Nan-Core

by Mahokaru Numata

  Although that doesn’t change the fact that I was betraying your mother. Like I said, she knew I hadn’t forgotten about Misako. For some reason, that much was conveyed without my ever saying a word about it. That knowledge caused her a lot of suffering, but her real pain came from something else entirely. After everything that had happened, the family decided together that they couldn’t let Misako live, but your mother was convinced she’d been the first to make the suggestion. She couldn’t help agonizing over whether she’d done so because she was attracted to me, because somewhere in her heart she’d considered her sister an obstacle.

  Your mother was important to me, and as her husband I loved her as best I could, but it wasn’t enough to release her from her anguish. I think you could understand that, Ryosuke, since you read the notebooks. I couldn’t feel for anyone else the way I felt for Misako. How can I put it … Misako was more than just a woman. It didn’t make a difference whether we slept or were even with each other or not.

  Dad paused, having glanced several times at the clock on the cupboard, and just then we heard the sound of someone opening the front door. Yohei jolted in his seat. There was a soft glow in Dad’s eyes. He continued speaking as though nothing had happened.

  We last met during Tanabata this year, just a few months ago. I told her that your mother had died. I knew by then there wouldn’t be another Tanabata, not with my physical condition. Misako took the news calmly.

  Do you remember when we all went out to a crab dinner, back when your mother was still around? It was the first time you brought Chie to see us, Ryosuke, and you even picked up the tab. I took Misako one of the photos from that day. She stared at it in complete silence.

  The entryway was still. Our visitor was waiting very patiently, not uttering a word.

  My throat was totally parched. There was a glass of beer on the table before me, but I couldn’t even pick it up to take a sip.

  Ever since then I wondered if it might come to this. You know, Misako coming to pick me up, and the two of us taking a trip together. I’ve been looking forward to it, and waiting the whole time since then.

  Misako’s just through there, Ryosuke. If you don’t want to see her, I’ll take her away somewhere, and you and Yohei can leave while we’re out. I said we’re going on a trip but you don’t need to worry about my health, she’s going to take me by car. Without a license of course, since she can’t officially get one. It shouldn’t be a problem though, she tells me she’s been doing it for years.

  So, Ryosuke … what do you want to do?

  I got up from my chair and tottered into the corridor.

  She was standing quietly with one foot on the entryway ledge, a black silhouette set against the light streaming through the frosted glass in the door behind her. Yet I immediately realized who it was. Halfway through Dad’s story, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from thinking it might be her. She’d been by my side for some time, always there to lend quiet support when things had been their most difficult.

  “Hello, Ryosuke. I’m here to pick up your father,” Ms. Hosoya said, her voice the same as always as she bobbed her head in greeting.

  I couldn’t come up with a reply. I just stood there, staring at her like a fool. Yohei emerged from the kitchen and wordlessly put a hand on my shoulder. We stood facing Ms. Hosoya. I thought, stupidly, that he wouldn’t know who she was. Then I remembered I’d once shown him a photo of her on my phone.

  At some point, Dad had joined us. His hand was gripping my other shoulder.

  “Surprised, Ryosuke?” he said.

  In the next moment I remembered something that made my heart freeze solid. Mom had been there when I’d shown that photo to Yohei. She’d seen Ms. Hosoya, too.

  “Dad … The photo. I-I showed it to Mom …”

  “I know. From that free trial day or something at the cafe in the spring—Misako was in it. Your mother told me. I hadn’t known about it so it was a surprise for me, too, although I’d told Misako you were planning to open this unusual cafe. Your mother said she recognized Misako immediately. Misako’s appearance had changed a lot, and she was wearing glasses like she is right now, but your mother still knew. Probably because Misako was always in her thoughts.”

  Mom and Yohei were both allergic to animal hair, so neither had visited Shaggy Head. That was why I’d thought to show them the photo. Although I had taken a few casual shots, Ms. Hosoya had only ended up in one of them, and in profile at that. Maybe I should have realized that was strange. Instead, I actually pointed her out, both to Yohei and to Mom. This is Ms. Hosoya, the one I talk about all the time.

  “So that was … that was why Mom looked so afraid … before the accident.”

  “Afraid? No, you’re wrong about that. Emiko—your mother—told me she was relieved, from the bottom of her heart. She looked overjoyed. She told me nothing else mattered now. Her sister, who she thought she’d essentially killed, was alive. I suppose it’s true she was a bit more distracted after that, as though some knot inside of her had loosened. And when she had the accident, wandering out like that before the light changed …”

  For a while, Dad, Yohei, and I stood there in the narrow hallway just outside the kitchen, looking at Ms. Hosoya as she looked at us.

  Finally, Dad took his hand from my shoulder and stepped forward. “Right, it’s time to go. Give my love to Chie and Miyuki. You’ll find my bankbook and the deeds to the house and all that stuff inside the small bureau in the living room. I’ll leave it to the two of you to work out the details.”

  We followed after him as though we were sleepwalking. He sat on the ledge at the entryway and tied the laces on his well-worn shoes. As he stood up Ms. Hosoya reached out to him. He paused briefly, touched her hand, then gripped it, letting her take his weight as he rose.

  “How’s the weather looking?”

  “Spots of showers, but it’s sometimes nice to drive on days like this.”

  “That’s true. And I’m feeling pretty good today.”

  They exchanged smiles. They looked almost painfully innocent, like a couple getting ready for an excursion. I would recall those expressions many, many times.

  Still supporting Dad, Ms. Hosoya turned to face me. “My apologies for not discussing this with you beforehand, but I’m taking the cafe’s car. My resignation letter is with Chie, along with payment for the car.”

  “Resignation? But you can’t … That’s so sudden …” I couldn’t shake my usual mindset of thinking like her boss.

