Sweet Bean Paste

by Durian Sukegawa

  ‘Say goodbye to Wakana and the other girls from me.’

  ‘I’ll tell them if they turn up.’

  Tokue opened the back door and stepped outside. Sentaro went with her, close by her side. Out on the street leaves drifted down from the cherry trees, hazily lit by streetlights.

  ‘When I first came here the blossoms were out, but it’s a sad sight now,’ she said.

  ‘The wind’s cold, too.’

  ‘I wonder if I’ll see next year’s blossom.’

  ‘Of course you will. Tokue, please, will you come and teach me how to make bean paste again?’

  Tokue smiled faintly but gave no answer.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said once more.

  ‘I’m the one who should be thanking you. Truly, I mean it.’

  Tokue put her hand out to stop Sentaro, who looked as if he was going to follow her. ‘This is far enough,’ she said.

  He watched in silence as she walked off along the street into the night. The sight of her retreating back made Sentaro aware for the first time how physically small she actually was. Tokue was the one who’d brought up the topic of quitting. Sentaro had merely accepted her resignation, yet he felt as if he had driven his own mother away.

  Pale-faced, he went back into the kitchen and stood there. His eyes fell on the bottle of alcohol disinfectant sitting on the edge of the counter, and he strode over to pick it up, then hurled it against the closed shutter.

  15

  Autumn advanced. Dead leaves gathered on the pavement outside the shop despite Sentaro’s efforts at sweeping them up morning and night. People passed beneath the bare-branched cherry tree without stopping at Doraharu.

  Sentaro surveyed this scene through bleary, hung-over eyes. He was drinking more nowadays, going into the first bar he saw open after work, and although he never got violent, he would stay there clutching a glass until his legs became unsteady. In bed at night thoughts whirled about in his mind, words gnawed at his brain and he woke in the mornings with a heavy head.

  After a while it got so bad that he could no longer arrive in time to make bean paste. Six o’clock became seven, then eight, and then nine. Some days he didn’t leave for the shop until close to noon.

  He felt as if everything on the street was rejecting him, even the cherry trees. The customers did not look like returning, and the very few regulars who still came had no reservations about voicing their complaints. ‘I smelt something burning the other day,’ one told him.

  There were moments when Sentaro thought he should dispose of himself rather than the reject dorayaki pancakes. If he gave himself up to the moment, he might just be able to do it. At times he seriously considered this. But it wasn’t just a question of what to do, he wanted nothing strongly enough to move him to action. He went through the days leadenly, moving only his eyes to peer out at the world.

  The night when Wakana finally showed her face again, bare branches of the cherry tree bent in the wind. Sentaro had just turned off the griddle and was about to close up.

  She wore a half-length coat and was clutching a bulky object wrapped in a green cloth that was so large it covered the top half of her body. She greeted Sentaro with a quick nod and placed the object on a counter seat.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Umm…’

  ‘I’m closing up now.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Wakana muttered, but gave no sign of moving.

  Sentaro took a dorayaki from the warmer and held it out to her. ‘Don’t just stand there, sit down,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied softly. ‘I guess Tokue’s not here, is she?’

  ‘No.’

  Wakana looked at her dorayaki then turned back to Sentaro.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked her.

  ‘Um, this is hard to say, but I don’t have any money.’

  ‘Huh?’ Sentaro laughed. ‘Don’t worry. The shop’s already closed for today.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Wakana bowed slightly in thanks and took the dorayaki with both hands. Sentaro put another one on her plate.

  ‘What’s that?’ he said, pointing to the object she had brought.

  Wakana’s hands stalled mid-air, just as she was about to take a bite of the dorayaki. She lowered her head. ‘The thing is…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The problem is…I, err, ran away from home.’

  ‘Ran away?’ Sentaro raised an eyebrow.

  She nodded and reached over to the object next to her. ‘This is a curtain,’ she said and removed it to reveal a birdcage. A vivid splash of yellow moved inside.

