“You’re right, I’m sorry.” It was my turn to apologize. And yet I couldn’t help thinking back to Mom, stooped forwards as she dragged her feet in Dad’s sandals; there had been an entirely different type of fear in her eyes that day, something that hinted at a much more sordid secret. “Yohei, what was it you were about to say just now about Mom? Spit it out.”
“But it’s from way back, it doesn’t matter now.”
“Whatever, just say it.”
“Well, when Granddad was still alive we used to share a room, right? There was this one time, I think you were still in seventh grade, when I woke up in the middle of the night. I opened my eyes a bit and saw Mom sitting by your bed, watching your face.”
“And?”
“Yeah, well. She kind of … She was holding a pillow to her chest.”
“…”
“Ah, see? You’re twisting it already, that’s why I didn’t want to say anything. It wasn’t like she was—”
“Oh, you mean she wasn’t about to smother me with a pillow?”
“Of course she wasn’t, don’t be stupid. Anyways, I pretended I was asleep, wondering what she was watching you for, and after a while she just got up and walked out. I remember thinking it was weird as I went back to sleep. See, I only just remembered that when you said that stuff about Mom being switched with someone else.”
“What was she holding the pillow for?”
“I don’t know, she was probably half-asleep.”
“Hey, doesn’t our family seem a little weird, the more you think about it?”
“How so?”
“Well, for example, Mom and Dad never tried to mix with other people.” My parents were decidedly antisocial. Even with the neighbors they hardly ventured beyond basic greetings.
“That’s just because they got along well and preferred each other’s company.”
I remembered something the moment Yohei said this. The fact that I could recall such a trivial thing seemed to suggest it had stuck in my mind, that it didn’t quite make sense. “What about when Dad bought that microscope? That was middle school too, right?”
It had been a Sunday. Dad had taken us to the Takashimaya department store in Namba. We were in the middle of eating lunch in the food court when a man we’d never seen before came over. Dad sprang to his feet. I worked out from their conversation that the man had been a colleague of Dad’s from his old job in Tokyo. The man animatedly explained that he had left that job, too, a few years earlier to take over the family business; that he was from Osaka originally and was out visiting clients even though it was a Sunday. When they said goodbye the man suggested they get together for a drink sometime soon and offered Dad his business card. When Dad said he had forgotten to bring his, the man pulled out an address book and copied down the name and number of Dad’s workplace. Yohei and I looked at each other—Dad had given the man a completely fictitious name, and probably a made-up number, too. To make things worse, when he’d paid for the microscope, I had happened to see him pull his cardholder from his inside pocket along with his wallet, while Yohei busily grinned and pawed at the top of the box.
When the man was gone, Yohei innocently asked Dad why he’d told the man a lie. Even then I knew it was probably better not to ask.
A long time ago he stole money from the company, he’s a bad person, it’s better we keep our distance. That was Dad’s response. There was sweat on his forehead. I remembered being suddenly seized by a bizarre worry that it was in fact Dad and not the other man who had embezzled from the company. In hindsight, it was obvious Dad would never have done such a thing. He had always been light on worldly desires.
But Yohei didn’t seem to remember it at all. “When he bought the microscope from Takashimaya? I can recall that day pretty clearly, you know. You sure you’re not getting that memory mixed up with something else? Or maybe it’s some hodgepodge of fantasy and memory.”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
“I mean, sure, Mom and Dad might have been a little insular, but come on, they were honest, upstanding citizens otherwise.”
“All right, what about this. Don’t normal parents like to tell their kids about when they were young, about their own childhoods? We hardly know a thing, only that Dad lost his parents when he was a kid. They never told us about how they met, what their lives were like before they were a couple. Plus, they never told us about when we were babies. It was like they purposefully avoided bringing up the past. Something happened back then, I’m sure of it.”
“But Mom told me all about the time I was born. They were worried because I only weighed a little over five pounds. And I had downy hair, with fine black strands even on my back.”
Yohei couldn’t possibly know how much of a shock it was for me to hear that. “Mom told you all that?”
“Yeah.”
I watched him as he dug into his pear pie and felt a lonely chill spread through my bosom. “I bet that was when I wasn’t around. It fits, since you were born after the move to Komagawa. She wouldn’t have said anything if I was there. If she told you about the time you were born, she’d have to do the same for me. I don’t remember her ever telling me where I was born or what the experience was like. And all the photos, right? You know, they all got burned up years before in that fire, so not a single one was left.”
“I don’t really get it, but … You really, truly believe it, don’t you? That Mom was switched with someone else when we moved to Komagawa.”
For the first time Yohei looked bewildered. Or maybe his expression was closer to fear. I couldn’t tell whether he was scared because he had started to doubt Mom and Dad, or whether he was simply scared of me.
5
The next day was a Saturday. There was a cool breeze and a light covering of clouds. Shaggy Head was fairly bustling, in the dog run and inside, and yet I was finding it impossible to concentrate on work. I was getting orders mixed up and taking out cakes without a fork. At one point I tripped over a leash and almost crushed a Chihuahua underfoot. I realized that Ms. Hosoya was watching me with a frown. It was before two p.m. and the day was still long.
