Grotesque (6 page)

N A T S U O K I R I NO

he says he can communicate through signs and telepathy. It’s real, you know, telepathy. My son-in-law knows exacdy what I’m thinking. Why, just the other day he sent me two watches from Switzerland. They’re the product of inspiration, you see. Do you know the derivation for this word inspiration? The ideographs for it are written this way.”

I bit back my laughter as I listened to my grandfathers lies.

The visitor sighed. “No, I don’t believe I’m familiar with the derivation.”

“I suppose you could say it’s derived from a reference to that which is animated by divine or supernatural influence—a combination of elegance and strength.”

“Well, then, it’s a very good word, isn’t it? But tell me about your granddaughter’s family. Where are they now?”

“The fact is, the Swiss government sent for my son-in-law and his family and brought them back to Switzerland.”

“Very impressive.”

“No, not really. A job with the United Nations or with a bank would be even more prestigious, you know.”

“Well, this news sets my mind at ease—at least for the time being. I’d heard that you’d started doing odd jobs, but I trust you’ll behave yourself.

You’re not going to start swindling people again, are you? You have your granddaughter to think of now.”

“No, no, no chance of that. I’ve mended my ways. Just look around you. Not a bonsai in sight. No, I’ll never touch another bonsai again.”

Grandfather spoke with great contrition. When I heard this I realized that in the past Grandfather must have used bonsai in some kind of scam and the older gentleman must be some kind of probation officer. He visited Grandfather once a month to ensure he wasn’t resorting to his old tricks, whatever they had been.

Now that I look back on it, I realize that Grandfather was out on parole and the presence of a studious high-school-age granddaughter in his household must have helped make him seem more trustworthy in the eyes of this monitor. My grandfather wanted to hoodwink his probation officer, and I wanted to stay in Japan. We needed each other to accomplish our goals, so in a way we were partners in crime. To top it off, I was able to talk to my grandfather about all of Yuriko’s shortcomings. These were truly the happiest days of my life.

I unexpectedly crossed paths with the probation officer shortly after 3 2

G R O T E S Q U E

that Sunday. It was during the spring Golden Week holidays, and I was on my way back from the grocery store on my bicycle. A sightseeing bus was stopped alongside an old landed estate, and the gentleman I’d seen at Grandfather’s house was waving good-bye to the passengers as they boarded. Each one was elderly, and each clutched a bonsai with a look of great satisfaction. My eye was drawn to the sign hanging nearby: GARDEN

OF LONGEVITY. So this is where they cultivated bonsai? I gazed at the sign, my interest captivated by the sight of the little trees. When the bus pulled away, the old man noticed me.

“Oh, what a stroke of luck to run into you here,” he said. “Actually, I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind.”

I got down from my bike and bowed politely. Glancing at the estate through the roofed gateway—which was as imposing as one you might see at the entrance to a temple—I glimpsed a magnificent house constructed in the understated elegance of the rustic sukiya style. Next to the house was a lovely teahouse. There was also a vinyl-paned greenhouse on the grounds, where a number of young men inside watered plants with hoses and turned up the soil. It was hardly a nursery; the Garden of Longevity had more the look of a well-kept park. The buildings, the grounds: all were sumptuous. Even I could tell that they were the result of a lavish outlay of money. The probation officer, with his crisp navy-blue apron strapped over his shirt and necktie, looked somewhat out of place, like the town mayor dressed for a day of pottery. He had traded his earlier dark-rimmed glasses for a pair of dark-green sunglasses in light tortoiseshell frames.

The officer began to grill me about my family. I assumed he was trying to verify my grandfather’s story. Had my parents really moved to Switzerland?

he inquired, a tinge of worry in his voice. I assured him that they had.

“What does your grandfather do all day?”

“He seems quite busy with his handyman jobs.”

That was the truth. For whatever reason, after I arrived my grandfather was inundated with requests from the neighbors.

“Well, that’s good to hear. What kind of jobs is he doing?”

“Oh, he gets rid of the dead stray cats people find, looks after places while the residents are away, waters plants: that land of thing.”

