by Aoko Matsuda
“Yes, that’s right. I lost my job when my company was restructured.”
As Shinzaburō spoke, he was all too aware that his head hung in embarrassment, as if of its own volition. He realized that this was the first time he’d spoken about what had happened to him to anybody other than his wife.
“Oh, Shinzaburō! What a terrible shame!” Tsuyuko said in a shrill voice, a hint of a smile perhaps meant to signify compassion hovering around her mouth. She leaned her slender body over the table toward him and rested her thin fingers gently on Shinzaburō’s forearm. Startled by the coldness of her touch, Shinzaburō hurriedly crossed his arms so as to shrug off any contact. Tsuyuko shot him a look that seemed to say, Well, fine, be like that. She turned away coyly for a moment, then looked back at him, more brazen than ever. Once again, Shinzaburō averted his gaze.
“Oh, Tsuyuko! How kindhearted you are! And what frostiness you are shown in return! Mr. Hagiwara, why is it that you feel no sympathy for Miss Tsuyuko?”
“Of course I feel bad for her, but that’s not the issue here! Besides, from what I’ve heard so far, it hardly sounds like the most unusual of tales. Every life has its dose of misfortune.”
At Shinzaburō’s words, the two widened their eyes in a charade of disbelief.
In a tone of utter astonishment Yoneko said, “My, what a horrendous age we are living in! In days of yore, anyone who beheld Tsuyuko’s great beauty and heard even a snippet of her tragic tale would be overwhelmed by sympathy and agree to commit lovers’ suicide with her on the spot! Isn’t that right, Miss Tsuyuko?”
Tsuyuko pressed her handkerchief to her eyes again and nodded with even greater fervor than before, then dissolved into gasping, theatrical sobs. She had to be faking it, Shinzaburō thought. He was getting more and more irritated with the duo’s outrageous behavior, and before he knew it, he was saying, “Okay then, what about you two? Are you not going to say anything about my layoff? That seems pretty heartless to me! If you think I should be feeling sympathy for you, then I expect the same in return.”
Yet as Shinzaburō ended his frustrated outpouring, he saw that Tsuyuko and Yoneko wore expressions of total indifference. As he sat there unnerved by this transformation, Yoneko said with insouciance, “Well, men are the stronger sex. You are the blessed ones. Everything will turn out right for you in the end, I’m sure. I don’t have the least concern about you. What worries me is Miss Tsuyuko. Women are so utterly powerless. Can Miss Tsuyuko really go through her life as a single woman? I ask myself. Can she endure this way? Hmm, what’s that? The same goes for me, you’re thinking? Oh, you really need not worry about me. Please concern yourself solely with Miss Tsuyuko. And just to be clear, I’m not ordering you to commit lovers’ suicide. We have no wish to place that kind of burden on your shoulders. What we would like is for you to purchase our product.”
Shinzaburō had not been conscious of any ongoing preparations, but now, with timing that seemed almost too impeccable, Tsuyuko set something down on the table with a thump.
It was some kind of lantern thing. Didn’t those have some special name?
“It’s a tōrō, Mr. Hagiwara,” said Yoneko with a triumphant grin, as if she’d read his thoughts. These two were really too much to take.
“Of late, these portable lanterns are enjoying a surprising revival, Mr. Hagiwara! You’ll find they’re far more fashionable than flashlights! Many customers like to coordinate them with the design of their yukata when attending summer festivals, and now that it’s Obon, they’re great for hanging outside the house to welcome home the souls of the returning dead. Honestly, they are extremely popular! The exterior is silk crepe with a peony pattern and is very well received by the ladies. Do you happen to be married, Mr. Hagiwara? I believe you are, aren’t you?”
“Oh, Shinzaburō!” exclaimed Tsuyuko in a high voice. “How absolutely despicable of you! What about me?”
