We had somen in hot soup — though I wasn’t sure if this would be considered dinner or a late-night snack. While we ate, Tomiko blew her nose again and again. “Dad’s not eating?” “He said he’ll have some later.” As usual, my husband wouldn’t put his phone down, even when holding his chopsticks. Once he was done with his soup, he stood up, cracked his neck, then went back into the altar room. “What about a bath?” “Later.” I finished eating, put my husband’s bowl in my own, and carried them to the sink. “Just leave them like that. I’ll do it.” “It’s fine, I can do it.” “No, really. I’ll do it right now,” Tomiko said, but she wasn’t getting up. I wet the sponge under the faucet and looked at the chrysanthemums leaning against each other in the cup. I couldn’t smell them over the green onions. I washed everything in the sink. “Sorry,” I heard Tomiko say. I didn’t say anything back. The bowls we’d just used, the bowls with strings of natto inside that looked as though they’d been there for a couple of days, the light-colored china cups we’d used for tea — all of them were handpicked by Tomiko, or maybe even by Grandma. I turned the water up a little and washed away the bits of onion and tea leaves in the sink. As water sprayed out of the faucet, the chrysanthemums jostled beside me. Their smell hit me again. For some reason, my husband struck the bell. Through the vent, I could hear my brother-in-law laughing. I thought I could hear another voice, too. When I looked back at Tomiko, she was resting her cheek in her palm, eyes closed and drifting off to sleep. I watched her back rise and fall. She’d probably be asleep for a while. After washing the dishes, I went out back again. No one was there. The shed was dark. Same as before. I tried the door. After a moment’s resistance, it opened. The smell hit me right away. Dust and mildew. It was dark inside, but I could see all kinds of shapes, stacked up, against the walls, on the floor. It looked like no one had been there in a very long time. I could see large glass jars lined up on the floor — and something coiled up among them. It looked like there were centipedes inside the jars. Hanging from the ceiling was a bare light bulb. I tugged on the cord, but no light came on. The bulb dangled slowly overhead. When I tried a second time, something dusty rained down on me, so I ran outside. I’d only been inside for a few seconds, but when I looked at my hands and shoes they were covered in white.
Summer was coming to an end — it was already fall according to the calendar — but every day felt hotter than the last. Was it ever going to cool down? Even the cicadas were as loud as they’d been at the height of summer. Was this really unusual or was it going to be like this every year? Was the climate changing? Was this year an exception? I’d never heard of so many people dying from the heat before. I saw a dead cicada in the middle of the path. Its legs pointed to the sky, its back against the blistering black asphalt. I tilted the handlebars of my brand-new bike and aimed for the insect. I thought it was going to be dry, but it stuck to the front tire, buzzing with every rotation. Was it just air coming out of its belly or was it still alive? I kept pedaling. I hadn’t realized it when I was walking, but the path home from the store sloped upward. With every bump and dip, the 7-Eleven uniform in the basket in front of me hopped into the air. I pedaled harder. “There’s nothing to do here. We never get any customers. Still, somebody’s got to work the register.” “But what about all the children?” “What children? Everyone around here is retired. I’m sure it’d be different if we had an office building or a school around here,” said the woman with brownish hair as she stood up. “So, you’ll start tomorrow.” I got up and bowed. As soon as I left the store, the hot air and the smell of grass surrounded me. Old people in overalls were mowing the grass on the riverbank. There was something else mixed in with the thick smell of grass — something familiar, but I couldn’t place it. The plastic bottle of water I had bought after the interview was sweating, dripping all over. The green bank was red in places. Mown grass had been raked into neat piles, where there were more spots of red. They looked like spider lilies. I saw no animals, no holes, no children. When I got home and put on my uniform in front of the mirror, I couldn’t help but see Tomiko staring back at me.
The Hole Page 9
