has nothing to do with us. The only thing I can think of is that I have no intention to tell the police on those boys.”
“Why?”
“An artist must respect the free will of a person.”
“But I wonder whether we can regard a boy of about ten a person.”
“I believe the police will find it out sooner or later.”
I shrug off my own anxieties and ask if she has ever heard of a woman named Lady V from Yukio. Maya shakes her head and asks me back if the woman might have played an important part in the death of Yukio Misawa. So I flatly deny her assumption, but Maya bends her head slightly to one side.
According to her, Reiko called her the other day and asked if she would be able to have a private talk with her.
Maya answered yes in excitement and had a twin room in a four-star hotel reserved. It was windy and hazy with yellow sand blowing in from Mainland China last Saturday when Maya took Reiko to the hotel. Reiko was pleased with her discretion. They did some shopping together in the subterranean shopping center adjacent to the parking lot of the hotel.
They bought potato chips, chocolate bars, soft drinks, and two identical animal character dolls for their school bags. However, Reiko’s spirit began to droop as soon as they came back to the room on the thirty-eighth floor.
According to Reiko, her mother listened in on recorded conversations between her and her stepfather which Reiko had stored in her Mobile.
Reiko told Maya that she had been recording their intimate conversations solely for the commemoration of her adolescence since that night when they had gone to see a display of fireworks in Yokohama. Reiko said in a tearful voice; ‘There was no other reason for that. What my mother had done was as wicked as sneaking a look at my diary.’
Maya was at once excited and surprised at the private story which Reiko had never spoken before. Maya had a lot of questions to ask.
‘Did you actually sleep with your stepfather? When? Where? How many times? How was it?’
Then she realized that Reiko was no longer sobbing.
Sitting on the edge of a twin bed, Reiko rather looked exhilarated as if she had been released from some kind of a burden. Moreover, Reiko even seemed to be elated that she had been having an affair with the older Caucasian man.
“Somehow she looked different. Reiko was no longer the person I had been familiar with. I felt her becoming something alien, you know, as if her personality had been snatched away out of herself by some kind of invisible creature.”
I ask, “What about her relationship with her mother?”
“This is what I heard, okay?” says Maya and continues, “Her mother told her to keep everything private. Things must be kept in the way it always has been, her mother said. We need protection. We want security. We need a dependable husband and father. We need a beautiful house and expensive foreign cars. And your father is the man who can provide everything to us. So keep everything secret from others. We must proceed with our life as if nothing had happened.”
“Wow. That sounds cruel.”
Maya responds, “Well, her mother seems to me quite sensible and clever.”
“Oh, does she?”
“Anyway, Reiko was told that she would need a protective American father to whom she could be happily submissive. But Reiko seemed to be ravaged by that incident. She said that her plans were wrecked that day. So what? I had no idea what she was talking about. She had never told me her plan in the first place.”
“Yes, she betrayed you.” I sneer at Maya.
*
As I parted from Maya in front of the tearoom, I asked her if she had taken some snapshots of Yukio that cold morning.
She seemed to remember the gory scene and be appalled at my question. Having emphasized that she had no taste for the tragic death of her friend or the grotesque, Maya promised that she would look for some related image files stored in her Notebook as soon as she got home.
Accident
There had been a little incident a year before my little sister Naomi was killed by that ill-fated car accident. I could recall the incident when I saw the family of four at the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant, on my way home from the storeroom 7. The memory of it seemed to have been lost for a long time. Perhaps it was a kind of memory that had been frozen and buried so deep in my memory cells I could barely retrieve.
I was ten and my little sister Naomi four. I don’t remember whether it was July or August, but it would be sure that my school had already broken up for the summer.
My family set out on a three-day trip to the Izu Peninsula that is famous for its scenic beauty and as a hot-spring resort. From Tokyo it took about three hours to reach a cove that was an entrance to the Peninsula. We were exposed to the open seaside, the glowing mountainside, the tranquil waters of inlets, and the mysterious silhouettes of islets.
At a luxury hotel by the sea, my parents had various kind of seafood, while Naomi and I had hamburgers, fried chickens, hot dogs, French fries, and cones of ice cream. In the afternoon, at the sandy beach, my father seemed to be stealing a glance at young women in bikini with his eyes thinly open. My mother, wearing one-piece swimsuit, seemed to be worrying about her figure, especially the lower part of it, all the time.
We had no rain, only few occasional showers in the late afternoon.
I still believe that we had had a very good time until that incident happened.
It happened on our way back home.
