The Hole

by Hiroko Oyamada

  I put my phone away and headed next door. The heat was brutal. Everything was perfectly still, no wind at all. Grandpa was out front, watering the plants. He was wearing a big straw hat and gripping a glistening green hose. He noticed me by the gate and raised a friendly hand in my direction. Grandpa’s the only person at home during the day. He had to be close to ninety — maybe older — but he seemed to be in good health. “How are you doing today, Grandpa?” He didn’t answer, but raised his hand higher in the air. He was smiling, showing his teeth. At the corners of his mouth, his metallic canines glinted in the sun. “It’s hot out, isn’t it?” What’s he doing outside anyway? Tomiko said he spent his days in the house, napping in front of the TV — but what if that was only on weekends, when she was around? What if he spent the weekdays gardening when no one was home? They had a pine tree by the gate, a crape myrtle closer to the house, and a few other trees I couldn’t name. The garden was full of all sorts of plants — some flowering, others that looked dead. Something deep green was growing in a planter, probably basil. It didn’t look like anything you’d want to eat, like it might stain your teeth green if you bit into it. “Tomiko asked me to grab something for her. I’m going in, okay?” He kept smiling with all his teeth, but didn’t say a word. He was definitely healthy for his age, but his ears weren’t what they used to be. I smiled back at him as I rattled the door open and stepped inside.

  Uncluttered by shoes, the entryway looked wider than usual. Coming in from the sun, the hallway was dark, even with the lights on. Once my eyes adjusted, I could see there was no envelope on the shelf. I stepped out of my shoes and headed for the kitchen. No envelope on the table, either. Everything was in its place: there was only a chopstick rest, thick-sliced bread with cheese, a couple of things wrapped in plastic, an apple sliced in quarters inside a Tupperware, and a thermos. That had to be Grandpa’s lunch. On the wall by the sink were all kinds of implements arranged by height, and on the stove were a couple of pots and a frying pan that had been washed and dried. Down to one final option, I slid open the door to the altar room. Sunlight was shining through the shoji. Inside, a brown paper rectangle was waiting on the low table. I looked inside. Everything was there — the money and the slip. Once I was in the room, it didn’t feel right to leave without paying my respects. As I put my hands together and faced the altar, I caught the smell of peaches. As I took a better look, I noticed the altar door was open, and there were three well-ripened peaches inside.

  Photos of family members who had passed away lined the lintel. Only one was in color: Grandma’s. The rest were black-and-white images of people who had made it to old age. When I came here to meet the family before getting married — or maybe right after — I looked up at that color photo and said to Tomiko, “I can really see the resemblance.” “Between..?” Unsure of what to call the woman in front of me, I gestured at her with my right hand. “Between her and me?” When I nodded, Tomiko opened her eyes wide, then laughed with her whole body. “Asa, you’re joking, right? I can’t tell. You know that’s my husband’s mother . . .” “Oh, I,” I stuttered, then covered my mouth. “I don’t know what I was thinking . . . I’m sorry.” But the more I studied that photograph, the clearer it was — the two women definitely resembled each other. The lines around their mouths were identical. Maybe it wasn’t about any specific feature. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that they were related by blood. Tomiko finally stopped laughing, wiped the tears from her eyes, then sighed. “You’re a funny one, aren’t you?” “Really, I’m sorry . . .” “Why? I’m honored. Grandma was a beautiful woman in her day. Even when she was in her casket, her skin glowed like she was alive. You know she was named ‘Miss Prefecture,’ right? That was before the war . . .” Tomiko started laughing again. I took another look at the oddly angled photo — Grandma was looking down at me in her black kimono. The image was grainy, as if they’d taken a much smaller photo and had it enlarged. Still, the resemblance between them was undeniable. I nodded at the photo, then walked out of the room, envelope in hand.

  When I left the house, Grandpa looked up and posed the same as before, hand raised high in the air. “Tomiko asked me to run this down to the store. I’ll be back later.” Still no answer. I had no idea what volume to use when talking to him. Whenever Tomiko spoke to him, he nodded — or even gave full responses — so he couldn’t be completely deaf. I never had the impression that she was speaking any louder with him than anyone else. Maybe there was some secret to it — an ideal tone or speed. He stared at me for a couple of seconds, then turned away and started watering again.

