Something Strange Across the River (8 page)

It looked like a customer was still with her on the second floor, as there were shadows on the curtain. The bottom window hung open. It sounded like the radios out front had finally stopped blaring, so I placed the potted flowers from the festival inside the window and continued on my way to Shirahige Bridge. While I was walking the Keisei buses on their way to Asakusa followed me down the road and passed me. I didn’t know where their stops were, so I made no effort to catch one. I kept on walking, and saw all the flickering lanterns at the other end of the bridge.

* * *

I’ve yet to finish
Disappearance
, though I began to write it at the start of summer. Early that evening, when Oyuki said “It’s
already
been three months,” I realized that it had been even longer since I decided to record the story of Junbei and Mitsuko. When I had last put brush to paper, Junbei had taken Sumiko out of their room to escape the heat. They’d gone to cool off at Shiraghige Bridge, and were discussing the direction they wished to take their relationship. I went to the bridge and leaned against its railings myself.

When I was first toying with the plot of the novel I had intended to make their relationship a rather light matter. However, as the story progressed, that seemed to suit the characters less and less. The heat of the summer grew oppressive along with my confusion, and so I had taken a measure of time off from the project.

And yet, leaning over the railings of the bridge, the echoes of the running river below and the crowds dancing in the park floating over to me, I found myself reflecting on Oyuki’s protracted “
already
,” and in doing so decided that Junbei and Mitsuko were not, in the least, unnatural or forced. Their relationship did not seem manipulated by the author (myself) for any effect. Furthermore, if I were to intercede in my original plans and alter the course of their relationship, that alteration itself would stick out.

I took a taxi home from Kaminarimon and, as usual, washed my face, shaved, and lit a stick of incense and placed it in the holder by my inkstone. I reached for my unfinished, abandoned manuscript and began to read it over.

* * *

“What’s that over there? See it? Is it a factory or something?”

“I think it’s a petroleum company. That whole area used to be really pretty—or so I heard. I read it in a book once.”

“Want to go for a walk over there? It’s not so late yet.”

“But there’s a police box just over there.”

“You’re right. Let’s go back then. You’d think we were murderers, the way we have to creep around.”

“Hey now, don’t talk so loud.”

Junbei fell silent.

“You don’t know who is going to hear you…”

“You’re right. But sneaking around and living like this—I’ve never done it before. It feels…I don’t know. I’ll never forget it.”

“That’s why they say to stay away from women…don’t they now?”

“Sumi-chan, ever since last night, I feel…I feel like I’m suddenly much younger. I feel like I finally have something to live for. Know what I mean?”

“People are so emotional. Don’t get down on yourself.”

“I know. But no matter how I may feel, I’m not young anymore. You’ll get rid of me before too long.”

“There you go again—even though I keep telling you not to think that way. Just look at me, I’ll be 30 soon. Besides, I’ve already done the things I want to. I’d like to settle down and save some money, you know?”

“You really want to start a little oden shop?”

“I’m going to give the deposit to Teru in the morning. Then you won’t have to use your money anymore, right? It’ll be just like we talked about last night.”

“But then…”

“It’ll be fine. You have your savings, so everything else will be fine. I’ll take my money and pay everyone off. I’ll buy rights and everything. No matter how you look at it, that’s the best for everyone.”

“Are you sure you can trust Teru? I mean, we’re talking about money.”

“She’s fine. She’s rich. She’s got the king of Tamanoi as her patron.”

“What’s that mean?”

“This guy, he owns tons of shops and houses around here. He’s around 70 years old too, a really energetic fellow. He came into the cafe sometimes.”

“Is that so.”

“Anyway, she says that if I’m really going to go for it I might as well go all out. Give up on the little oden shop and take over one of his businesses. Teru and her patron have both said the same thing, they say they’ll set me up with a place. But if it came down to it, I wouldn’t have anyone to talk things over with. I don’t want to run it by myself. If that’s how it’s going to be I figure it would be easier to just run a little oden shop or a food stall or something.”