  ‘This baby has nowhere to go.’

  ‘A canary?’

  ‘His name’s Marvy. I think he’s a lemon canary. Anyway, he’s why I came to see you.’

  ‘This is why you ran away, is it? And you want me to…’ Sentaro’s voice trailed off, realizing he was about to be landed with another complicated problem.

  ‘I promised Tokue.’

  ‘Promised what?’

  ‘Well…’ Wakana hesitated and peered into the canary cage.

  ‘Not the bird…’

  ‘I think he was attacked by a cat or something. I found him about six months ago, flapping about on the side of the road all covered in blood. Marvy. I thought he’d die but I couldn’t just leave him there, so I took him home and he got better. I put cream on his cuts every day, just did what I could, and he survived.’

  ‘Well that’s great.’

  ‘But,’ Wakana pointed to the cage, ‘Marvy’s a boy. So when he got better he started singing sometimes. That’s the problem.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we live in a flat and can’t keep pets. Mum kept telling me to let him go before the neighbour told the landlord. But Marvy can’t fly very well ’cause his wings are stiff after his injuries. When I let him out of the cage inside, he just flies around a bit then flops on the floor. Mum’s been on at me every day since summer to let him go. But the weather’s getting colder and colder. Winter’s coming and I don’t think a canary could survive outside. Besides, he still can’t fly well so a cat or a crow might get him again. How can I let him go knowing that?’

  Sentaro filled a cup with water from the tap and took a sip. He grimaced as if it was sour.

  ‘So, what’s the favour?’

  ‘Well I thought this might happen, so I asked Tokue’s advice before. Here.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes. When you took your mental-health break?’

  ‘My mental-health break?’

  ‘That’s what Tokue said.’

  The time he’d disappeared from the shop in early summer. Sentaro put his hand to his face. ‘And what did Tokue say?’

  ‘She said if I couldn’t take care of him any more then you would.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The canary flapped its wings inside the cage and hopped around in a triangle. It gave a muffled chirp. Its voice was not like any canary Sentaro had heard before. Maybe this wasn’t the season for singing.

  ‘Tokue…How could she? Listen, sorry but I live in a flat too. I can’t have pets either.’

  ‘Tokue said that might happen. She said in that case maybe you could keep him here at the shop.’

  ‘She really said that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How could she…?’ Sentaro almost expressed his irritation in front of Wakana.

  ‘I can’t keep pets here. I’m not the owner, and besides, pets aren’t usually allowed in places that serve food.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, can’t do it.’

  Wakana’s face dropped. Disappointed, she looked at the bird in the cage.

  ‘Wakana. Do you know why Tokue quit working here?’

  Sentaro hesitated a moment. What exactly did he think he was going to say to a school girl? Now was the time to stop if he wasn’t going to say any more. But he couldn’t help himself. ‘Wakana, remember you asked Tokue about her fingers?’
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  Wakana looked up from the canary and her eyes shifted uneasily from side to side. She nodded.

  ‘She told you that she got sick when she was young, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Was that the first time you noticed her fingers, Wakana? Or had you seen them before?’

  Wakana turned to look at Sentaro again. ‘Before.’

  ‘So why did you ask her that time?’

  Cheep cheep, the canary sang.

  ‘Because I thought it was better that way.’ Her large misty eyes filled with a soft glow.

  ‘Okay. In that case…Tokue was worried that sales at the shop had fallen. She said it might be her fault.’

  ‘It’s called Hansen’s disease, isn’t it?’ Wakana asked.

  Sentaro nodded. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I told one person about her fingers.’

  ‘Who?’

  Wakana looked down at the dorayaki on her plate then raised her face slowly.

  ‘My mother.’

  Wind blew through the door. Leaves driven by the wind knocked against the window with a dry papery sound.

  ‘Aha. Your mother?’

  ‘Yeah. And then she came here by herself one day.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There’s a Hansen’s sanatorium near here, right? The bus goes all the way there. She said maybe it was someone from the sanatorium. So…she said I couldn’t come here any more.’