  I went back to our house to grab a few things and shut the windows. I slipped my wallet and Tomiko’s envelope into my bag, put on my hat, and left. As I started to walk, it seemed like nothing around me was moving. The trees were as still as in a photograph, and the windows of all the houses were shut tight. There were no people around. No cats, no dogs, no crows. There wasn’t a single sparrow in the sky. My eyes were tingling from the heat. Once the water from Grandpa’s hose was too far away to hear, the only sound left was the cicadas: brown cicadas and another kind I don’t think I’d ever heard before. The heat from the asphalt passed through the soles of my shoes, filling the space between my toes.

  I knew where the 7-Eleven was, but hadn’t been there since the move. Everything I needed was at the supermarket, and that was closer. I never bought magazines or made copies. The walk between our house and the 7-Eleven was probably beautiful in the right season. There were even a couple of signs describing the view when migratory birds visited in the winter, but it was summer, and no matter how scenic it was, a paved path in the middle of this heat was too much to take. The lack of breeze wasn’t helping, either. The cries of the cicadas made the air feel even stickier. To the right of the path was the river, and to the left was a row of houses, each with its own garden and walls covered in goya and other vegetables. Beyond the leaves and vines, no signs of life. No one was making a sound — no TVs, no vacuums, no children. The riverbank was covered with grass, and so were parts of the river. There were a few birds on the water. They looked like herons, large and gray. The place was overgrown with susuki, kudzu, and other kinds of grass I’d seen before but couldn’t name. Parts of the river were murky blue, stagnant green, or totally black from the blinding sunlight. The dry grass almost smelled baked. There was a big pile, brown and wet, on the path in front of me, probably left by a dog. On top of it were a couple of silver flies. For them, it was a mountain of food. It got me wondering — what would it feel like to sink your limbs and face into your lunch like that? Even the flies weren’t moving. Maybe they were dead, knee-deep in dog crap. I kept an eye on the path as I walked. I passed a half-eaten Cup Noodles, an empty box of tissues, a work glove, a broken mosquito coil, and a few other sun-bleached artifacts. The cicada cries drilled into me with every breath I took. How many were there? How far can the cry of a cicada reach? I didn’t see any dead cicadas around, but spotted a few abandoned husks along the path. From the sound of it, the area had to be full of them. It’s not like they lived very long, so where were all the bodies? Just then, a grasshopper as big as my fist leapt from the bushes onto the path. It quivered as it folded its wings. It crept closer, then spread its wings and jumped away. When I looked up at the path ahead, I saw a big black animal.

  At first, I thought the extreme heat was making me hallucinate, but the creature was really there. It was obviously a mammal — but not one I’d ever seen before. What I saw wasn’t a weasel, and it wasn’t a raccoon. It had to be as large as a retriever, maybe bigger. It had wide shoulders, slender and muscular thighs, but from the knees down, its legs were as thin as sticks. The animal was covered in black fur and had a long tail and rounded ears. Its ribs were showing, but its back was bulky, maybe with muscle or with fat. Slowly, it moved down the path ahead of me, barely casting a shadow, probably because the sun was right overhead. There were no birds, no dogs, no cats — just this black animal.
I could see cars on the street on the other side of the river, but it was too bright to see the faces of the drivers or passengers inside. I was sure they couldn’t see me or the animal. It wasn’t looking at me, either. It was walking ahead of me, almost guiding me. And it didn’t seem to mind being followed — it didn’t look back and didn’t speed up. I couldn’t hear anything except the droning cicadas. I couldn’t hear the river or the cars. After some time, the animal turned toward the river, cutting through the tall grass in a spot that had been well trampled. Without thinking, I did the same. As it headed down the slope, I heard something like clopping. Maybe it had hooves. The black water ahead of me glimmered in the sun. The grass clung to my skin as I walked, crushing things as I went. Plants, trash, crap, flies. They all broke or bent underfoot. Over the cicadas, I could hear a child shouting gleefully in the distance. There were old magazines and empty cans strewn among the weeds, but by this point they seemed to be as much a part of the riverbank as everything else. I saw the animal’s tail slip through the grass, and I leapt after it, but there was nothing there to catch me.