“Well, so long as your grandfather doesn’t fool with bonsai I have no complaint. He doesn’t know a thing about bonsai and has no business 3 3

N A T S U O K I R I NO

pretending he does. He stole pots from others, you know, and then sold them as his own. Some he bought cheap at the night market and then turned around and sold them for exorbitant prices. He stirred up a lot of trouble and bilked a lot of people out of well over fifty million yen.”

I rather suspected that those bilked out of their money were somehow connected to the probation officer. He was most likely a bonsai cultivator himself, or at least an employee at this estate. And it was probably from here that my grandfather had stolen the bonsai. Maybe he started out negotiating with the estate to broker their bonsai and then ended up bilking them of their money. This old man had probably been assigned to keep an eye on my grandfather, to be sure he didn’t get involved with bonsai again. It was likely that he was going to keep watching him for a long time to come. I felt sorry for Grandfather.

Hundreds of bonsai were lined up with careful precision along thick wooden planks throughout the estate grounds. Among them was a large pine that resembled the tree my grandfather prized so dearly. In my estimation, it was much too impressive and expensive even to begin to compare to the one my grandfather had.

“I’m sorry to ask, but does my grandfather really know nothing of bonsai?”

“He’s a rogue amateur.” The probation officer snorted with contempt, his genial expression suddenly darkening.

“But if my grandfather tricked people, they must have been extremely wealthy.”

I was thinking that if there were people who were so rich they were susceptible to my grandfather’s scheme, their lack of appreciation for the bonsai he adored must have made him blind with anger. I could hardly imagine that people would actually be willing to spend so much on a single bonsai; it seemed to me that the swindled were worse than the swindler. Of course, the probation officer didn’t see it that way. He was furiously poking his hand though the air around him.

“Plenty of people in this area got rich off the compensation money paid when they lost their fishing grounds. This whole area used to be under the ocean, you know.”

“Under the ocean?” I gasped in spite of myself, completely forgetting the bonsai. I suddenly realized that the love that had been ignited between my mother and father, and the energy it had generated, dissipated the moment conception took place. The new life-form that was 3 4

G R O T E S Q U E

to become me ought to have been released then and there into the sea that opened up between them. I’d thought that for a long time. And now at last I had found my release in this new life that I shared with my grandfather, a life that was the sea itself. My decision to live with my grandfather in his tiny pomade-permeated apartment, the fact that I had to listen to his ceaseless chatter and live in a room surrounded by bonsai, was for me the sea, the very sea itself. This coincidental congruence made me happy, and that’s what led me to decide to stay in the area.

When I got home, I told Grandfather about meeting the probation officer at the Garden of Longevity. Surprised, my grandfather began to question me.

“What did he say about me?”

“That you were a bonsai amateur.”

“Shit!” my grandfather growled. “That bastard doesn’t know shit! That ‘true oak’ of his that won the Ward Prize was a joke. Ha! Just thinking of it makes me want to bust a gut! Anybody can throw money around and buy a good tree. Let him boast about his five million yen. You just look, he doesn’t know about inspiration.”

From that day on my grandfather spent the entire day on the veranda talking to his bonsai.

I didn’t learn this until later, but the probation officer used to work for the ward office. He took a position as a guide at the Garden of Longevity, when he retired, and volunteered to monitor my grandfather’s probation.

He’s dead now. As soon as he died, my grandfather and I felt as if a huge boulder had been lifted off our heads.

My grandfather? He’s still alive, but he’s a senile old man who sleeps most of the day. He has no idea who I am. I change his diapers and work like crazy to look after him, but he just points at me and asks me who I am. Occasionally he’ll call my mother’s name, and say things like, “Better do your homework or you’ll end up a thief!” Each time I’m tempted to respond, “Yeah, well, look who’s talking! You’re the one who turned out to be the thief.” As long as grandfather is alive, I can continue to live in his government-sponsored apartment, so I can’t come down on him too hard.