“Oh, Miss Tsuyuko, how cruel destiny can be! I tell you, she really does have the most awful luck with men. I go out of my mind with worry. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I was just saying that these peony tōrō lanterns are extremely popular with the ladies. Your wife will be absolutely delighted, I am sure. I have heard that those from Western climes are good at surprising their lady friends with flowers and such little gestures of their affection, but males from Japan often neglect to do such things. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to suggest that the same is true of you, Mr. Hagiwara! Only that with your unemployment causing your wife such hardship, occasionally gifting things that women like, these lanterns for example, is a rather good strategy, by which I mean to say—it wouldn’t do you any harm, would it?”
“Oh, Shinzaburō! How it grieves me to think of you giving presents to another woman!”
“There there, Miss Tsuyuko. Do calm yourself. I’m quite sure that Shinzaburō will be buying two lanterns, one of which he will of course be presenting to you!”
“Oh, Miss Yoneko, what are you saying! There is no way that a man as considerate as Shinzaburō would forget about you! He shall be buying three lanterns, for sure! Three, at the very least.”
So this is their sales strategy, thought Shinzaburō, utterly aghast. After watching them prattle on at each other for a while, he felt he’d had enough of being neglected.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t want any of your lanterns. Contrary to what you seem to think, if I go around buying such stuff while I’m without an income, the only thanks I’ll get from my wife will be a good telling-off.”
There was a second’s pause and then a sickly, snake-like voice came slithering out of Tsuyuko’s mouth.
“Then we shall resent you, Shinzaburō.”
“W-what?”
“We will resent you,” she repeated, fixing him with a withering look.
“Now, now, Tsuyuko,” said Yoneko. “It will not do to rush Mr. Hagiwara into a decision. We mustn’t pressure him. Let’s allow him first to experience our much-vaunted lanterns. I have no doubt he’ll be delighted by them. Mr. Hagiwara, would you mind advising me where your light switch is?”
Shinzaburō looked toward the switch and, as if in silent understanding, the lights in the room immediately dimmed. Before Shinzaburō had time to register his surprise, the lantern on the table swelled with light, illuminating the darkened room.
On the other side floated the green-white faces of the two women. Shinzaburō remembered playing this kind of game with his friends at school—everyone shining flashlights under their faces to try to scare one another. Finally acclimatizing to the evening’s unrelenting stream of reason-defying events, Shinzaburō was sufficiently relaxed to reminiscence about his boyhood. Filtering through the peonies, the soft lantern light spilled into the room. It was as if another world had materialized, right there in his living room. With their legs concealed under the table, the women looked as if they consisted of their upper bodies alone, free-floating in the air.
“You two look just like gho—I mean, you seem somehow not of this world.”
Immediately regretting his choice of words, Shinzaburō grimaced.
“You mean us?” asked Yoneko with a wry smile. She seemed not at all displeased by the remark.
“And what would you do if we were . . . not of this world?” asked Tsuyuko, looking up at him through her eyelashes, lips iridescent with gloss, or spit, or something else entirely. Then, without waiting for his answer, the two women dissolved into a fit of giggles.
The lights in the room blinked on.
“So you see, that’s how it works. It’s a rather good product, wouldn’t you say?” Yoneko and Tsuyuko smiled in unison.
“Indeed, but I really don’t need it,” said Shinzaburō.
The two women shared a glance and nodded gravely. When they turned to look at Shinzaburō again, their faces bore entirely different expressions.
“If you don’t buy our lanterns, Shinzaburō, I will perish,” said Tsuyuko.
“Now, Mr. Hagiwara, did you hear that? Miss
Tsuyuko says she’s going to perish,” said Yoneko.
“Do what you like to me, I’m not going to leave here until Shinzaburō buys some!” said Tsuyuko, breaking into a screechy voice like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Oh, listen to that!” Yoneko went on persistently in a low murmur. “If your wife comes home and sees Tsuyuko here, she’ll be terribly jealous, won’t she, Mr. Hagiwara? If only you would buy a lantern, we’d leave immediately.” While Yoneko was speaking, she and Tsuyuko snuck glances at Shinzaburō.
“I said I wasn’t going to buy one,” said Shinzaburō firmly. The more excitable the two women grew, the more he found himself regaining his composure.
“Did you hear that, Miss Tsuyuko? You’d be better off giving up on a rotten-hearted man like this one.”