  I fell into a hole. It was probably four or five feet deep, but I’d managed to land on my feet. I looked around the grass — now at eye level — but the animal was nowhere to be found. I heard the grass rustling nearby, but before long the sound stopped.

  At the edge of the hole, a click beetle flew up toward my face. When it landed, I could see streaks running down its black shell. The antennae on its head looked bent. It was making a clicking noise, but I couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. As I tried to move, I realized how narrow the hole really was. The hole felt as though it was exactly my size — a trap made just for me. The bottom of the hole was covered with something dry, maybe dead grass or straw. Looking toward the river through a break in the grass, all I could see was white light. The beetle flew away. I couldn’t hear it anymore. The cicadas were the only sound. Cicadas cry to find a mate. They hear other cicadas crying around them and use what they hear to choose a partner. To my human ear, they sounded like a bunch of machines, a spray of emotionless noise. Maybe that’s how we sound to them, too. I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t even uncomfortable. I could smell something, maybe the grass or the river. I let it fill my lungs and body. There were a few rocks and bits of plastic on the flat grass surrounding the hole. I could see some black ants and red ants in lines, soldiering around. Their lines broke apart and intersected, the tiny red ones marching over the bodies of the larger black ones. My bag was there, near the ants. Most of them went around it, but a few crawled over it. I grabbed the bag and shook the ants loose, then checked inside to make sure everything was still there. Nothing was missing. A black ant took one of the red ones in its mandibles while other red ones bit its legs. The red ones looked softer than the black ones. I could feel the top of my head starting to bake in the sun. I had to get out of this hole, but it didn’t look like it was going to be easy. I put my hands palm-down at the edge of the hole, and tried pushing myself up, but I barely got off the ground. My heart sank. On the opposite bank, I could see the gray chimney of what looked like some kind of factory.

  “You okay?” I heard a voice behind me. The sound of the cicadas receded into the distance. I turned around and saw the lace hem of a long white skirt. Under it were unpainted toenails peeking out of a pair of brown sandals. I looked up, hoping to find a face. Maybe it was the sun or how she was holding her parasol, but I couldn’t see anything. “Um, I’m okay. I just fell in.” “Do you want help?” She reached down with her free hand. Her wrist was thin. “No, I’m fine. I can manage.” “Are you sure?” She sounded like she was probably older — older than me, at least. I summoned my strength and tried again, failing miserably. It was deeper than I’d thought. Chunks of soft earth tumbled down into the hole. I thought I heard something scuttle by my feet, maybe a small animal that had popped out of its own hole, then retreated in panic.

  “You don’t look fine to me.” The woman squatted down and offered her hand again. Her parasol moved and I caught a glimpse of her face. She was wearing large sunglasses that covered everything except her smile. She had to be older than me, but was probably younger than my mom. I was embarrassed, but hardly had a choice. I took her hand. It felt cold. I thought I could see veins running through it. Was this woman really strong enough? She counted down. “Three, two, one . . .” Then she tugged. I twisted my body and managed to get a hip onto the grass. As soon as I did, I felt something sting my hand. The woman was smiling. “You alright?” “I’m okay,” I said, looking at my left hand. There was dirt under my nails. Near the top of my ring finger was a small red beetle, biting into me. I quickly hid my hand from the woman and thanked her for helping me. Her long skirt was covered in grass and flecks of sand. Her hand was dirty, too. “Sorry about your skirt,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. What are you doing out here in this heat?” She angled her parasol to share the shade with me. Her makeup was carefully done. Behind her amber sunglasses, I could barely make out the shape of her eyes. They looked like they were deep-set.

  Behind my back, I tried flicking the insect off my finger. “I was on my way to the convenience store when I saw this animal . . .” Before I could finish explaining, the woman held out her hand and said, “Here, let me take a look.” I didn’t see any way out of this, so I gave her my hand. The red bug still clung tightly to my finger. It wasn’t an insect I’d ever seen before. It almost looked like a ladybug, but smaller and with no spots. It hurt. “Well, look at that.” She dug a nail into the bug. I almost pulled my hand back, but she’d already crushed the beetle’s head to pieces. She flicked the bits of shell caught under her nails into the air, then wrapped her finger around mine so tightly I thought she was going to break it. The rest of the beetle fell to the ground, leaving only a drop of clear liquid where it had been attached. “Sorry, did that hurt? There are still some parts of its jaw in there. We need to get those out . . . Okay. All better. I’m pretty sure it isn’t poisonous, but you should probably disinfect this when you get home.” “Uh, okay. Thanks, I will.” “Hey, so . . .” she said, bringing her face closer to mine. I couldn’t see a single drop of sweat on her.

