'What do you mean, "Where have you been"? Your daughter comes home after three years and that's all you can say? No "Welcome home"? No "How nice to see you"? This is your grandson!' Kazue's eyebrows - pencil thin, the way high school girls were wearing them - arched dramatically. She was still trying to keep up with all the teenage fashions, but her hard life had visibly aged her. Like her child, she wore cheap, well-worn clothes that looked slightly soiled.
'My grandson? I don't even know his name,' Yoshie said, her voice thick with resentment.
'It's Issey. You know, like the designer.'
'Never heard of him.'
'Fine welcome this is, after three whole years!' As her tone grew more aggressive, Yoshie was reminded of old times. 'What's wrong with you, anyway? You look like hell.'
'I'm working the night shift at a boxed-lunch factory.'
'And you're just getting home now?'
'No, I stopped off to see a friend.' She suddenly remembered the bags full of Kenji that she'd brought home with her. The smaller bags had been collected in one sturdy shopping bag, which she now quickly hid away in the kitchen.
'So when do you sleep? You'll ruin your health if you keep that up.' Kazue's concern was blatantly superficial. When she'd been living here, she had hated having to look after the old woman in their cramped little house - just as Miki did now - and that, in part, had led to her leaving home. But there was no point in dragging up all their old battles. Why did everything unpleasant and inconvenient and difficult seem to be happening all at once? Yoshie had always made it a rule to be patient and diligent whenever possible, but this rude and slovenly girl of hers was more than she could take.
'And just who do you think would look after your grandmother? If I worked days, she'd be all alone. And when have you ever lifted a finger to help?'
'Drop it,' said Kazue.
'I do it because I've got no other choice. . . . How is she, anyway?' Yoshie added, peering into the back room. She had run off to Masako's after feeding the old woman breakfast and changing her diaper, and now suddenly she was worried. Her mother-in-law was lying quietly in the dim room, but she was awake and had apparently been listening to their conversation. 'I'm sorry I'm so late,' Yoshie told her.
She heard the old woman grunt, then say, 'Where have you been? I thought you'd left me to die.'
Yoshie was suddenly livid. How can they all be so selfish? Do they think I'm a robot? 'That would have been fine with me!' she yelled at her. 'And when you died, I'd cut you up and throw you out with the garbage! Starting with that ugly old head of yours!'
Without missing a beat, the old woman began sobbing loudly, though there were few tears in evidence. For good effect she threw in a mumbled line or two from a sutra. 'Now we know what you're really like,' she blubbered. 'You're wicked! You seem so quiet and nice, but underneath there's pure evil. I'm living in the devil's house!'
And now we know what you're really like too, thought Yoshie, still smouldering as she stood staring at the faded flower pattern on the light summer blanket. But as her anger gradually subsided, she felt a sharp pang of regret. Why had she said that? Perhaps this whole experience had changed her. It was all Masako's fault for getting her involved in this mess. No, it was Yayoi's for killing her husband in the first place. But it was her fault, too, for having been willing to go along with it just for the money. That was it: it was all because she was broke.
Kazue, who had been slumped against the low table, listening in silence, now spoke up. 'Come on. Yelling at each other isn't going to solve anything.'
'You're right about that,' said Yoshie, the tension draining from her body. She walked back into the living room, though she could still hear her mother-in-law sobbing.
'I changed her diaper earlier,' Kazue said, apparently intent on playing the part of peacemaker.
'Oh? Thanks,' said Yoshie, sitting down at the table. The floor was strewn with the boy's tiny toy cars. Still feeling angry, she swept a pile of miniature police cruisers and ambulances under the table; but the child wouldn't know, since he'd gone into Miki's room to play.
'Have you applied to the city for someone to help?' Kazue asked. 'They have people who come to your house.'
'I've asked, but it's only three hours a week and I could barely do the shopping in that amount of time.' Her head was beginning to hurt from lack of sleep, but she braced herself and asked the question that was uppermost in her mind. 'So, just why is it you're showing up now?'