Oh, yes, I want my grandfather to live a long and frugal life. It seems the word inspiration has completely evaporated from his brain. I wore myself out two years ago trying to take care of him, so I had to put him in the ward-managed Misosazai Nursing Home.

My grandfather really did work as a handyman, and I did more than just 3 5

N A T S U O K I R I NO

answer the phone for him. When I could I was happy to help him with his jobs. I really enjoyed it, especially since I hadn’t had a lot of contact with people until then. Hardly anyone came to visit us when I was Uttle. My father preferred to associate with people from his own country, but even then he rarely included his family. My mother didn’t associate with others in the neighborhood. She didn’t have a single friend. She never came to meet our teachers or sit in on our classes. Needless to say, she didn’t belong to the Parent-Student Association. That’s the kind of family I had.

I never thought Yuriko would return to Japan and ruin everything.

But four months after moving to Switzerland, my mother committed suicide. Before she died I’d gotten a number of letters from her, but I hadn’t sent her a single note in return. That’s right. Not one.

I have a few of her letters still with me and will be happy to show them to you. As much as I read them, I never imagined she’d commit suicide.

That’s because I never dreamed Mother had such a hidden store of pain.

Until she actually chose suicide, I never even noticed that she wanted to bid this world farewell. But what really surprised me was that Mother had the courage to take her own life.

How are you? The three of us are well. How are you getting along with your grandfather? He’s much more decisive than me, so I suspect the two of you are hitting it off. I wanted to let you know, though, that you don’t have to give Grandfather a single yen more than the ¥40,000 that we’ve promised to pay each month. You have to take care of things at your end and can’t rely on us. But I’m transferring a small sum to your bank account. This is to be your own spending money, so keep it secret from your grandfather. And if he manages to wheedle a loan out of you, be sure to get him to write out a promissory note. These are your father’s instructions that I’m passing along.

By the way, how’s your schoolwork? I can’t believe you made it into such an elite high school! I brag about you whenever I run into another Japanese person here. And although Yuriko has yet to say anything, I’m sure she is furious with jealousy. Please keep up your studies; it’s great incentive for Yuriko! You can always better her with your brains.

I suppose the cherry blossoms have all but fallen in Japan. I 3 6

G R O T E S Q U E

miss the Yoshino cherries. They must have been so beautiful when the blossoms were at their peak. I’ve not seen any cherry trees in Bern. I’m sure they must be blooming somewhere, so the next chance I get, I’m going to ask a member of the Japanese Citizens Association. Though your father isn’t really keen on my joining the Japanese Citizens Association—or the Japanese Women’s Group, for that matter.

It’s still cold here: you can’t go out without a coat. The wind off the Aare River is chilly, and the cold so bitter it makes me lonely. I’m wearing the beige coat that we bought on sale at the Odakyu Department Store. I’m sure you remember. It’s really too light for this weather, but I’m constantly getting compliments on it. Some people even ask me where I bought it. The people here really dress well. They carry themselves properly and always seem dignified.

Bern is as pretty as a fairy tale but it’s much smaller than I had imagined, and this really surprised me at first. I was also surprised to find people from so many different countries living here. When we first arrived I walked through the streets amazed at everything I saw, but lately I’ve grown a little tired of it. Most of our money is going toward your allowance and school fees, so we can’t really buy anything and have to live as frugally as possible. Yuriko is angry and claims it’s all because you got to stay behind in Japan. But don’t worry about it.

You’ve got to rely on your brains to get ahead.

Our house is in a new area of the city. Karl’s hosiery factory is one building over. Across from us is a building with tiny apartments, and alongside that is an empty lot. Your father’s pleased because we are within the city limits, but it feels like we’re on the outskirts to me. If I bring it up, however, it makes your father furious. Wherever you go in Bern the streets are orderly, and all you find are tall people speaking an incomprehensible language. Moreover, everyone is really aggressive.

This has been quite a lesson for me.

Just the other day I had this experience. I’m always careful to obey the traffic signals when I cross the street, but still you have to watch for turning vehicles. As I was crossing a car came so close to hitting me that the hem of my coat was caught 3 7