  “You’re the bride, aren’t you?” The bride? How was I supposed to answer that? Her eyes were blinking behind her sunglasses, but soon all I could see in her face was a distorted version of my own. “Mune-chan’s bride? My family lives next to the Matsuuras. You know, next to them, on the other side. We’re the Seras . . .” “I . . .” There was a large house two lots over from us, bigger than my in-laws’, and I’d seen the name SERA on the nameplate out front. When we moved in, Tomiko told me not to bother introducing myself — not just to the Seras, but to any of our new neighbors. “Don’t worry about making the rounds. I’ll keep an eye out and let you know when the time is right. A lot of our neighbors work odd hours and the last thing you want is for word to get out that you’ve gone around to meet some people, but not others.” “I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself, I’m—” Matsuura, wife of Muneaki, son of . . . But before I could say it, she cut in, waving her parasol slowly from side to side. “It’s fine.” It almost smelled like incense, powdery and sweet. “I know who you are. You moved in the day we had all that rain, didn’t you? Had to be a tough move. Well, I guess a hot day like today wouldn’t have been any better. And we needed the rain . . . Still, I’d rather not be out in this heat. My son hasn’t come home yet, but he has to get a shot today.” “A shot? A vaccination?” “Hehehe. In this heat, right? Anyway, you’re not lost, are you? Do you know where you are?” I thought I saw something moving by my feet, but when I looked down it was gone. “Um, sure, I know where I am. The store’s that way.” “Right. You’d better stay on the path. Don’t get too close to the river.” Sera smiled. Her forehead and cheeks were snowy white — only her lips were light brown. “Just go that way.”

  “I will. So, um, are there lots of holes around here? I didn’t see it — I just fell in.” “I
really couldn’t tell you, but my son would know. He’s always out here, playing by the river. Then he comes home covered in mud and bugs . . . I only came this way because I thought I might find him here. It was the strangest thing. From where I was standing, all I could see was your head poking out of the ground. Right away, I thought, that has to be the bride . . .” She snickered. As she brought her hand up to her mouth, her wedding ring glimmered in the light. Why did she keep calling me “the bride”? No one had ever called me that before. When I was working, people always called me Matsuura. Then again, we’d just met. She could hardly call me “Asa” the way Tomiko does. She definitely couldn’t call me “Matsuura.” For her, that had to mean Tomiko. Even my husband couldn’t be “Matsuura” in her eyes. I guess that would make me “the bride.” I’d been the bride for a while and simply hadn’t realized it. Sera turned and looked up the slope. A sweet smell filled my nose again. I noticed that the inside of her white parasol was yellowed with age.

  “Sorry I took up so much of your time . . . I truly appreciate the help.” “Oh, it’s no problem. I’m glad we had the chance to talk. Well, I’d better get going.” I bowed and thanked her again. As she started to walk away, she smiled even wider and said, “Matsuura’s a real good one, isn’t she? You must be happy to have her as your mother-in-law.” I nodded. “Oh, I am.” “I can imagine. You’re a lucky girl. Well, see you around.” With that, Sera walked slowly up the bank, bits of grass still clinging to her skirt.

  Once I was alone again, I knelt down and looked into the hole. It was too dark to see the bottom. I looked around the riverbank. The animal was nowhere to be seen. The river was moving in the direction of the store. The cicadas crescendoed again. What was that animal? I should have asked Sera about it. I couldn’t even tell if it was wild or some kind of pet. It didn’t really seem like either. I thought I saw a boy pop his head out of the grass, then duck back down. When I looked up again, Sera and her parasol were just a white dot in the distance. I watched as she disappeared around a curve in the path. I walked out of the grass, followed the path for a little while, then crossed a bridge. As soon as I was across, I found the convenience store, just where I thought it would be.