'Well,' said Kazue, slowly licking her lips. Yoshie remembered that she had a habit of doing this when she was about to tell a lie. 'The boy's daddy has gone to Osaka to work, and I'm thinking I should get a job myself. So I'm wondering if you can lend me some money.'
'I haven't got any. If he's in Osaka, why don't you go, too, and all live there?'
'But I don't know where he is,' said Kazue. Yoshie sat staring at her, mouth hanging open. So he's left them, and she's come crawling back here with the kid. But how were they ever going to manage with two more in this tiny place?
'But . . . can't you put him in day-care and get a job?' she said, beginning to panic.
'That's exactly what I'm planning to do, which is why I need a loan right now.' She held out her hand. 'Please. You must have something put away. And I was talking with the lady next door while I was waiting for you; she said they're going to tear this place down and build a new building. Maybe when the new apartment's ready, we could come live with you?'
'And how do you think I'm going to get by while they're building?'
'Mom, please!' she screamed. 'You've got the welfare and your salary, and Miki could get a job. And they'd have to put us on some kind of support. Please! I don't even have enough to buy Issey a hamburger!' She was begging now, tears welling up in her eyes. The boy came toddling in and stared curiously at his sobbing mother. Yoshie reached into her pocket and pulled out the money she'd found in Kenji's wallet: ¥28,000.
'Here, take this,' she said. 'It'll have to do for now. I'm broke myself -1 had to borrow just to pay for Miki's school trip.'
'You've saved my life,' said Kazue, tucking the money carefully away. Then, as if she'd got what she came for, she abruptly stood up. 'Right, I'm off to look for a job.'
'Where are you living?' Yoshie asked.
'In Minami Senju, but it's a million miles from anywhere and the train fare is killing me.' She stepped out into the entrance hall and slipped into the cheap, cork-soled sandals she'd left by the door.
'What about him?' Yoshie said, nodding at the boy.
'Mom, I hate to ask, but would you mind taking care of him for a while?'
'Now hold on '
'Please! I'll be back to get him soon,' she said, as though referring to a suitcase. She opened the door, but the boy suddenly realised he was being left behind and called after her.
'Mama, where are you going?'
'Issey, you be a good boy for your grandmother. I'll be back soon.'
Yoshie said nothing as she stared blankly at her daughter's retreating figure. She'd suspected something of the kind all along, so she wasn't even particularly surprised. To judge from the way she skipped out the door, Kazue felt liberated, and there were no signs of guilt about leaving the child. It was as if she'd just dumped something inconvenient in this dirty house and then cut loose. Yoshie felt a twinge of jealousy.
'Mama, Mama.' One of the toy cars fell from his hand as the boy stood calling after her.
'Come here and let Granny hold you,' said Yoshie, reaching out for the child.
'No!' he screamed. Pushing her away with unexpected force, he threw himself down on the floor in a storm of tears. The faint weeping continued in the bedroom as well.
Will they ever stop, Yoshie wondered, clearing away the toys strewn across the tatami and lying down. She closed her eyes and listened to them cry, but the boy soon stopped and gathered up his cars to play, mumbling all the while to himself. He was obviously used to being left with other people, yet Yoshie found it
hard to feel much pity for him. It was herself she felt sorry for. She suddenly realised there were tears running down her cheeks, and the thing that made her saddest was the way she had parted with the money she'd taken from poor, dead Kenji. She felt that she had crossed a line and there was no going back — perhaps the same way Yayoi had felt when she'd killed the man.
-
Over Miki's protests, Yoshie managed to leave the boy at home and get to the factory on time. Masako was waiting for her in the lounge, and they stood for a moment looking at one another in silence. The strong emotions of the morning had drained from Masako's face, leaving just a grim mask. Maybe this was the real Masako, Yoshie thought, feeling a bit daunted. She wondered how she must look to her.
'How are you feeling, Skipper?' Masako asked. Her expression was rigid, but there was warmth in her voice.
