Grotesque (12 page)

Her hair was unkempt and seemed to be growing out of a perm. Her skin was dusky and showed no signs of makeup. She was wearing some gray jersey outfit that you could hardly call a dress; it looked more like a nightgown. I couldn’t see her feet, but I was sure she’d be wearing sandals with socks or a pair of grimy sneakers.

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Could this really be Mitsurus mother? She was even worse than my own! Discouraged, I compared her face to her daughters. Mitsuru felt my gaze and turned to look at me. Our eyes met. She nodded, as if in resignation.

Mitsuru s mother smiled, showing a row of tiny teeth that not only looked nothing like Mitsurus but were also ill suited to her face.

“It’s unusual, isn’t it, for someone from around here to attend that school?”

Mitsurus mother was a person who’d abandoned something. I suppose you could say it was reputation and social dignity. At the matriculation ceremony I’d sneaked glances at the parents of the other students.

They were on the whole wealthy, a wealth they took pains to reveal discreetly.

Or perhaps I should say that they were adept at displaying their wealth by keeping it hidden. Whichever way you looked at it, the operative word here was wealth.

But Mitsurus mother was completely indifferent to that attitude toward wealth. Perhaps she’d espoused it earlier and then abandoned it, walked away from it entirely. The parents of the wealthy children manifested pride in their offsprings’ intelligence. Even the salary workers refrained from being ostentatious. Mitsuru had told me that her mother had ordered her not to let anyone know she lived in P Ward, so seeing her mother looking so shabby was completely unexpected. I had assumed she would be the kind to make a fuss over her appearance.

“Have you been crying?” Mitsuru asked.

I looked at her without answering. Her eyes were brimming with an ill-temperedness that I’d never seen before. I had seen her demon. Just then, for a fleeting moment, I had caught hold of her demon tail. Was she embarrassed? She averted her eyes.

“I got a phone call just a bit ago. My mother’s dead.”

Mitsuru s face darkened. She twisted her lip between her fingers as if trying to wrench her mouth from her face. I wondered when she’d start tapping her big front teeth with her fingernail in her usual manner. I felt I was in a battle with her. But then she caved in completely.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“So, your mother died?” Mitsuru s mother looked back at me from the drivers seat and spoke in a voice that was little more than a rasp. Her manner of speech was coarse. She sounded exactly like the people who hung around with my grandfather. Frank, open, and more concerned with substance than facade.

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“Yes.”

“How old was she?”

“About fifty, I think. No, maybe still just in her forties.” I didn’t know my mothers exact age.

“Then she’d be about my age. How’d she die?”

“She killed herself.”

“Why? Was it the change of life?”

“I don’t know.”

“A mother who commits suicide certainly leaves her children in a tough spot! You should excuse yourself from school. What are you doing out?” she said.

“True. But my mother died overseas, so there’s not much I can do sitting at home.”

“But there’s no reason for you to be making such a fuss to get to school, especially in a downpour like this.” Mitsuru’s mother studied my face in the rearview mirror, her sharp deep-set eyes looked me up and down, inch by inch.

“I need to be at school today.”

I didn’t want to mention Kazue and her discrimination protest, so I stopped there. Mitsuru’s mother seemed to lose interest in my needing to mourn.

“Wait a minute, are you half?”

“Mom! What difference does that make?” Mitsuru interrupted and I began to hear her nervously tap her teeth with her nail. “Her mother has just died. Stop asking so many questions!”

But Mitsuru’s mother was not to be silenced.

“You live with your grandfather, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And is your grandfather Japanese?”

“Yes.”

“And your mother’s Japanese. So what’s the other half?”

Why was she so curious? But I was enjoying her questions. They were questions everyone always wanted to ask but never did.

“Swiss.”

“My, my, what a pretty pair!”

Her mother said this with a smile, but I could tell she didn’t mean it.

Mitsuru whispered in my ear, “I’m really sorry my mother’s so rude. It’s her way of trying to be nice.”