*
My father was taking the wheel of his Toyota. My mother was in the passenger seat, staring at the display of GPS because we were taking a detour through a narrow and snaky mountain pass. Naomi and I were both in the rear seat, taking a magnificent view of cliffs and gorges through the rear window. We were approaching the highest point on the mountain pass when a large black motorcycle passed on the right at great speed. My little sister uttered a surprised cry and I caught a glimpse of a young man and a girl riding double on it.
As we went down through the steep downward slope, my father started to drive his car more cautiously than before.
And then, about halfway down the mountain, we encountered the strange scene of an accident. My father gave a faint groan the moment my mother covered her mouth with her hands. You could see the young man on the middle of the road crawling on his hands and knees toward the girl who was lying on her face by the white guardrail.
My father pulled over his Toyota, nervously got out, and warned us to stay in the car. Naomi and I pressed our foreheads against a rear door window to see what was happening.
The young man repeatedly called out the girl in a hoarse voice but she hadn’t moved an inch. His helmet was gone about thirty feet away from him and his motorcycle almost twenty feet down the slope. You could see his bare arms and his face being covered with blood. His left foot was twisted the other way around and his face being distorted with pain. My father held the young man in his arm and helped him to stagger to his right foot. My mother opened the window and a
sked my father not to make his summer jacket stained with blood.
‘What happened?’ asked Naomi with a lisp.
‘They had an accident,’ I said.
‘Why is he bleeding?’
‘Because they had an accident.’
‘Why?’
‘He fell down on the road, I guess.’
‘Does it hurt?’ asked Naomi drawing her brows together in a frown.
‘I guess so.’
‘Is that why he’s bleeding?’
‘Well, yes, definitely.’
Then Naomi whispered in my ear with a lisp, ‘I hate accident.’
I remember sunlight filtering down through the trees and covering the dark asphalt with bright dancing spots.
The young man timidly embraced the girl with a confused look and then locked himself in that position. It was eerily quiet around us. Soon my father had to keep him from shaking her. After he pulled them apart and let the young man sit with his back against the guardrail, my father handed him a handkerchief. I was proud of my father who kept telling the young man, ‘You’re all right. Calm down.’ My father looked larger-than-life. I am convinced that I was watching someone to whom I could be respectful.
My father slowly and carefully overturned the girl with a helmet on and looked into her eyes. She was staring up at my father with a blank look and her T-shirt was soaked with blood, especially around abdomen. I found a twig stuck into her left side. My father quickly covered it with his summer jacket, probably because he wanted to hide it from her eyes.
‘Oh, no, his summer jacket,’ my mother sighed.
‘Honey, this jacket is just a thing. This girl is bleeding.’
‘The jacket cost me a lot of my savings.’
‘What happened to that girl?’ Naomi again asked me with a lisp.
‘She had an accident too.’
‘Is she hurt?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Her hand looks funny.’
‘Funny?’
Naomi nodded firmly and pointed her frail-looking forefinger at the girl.
‘See? She has only three fingers.’
‘Yes, you’re right, Naomi.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘Some fingers are missing. That’s all.’
‘Ah…I see.’ Naomi firmly nodded.
My father came back and started calling 119 the ambulance by the Mobile but he couldn’t get through, for we were deep in the mountains and outside the coverage area.
My father took some bath towels out of the trunk and spread them all over the rear seat.
‘Daddy, daddy, I don’t want to take a nap.’
‘I’m not making a bed for you, Naomi. I’m making a bed for that girl.’
‘Is she coming with us?’ Naomi looked perplexed.
‘Yes, she is.’
‘I’m scared, daddy.’
‘You want to give a helping hand to that girl, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Naomi.
‘Daddy wants to help that girl,’ said my father.
‘I want to do it too then,’ responded Naomi with an anxious look.
‘No, you can’t. You cannot do that,’ said my mother, taking a backward glance at my father with cold stares.
‘This is a brand-new car with the monthly loan repayments,’ she added with a stony look.
Then a heated exchange between the two started, only both argued with each other in harsh whispers. The cause was quiet simple: My father wanted to take the girl to the hospital, while my mother wanted to keep the rear seat from being stained with blood. There seemed to be found no meeting ground.
That was the first time I had ever seen our parents quarreling with one another before my eyes.
I was scared and Naomi trembling.
I don’t remember how long it lasted. The next thing I can recall now is that we were leaving the spot. There were only Naomi and I in the rear seat as we had been before. We were leaving the young man and the girl behind. And my little sister was sitting on bath towels, facing the other way, the rear window. She kept watching behind.
‘What happened, daddy? Is she not coming with us?’
But my father answered nothing, nor did my mother.
