The Factory

by Hiroko Oyamada

  “Well then, Furufue-san, can I ask you about that project? What exactly have you been doing? It’s been fifteen years, right? In that time, what have you accomplished? You haven’t just been leading the moss hunt this entire time, have you? It seems pretty clear that the factory turned to someone else to green the roofs and walls. It looks like the whole thing was outsourced, but who knows. I suppose that doesn’t match up with what you were told when you started here. I just can’t understand it, though . . . It doesn’t make any sense to put one person in charge of greening all the buildings for the whole complex. Just like you said, how would you even know where to start with a project that size? Still, in terms of your accomplishments so far, to tell you the truth, I don’t see anything. Am I off base here? Surely you must have done something . . . You should have been able to do something . . .” Maybe Aoyama was right. Talking with that young woman at the Okinawan restaurant and trying to explain what I do, even I was struck by the strangeness of it all. “What’s the connection between moss and the factory? What did that job description look like?” When I told her that my advisor recommended me for the job, then practically forced me to take it, she bared her front teeth and wrinkled her face in judgment. “You’re paid a monthly salary?” As soon as she asked, her expression relaxed and she added, “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.” I knew I shouldn’t tell her how much I make, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with telling her that I get paid the same amount on a monthly basis. When I said this, she nodded and said, “Yeah, thought so.” But if I told her how much, I’m sure her face would tighten back up again. Sometimes, when I’m watching the news and I hear what salarymen are making, the figure’s so low I can barely believe it. But since it’s television, they’re probably making it sound worse than it really is. Still, I get the feeling that I make more than average. Aoyama had hinted as much on occasion, and when Goto switched departments he said so to my face. “People don’t get raises year after year. Not these days. The same goes for factory employees. That’s the age we live in. Or maybe it’s just me. But look at you, Furufue-san. All that time you spent as a researcher in college really paid off. Well, not that I know how much you make or anything.” They give me a place to live, and the rent subtracted from my salary is just 9,000 yen per month — in other words, far, far below average. I don’t own a car, and nothing else in my life really costs money. I’m sure it’s more expensive to eat in the cafeterias and restaurants around the factory than it would be to cook at home, but even that doesn’t cost me very much. My mother’s always sending me care packages and I don’t have any real hobbies, so my savings keep growing without any real effort on my part. I’d be fine without an annual raise, or the biannual bonuses, but could I actually say that to the factory? What good would come from complaining about getting paid this much for doing nothing? If I told my superiors thanks but no thanks? I live quietly, read about the world of bryology online, and grow shiso and cherry tomatoes in my backyard garden. I’ve even thought about buying a small dog a couple of times. This is my life. This is what I’m paid to do. And what’s wrong with that? It’s not like if I refused to take my salary it would somehow find its way to the people struggling to make ends meet. No point getting caught up in some unnecessary conflict. “How many years have you been doing this now? Collecting and studying moss.” Fifteen, going on sixteen. And every day during that time, I’d been working. Not once had I actually stayed at home and just spent the day relaxing. I’m pretty sure I was doing what the factory wanted. They came to me with the bizarre task of green-roofing the entire factory on my own, then told me to take whatever time I needed. They can’t complain. “The original job offer was related to green-roofing, but nothing’s really come out of that.” “Oh, that’s moss? I thought it was just grass.” What was she talking about? “At first, the factory seemed gray to me, but some of the roofs and walls are actually green.” What? “I’ve seen lots of buildings like that around. So that was you?” It wasn’t me. “I bet it was contractors. It had to be. You know this, but the vegetation around the factory isn’t even our territory. That’s General Affairs, or the Center for Corporate Social Responsibility, if it’s about the environment or protecting the environment. In the PR Department, all we ask is that you run the Family Moss Hunt,” Aoyama said. Even over the phone, I could imagine her smile, which had become a little more strained following her brief marriage. “I don’t know what Goto-san told you, but my responsibilities with you don’t go beyond the hunt. That’s it.” She never called him Goto-san when they were working in the same office. Now she made no effort to hide the fact that Goto belonged to another department. “Do you want me to confirm that?” “With whom?” “With CCSR or GA, whoever’s in charge of green-roofing. All we have to do is ask. We can track down the contractors, too.” But I really don’t care who did it. That’s not why I called. What I want to know is why I’m here. If they don’t need me, then why am I here? “Do you want me to get in touch with Goto-san?” Aoyama was clearly annoyed. No, she wasn’t the sort of person to show her emotions to someone who wasn’t very close, so I probably had it wrong. Actually, talking to Goto made the most sense. It was probably the most appropriate course of action, but it still didn’t feel right. He and I had never really gotten along, and I doubted he wanted anything to do with me now. Where did he even end up? “He’s in the factory. Closer to HQ. In a different department. It’s perfectly normal for people to transfer between departments. It happens all the time.” Aoyama sighed into the receiver. “I’ll reach out again closer to the moss hunt. Also, how would you feel about running the hunt not just once but twice a year? Everybody loves it. It’s something we should really think about, moving forward.” “Well, I mean, I’ve been experimenting with moss, working on green-roofing, but there are some sticking points, technically speaking. Honestly, the project has always been more or less impossible. I’ve done everything I can, it just hasn’t led me anywhere.” “Furufue-san, how long have you been working here?” “Fifteen years.” “And during those years, have you produced anything? Anything tangible?” When I hung up, I felt this tension — knots — in my neck and my back. I rolled my shoulder blades a few times, then picked up the binder that the old man and his grandson had given me. As I started reading, I felt something funny on my lip. When I touched my face, it tickled my fingers. I guess I had a little bit of a beard going. I was stunned, but only for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t anything, after all. Hair had been growing everywhere, on the backs of my hands, all over my body.

