After some time, Grandpa took a sudden turn off the path, heading down toward the overgrown bank. For a moment, the sound of the insects stopped, then started buzzing even louder. Grandpa had disappeared. Every once in a while, headlights across the river cast light on the water. “He got in,” my brother-in-law said as he came to a stop. “He got in?” I asked. He didn’t respond. All I could do was head down the bank after Grandpa. Something snapped under my shoe. Small bugs flew in my face. I held my breath and walked slowly down the uncertain slope. With every step, I felt hard and soft things underfoot. Grasshoppers shrilled, then flew into the air. A large bird standing by the edge of the river appeared to be emitting its own light. In the darkness, I saw a large hole — only Grandpa’s head was showing. He was looking in the direction of the river. I dropped into the empty hole next to his. I felt like I had no choice. I stepped on something soft. I looked down and saw a pair of eyes looking up at me, blinking. It was the animal. I felt a cool, moist air coming up from the bottom of the hole. It didn’t smell, but I could feel its stiff fur through the legs of my pajamas. I could tell that it was breathing. The sky looked both distant and near. Gravity seemed heavier, but my body felt lighter. A bird that looked particularly large from my vantage point stretched its neck, shook its head, then went still again. The buzz of insects sank into my gut.
“You know . . .” I could hear my brother-in-law above us. “I never thought Muneaki would come home. I thought he hated it.” “Hated what?” “This. This place, this family.” He sneezed again. It looked like Grandpa was staring at the sky. From where I was, I could only see the back of his head. I couldn’t tell if he could hear my brother-in-law or not. “I mean, what’s to like? Think about it. I put him through a whole lot. A whole lot. It was hard on all of them. Mom, Dad, Gramps. Maybe it’s a good thing Granny passed before I got this way . . . It’s a sad state of affairs. I know I’m talking about myself, but I guess part of me has always felt like it was someone else, even now.” The headlights on the other side of the river disappeared. The river went black. Together with the insects, I could hear something moving slowly. Maybe it was the water. Maybe the wind was picking up. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, a cold breeze blew in from the water — colder than it ever was in daytime. “If it were me, I probably would have put more distance between myself and this place. I guess he couldn’t do it, and honestly it’s a real weight off me. I heard he was coming back — and then he really did. It’s a bit strange to say this, and it’s not like I’ve been looking on from beyond the grave or anything, but ever since he moved back, I’ve watched him go to work every morning and then come home. In my own way. Just like mom, really . . . I guess it’s weird, but we’re only human. That’s life, right? I wouldn’t wish it on you, but it was your choice after all, wasn’t it?” “What was?” “This. This current that never stops. Everything I wanted to escape from.” I could see ripples on the water, but I couldn’t tell where the light was coming from. Little waves formed one after another, each with its own shape. I could hear Grandpa breathing heavily. Maybe he was cold. I know I was. I had to get him home, right away. “Bride — please don’t think badly of them for hiding me away. It’s me. I’m the bad one.”
As cars appeared on the road again, I could see the outline of the grass across the bank. The large bird flew up, then plunged into the river. Lit up by the flash of the headlights, it looked bright red. The water rippled, then became quiet again. The bird didn’t return to the shore. I could hear the animal breathing by my feet as if it were asleep. I tried lifting myself out, but my hands sank into the wet soil. I tried kicking off the wall. When I did, the bottom of my foot bumped the animal’s snout. It jerked up as I rolled out of the hole. I could hear the animal inside, breathing, moving. I looked down, but it had already dissolved into darkness. I reached out to Grandpa and said, “Let’s go home.” He turned his eyes from the sky to me. It must have been the first time our eyes had really met. He groaned as he gave me his hand — it was damper and hotter than I thought it would be. His palm felt hard as a rock, his arm heavy. The soil squelched between my hand and his. I put all my weight into pulling him out. His hand in mine, I led Grandpa up the slope. He followed obediently. “This moon’s too good to pass up,” my brother-in-law said, “I’m staying here for now.” I looked up, but didn’t see the moon anywhere. Nothing but clouds. “If that’s what you want. Just be safe. We’re heading home.” While we walked, I thought I could hear children rustling in the grass. I turned around a few times, but never saw anyone. Maybe it was just the insects.