'Awful,' she said, though she knew she couldn't explain that her long-lost daughter had turned up, dropped off her child, and left with Kenji's money.
'Sleep much?' Masako asked. Her questions were always short and to the point. Though she hadn't slept at all, Yoshie nodded. 'And the garbage?'
'No problem. I spread it around on my way here.'
'Thanks. I knew you'd manage, Skipper. But I'm a little worried about Kuniko.'
'I know what you mean.' She glanced nervously around the lounge. The shift would be starting soon, but there was no sign of her.
'She's not here,' said Masako.
'The shock must have gotten to her.'
'I hate to say it, but I suppose I'll have to go check on her.'
'I suppose so.'
'But I think she's a bit scared of me,' said Masako.
'Still, we can't afford to have her talking,' Yoshie said, staring idly at the 'no change' light flashing on the vending machine. If they were found out, it was all over. She could feel herself going cold with fear. A warning light was flashing somewhere, telling her that everything could soon come crashing down around her.
'But she's in this, too, so I don't think she'll go running to the police. Still, she's weak, and that can be dangerous.' Masako fell silent, a deep crease appearing between her eyes.
'Well, I'll leave it up to you.' Yoshie couldn't help adding - too desperate to care about appearances - 'But do you think Yayoi will be able to manage the money?' Although she was used to taking care of things at home and here at the factory, she was beginning to see how comforting it could be to rely on Masako's strength. And if Masako could be trusted to deal with the rest of it, all she'd have to worry about personally was the money.
'Everything's set,' said Masako. 'She'll get it from her parents. And I think she's going to file a missing persons report tomorrow.'
While the two of them were whispering together, one of the Brazilian workers came up to say hello. The young man was apparently part Japanese, but his solid build made him seem completely foreign. Yoshie returned the greeting, but Masako made a point of ignoring him.
'Why did you do that?' said Yoshie, upset that she should be so rude.
'Do what?'
'Treat him like that,' she said, glancing at the young man, who stood for a moment looking puzzled before going into the changing room. Without answering, Masako changed the subject.
'Do you know where Kuniko lives?' she asked.
'I'm sure she said something about a city housing project in Kodaira.' Yoshie watched as Masako seemed to unfold a map in her head and make plans for the morning. It was all a job to her, she thought, a job that had to be done well. But then she realised how quickly the money had made her, too, forget her scruples. The shame was almost more than she could stand.
'You know,' she murmured, 'we're all heading straight to hell.'
'Yes,' said Masako, giving her a bleak look. 'It's like riding downhill with no brakes.'
'You mean, there's no way to stop?'
'No, you stop all right - when you crash.'
What would they crash into, Yoshie wondered. What was waiting for them around the next corner? The thought made her tremble.
CROWS
1
As Yayoi stood in the kitchen peeling potatoes for dinner, she was distracted by a shaft of sunlight shining directly through the window. She raised her hand to shield her eyes and looked away. There was a short period every year, around the longest days of summer, when the sun would shine in through the kitchen window for a few minutes just before it set. For one moment, Yayoi felt that the light was a sign that the gods were judging her. It was so bright, like a laser beam that would burn out the evil part of her. But that would mean burning out every part. Every part of her had wanted Kenji dead.
Still, only a corner of her mind thought like this; the rest was becoming more and more convinced that Kenji had simply vanished into the darkness after that night when they had loaded him into Masako's trunk. Whenever the children asked what had happened to Papa, Yayoi found herself wondering the same thing, unable now to see much beyond the thick darkness. It had only been three days ago, but for reasons she didn't understand herself, her memory of strangling him was steadily receding.
Still avoiding the sunlight, she closed the home-made cotton curtains and then stood for a moment, pressing on her eyes until they adjusted to the dark. She had tried to distract herself with housework and looking after the children, but her worries kept pushing up into her head like bubbles from the bottom of a pond. At the moment, however, her biggest worry was a new one: Kuniko.
