Moshi Moshi

by Banana Yoshimoto

  I got up. “I’m sorry I wasn’t answering my phone,” I said. “And I’m sorry for asking you to come all the way out here.”

  “I’d kill for a post-bath beer, but I’m driving,” Yamazaki-san smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I was at a loose end today, and I agreed to come because I wanted to.”

  How old was he? I wondered, and worked out that he must be around forty-five. He was younger than Dad, but had seemed older, since he was so placid. Close up, his skin was youthful, and I blithely wondered whether his clothes didn’t also add to the impression.

  “You know, I saw how the wind was today, and the sky, and it made me think I should go and visit Imo’s grave today, so I gave you a call. I didn’t plan on coming all the way out here, but I’m not complaining. On a day as full of light as today, the chances of reaching the afterlife must be pretty good, wouldn’t you say?” Yamazaki-san said.

  I watched his quintessentially middle-aged profile as he spoke, and felt more safe and more comfortable than ever. That was what had happened to me, too, I thought. The sky today had made me think the same.

  “Yes, I wanted to get it over with,” I said. I decided to stop acting helpless, or like I needed him. I decided to meet him as an equal. “Like I couldn’t move forward unless I did. I had the talismans and the salt in my bag, just getting heavier and heavier. But when Mom said no, I felt much more alone than I’d expected. So I was glad you could come. To tell the truth, I was terrified of going back there. Thank you for coming with me,” I said.

  “I feel like you’ve grown up a lot, Yocchan, in a really short time,” Yamazaki-san said.

  “No, some things that happened made me realize that I’d been acting like a child,” I said.

  THE PLACE WHERE DAD and that woman had committed suicide was near a small crop of houses in a forest, a long way from the main road.

  It was at the end of a little-used gravel road, which started in an area of abandoned-looking houses—with wooden decks which were rotting and falling down, or broken windows—and cottages with surfboards leaning on them outside that looked like they were only used in summer. The road was overgrown with dense branches stretching out from the forest on either side, limiting visibility.

  Dad (and that woman) had been found by a woman who lived locally. She and her husband, who was a picture-book author, had moved to the area and were some of the few people who lived there year-round. She’d noticed that the car had been parked at the end of a dead-end road for a long time, and had checked on it when she walked her dog.

  This woman seemed very kind, and had genuinely taken pity on Mom and me when we’d arrived on the scene, and given us hot cups of tea. Later, we sent her a box of sweets by way of thanks, and she replied with a truly kind letter. Her husband had also included a wonderful drawing.

  Remembering that couple, I reflected that even that devastating day had contained a ray of light. We were in Yamazaki-san’s beat-up Mini Cooper, driving deeper into the forest with the wind whistling through the trees. The car was bumpy to ride in at the best of times, and going up and down the hills on the unsurfaced road, it felt like being on a roller coaster.

  The two of us gradually fell silent.

  I was giving Yamazaki-san directions to the spot, but I started to feel short of breath, and dizzy. I asked myself if I was really going back there.

  Of course, Dad’s car wasn’t there any longer—I wouldn’t be met with that terrible sight again. Now there was only an empty, dead-end lane covered in fallen leaves.

  What a hateful place, I thought. Dad had died there, had reached the end his life, and not willingly. All his music, and his work, and his time with us—everything had been sucked into that desolate black hole of a place and disappeared.

  “This is it,” I said.

  Yamazaki-san stopped the car. We got out, and I said, “If I left the talismans here, the local residents probably wouldn’t be that thrilled, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sure it would be alright. Couldn’t you bury them in the ground, even?” Yamazaki-san said.

  “Yes, I think I’ll bury them over here out of the way,” I said.

  Yamazaki-san got a spade out of the back of the car. It was definitely a spade, and not a trowel.

  “What did you use that for, and when?” I asked.

  “A long time ago. I think it was when my wife planted some bulbs in her folks’ garden,” Yamazaki-san said, laughing.