When I got Grandpa home, I stepped into the entryway and called for Tomiko. The door inside was unlocked. Tomiko came down and so did her husband. I hadn’t seen him in so long. Even during Obon, he was out playing golf. He didn’t look the way I’d remembered him. In his loose, blue pajamas, he looked thinner than before. He and Tomiko were staring at me in wonder. A yellow light fell on them, casting deep shadows on Tomiko’s face. She looked worn out.
“What’s going on?” “Grandpa went outside, just now. I saw him leave, so I went after him and brought him back.” “Grandpa,” Tomiko said in a high-pitched voice, placing one hand on his shoulder. “You’re as cold as ice,” she said to him, glaring at me. “It’s got to be freezing out there. Grandpa, where were you trying to go?” He didn’t answer. He looked tired, almost asleep. I watched while Tomiko tried to get Grandpa to look her in the eye, but he wouldn’t. Still, he had to be looking at something. At different moments, his pupils grew larger and smaller. Tomiko gave up and looked at me. This time she put on a faint smile, so I did the same. “Thank you, Asa,” she said. Then she muttered in a lower voice, “I don’t know how I didn’t notice . . .” “I don’t know how I did.” I said good night and closed the door behind me. On the other side, I could hear Tomiko saying something, but it was too quiet to make out. Her husband’s voice was louder, but still indistinct. When I got home, my husband was still sound asleep. I crawled into bed. I could feel the mattress under my back rise and fall with his breaths. After that, Grandpa got a fever, which soon gave way to pneumonia. Tomiko took him to the hospital and he died not long after.
From around noon, my in-laws’ front door was left open. Old men and women I’d never seen before filtered slowly into the house. They took off their shoes and offered their condolences. Most of them stepped up from the entryway with one hand on the shoe closet and the other on their knee. It had never occurred to me how hard it would be to get into their house if you had bad knees. There was no handrail, no platform. Grandpa did it every day, on his own. He must have had very strong legs. The old women all looked so different. Their hair was white, dyed jet black, or even bright purple or yellow. They were wearing their regular clothes. No one was carrying bags, but they all had prayer beads. I didn’t know where I should be, so I hovered around, standing in the entryway, then I moved to the kitchen before coming back out again. I bowed to our elderly visitors, who probably knew as little about me as I knew about them. They still mumbled in my direction, then nodded meaningfully. When they did, I bowed again, saying things like “I know, it was so sudden,” at which they’d inevitably tear up and touch my shoulder compassionately. When I found a moment to slip away, I went looking my husband, who was still in his suit from work. I whispered, “Who are these people? Relatives? Neighbors?” “I really don’t know,” he said. In the altar room, he asked his mother the same question. Once she’d explained things to him, he came back and told me she said they were probably neighbors. “Probably?” “She said there are a few people she’s not sure about . . .” My husband whispered, unabashedly studying the faces of the strangers around us. The altar room was full of the elderly. Is this normal? Is it normal for an entire neighborhood to show up and view the body on the day somebody dies? The car from the funeral home had just brought him back from the hospital. It wasn’t even a formal wake. It wasn’t something I’d ever heard of before, but apparently they read sutr
as at the bedside of the dead. It occurred to me that no one in my immediate family had ever died. Some of the visitors broke down crying. Others went up to see the body together. One of the mourners had a towel wrapped around his neck like a farmer in the field. When someone else pointed it out, the old man quickly grabbed the cloth and stuffed it into the elastic waist of his pants together with the hem of his jacket and started mumbling in prayer.
Over only a few days, Tomiko’s exhaustion had started to show. I’d spent more time at the hospital with Grandpa than she had. Of course I did. She had to go to work. Tomiko would put in a full day at work, or at least half, then rush straight to the hospital, which was enough to take it out of anyone. A few times, Tomiko stared at someone’s face, realized what she was doing, then bowed deeply. In response, the old people would nod repeatedly. There were small people and angular people. Under a pristine white sheet provided by the funeral home, Grandpa’s eyelids were turning whiter by the second. My father-in-law told us he was hurrying back, but he hadn’t arrived yet. The only people there when Grandpa died were Tomiko, Tomiko’s sister, and me. No one from his own bloodline.