  The canary flew round in circles inside the narrow cage. Outside, leaves dropped from the cherry tree, one by one.

  So that’s what happened. Sentaro took his time to digest this, trying hard not to let the expression on his face change. The words came out anyway.

  ‘Your mother. Do you think she told anybody about Tokue?’

  ‘Dunno. But she works in a bar at night, so maybe she was drunk and told somebody. Some guy from round here p’raps.’

  Wakana sat stiffly, staring into the kitchen.

  ‘Your mother wasn’t the only one,’ Sentaro said softly. ‘Other people certainly looked surprised when they saw Tokue’s hands. I’m sure customers stopped coming because of it. Seems like rumours went around.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ said Wakana, as if it had nothing to do with her.

  Sentaro thought about how to respond. He made several false starts before he could get the words out. ‘That’s what public opinion is. That’s why I can’t let you leave that canary here. Everyone’s afraid of bird flu these days. Ten years ago, maybe, but now people’d have a fit at the sight of a bird in a food and drink establishment.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Wakana stroked the wires of the birdcage with her fingertip. Marvy jumped in response. ‘I think some people would come just because there is a canary around.’

  Sentaro shook his head. ‘It’s not that simple.’

  Wakana hung her head.

  ‘But then…’ Sentaro continued.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I said public opinion like it’s got nothing to do with me, but actually I did something much worse,’ Sentaro confessed.

  Wakana made no reply. She stroked the birdcage, and the canary hopped about inside, gently pecking near her finger. Eventually she pulled the finger away and looked askance at Sentaro.

  ‘Because I didn’t stand up for her when she said she was going to quit.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Wakana asked.

  ‘Even though she’d taught me how to make bean paste from scratch.’

  There was a short silence.

  ‘I don’t really understand, but why don’t you start over?’ Wakana mumbled.

  ‘Start over?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re really worrying because of something else, aren’t you?’

  Sentaro made a noncommittal sound. This time it was his turn to hang his head.

  ‘Have a go at starting over again.’

  ‘It’s not that easy…’

  ‘Do you know her telephone number?’ Wakana sat up straight.

  Sentaro responded as if prodded. ‘She doesn’t have one apparently. But I know her address.’

  ‘You know, that time I talked to Tokue, she said if you couldn’t look after Marvy, then she would – as a last resort.’

  ‘She said that? True?’

  ‘She did. Honest. We were looking at the full moon together. You could see it above the cherry tree outside the shop. She said it was so lovely, we should go outside and look. Then while we were staring at the moon she said that about Marvy. It was a promise between the three of us – Tokue, and me, and the moon.’

  ‘A promise to the moon? But I think Tokue lives in the sanatorium.’

  ‘She said that though.’

  ‘All right then, I’ll write and ask.’

  The light returned to Wakana’s face. She turned the full weight of her dewy, shining eyes on Sentaro.

  In the end he agreed to look after the canary until an answer came from Tokue. He took it back to his flat, praying that none of the neighbours would dob him in to the landlord.

  16

  A prickly holly hedge stretched as far as the eye could see.

  Sentaro and Wakana found signs for the National Hansen’s Disease Museum and Tenshoen National Sanatorium at the corner of a quiet suburban street leading off the busy main road and set off walking in that direction. The eastern side of the street was a residential area while the other side was bordered by an impenetrable holly hedge that extended into the distance like a green demarcating line without end. It reminded Sentaro of the place where he had once been shut up. They met nobody. The only sound in the air was birdsong.

  Marvy chirped inside his cage as if in answer.

  ‘This hedge goes on forever.’

  ‘It’s called false holly. See how the leaves are hard and spiky,’ Wakana said.

  ‘Holly like at Christmas.’

  ‘Apparently they put this hedge all round to stop patients getting out.’

  ‘But that was in the old days, right?’

  ‘It’s still here though, isn’t it?’ she responded. Wakana had been doing some research on the internet too. She’d learned a bit about government policy on Hansen’s disease patients and their forced segregation.