  “And how is she?” I said.

  “We got divorced. Two years ago. She left,” Yamazaki-san said. “Oh, it wasn’t because I wasn’t faithful, or anything. There was a bit of that, but she was just a very unhappy person. And we wanted kids but couldn’t conceive. She found herself a young boyfriend, divorced me, married him, and has a late-in-life baby now.”

  To be completely honest, when he said that, I did feel a small spark of hope. But I assumed, knowing him, that he was with someone else by now.

  “I see,” I said. “I’m sure it can’t have been easy, with someone that beautiful. But I’m sorry to hear it. You were a lovely couple—I thought so, and Mom did, too.”

  “So Imo’s gone, and I’m divorced, and a lot of things have changed in the last couple of years. I’m almost surprised I’m still here, carrying on,” Yamazaki-san said.

  “I feel like I’ve lost everything, too, even though I’ve still got Mom,” I said.

  “That’s because you think about everything in words,” Yamazaki-san said. “You can go around and around the same questions all you like, and never find an answer. Yocchan, I know that’s how you cope, how you get through time, so I’ve never thought it was immature, or unhelpful. But there’s another way of doing it: to sit with an empty space, and just look at it, without thinking anything, just enduring. Some people can do that. I think your mom is one of those.”

  He was right, so I stayed quiet.

  “When you see your mom like that, you must get worried, and feel like you need to think about things for her. I can understand that. But you can’t think for someone, no matter how close you are. Even though I think that’s one of the great things about you, and I like it very much. You always try so hard, thinking and working and taking care of people all the time, being so brave it makes me feel like I might cry,” he said.

  “I know, if I could have used all the time and energy I spent just thinking to generate electricity or something, I’m sure that would have been a lot more useful,” I said. “But it really was the only thing I could have done about this. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about anything so much.”

  “No, I think you’ve always thought a lot for other people, ever since you were young. Both Imo and your mom were more the type to try things first, and think later. It was always you thinking about the two of them. But they never really paid any attention, did they? I used to see it and think how tough it was to be an only child. You were always worrying about them, saying things like, ‘Dad, Mom, won’t you have a fever tomorrow if you do that? If you eat so much, won’t it give you a stomachache later?’” Yamazaki-san said. “It might be time to start putting yourself first.”

  “Thank you, Yamazaki-san,” I said, sincerely thankful to have been seen, and for what he’d said.

  Then we started digging. I felt slightly guilty for burying the talismans since they’d been consecrated, but thought maybe the offense was minimal compared to what Dad and the woman had done. But then it dawned on me that the gods probably didn’t feel that inconvenienced by anything we humans could do, even far more major things—even suicide or murder. When I thought of it that way, I felt a little better.

  I placed the talismans Shintani-kun had given me into the ground, thanking him silently as I did.

  Then I took out the other thing I’d brought with me: Dad’s cell phone—the phone that had appeared so many times in my dreams.

  After Dad had left his phone at home that morning, it had stayed there at the condo, charging, even after he was dead, until the police had
come and taken it away saying they’d give it a once-over. There were lots of texts and calls from that woman, of course, as well as the innocent, everyday texts from Mom and me. We were tormented for a long time by the thought that if only Dad hadn’t left his phone behind that day, if he’d gotten in touch at some point, we might have noticed that something was going on, and might have been able to stop him. The night the police returned the phone, wrapped in a plastic bag, Mom threw it against the floor of the entry in the condo and stomped all over it in fury. Then she threw herself down on the floor and wept loudly. I saw that and started crying, too, set off by her tears. Mom cried and yelled about how she didn’t want to see what was on the phone, and that she was angry the police had seen into our life.

  So that cracked and broken phone was completely destroyed, about as dead as Dad, but when I’d picked it up from the floor of the entry, I hadn’t quite felt able to get rid of it, and had kept it around.

  I buried the phone with the talismans. I felt a little guilty to Dad that I was burying his phone, but I wanted to, because it would always make me sad. I had enough things that reminded me of him, I didn’t need to keep one that hurt so much.