“Matsuura-san!” one of the old women cried shrilly. I thought maybe she was speaking to me, but she was looking at Tomiko. I had started to get up, but sat down again. Tomiko was looking at Grandpa, completely unaware of the woman calling her name. The room fell quiet again. “Matsuura-san . . . Matsuura-san!” The voice was louder now, but Tomiko still didn’t seem to hear it — she was dabbing at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. I had to do something, so I stood up and asked, “Can I help?” “On the altar, the flowers . . .” said a gray-haired woman in a dark red cardigan. “It should be one flower. One flower in each.” A puff of air came out of her with every word. The gray faces around her nodded in solemn agreement as they fingered their prayer beads. I looked to Tomiko for help, but she didn’t seem to notice. Then another old woman said to me, as politely as she could, “In times like this, you’re supposed to have a single flower in each vase. That’s how we do it around here.” “Maybe they do it differently elsewhere.” “So what if they do?” “It should be one flower. One flower only.” Pale fingers moved rhythmically over two strings of glass beads. On either side of the altar was a vase painted dull gold with white chrysanthemums inside that Tomiko had asked me to buy. Tomiko had taken out the fake flowers, washed out the vases, and then placed four chrysanthemums of varying heights in each. I stepped toward the altar and grabbed the vases. They were heavy with water. “One in each?” I asked, unsure where to direct my question. Countless grandmothers nodded in unison. As I left the room, I could feel eyes on my back. I heard Tomiko calling me, but kept going. Behind me, I could hear someone whisper. “Ah, he lived a long life, a very long life.” A higher voice continued. “His wife must have been lonely, waiting for him on her own all this time.” “He lived a good, long life.” “He was, what, eighty-nine? Ninety?”
I took the vases into the kitchen and put the flowers with the shorter stems in a cup that had been upside down in the dish drainer. As I filled the cup, the water turned white. It was still going to be a while before the priest would arrive. With one vase in each hand, I went back to the altar, being careful not to spill the water. When I got to the room, it looked like there were even more old people than before. They were surrounding Grandpa, practically on top of one another. Were there really this many old people living in the area? I only saw two children, and both of them looked like they were on the verge of falling asleep. Sera was there, too. I nodded at her and she nodded back. At her side, copying the way she sat on her legs, was a small boy. The boy was also holding hands with the old woman on his other side. The woman stared straight ahead. The Sera woman was wearing the same white blouse as before — in a crowd of muted colors, she stood out. The boy’s face was bright red. As I made my way to the altar, an old woman with a small, hoarse voice said, “It’s one flower until the funeral. After that, just make sure it doesn’t die . . .” Her words sounded like a prayer. As I set the vases down, voices filled the room. “Turn it around . . .” “No, turn it, flip it so — that’s right.” I tried to do as I was told. The chrysanthemums leaned stiffly to the side. It occurred to me I should have kept the shorter stems and left the longer ones in the kitchen. “What happened to the flowers?” Tomiko asked me. “It’s a wake,” I whispered, “so there’s supposed to be one flower in each vase. Well, that’s what they said.” Tomiko didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t say anything else. She looked at the flowers, then at Grandpa. On the hospital bed, they’d closed his mouth, but his front teeth were poking out now.
“The priest’s here,” one of the old men said. “It’s the young priest.” “The young one, huh?” “Well, you know, the master’s knees and all . . .” “We had him come the other day and he showed up in a wheelchair. But this was Grandma, so it had to be the old priest, even if he had to crawl across the tatami.” “But the young priest has a good voice . . .” “Well, when it comes to voices, the younger the better.” “Almost ninety . . .” “A good, long life . . .” “Where’s his son? Still not home?” The man who came in was dressed in black and looked to be around fifty. I’d never seen him before. He was wearing strangely shaped glasses. My husband opened the glass door to the altar room so he could come in. The priest brushed away his robes, removed his sandals, and stepped inside. Over the toes of his tabi, I saw red spider mites — too many to count. Our guests bowed at the priest, and I did the same. When I looked up, Grandma’s photograph leapt into my eyes. It wouldn’t be long before Grandpa joined her there. She died so long before him that there was no way they would look like a couple. Not that he’d look like her father, either — but they’d clearly look like family. As soon as the priest sat in front of the altar, positioned between the disobedient chrysanthemums, he launched into an unfamiliar sutra. I laid a string of prayer beads across my palm, and the old women around me began chanting in low voices. I could feel something like relief wrapping around my shoulders. When my father-in-law came quietly into the room, the old men and women lowered their heads while reciting the sutras.