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“I’m not being nice.” Mitsuru’s mother turned back to look at us again.

“You seem like a tough kid. Mitsuru’s such a bookworm. It’s ridiculous. I want to go to Tokyo University Medical School, she says; she’s so stubborn.

She doesn’t want to lose to anyone. And she certainly doesn’t want to be anyone’s fool. That’s all she ever worries about. And so she said she wouldn’t live out here anymore and she went and rented her own place.

In middle school she had to put up with some hateful bullying, so she’s learned to arm herself. But I really wish I’d let her drop out of this godawful school way back when.”

“Why’d they bully you?” I asked Mitsuru nonchalantly.

Mitsuru’s mother answered before Mitsuru had a chance. “Because her mother runs a bar, that’s why!”

She pulled up right in front of the school gate, going out of her way to attract the curious stares of the other students on their way in. She was hell-bent on nettling Mitsuru. When I thanked her for the ride, she said to me, “Be sure to tell your grandpa to come by the bar next time he’s out. I’ll give him a good deal. It’s the Blue River, right in front of the station.”

I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected the bar was some kind of cabaret chain.

“Are there any bonsai there?”

“Why?”

“Grandpa prefers bonsai to women, that’s why.”

Mitsuru’s mother didn’t know quite what to make of my joke and craned her neck around to say something to me, but whatever it was I didn’t hear, because by then Mitsuru had already slammed the door shut. She held her umbrella over me while I unfolded my own.

“My mother’s a real piece of work, huh? But she just plays at being bad. I can’t stand it. Someone who goes out of their way to say hateful things like that is really a coward, don’t you think?”

Mitsuru spoke in cool, measured tones. I nodded, letting her know I understood completely. She did not measure up to Mitsuru’s ideal. It was the same for me. Children do not get to choose their mothers.

“Are you okay?” Mitsuru asked, with a worried look.

“I’m okay. I feel like my mother and I already parted long ago.”

“I know what you mean. I feel I said good-bye to my mother long ago too. Now I’m just using her, you know, for rides and such.”

“I know.”

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“You’re a strange girl.” Mitsuru glanced up at me when she said this, but then she caught sight of one of her friends waving at her. “I’ve gotta go-“

“Wait a minute.” I clutched at her blouse. She turned to look back at me. “When you were bullied, your mother said you armed yourself.

How?”

“Well”—Mitsuru signaled to her friend to go on ahead so she could talk to me—”I let them use my notes.”

“But then you’re just letting them use you, aren’t you? How can you be so nice to the kids who picked on you?”

Mitsuru tapped her big front teeth with her finger. “I’m only telling this to you, okay? The notes I lend them are not my real notes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have two sets. My real notes are much more thorough and detailed than the set I let them see. That set has a few of the important points, so they won’t notice. But the notes are faked.”

Mitsuru was whispering, as if she were discussing something embarrassing.

And yet the tone of her voice was so buoyant she could hardly conceal her glee.

“Their audacity really disgusts me. Since it’s their habit to intimidate others, they think nothing of borrowing someone’s notes. The only way to defend yourself against their brazenness is to be self-assertive and strike a deal. Because I let them copy my notes, they stopped bullying me; that’s the trade we worked out. Those girls are quick to catch on.

They figured out right away that I was more than just some weak kid they could push around. I could be useful to them, so they transferred their aggression to another student.” Mitsuru smiled faintly and shrugged her shoulders. “You don’t know what the bullying was like in junior high. It was awful. For a full year not a single soul said one word to me. The only ones who talked to me were the teachers and the women who worked in the school store. That’s all. Even the other lads who had entered that year bullied me. They thought bullying an outsider might make them an insider.”

The first bell sounded. Homeroom was going to start any minute. We hurried off to the classroom. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out how someone as cute as Mitsuru could be bullied.

“I just don’t understand why they targeted you.”