‘They’re both watching us,’ I said.
Bath towels smelled of seawater, although very faintly.
Our parents were dead silent. They had not talked to each other for a long while since we had left the spot. Now I come to realize that there must have been an Oni hiding somewhere inside that deep and heavy silence between the two.
Sushi
My mother moistens a sheaf of spinach with boiling water for half a minute, cools it with tap water, then wrings water gently out of it, and dresses it with sugar, soy sauce, and ground sesame seed. She has already prepared two cups of crystal clear soup with diced tofu with fine strips of yuzu, an aromatic citron. In the middle of the dining table you can see a large dish of a colorfully assorted sushi she ordered from a sushi restaurant in our neighborhood.
My mother tells me that my father will be late home from the office.
“As he always has been,” I say.
“Anyway, you must have studied hard. I’m proud of this result.”
She is talking about my score in the final exam. I was the third in the whole class.
Takeshi was the seventh, Maya the fourth, and Reiko the second, by the way.
“You have one hundred and sixty freshmen in your class, don’t you?”
“I was the third out of one hundred and seventy-five freshmen.”
“I heard Miss. Reiko being the second. Who was at the top of the class, by the way?”
“A transfer student.”
“A big surprise, isn’t it?”
“A girl with a pink Mobile.”
“Some girl has all the luck.”
“I don’t think that it was a stroke of luck. She’s actually incredible.”
“Whatever she is, let’s celebrate your fine achievement, will you?”
“I’m sorry, mother, but…”
“But what?”
“I have few things I must talk about first.”
“Oh, I see. Then you might as well start talking before our soup get cold.”
At first I have brought up the memory of that accident we had encountered during the family trip.
“Excuse me, but I remember nothing,” my mother interrupts.
Nevertheless I begin to describe what happened that day as precisely as possible.
“Are you accusing your own mother of something I could do nothing about?”
“No, mother, no, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“But you’ve just said that we left the poor couple behind as if we had deserted them on an isolated island.”
“Did we not?”
“We called the police and ambulance as soon as we left the mountain area, did we not? What’s the purpose of telling me such sentimental nonsense now?”
“Actually you have a good memory, mother.”
“Do not ever underestimate mother’s gift.”
“What I wanted to say is that I was truly frightened that day. And now I can see more clearly what had really frightened me that day. It was not the couple soaked in blood but your indifference that terrified me the most.”
“That’s good. That’s what reality is all about. How is this clear soup by the way? A little too sweet?”
“No, this is fine. This soup tastes good.”
“You called your mother indifferent, didn’t you?”
“Oh, please, don’t make that sulky face.”
“How could you say such a thing to your mother? I feel completely scandalized.”
“I’m sorry, mother, but you scared me. You scared Naomi and me. Because you didn’t try to help the couple, we learned that we were living in a world where no one would protect us. The whole world had become cold and indifferent since then. Can’t you understand what I’m saying? That’s what you did to us that bea
utiful autumn afternoon.”
“You’re so tedious. Are you accusing me of the accident I was not responsible for?”
“No, no. I just need you to understand that I lost a sense of security that day. I forever lost what I used to have.”
“I didn’t know you’re such a spoiled girl. Everything must change. Otherwise, you’re unable to have an opportunity to grow up.”
“You’re right, mother. Absolutely right.”
“Of course, I always have been right.”
“Will you pass me the bottle of soy sauce?”
“How about a pickled ginger?”
“No, thank you.” And I sip a cup of green tea.
“You should watch documentary programs on cable television once in a while.”
“I know what you’re going to say, mother.”
“Have you ever become conscious of what is happening to children in Africa, South America, or Southeast Asia? The actual conditions over there would be extremely harsh if you were not born rich. You’re lucky enough to be born here in Japan and especially under the wings of your father and me.”
“Excuse me, mother, but the actual conditions of my life has nothing to do with natural disaster, famine, or political unrest. To me, you are fact of life itself.”
“Oh, really.”
“And this fact of life is quite an awful thing to face, at least for me. And, mother, you cannot contrast the degrees of severity between the situation I am in and the one someone else is facing. If there is no car, you have to walk. And I guarantee that you will easily get used to the lack of it especially if everyone else is also walking.”
“A little person finally starts talking.”
“I think you’re truly the Matryoshka.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You should finish those nigiri-zushi before touching the rolled-sushi with your chopsticks. Raw fish spoils if kept long. Just like someone’s memory.”
“Mother, you are like a reality more ruthless than a war being waged in some foreign country right this very moment.”
A Japanese Schoolgirl Page 21