“No, Miss Yoneko. I trust him. I trust dear Shinzaburō.”
“Now, Mr. Hagiwara. Did you hear what Miss Tsuyuko just said? How awfully touching.”
Observing the farce being played out before his eyes, Shinzaburō found himself unexpectedly marveling at their teamwork. Yoneko was stunning in her supporting role. There was no way Tsuyuko alone would have garnered such impact. Their methods certainly ran against the grain of traditional sales techniques, but it had to be said there was something formidable about them. It must be down to desperation, Shinzaburō thought—desperation at their lack of success. He even began to consider just buying one of the damned things out of pity, but when he pictured his wife’s expression upon seeing the new acquisition, the temptation fizzled away. For two or three years now, his wife had only had eyes for Scandinavian homeware, not this traditional Japanese decor.
Tsuyuko and Yoneko were keeping up their noisy masquerade. With sudden clarity he saw that whether he chose to buy a lantern or not, hell awaited him regardless.
The next thing he knew, Shinzaburō was laughing out loud. It felt like a long time since he’d laughed properly like this. If push came to shove, he thought as he chuckled, you could carry on life like these goofballs did, and you’d still be fine. Well, depending on your definition of fine, of course—but at any rate, nothing terrible would happen to you if you broke the rules. With that thought, Shinzaburō felt a hot surge behind his eyes, and quickly clenched his teeth.
Apparently unnerved by this alteration in him, Yoneko and Tsuyuko spoke.
“Have you had a change of heart, Mr. Hagiwara?”
“Have you decided to accommodate my request, Shinzaburō?”
“No, I’m not going to buy a lantern. But still, thank you, nonetheless.” His voice sounded dignified, somehow, and free. When he next looked, Tsuyuko and Yoneko appeared to be suspended in midair. The next moment, the lights in the room went off again, as if someone had blown out all the candles.
Shinzaburō woke to the sound of sparrows cheeping outside the window. He lifted his head from the living room floor and saw four lanterns strewn about him. Tsuyuko and Yoneko were nowhere to be seen.
At the sound of keys in the door, Shinzaburō quickly sat up and prepared himself for the next onslaught. But the person who came rushing into the room with a loud “Hi! I’m home!” carrying her suitcase so the wheels didn’t leave marks on the floor, was his wife. Taking in the messy room, with Shinzaburō stretched out sloppily on the floor, she frowned and said in a tone of utter disbelief, “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Shinzaburō couldn’t help but notice that her gestures and her expressions weren’t unlike those of Tsuyuko and Yoneko. Why did all women pull the same face when they looked at him?
“What have you been doing in here? I thought you were supposed to be looking for a job while I was gone! And what on earth are these? Some kind of failed DIY experiment?”
Listening to his wife’s protestations as she picked up the lanterns littering the room, Shinzaburō thought of his wallet, which would probably be a few notes lighter, and a pang of dread spread through him. Of course, for a salesperson to take money without permission went against every rule in the book, but he wouldn’t have put it past those two. It was basically theft! How much were they charging for those blasted lanterns, anyway? Ah, there was nothing for it—now he really would have to find a job as soon as possible. Shinzaburō gingerly pulled himself up from the floor, where a pool of light filtering through the curtain gently flickered.
Shinzaburō spotted Tsuyuko and Yoneko only once after that encounter.
He’d been on the early shift at his new workplace and was back home preparing dinner when he heard a woman’s voice outside the window. Peering through a gap in the curtain, he saw the two of them standing at the gate next to the nameplate. They appeared to be in serious conversation.
Shinzaburō remembered. It had slipped his mind entirely, but after coaxing the truth about the peony lanterns out of Shinzaburō, his wife had bought a sticker at the home goods store that read NO SALES VISITORS! and had stuck it up next to their nameplate. That had been about a year ago now. The business cards they had given him that evening many months ago had mysteriously vanished, and for some reason he couldn’t recall the name of their company, though he was sure he’d made a mental note of it.
“There’s one here, too! How cruel.”
“We can’t go in now, not with this talisman stuck up . . . What a pity!”