  I also hoped that once it was buried, Dad might stop looking for it in my dreams.

  Sweetly, gently, I said in my heart: Dad, your phone’s spirit is on its way over to you, so you can call us all you want now. Then I moved the fallen leaves back over the spot.

  “Is that Imo’s phone? I recognize it. How’d it get so broken? It must have been really violent,” Yamazaki-san said. Then he laughed, and said, “Why are you covering it up with leaves again like that? It’s not a booby trap, you know.”

  The way he said it was so funny that somehow, it made me laugh, too. The sound of our laughter traveled lightly on the wind and floated out through the trees.

  Then I opened the pouch of salt, and gave some to Yamazaki-san, too, and we scattered it around as though we were doing a purification.

  Then we put our hands together and prayed.

  Dad, we’ve got your photograph safe in Shimokitazawa. You can leave this world behind now. Mom might still be a little angry, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t really blame anyone anymore.

  And . . . strange, beautiful, unhappy woman, who—I don’t know if it’s because my aunt, who’s pretty good-looking, was a bit of a wild thing in her youth? Not that it really matters—circumstances have conspired to connect us so deeply: I don’t know a lot about you, nor do I want to, but I’m praying for you, too. If you get born again, don’t kill yourself, or anyone else. I can kind of sympathize with not wanting to die alone, but you’ve given us a lot to deal with. You certainly changed my life.

  “That’s better,” Yamazaki-san said, and I quickly opened my eyes.

  I realized he was only speaking for himself, how he felt better, and I was glad for that.

  Just like it was the right thing for Mom not to come, it wouldn’t have been right for me to be praying while someone was there just waiting around for me to finish, either.

  I got up, thinking I’d probably never come here again, even if I might visit his grave at some point. I bowed my toward the lights in the distance, which belonged to the home of the picture book author and his wife.

  May you live long and well, and be happy. Thank you for all you’ve done for us.

  “I feel a little better, too. When I thought about this place, I kept seeing Dad’s car parked here, and the police cars, and it made me feel so dark and scared. I think it’ll be easier for me now that I have the memory of today on top of that,” I said. I’d felt calm, but there were tears rolling down my face.

  Just a few moments earlier, as I’d been on the verge of leaving this place behind forever, I’d suddenly remembered how warm that tea the picture book artist’s wife had made for us that day had been. She’d smiled, and handed it to us cheerfully, while her husband had quietly looked on from behind her. His eyes had a depth that came of having seen many things, and spoke of the years that they had traveled together as husband and wife. They must have been shocked and repulsed, too, but they met us solidly, and cared for us without giving even a hint of it. Mom and I had drunk the tea down, momentarily forgetting everything else. The tea had tasted unforgettable. It had tasted of kindness—an unconditional human kindness that didn’t demand anything in return, and which I’d desperately wanted to cling to.

  “In that case I’m glad,” Yamazaki-san said. He looked at his watch. “It’s already four. We didn’t make it to the aquarium. But I guess the hot spring made up for it.”

  “No, let’s still go,” I said. My heart was hammering. I felt myself blush. “First thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Yocchan, what are you saying?” Yamazaki-san said. “Imo would kill me.”

  “He can’t, because he’s already dead,” I said.

  “He’ll come back and possess me, and then kill me,” Yamazaki-san said, and smiled. I saw his neat teeth and thought, He has the best smile. It made the bleak winter forest surrounding us sparkle.

  “I don’t mind if nothing happens,” I said. “I just want to let myself go and have some fun. It’s all I can do right now.”

  Yamazaki-san didn’t say anything. I stuck my hands in my pockets and looked up into the sky in the distance. “I don’t mind if something does happen, either,” I said. “I’m not anyone’s. Plus, I want to experience the thing that killed Dad for myself—the forces that take hold between a man and a woman.”