Once the priest had finished, the man from the funeral home reappeared. He had all kinds of documents and pamphlets for us. All sorts of things had to be decided for the wake — flowers, refreshments, a whole range of qualities and quantities to be considered. By the time everything had calmed down, it was late at night. After the priest left, our aged guests went home one or two at a time, until the only ones remaining were the closest relatives. There were tissues scattered across the tatami. When I went to pick them up they were wet. I gathered them and tossed them in the trash, along with a few discarded candy wrappers. My parents were supposed to come before the wake the following evening. Tomiko sighed. “It was hard when Grandma passed, too, but Grandpa took care of everything . . .” She said the same thing a few times over, but by the end was whispering so softly I could barely hear what she was saying. Her sister ran over to hug her. “We should be grateful. He wasn’t sick for long. It’s better this way, not spending a long time sick in bed. Pneumonia — most people who make it to old age die of pneumonia. What matters is whether or not you suffer before the end.” “I know. It just happened so fast . . .” Tomiko kept talking, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Her sister was upbeat. “People that age hope to go quickly. Remember what it was like with Grandma? Living like that, not even conscious, for as long as she did . . . At least he had his health, right up to the end. He could get around on his own — he stayed sharp, too, mentally.”
Then Tomiko looked right at me. I looked back at her. Grandpa watering the plants flashed in my mind. The sun was behind him, so I couldn’t see his face — only his teeth. Only a few hours after dying, his dark skin had clouded white. It was almost glowing. We exchanged glances for a moment, then Tomiko spoke. “You’re right,” she said, “you’re right.” I got up to make tea for our guests. I could smell the six chrysanthemums in the
wide-mouthed cup sitting by the sink. Each stalk was still hard with a life all its own. For the first time, I started to wonder if my brother-in-law would come to pay his respects. Of course he knew what was happening. People had been coming in and out of the house all day, and the smell of incense had practically filled the neighborhood. Even if he didn’t get along with the rest of the family, he could hardly hang around behind the house, acting like this had nothing to do with him. Once I’d made the tea and served it to everyone, I quietly headed out back. The shed was dark. Maybe he was sleeping. I put my hand on the sliding door and rattled it. Locked. I’d barely touched the door, but the whole shed shook. It smelled like mildew. Looking over at the old well, the metal grill was missing — and in its place was a large concrete block partly covered with moss. I tried the door again, then knocked. No response. There was bright red rust on my fingers. The handle was covered in dust. The air around me was full of children’s voices and shrill cries and the smell of old men and women. They washed over me, then slipped away. Once I was back inside, Tomiko was sitting exactly the way she had been. Relatives were getting ready to go home for the night. My father-in-law stood up and bowed.
“It doesn’t matter what you’re going through, the stomach wants what it wants. We should eat something . . .” When Tomiko finally got up, she looked in the fridge. She pulled out what had been a green onion, the tip brown and withering from days of neglect. She held it up and gave me a wry smile. I smiled back. “I guess it’s too late for this one.” I left and went into the altar room to collect the empty teacups. My husband was next to Grandpa, in a daze, sitting cross-legged with his eyes on his phone. His fingers were moving slower than usual. My father-in-law was inside, resting. “What kind of grandfather was he?” I asked as I loaded the cups onto a tray. My husband looked at me with surprise. “Huh?” “Your grandpa. What kind of grandfather was he?” “Grandpa?” My husband put his phone on the tatami, rubbed his hands together for a second or two, then grabbed his phone and started moving his fingers. “I used to think he was scary. But I remember, when I got into college, he was so happy that he gave me 300,000 yen. ‘Don’t tell your mom,’ he said. In cash, fresh bills — not that I had them for long . . .” “What did you get?” “I don’t remember. Probably nothing special.” “What did he like to do?” “Grandpa? For fun? Well, we went fishing a few times, but I don’t think he liked it all that much. It was a little awkward, really. We never caught anything.” I looked down at Grandpa, then up at his wife. “What makes you ask?” “Nothing.” When I went back to the kitchen, Tomiko had chopped up some onion. Pouring soy sauce into a pot, she said, “He was a good dad.”
The Hole Page 8