“Because my mother came to observe classes during the orienta-7 3

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tion period. This is the way she introduced herself in front of the entire Parent-Student Association: ‘I’m just so thrilled that my daughter is finally a Q School student. She’s had her sights set on this school for a long long time. I had hoped she’d get in from elementary school, but when that didn’t work out I dreamed of her getting into the junior high school. I saw that she studied hard, and it paid off. Now I hope you’ll all get along well with my little girl and become really good friends!’

“It was just her typical kind of greeting. But from the very next day I was the target. That morning there was a drawing of my mother on the blackboard. She was dressed in a bright red suit with a big diamond ring and alongside the drawing were the words Finally, a Q student! But what it meant was, whether I had entered at elementary school or junior high, I would never be one of them.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“What do you think you understand?”

“About your mother.”

I wanted to add that I knew she was ashamed of her own mother. But Mitsuru frowned. “I’m sorry… . I mean, about your mother. With her dying today and all.”

“No, it’s okay. You know, we were going to have to be parted sooner or later.”

“Cool. You are just so cool.”

Mitsuru laughed happily. We both understood that something had passed between us at that moment which only the two of us could appreciate.

From that day on I cherished a delicate love for Mitsuru.

I entered the classroom and immediately searched for Kazue. She was glaring at the blackboard, her face pale and strained with tension. When she saw me, she stood up and walked over to my desk with that jerky gait of hers.

“Hey, I’m planning to bring up that topic this morning.”

“Yeah? Good luck.”

“And you’ll say something too, right?”

Kazue peered into my face. Her tiny eyes hemmed by black lashes pored over me. As I returned her gaze, I felt my hatred for her multiply.

What a complete idiot she was. The more she screwed things up for herself here, the more I could imagine a different life for me and Mitsuru.

You say my attitude is offensive? That was the way things worked in my world.

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“Sure. I’ll back you up.” I said it, but I didn’t mean it.

Kazue looked relieved. Her eyes sparkled. “That’s great! What’ll you say?”

“How about if I just confirm that whatever you say is true?”

“Okay. If I start, then you’ll raise your hand, right?” Kazue gazed forlornly around the room as she spoke. The outsiders were all sitting smartly in their seats waiting for the instructor to arrive; the insiders were clustered in the back of the room whispering away. “Well, here goes.”

Kazue turned toward her seat, looking confident. Then the classroom door opened and our homeroom teacher breezed in. She was the instructor in charge of teaching the classics, and we all called her “Hanachan.”

She was a single woman, close to forty, I’d say. She always wore a nicely tailored suit of either navy or gray and a blouse with a white collar.

Invariably, a slender string of pearls hung around her neck. She carried a dark-green leather notebook, and her cheeks were pale white without the slightest hint of makeup. She had entered the Q School system from the elementary level and had continued on through university, and she was proud of her heritage.

Kazue, looking flustered, rushed to her seat. I didn’t take my eyes off her.

“Good morning, girls!” Hanachan greeted the class with her rapidfire, slightly nasal voice. She gazed languidly out the window. The rain was still pouring down.

“They say it’ll clear up by evening. But I wonder if it really will… .”

Kazue drew in a deep breath and stood up. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Hanachan looked over at her in surprise. I stared at Kazue s back, spurring her on with telepathic force. Do it! Say it! Finally, in a voice thick with phlegm, she started. “Urn, there’s something I wanted to bring up for discussion. It’s about clubs.”

Kazue glanced at me nervously, but I acted like I didn’t know what she wanted from me and rested my chin in my hand. Just then, the girls in the cheerleading squad rushed up to the front of the room. Kazue stared at them in disbelief. The girls lined up and, standing straight and tall, began to sing “Happy Birthday.” In no time at all everyone else chimed in. The girls leading the singing were almost all insiders, most of them having started together in elementary school. Hanachan crumbled into gales of laughter.

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“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

The cheerleaders began waving their pompoms and pulling party crackers, followed by clapping and cheers. At the sound of the crackers, Kazue sank back into her seat. A cute student with her hair curled up in a flip pulled a bouquet of roses out from behind her back and thrust them into Hanachan’s hands.