“So that’s why you picked out that plot?”

“Teru is getting money from her mother.”

“Very entrepreneurial.”

“Well, she’s got nerve, but she’s no thief…”

Chapter Nine

Tokyo lurched into the middle of September, but the oppressive heat of summer refused to retreat, growing stronger even than August. The window shades caught and flapped in the breeze, slapping against the panes with all the affected air of autumn, but as evening approached the breeze would evaporate, leaving the town stifling in moist heat as if the block was suddenly in Kansai. These nights continued for some time.

Between the composition of my manuscript and my reading, I’d become unexpectedly busied, resulting in three solid days during which I never left my room.

Nothing brought more pleasure to my solitary life than airing out my books in dwindling heat, and the burning of fallen leaves. Those days provide the opportunity to reflect on my shelves of books, to look them over and remember the time, years ago, when I originally found myself entranced by them, and therefore also the opportunity to reflect on the transitory and undulating nature of my feelings and outlook. The burning of the leaves was a brief interlude, during which I could forget my place in the surrounding populace.

I’d finally finished airing out my books that day, so just as soon as I’d had my dinner I slipped into those torn slacks and clunky wooden sandals. By the time I left the house the lanterns at the front gate had already been lit. The lingering heat in the still evenings had not persuaded the sun to stay up any longer, and before anyone had time to notice it had begun to turn out of the sky earlier and earlier.

It had only been three days, but as I passed out the gate I was overcome with the feeling of having neglected a duty, of having been absent from where I had been expected—a feeling that compelled me to hurry on my way. To cut the route shorter I boarded the subway at the Kyobashi station. I had known women from a young age, and it would be no exaggeration to say that I had not felt this flustered over going to see a women in well over 30 years. I took a taxi from Kaminarimon and finally found myself standing, once again, at the entrance to the alleyway. Once again, the standing fox statues. The tattered red banners had all been replaced by clean, white, trailing flags. The same figs, the same grapes, but their greenery had grown almost imperceptibly thinner. No matter how hot the days, no matter how neglected the alley, autumn quietly brought the nights darker and longer.

Oyuki’s face was in the same window, but her hair was tied up differently and so, walking slowly and peering intently to ensure I was approaching the correct person I stepped forward into view upon which Oyuki, her patience overflowing, flung the door open and shouted “You!” before quickly slinking back and lowering her voice and continuing, “I was worried. But I suppose that’s no matter. I’m glad you came.”

I already knew why she was concerned. I sat down on the stoop without removing my sandals.

“You were in the paper, you know. I don’t think they got it right, I doubted it the whole time, but still. I was so worried.”

“Sorry.” Someone had found me, so I lowered my voice as well. “I’m not that stupid. I’ve been careful.”

“But what happened? You seem just fine, but you know if the person I’m expecting doesn’t show up I get lonely. I know it’s odd.”

“But you seem just as busy as ever.”

“I found out all this in the heat. It doesn’t matter how busy I am.”

“Damn though, it really is hot this year,” I said, to which Oyuki quickly whispered, “Keep your voice down.” She slapped at a mosquito that had landed on my forehead.

The house was filled with more mosquitos than ever. It seemed their needles had grown fatter and sharper. Oyuki produced a tissue from her pocket and wiped the blood from my forehead. “Just look at this.” She showed me the stained tissue before crumpling it up.

“When those mosquitos go away the year will be over.”

“I know. I think they were still around for the winter festival last year.”

For a moment I thought I’d heard her refer to their breeding in the rice paddies, but quickly realized that was a story from another age I’d heard as if in a dream. “You want to go for a walk around here, maybe to Yoshiwara?”

“Sure,” she said before turning her head to the gentle chime of a bell in the distance, standing and rushing to the window. “Kane-chan! Over here! What are you standing around for? Get me some iced dumplings and mosquito coils will you? Good child.”

She sat at the window, jesting with the passing customers. Occasionally she would speak to me from the space between the Osaka screens. When the man from the ice shop came by she brought something over to me.