  Yamazaki-san looked at me gravely. After a while, he said, “Yocchan, any middle-aged man who didn’t like you, who didn’t care for you, would want to have you in bed. That’s how men work. But if I were to do anything to you, I’d hate myself tomorrow. I couldn’t live with that. So please don’t say that kind of thing.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t stop crying, and I liked Yamazaki-san even more than I had done before, and I felt cheated.

  “Am I allowed to like you?” I said.

  “You’re in no shape to get to liking anyone properly,” he said. “And any man who doesn’t understand that, or will take advantage of it, is a fool.”

  I nearly said, Apparently a man can understand it but still not be able to help himself, but I didn’t.

  “I think you’re right. I might just be looking for someone to lean on,” I said. “Maybe that’s just what happens when there’s no longer a man in the house.”

  Yamazaki-san laughed. “I shouldn’t laugh, but you’re funny, Yocchan,” he said.

  “Then let’s go to Oarai aquarium, some other time. Will you take me there? Mom can come if she wants, and we’ll make it a day trip. I just didn’t want this to be my only memory of today,” I said. “And Dad loved aquariums, so I wanted to go for him.”

  “Sure, we can do that once it gets a little warmer, and ask your mom, too. But let’s head back for now. We’ve got to have a celebration to send him off. We’ll go back to Tokyo, and I’ll drop the car. We’ll have some sake, and something to eat. Let’s push the boat out and treat ourselves,” he said.

  “If we can split the bill,” I said.

  “Imo would beat me up for that, too,” he said, and smiled.

  “If you’re going to get beaten up just by seeing me, what does it matter?” I said, and laughed, and forgave myself for asking too much, and felt satisfied.

  Of course, I was still forlorn.

  The spot where Dad had died was still a desolate, isolated, lonely, and hopeless kind of place, and we still didn’t know anything about that woman who’d died with him, or even how he’d felt about things. But that was probably just how things went. The sky was still clear, and the air was fresh, and my days went on, and Mom was alive. No one’s true feelings could ever be known, or pinned down. There was no need for answers. Nothing was the same now as it had been that terrible day.

  If I went somewhere upsetting, I’d grieve, and if I went to eat good food with someone I liked who was still alive, I’d have fun—that was all. I didn’t need to
know how Dad had felt. There was a lot I’d loved about him, and that was all I could ever be certain of.

  Sure it was ambiguous, and annoying, and frustrating, and murky, and worrisome, and none of us was doing everything right, but maybe that was all okay.

  It was fine, I thought. It didn’t really matter, it was all fine.

  Because I was alive, and I was with someone I probably really loved.

  When I truly grasped that idea, in that forest as dark fell around us, I finally understood how Mom had felt when she’d tumbled into my apartment all those months ago. I was able to make sense of her actions not as those of a parent, but as a fellow human being.

  Peace and acceptance suddenly fell into my hands. Like a patch of rich soil that had soaked up plenty of sun mounding gently up into an empty space, I felt something akin to an answer settle in me.

  HAVING PAID OUR RESPECTS, Yamazaki-san and I both suddenly felt very hungry, and we got in his car, chatting like old friends about how sake seemed most appropriate after any kind of memorial, and what we should eat to go with it. We joined the highway feeling calm and at peace.

  I could tell that my confession had untangled another thing that had been between us, and that both of us were now feeling more at ease, and more happy. As we talked and he drove, I felt he was truly accepting me for who I was.

  It might just have been Yamazaki-san’s kindness and experience letting me feel that way, but I felt like we might genuinely be extremely compatible, given how much we were enjoying ourselves just through spending time together.

  I found out that thanks to the influence of his ex-wife, Yamazaki-san was uncompromising when it came to food. After a lot of impassioned discussion, he mentioned an incredibly good soba-noodle restaurant near his house and we decided to go there. We were genuinely excited, almost like we’d forgotten that we’d just been to visit the scene where someone had died, or as though we’d discussed it beforehand and agreed this would be the best way to put it behind us.