  “Everything will be just fine. Look after the place with Chie.”

  My mother and Ms. Hosoya: I couldn’t reconcile the two as one person. I was still so stunned that I couldn’t take my eyes off her familiar features. It almost felt like another face might rise to the surface if I watched for long enough. But no matter how long I stared I only saw Ms. Hosoya, her expression as placid as ever.

  “Could you help us with the door, please?” she asked.

  I stepped through the entranceway and rested my hand on the front door as requested. She briefly stepped away from Dad and came over to me, quickly whispering into my ear, “Don’t worry about Chie’s negatives. I got them all back and already disposed of them.”

  It came to me in a flash. In that brief moment I was back there again, the blood scattered across the window and pooled on the floor mat of Shiomi’s car vivid in my mind’s eye.

  That had been Ms. Hosoya’s doing. Was it possible? There was the sharp glare she’d given me when I’d impulsively said that I would kill him. The admonishment in her voice when she told me I couldn’t think like that.

  Did she, aware of my plan, kill him in order to prevent me from doing it? Or had she intended to kill him either way? Did Shiomi really ask that she bring the money? Or did she lie on the spur of the moment to stop me from getting near him?

  In any case, now that she’d told me she had gotten rid of the negatives, the only conclusion I could draw was that she killed him. I suppose she lied to me abou
t the meeting time Shiomi had given her. She must have put Chie to bed, gone to the lookout at the real hour, and arranged things so I would arrive after it was all done.

  Before she took Dad’s hand again, Ms. Hosoya removed her glasses and put them in her bag. She probably didn’t wear them when they were together, or perhaps, at any other time except when she was working at the cafe.

  Ms. Hosoya and Dad walked past me, practically brushing the tip of my nose. Yohei came up to my side, and when I looked his way I saw that he was weeping quietly. The car, parked just beyond the front gate, was wet from the drizzle. I saw the familiar logo of Shaggy Head on the side, painted red, black, and yellow. It’s impossible to rent or buy a car without owning a license. This was the only car Ms. Hosoya could use. She’d probably used it on the night of the murder, too.

  I wondered what she had done with Shiomi’s body. The car was usually loaded with a collapsible cart big enough to carry cages for large dogs. A woman could move something heavy around using that cart. She must have wheeled the corpse away, probably not so much to cover up the murder, but so I wouldn’t have to see the body. She would have considered the blood-filled car enough to assure me he was definitely dead. Most importantly, she would have had no choice but to leave one of the cars at the scene—Shiomi’s or the cafe’s.

  “What’s this, Yohei? You’re crying again?” Dad chuckled, turning back once he got to the car.

  “But this … this is crazy. You don’t even have any luggage.” It was the first time he’d spoken in a while.

  “Yohei, don’t worry,” Ms. Hosoya said soothingly. “The car’s been properly packed with food, drinks, warm clothes, and memories of your mother.”

  “Ha ha, indeed, memories of our loved ones make up the lion’s share of baggage. That’s the one thing we can’t leave behind even if we want to. No choice but to carry them wherever we go.”

  Did she bury the body somewhere in the mountain? Or did she take it home and deal with it in a more meticulous manner—during the three days she’d taken off to make sure no one would ever find it? It seemed as though I would never get the chance to ask.

  Ms. Hosoya opened the passenger door and Dad very carefully eased himself inside. I held on to Yohei so he wouldn’t run over and stop him. Could I do anything else?

  “Now then, boss, Yohei, take care of yourselves.”

  I knew there were things I had to say to her that would be irreparable not to, but not a single word came to mind. As I gazed at her, wishing for my eyes to communicate something of my thoughts, Ms. Hosoya broke into a smile. When she smiled, standing there with her hair growing damp in the cold rain, that phantom of my youthful mother, wearing her summer dress, her arms bare, carrying a white handbag, flickered into view.

  My darling Ryosuke.

  The face of my mother—nothing more than an elusive apparition a day earlier—resolved for the first time into a distinct image, enveloping me with a tender smile. I stared back, unblinking, my mouth hanging open. I forgot to breathe.

  Then Ms. Hosoya smoothly swept into the driver’s seat and closed the door behind her.

  “All right. I’m trusting you boys to look after Gran,” Dad reminded, and spent a while looking at both of us in turn. Then he diverted his gaze and swung the door shut.

  That was the true moment of our parting from Dad.

  The car window was still rolled down, but that seemed to be the moment Dad severed all his ties. He had relinquished his final attachment to staying alive, cut off nostalgic longing for the home he had lived in for so many years, and even shed his feelings for us. In a space that contained nothing except the two of them and their memories, he was once again Ms. Hosoya’s—my mother’s—you.

  “Now, then. Where to?” he said.

  “Anywhere. Wherever you want.”

  Even as the window slid shut with a quiet noise he never turned back towards us. “Let’s see. How about …”

  I couldn’t hear the rest of the sentence. I could see them nodding together through the closed window, enjoying themselves. When they pulled away, a stream of white exhaust fumes trailed in the rain. The car headed down the narrow residential street and disappeared around a corner. It was gone in less than ten seconds.

  Yohei was crying so hard that I put an arm around his back. We stood shoulder to shoulder for a long time, just gazing at the wet, deserted asphalt.

  About the Author

  Mahokaru Numata was born in 1948 in Osaka, Japan, the daughter of a Buddhist priest. She married a priest, but later divorced and took holy orders herself. She went on to run her own construction consulting firm before making her literary debut in 2004 with the prize-winning novel If September Could Last Forever. Known for weaving strong threads of sexuality and violence into her stories, she is also recognized for her insightful explorations of such universal themes as love and hate, light and darkness, and the mysteries of human nature.