  I woke up again. I was drenched in sweat. What was I reading? I couldn’t find any typos or mistakes. And without additional instructions I couldn’t do anything about the style. What was this supposed to be anyway? It didn’t seem like the sort of thing that would need proofreading. It was almost like some kid’s school project — except it was completely made up. True, there’s a big river that cuts through the factory, and I’m sure we have some cleaning facilities, too, but the rest of it has nothing to do with reality. Shags and lizards? Lizards can’t survive on lint. They eat bugs. In warmer places, there are larger lizards that feed on animals, but tiny ones that eat soap? The same goes for shags that can only be found in the factory. And why the hell would workers want to capture birds like that? It was nonsense, of course, but here it was on my desk. I had to do something with it, but what? Pull out my red pen and make edits? How? After a little thought, I returned the folder to its packet and threw it back where it came from. It’s not like we have to handle these documents in any order anyway. Someone else can deal with it. I almost read the whole stupid thing, though. At least I think I did. They always make me read things that put me to sleep.

  It was raining the morning after I had lunch with Furufue, the middle-aged man with the silver ID strap. (I double-checked. It was silver. Academics are idolized — even when they’re studying moss.) Walking in from the rain, I ran into Goto. “Good morning.” “Morning.” I thought about saying thanks for g
iving me the afternoon off, but he was clearly in a hurry, pinching an unlit cigarette, anxious to get outside. Getting to the smoking area multiple times a day had to be a lot of work. Inside, Hanzake was doing the same morning stretches as always. The Giant was there, too, playing around with a Muscle Man eraser. “Morning.” “Good morning.” “It’s really coming down.” “Yeah it is.” I put my apron on, sat down, and opened my book. Every time somebody came through the door, the smell of rain filled the room. When the Captain came in, he said hello to Hanzake and me. He took his hat off and hung it on the Power Tower before opening a can of coffee he’d probably bought on the way in. “Ushiyama-san, how was the bridge?” “The bridge?” Hanzake perked up at the sound of the Captain’s voice, craning what little neck he had to look at the Captain, then me, then the Captain again. “Ushiyama-san took the afternoon off, remember? She went for a walk around the factory,” the Captain said, smiling at me. “You chose a good day for it.” “I made it across the bridge. I saw the birds, too.” I saw them, but they weren’t anything special. They were just plain black birds, but somehow I felt like I had to report back. “There were a lot of them.” “But it probably wasn’t very interesting for you. They’re just ordinary birds, after all. After you left, I started wondering if I shouldn’t have said anything.” “No, I had a good time. I’d never been over the bridge before. On the way there, I kept thinking about getting on a bus, but I ended up walking the whole way. Once I was on the south side, I caught the bus. I still can’t believe how big the factory is.” “You walked over the bridge? On foot?” Hanzake cut in, surprised. “I’d never make it.” “It really is pretty far. I wonder how many miles. Ushiyama-san, how long did it take you?” “Not too long. Maybe a little over an hour? Under an hour and a half.” On the other side, when we sat down at the Okinawan place, lunch was basically over, but they let us order off the lunch menu, so it had to be around two. It felt like I’d been walking longer than that. It really is a big bridge. You can’t even see one end from the other. Why was it so easy to cross? “There were so many birds. I’d never seen anything like it.” “I know, there are tons, right?” There really were. How do they all stay fed? “Still, you didn’t get tired from the walk?” “It was fine.” “What? You went for a walk?” Itsumi asked as she walked in, showing up at the last second as usual. “I hope you had good shoes on. Otherwise you can really mess up your knees and ankles,” she said, putting her hair up in a bun. The usual melody played, and I could hear Goto calling the Print Services Branch Office morning meeting to order. As soon as we left the restaurant, Furufue and I parted ways. He took care of the check. When I thanked him, he laughed nervously and waved his hand in front of his face. He said he was going to walk around the factory before heading home, and I said I was going to take the bus. There was a stop right by the Okinawan place, and the bus came after a couple of minutes. In the south zone, all the buildings were squat and grimy with age. The trees were different, too. In the north zone, they’re green with life all year round, but most of the trees in the south are yellow and dying, if not bare and dead. Some of them were giant, though, unlike any I’d ever seen. The flower beds had simple marigolds and scarlet sage. Most of the people I could see were wearing uniforms, but there was one woman with big earrings and high heels. As soon as she got on, a sweet smell filled the bus. Starting from the bridge, the bus hit every stop in the south zone before arriving at the south gate. The woman with the earrings got off at Processing Plant West. She thanked the driver as she carefully stepped onto the ground. Next came Processing Plant Central, Processing Plant East, Main Testing Site, then Warehouse X. At every stop, a couple of people got off and more people got on. Along the way, we were joined by a boy wearing shorts, an old man who looked far too old to work, and a housewife in an apron. A few kids with chunky backpacks got on, their spittly talk quickly spreading through the bus. An older man in a gray uniform asked the kids, “Half day?” No one answered him. The boys didn’t even seem to notice. They got off before long, fortunately, but their tinny voices lingered behind. When we pulled up to the final stop, I thanked the driver and exited the bus. For a moment, I wasn’t sure how to get to the gate, but most of the other passengers were walking briskly in the same direction, so I followed them. Soon I could see a fence and the glass-paned room where the security guard on duty was talking to somebody. Maybe you don’t need to show your badge when you leave on this side. The guard gave me a slight nod as I walked past. I did the same. The soki soba wasn’t very filling. I’d have to eat something else once I got home.