-
Yesterday afternoon, Kuniko had arrived unannounced. 'Yayoi?' She had recognised the voice on the intercom and opened the door for her. Kuniko was dressed in the sort of sleeveless white mini-dress that was in fashion, with white high heels to match, but the flashy outfit looked all wrong on her pale, flabby body.
'Kuniko,' she stammered, surprised by the sudden visit and unsure whether to invite her in. At least the children were away at the day-care centre.
'You're looking very well,' Kuniko said, exaggerating her own surprise. The tone was meant to show Yayoi that she knew exactly what she'd done. Yayoi suddenly felt queasy; but perhaps that was only to be expected in the circumstances.
'Thanks,' she said, still hesitating. 'What can I do for you?'
'Well, you haven't been at work the last few days, so I thought I'd just stop by to see how you're doing.'
'That's nice of you.' What's she up to, Yayoi wondered. It's not like her to go out of her way like this. She studied Kuniko's bulging eyes, but the thick ring of eyeliner obscured any signs of her true feelings. In the meantime, Kuniko had grabbed hold of the door, ignoring Yayoi's obvious reluctance.
'Mind if I come in?'
Having no choice, Yayoi opened the door and let her into the entrance hall. Once inside, Kuniko looked around curiously. 'So where did you kill him?' she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
'What?!'
Kuniko stared at her. 'I said "Where'd you kill him?"' At the factory, she played a junior role and adopted a more deferential tone, but as she stood here now, leering at Yayoi, she seemed almost a different person.
'I'm not sure what you mean,' Yayoi said at last. Her palms were beginning to sweat.
'Don't play dumb with me. Don't forget, I stuffed his stinking body in those bags and lugged them all over the city.' Feeling exhausted, Yayoi suddenly wished Masako were here to see what had come of taking this woman into their confidence. Kuniko stepped out of her shoes and up on to the floor, her damp feet making a sucking sound on the wood. 'So where'd you do it? You see those pictures all the time . . . crime-scene photos. They say that after a murder there's a sort of aura for a while.' Kuniko was unaware that she was standing on the exact spot where Kenji had died. Yayoi planted herself in front of this larger woman, determined not to let her get further into the house.
'So why are you here?' she said. 'You didn't come all this way just for that.'
'It's hot in here. Don't you have air-conditioning?' Brushing Yayoi aside, she made her way through to t
he small living room.
The air-conditioner was kept off to save money, and the room was stifling. 'Penny-pinching, eh?'
Yayoi was suddenly aware that the neighbours might hear through the open windows, so she ran after Kuniko to switch on the air-conditioner and then went around shutting up the house.
Kuniko planted herself where she could feel the cool air and watched with an amused look as Yayoi fluttered about. Large beads of sweat glistened on her forehead.
'Now tell me, why are you here?' Yayoi said finally, unable to hide her alarm.
'I have to admit, I was shocked,' Kuniko said, her tone almost scornful. 'You're so cute and all, and then to find out you killed your husband. I guess there's no telling about people. But killing your own children's father . . . now that's something. What will you do if they find out later that you killed their dad? Have you thought about that?'
'Stop! I don't want to hear this,' Yayoi shouted, covering her ears. As she did so, Kuniko grabbed her arm with her sweaty hand.
Yayoi struggled to get free, but Kuniko was too strong. 'You may not want to hear, but you're going to. Do you understand? I held those pieces of your husband just like I'm holding you now, and then I stuffed them into garbage bags.
D'you have any idea how bad that was? Do you?!'
'I do, I do... ' Yayoi muttered.
'No, you don't!' she shrieked, grabbing her other arm. 'Stop!' Yayoi pleaded, but her grip seemed to tighten even more.
'You know what happened, don't you? They cut him up! Do you know what that means? How hard that was? You hardly even saw him - after you killed him. But I saw him, and God knows how many times I threw up from seeing him . . . and feeling him, and smelling him! It was horrible, horrible. I don't think I'll ever be the same!'
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