Ms. Hosoya came over and asked, “What’s up with you today, boss?”
“I didn’t sleep much, I think I’m a little spaced out.” It was true that I had hardly slept—I’d spent most of the night lost in thought.
“You’re really pale, maybe you should go upstairs and lie down for a bit. The three of us can manage things down here.”
One of the three was in the kitchen, meaning that without me Ms. Hosoya and Nachi would have to manage the floor, the run, and the register. That would be difficult.
“But I’m already causing enough trouble, what with me taking off early tomorrow.” I had explained earlier in the morning that I would have to head out Sunday afternoon. I had managed to convince another member of the part-time staff to come in on her day off, but I felt bad regardless. “And Nachi is, well, he’s like that.” I nodded towards a table in the corner.
Whenever Clutch, a black pug, came to the cafe, Nachi never failed to come up with an excuse to neglect his work and fuss over the dog. He was already crouched next to the tiny creature, which was as small as a rat, stroking it with his index finger.
According to the elderly lady that owned him Clutch had an exceedingly noble pedigree, and that may have been why he was so small. “He’s stayed a pup his whole life, even as he became an old man.” He couldn’t walk or bark, so the only thing to do was hold him gently, like something fragile. For some reason the odd creature, unrecognizable as a dog unless someone told you, appeared to be an endless source of happiness for Nachi.
Ms. Hosoya glared at his hunched back, clearly on the verge of tutting with disapproval. Nachi looked around, perhaps sensing her menacing mood, jumped to his feet, and walked over with a sheepish grin.
“Ha ha. I wish he’d chew on my finger, just one time.” Nachi always said this. The tiny dog was incapable of moving anything beyond its eyes and mou
th, so gnawing at a finger was the only way for the small creature to express affection. But Clutch only ever bit his owner. “When he bites her, she says it’s so sweet and cute that she could cry.”
“Yes, well, as you can see Nachi here will do his best to help, so go and get a little rest. You’re only bringing down the mood, looking that sickly. Go on, off you go.” She shooed me upstairs, waving me off like I was a dog.
“Thank you, maybe just an hour, then.”
I padded up the stairs, still in my apron. For some reason I walked as softly as I could.
The second floor, consisting of a couple of small rooms, a kitchenette, and a bathroom like the kind found in business hotels, was where I lived. The plate and mug I’d used for breakfast were still on the table, but I couldn’t summon the energy to clean up.
I went over to the window and stood there for a while, watching the field through the thin curtains. As it was a quarter of an acre in size, it was a little too cramped for the larger dogs to dash about freely. Even so, these days facilities such as these were the only places dogs could run around outside without a leash.
Some of the dogs seemed lonesome, wagging their tails at their owners watching from the veranda, while others darted back and forth in endless drifting circles.
At its northern edge the field lifted into a gradual slope which stretched out beyond the fence, connecting with a wood at the foothills of a small mountain.
I could see Chie at the fence, working with a shovel. Long, slender limbs. She wore gloves and had a towel tucked around her neck as she filled in the various holes made by the dogs—
Memories of her dwelt on the grounds and in my room like ghosts, frightening me.
We had once gone past the fence a little ways into the woods and made love in broad daylight, on an overhang above a mountain stream that served as a natural observation platform. While we were anxious of hikers happening upon us we let the strange lust take hold of us anyway. In the end we only accomplished half of what we desired and rushed back to my room. For the next three days—the whole of the last August’s O-bon holiday—we gave up on plans to see movies or go on drives and instead shut ourselves up in my room, barely leaving my creaky single bed.
When I heard Chie was gone, it was purely a physical sensation of loss that hit me first. It was so powerful that it knocked the life out of me, and it took a while before I was able to register the sadness in my heart. I still didn’t know, even today, if it was Chie herself that I missed, or if it was her smell, her warmth, her weight, the touch of her skin, the physical sensation of her.
She had been dressed in the light clothes of a hiker when she turned up unexpectedly at the construction site a couple of years ago, just as we were finishing up work on the cafe’s foundations. She had been walking the hills when she had caught sight of the “Opening Soon” sign at the worksite entrance, and apparently had known immediately that she wanted to work at the cafe.
When she took off her cap her face was pale and radiant in the light, gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. She had a mysterious power over me from the beginning.
She had graduated from a vocational college in Okayama before starting work at a trading company in Osaka. After that she went through a number of jobs, never finding anything she genuinely enjoyed. She was strong for a woman and madly in love with dogs, perfect for a place like Shaggy Head. She said she wouldn’t be fussy about pay if I took her on.
As she told me this, her willful expression occasionally slipped into something altogether more fragile, and for some reason the strange contrast roiled my emotions. I kept getting so worked up that I had to look away.
I was in a daze thinking about her for the rest of the day, right until I got into bed that night. Even though we had only spoken briefly, I couldn’t bear the thought that the woman called Chie had expressions that I had not yet seen. I had to see them all for myself. I was surprised to realize that I would do whatever was necessary to make that happen.