“Here. You like iced dumplings, don’t you? These are on me tonight.”

“You sure remember the little things.”

“Of course I do. There’s a reason too, so do me a favor and stop these affairs of yours.”

“You think I’m running off to someone else’s house when I’m not here? Heh.”

“That’s how men are.”

“I’ll choke on these things. C’mon, let’s get along, at least while I’m eating.”

“Whatever,” she said with affected scorn, jabbing her spoon into the carefully piled mountain of shaved ice she held.

A customer passed by the window and peaked inside. “Hey there, lady, looks good.”

“I’ll give you one. Open your mouth.”

“I’ll pass on the poison. Too young to die tonight.”

“You’re just another penniless loser, give me a break.”

“What was that? You pond scum!” The man said and walked on. She didn’t seem satisfied. “Bastard trash!” She called.

Another passing man burst into laughter.

She spooned some shaved ice into her mouth and left the spoon there, hanging from her lips as she gazed out into the alley and absentmindedly called out, “Hey there, hey there, busy?” To which eventually a man would stop and look over, at which point she’d put the charm on thick and sweetly drawl, “Come on in, I’m not busy. Come on, mister,” or, depending on perhaps how the man looked she would turn suddenly businesslike and clip, “Certainly, well, come in for a moment and if you are not satisfied you can just go on your way,” to which neither the first or second or subsequent men responded, at which point, without disappointment, unaffectedly, as if reviving an ancient memory, she would return to her melted piled of ice and then fish out a dumpling to chew on, or pull on a stick of tobacco and puff up small plumes of smoke.

I’ve already attempted to describe Oyuki. She was an energetic woman, and not too depressed over her circumstances. Sitting in the tea room, I could see her through the thin curtains, sitting by the window and fanning away the mosquitos as quietly as she could. Perhaps it was that scene, which had become so familiar to me, that first gave me such an impression. Perhaps my observation had never seen past the superficial, perhaps I’d only ever seen a facet of her true self.

However, there is something to be gained by the assertion of my observation’s accuracy. Regardless of the state of her inner self, there was an amicable connection between the outside passersby and Oyuki on the other side of the glass that was harmonious and true. What I mean to say is that if I was mistaken in characterizing her as essentially carefree and untroubled by circumstance, it was no doubt a mistake born of this harmonious, amicable connection. There are masses of people on the other side of the window. The whole world is on the other side of the window. On this side there is only an individual. Between them there was no marked sense of antagonism. And what produced this? Oyuki was still young. She hadn’t yet lost her feelings toward the world. When she sat at that window she made herself into something vulgar, all while hiding her other self deep in her chest. The people who passed the window removed and discarded their inhibitions and pretension the moment their feet carried them from the street into the alley.

I plunged myself into this world of rouge and powder at a young age, and I’d yet to awaken and discover a problem with the life I’d lived. There were times when, lost to my emotions for a time, I’d surrender to the request of a girl and bring them into the house and let them hold a broom and clean or whatever it was they were after. But all those ended in failure. The moment the women entered into a relationship and realized that they were not the vulgar, base creatures they had imagined themselves to be, they inevitably made a quick about-face, becoming either a slouch or some type of self-appointed queen.

At some point, Oyuki set her mind on me, on using me as an escape from, or an alternative to, her situation. She wanted to become a slouch or a queen. But whether she would become a queen, whether she’d become a slouch, whether she’d become one of the few satisfied and honestly contented homemakers, whatever she became was not up to me—my past failures an embarrassment of riches—but to those with many, many years of fresh life ahead of them. But if I were to tell her so she would not understand. She’d only seen half of my split personality. It would be a simple matter to learn the contents of Oyuki’s undivulged character and to inform her of its imperfections. I could not bear the thought of my hesitation, despite knowing full well the truth of the matter. This was not to protect myself. It was because if Oyuki were to suddenly awaken to the misunderstanding on her own it would, I feared, bring her much disappointment and sorrow.