“It’s so heartless.”
“It really is sheer heartlessness.”
Tsuyuko and Yoneko were wearing the same outfits as before.
A talisman, indeed! Shinzaburō smirked. Such melodrama, as usual! Just what exactly was the deal with these two? And yet he couldn’t deny that he was a little bit pleased to have seen them again. The next moment, they both looked toward the window in unison and Shinzaburō lunged away from the curtain.
My Superpower
Questions with Kumiko
No. 9: So, what’s your superpower?
I’ll begin by pointing out what Okon and Oiwa have in common: both their faces swelled up something terrible. As you are doubtless aware, both women became disfigured—one from being poisoned, the other through disease. Both subsequently became ghosts, avenging those who had brought about their ruin.
Since childhood, I’ve observed the way both Okon and Oiwa are portrayed on TV and in films as terrifying monsters. That’s the form people expect them to take. Ultimately, that’s just the way that the horror genre works, whatever world you’re living in. It’s no fun if zombies don’t rise up from the dead, if Carrie isn’t drenched in pig’s blood. Walls need to be splashed and plates need to be smashed. Without all that violence and gore, viewers simply switch off.
But the thing is, I never thought of Okon and Oiwa as terrifying monsters. If they were terrifying, so was I. If they were monsters, that meant I was a monster too. I knew that much instinctively.
I’m of an allergic disposition. I have extremely sensitive skin, and I’ve suffered with eczema more or less from birth. It’s calmed down a lot now, but it was particularly bad during my teenage years. My mother, naturally concerned about me, took me to various dermatologists and other specialists. The blood tests showed that I was allergic to basically everything they tested me for, including rice, wheat, eggs, dairy, meat, and sugar. And so I was put on a special diet. I ate mostly different varieties of millet—“just like a little bird,” as my mother used to say. These days, whenever I order couscous in a restaurant, I recall those millet days and feel strangely nostalgic. Needless to say, I couldn’t eat any of the sweets sold in shops. That was tough, because as a child nothing on earth seemed more appealing. Watching other children devour saccharine treats on the way back from school, I’d chew my fingers in envy.
When I was in high school, I stayed two weeks at a hospital in Kōchi Prefecture that had an excellent reputation for curing skin problems. Post-treatment, covered from head to toe in bandages, I had a taste of what it feels like to be a mummy. I can look back and laugh about it now, but at the time it was awful. Two or three years back, I happened to tell this story to an editor friend of mine
and learned that she, too, had attended the same clinic as a teenager. We both marveled at the amazing coincidence, joked about being “mummy buddies,” but the editor confided in me that it had been an agonizing time for her as well.
You might be thinking that compared to all the life-threatening illnesses out there, eczema is hardly a cause for complaint. Take it from me, though—it’s excruciating.
Eczema means living with a constant sense of physical discomfort. It’s very restricting when it comes to clothes, too, because you have to avoid any kind of synthetic fabric. At the school I went to, both the regular uniform and the gym clothes were made of polyester, so my mother spoke to the teachers and I got a special dispensation to wear a cotton blouse and PE outfit made from natural fibers. And although this is unrelated to the topic at hand, I can’t help but mention how I have never forgiven the Japanese education system for forcing me to exercise in skimpy shorts. What shameful memories! But that’s a subject for another day.
Women with eczema also need to be really careful with the makeup they choose. I’m happy to say that these days there’s quite a range of organic cosmetics and skin products out there for those with sensitive skin, not to mention lots of lovely clothes made from skin-loving fabrics such as organic cotton and linen. I must admit that my career as a lifestyle essayist has definitely benefitted from catching on to this trend and pursuing it.
The hardest thing about eczema, acne, and other skin disorders is that you’re always conscious of other people looking at you. People react instinctively to those who are different in some way. When my eczema was very bad, my classmates’ eyes would inform me that I was a monster. That was why seeing Oiwa’s and Okon’s swollen faces on TV always made me sad. What had they done to deserve such a fate? Why did they have to be treated as monsters? In their plight I saw my own, and I pitied them.