  Sentaro brushed his fingertips on clusters of the hard, spiky leaves as they walked. The prickles hurt. He sensed that this was a far more forbidding barrier than the one he’d been imprisoned behind. Occasionally there were breaks in the hedge that presumably had once been passageways through it, but the trees grew dense and thick on the other side, obscuring any view into the grounds. They walked a long way, following the hedge, before the entrance to the National Hansen’s Disease Museum finally came into view.

  Around the museum the quietness was even more pronounced. Sunshine filtering through the trees dappled the ground outside the building. In the silence of shadows and light, the stillness was palpable.

  Next to the museum entrance they saw a statue of a mother and daughter with the instantly recognizable hat, staff and garb of pilgrims. Which one was afflicted, wondered Sentaro, the mother or the daughter? In the past when one person caught the disease, the whole family – both parents and children – were forced to leave their homes to wander about in unfamiliar parts. Perhaps this statue was meant to console their spirits. Sentaro felt himself grow physically tense at the thought of all the pain and suffering this place represented.

  They saw a sign in the car park with a map of the Tenshoen National Sanatorium grounds and searched for the shop, where they were to meet Tokue. It appeared to be more or less in the centre, next to the meeting hall and baths, and close to rows of orderly housing subdivisions with names such as ‘Daybreak’ and ‘Venus’.

  ‘We’re early.’

  Sentaro looked at his wristwatch. Wakana was right – there was still time before they were due to meet Tokue. ‘Shall we walk around for a bit?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she responded.

  Despite her affirmative
reply Sentaro detected a note of reluctance in Wakana’s voice. He recognized it because he felt the same. This had been an unknown world until very recently, one he had absolutely no connection with, but now here they were right inside it.

  The Leprosy Prevention Act had been repealed in 1996. That year, former Hansen’s patients became free at last to leave the sanatorium where they had been isolated from society. At the same time, town residents who previously had not been allowed to enter Tenshoen were permitted to pass through the gates. Nevertheless human lives had been swallowed up by this place and for a hundred years, continually spurned. It felt to Sentaro as if the singular silence rose from the very earth beneath their feet, steeped as it was in sighs and regrets.

  They set off past the museum into the grounds following a path that was lined on both sides with imposing, tall cherry trees, now bare of leaves. These would be a magnificent sight in spring, Sentaro thought.

  Still they saw nobody. Apart from birdsong they heard nothing.

  ‘Sure is quiet here,’ Sentaro remarked to fill the silence.

  ‘Scary,’ was how Wakana chose to express it.

  They spotted a bench near the avenue of cherry trees and went over to sit down. Sentaro put the birdcage on the ground and looked all about the deserted grounds: still no sign of human life. He saw orderly lines of single-storey row houses that made him think of a residential complex in a foreign country, or maybe army barracks – in any case, somewhere far removed from his life.

  Silence engulfed them. A bicycle appeared in the distance, approaching from the other side of the cherry trees on a path that cut through the grounds. Since the grounds were open to anyone now, it could be a former patient still resident here, or someone from the neighbourhood.

  The bicycle drew closer. They could see the rider was an elderly man who wore a hat with a brim. Sentaro suddenly wondered what his face looked like and hesitated – should he look at the man or not? Wakana looked down at the ground. Sentaro looked up and as the man passed by their eyes met. The cyclist’s face was completely normal; he had a nose, and no obvious signs of paralysis. He, on the contrary, looked at Sentaro and Wakana as if they were something unusual.

  As the bicycle grew smaller in the distance, Sentaro asked himself what he thought he’d been doing, trying to examine the face of that man. He was about to go into the shop, a place where many of the people he would see might be former patients. Some of them might be severely disfigured – was he prepared for that? Then again, the fact that the word ‘prepared’ even came to mind probably meant he was wrong about himself: it wasn’t his ability to control his reactions he was unsure of so much as his own deep-seated feelings.