The busy months that led up to the cafe opening were like a happy dream. Chie was perfect for the job, and I had already suspected that a woman’s perspective would be necessary for running a business of this kind. She happily threw herself into helping, displaying her own unique style as she worked on the interior of the cafe, on plans for the kitchen equipment, and even on the design of the cafe’s logo. It was her idea to plant flowering ash trees between the parking lot and the building, and her choice to have thick, cement-colored cups and saucers.
As we worked to get the cafe ready for opening, our personal relationship rapidly developed. I had already stopped thinking of Shaggy Head as my business—in my head, the cafe was ours. We discussed starting dog-training classes, opening a “hotel” to board pets on a short-term basis, doing more thorough testing to find the best coffee beans, and baking additive-free bread. Our future seemed to naturally unfold before us.
Once the business was running smoothly we would buy a house in a nearby residential area, and we didn’t care if it was old or small. We would build a wooden deck around it, plant flowers in the garden, and raise kids in a stress-free environment. We talked about these things as though they were all long since decided.
It all felt so natural I hardly felt the need to propose. When I gave her a ring, a year later, it was purely out of a sense of formality.
Then she disappeared. It was almost half a year ago, in early February.
Blustery winds bearing sleet had all but shut down the cafe for a few days. I didn’t pay much attention when Chie didn’t come in. She had left early the day before, looking unwell and saying she might take the next day off. She didn’t answer when I phoned, so I assumed she was asleep and decided not to bother her with any more calls. After closing up that night I bought some groceries, udon noodles and scallions and things, and went to check on her. She lived in a small studio apartment a couple of minutes’ walk from the train stop at Nabata.
The windows were pitch black and she didn’t answer when I knocked on the door as usual. It didn’t worry me, as I still thought she was probably just asleep.
I’ll never forget the way that feeling slammed into me, of everything collapsing around me, when I used the spare key to open the door.
The room was totally vacant. The familiar curtains were gone, as were the bed, table, and cutlery. The thin veil of darkness seemed to insinuate that the room had always been that way.
I kicked off my shoes and stumbled a few steps inside. I wonder how long I sat crumpled and dazed in the middle of the floor that had been laid bare from corner to corner. I couldn’t process any of it but the question looped through my mind all the same, like something mechanical: What’s going on? What the hell is going on? What’s going on? What the hell is going on?
I searched for over a month, neglecting work completely. I tried the real estate agent that managed the room, but they didn’t have her new address. All they told me was that she had paid the early termination fee in full before moving out. I went back to the studio apartment block a number of times, speaking to her neighbors on either side first, then to everyone else in the building, but I didn’t gain any useful information. I couldn’t even find a single person who had shared more than polite greetings with her.
Time and again I went back to bars and pubs we had visited together. As I sat there drinking alone I was unable to stop myself from turning around and checking the door as though she might just waltz in at any moment with an impish grin on her face.
That was when it dawned on me that when it came to specifics, I knew next to nothing about her. Our conversations had always focused on the future of Shaggy Head, what our future selves would be like. I had been blind when it came to anything else.
I knew she was an only child, and I knew her parents lived in Okayama as we had been talking about going there so she could introduce me, but she never told me their actual address. I had no idea about the kind of relationships she’d had before, what her friends were like, the detai
ls of her old jobs, or what she liked to do when she was alone.
Just a couple of weeks before she disappeared, I’d agreed to loan her some money after she’d begged me: two million yen, the whole of my savings. Chie had told me that her cousin had embezzled ten million yen from her workplace and that she was now facing criminal charges unless she could scrape enough together from friends and relatives and return it in full.
Ms. Hosoya had seemed distressed, too. She had called the college listed on Chie’s resume, even the local ward office for anything that might have listed a new address. The college turned out to be real, but they wouldn’t release alumni names to unrelated parties, and the ward office refused to let anyone but the person in question examine records. Ms. Hosoya grew more and more despondent, as she had doted on Chie like a daughter. I think she might have suspected Chie of making off with the money, of having approached me in the first place for such a purpose. It was understandable, considering how things had unfolded.
But I couldn’t believe it. That wasn’t the sort of woman Chie was. I still didn’t believe it, and even if I never saw her again I probably wouldn’t until the day I die. After having held her trembling body in my arms so many times, my body continued to scream that it was absolutely impossible.
I dragged myself away from the window. I had to make a conscious effort just to move. I sat at my desk but my head was still heavy so I rested it in my hands. I tried to force my thoughts away from Chie.
Without any particular reason I narrowed my eyes a little and looked at the sheets of paper scattered across the surface of the desk: copies of my family register, current and old. Supplementary family registers. Residency certificates.
I had made a trip to the library before opening the cafe that morning, remembering it housed a ward office branch that was open for basic service on weekends. I realized they would probably have information on my parents’ old address in Tokyo. I wasn’t sure what I would do even if I had been able to pin down the twenty-year-old address. Would I go to Tokyo looking for their old neighbors, hold up a photo of Mom, and ask if it was the same person? I think a part of me was considering trying that much at least. I didn’t care what, I just wanted to know something of my family’s past.
Nan-Core Page 5
