Grotesque (14 page)

“And once you enter a good company, what then?”

“What then? Well, I’ll work there, of course! Perfect, isn’t it? We’re living in an era when even women can work at whatever they desire. My 8 2

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mom came of age at a time when that wasn’t possible, so she wants me to do what she couldn’t.”

I heard Kazue s mother call up from the foot of the stairs. Kazue left the room, and as she did I detected the sharp scent of chilled soba sauce.

A few minutes later Kazue came back in carrying a tray with chipped paint, the kind a delivery service would use to carry prepared food. The tray was loaded with two bamboo-slatted plates piled high with soba noodles and two little cups of dipping sauce.

“Since you went out of your way to visit, we wanted to treat you to a feast. Mother just ordered soba for the two of us, so let’s eat here.”

Not exactly my idea of food for guests, but I didn’t say anything. I guess every household has a different concept of hospitality. I was reminded again of the miserliness that I sensed when I first entered the house.

Kazue went out and came back into the room clutching a chair with a pink cushion tied to the seat, the kind of chair that accompanies a student’s desk. It was probably her younger sister’s. Kazue had me sit in that chair. We lined up next to each other in front of her desk and began slurping down the noodles.

Suddenly the door burst open. “What are you doing with my chair?”

Her sister, noticing me, hung her head timidly. Her eyes landed on the plates of soba and her face flashed with resentment when she realized there wasn’t any for her. Her face and body were a shrunken version of Kazue s, but her hair was long and hung down her back.

“I’ve got a friend over. I need to borrow it for a bit. Don’t worry, I’ll return it when we’re done eating.”

“How am I supposed to do my homework?”

“I said I’d bring it back when we’re done.”

“You ought to eat standing up!”

The two of them squabbled without a glance in my direction. After her sister left, I asked, “Do you like your younger sister?”

“Hardly.” Kazue plucked awkwardly with her chopsticks at the gummy noodles, picking them up and plopping them down. “She knows she’s not as smart as me, so she’s jealous. When I took the entrance exam I know she was hoping I’d fail. And if she flunks her test you can bet she’ll blame it on me for taking her chair! That’s the kind of brat she is.”

Kazue finished her soba before I did and then proceeded to gulp down what was left of the pitchblack sauce. I’d completely lost my 8 3

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appetite by then and distracted myself by slipping the cheap disposable wooden chopsticks back in the paper wrapper they’d come in, pulling them out, and then sticking them back in again. Eating soba noodles in Kazue’s disheveled room suddenly struck me as incredibly pathetic. The room teemed with dust, not having been cleaned for who knows how long, and it smelled like an animal’s lair. I thought again of Yuriko’s phone call that morning and the way she’d described my mother’s recent behavior.

My mother: sitting with her eyes wide open in the dark, shut up in a room without lights. Her fragile nerves—-I wonder if I’d inherited them.

It would have been a blessing if they’d gone to Yuriko, but compared to me Yuriko was uncomplicated and overly forthright in her own desires. I was the one who took after Mother.

Kazue turned to me and asked, “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“I’ve got a younger sister.” I answered bitterly. Just thinking of Yuriko made me bitter. Kazue swallowed. She looked like she was going to continue to ask questions, but I cut her off with one of my own. “You weren’t really going to have soba for dinner tonight. What would you have had if I hadn’t come?”

“Huh?” Kazue jerked her head back as if to say, Why do you have to ask such bizarre questions?

“I’m just curious.”

I was interested in what kind of meal Kazue and her mother would fix.

Would they make bean cakes of mud and mashed hydrangea leaves and salad of dandelion greens? Kazue’s mother looked like the kind of woman who only enjoyed “playing house.” She seemed so detached from the real world, performing her household tasks but more like a robot than a real person.

“Father and you and I are the only ones eating soba tonight. My mother said that she and my sister would eat leftovers. We hardly ever order out; just that little bit of soba cost three hundred yen. It’s so stupid!

But we got it specially because you came to visit.”

I stared up at the light fixture, beginning to notice that the evening’s darkness was creeping into the room. In the center of the yellowish veneered ceiling was the kind of stark fluorescent light you’d see in an office building. When Kazue had switched it on, it made a slight hissing noise, like the sound of a flying creature flapping its wings. The light 8 4

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ringed Kazue’s profile in a black outline. Unable to resist, I asked, “Well, why did only you, your father, and I get the soba?”

Kazue’s tiny little eyes sparked. “Because in our house there is an order to things. There’s that test you do with a pet dog, right? You line up all the members of the family and release the dog to see who he goes to first. And the first one is the boss. It’s like that. Everyone automatically knows the order of things—who has the most prestige and authority, I mean. And you accede to that order accordingly. No one needs to explain it, but everyone obeys it. Everything is decided according to this order—like who has the right to take a bath first and who gets to eat the best food. My father’s always first; that’s only natural, right? And then I’m second. My mother used to come second, but once I made it into the top tier on the national scholastic rankings for my age group, I got to be second. So now my father goes first, I’m second, then my mother, and my sister’s last. If she’s not careful, though, my sister’s going to pass my mom.”

“You determine the pecking order in your family based on your scholastic scores?”

“Well, let’s just say we go in the order of effort expended.”

“But since your mother’s not ever going to take any entrance exams, isn’t that unfair to her?”

Mother and daughters lined up in competition with one another.

Wasn’t that absurd? But Kazue was deadly serious.

“It can’t be helped. Mother lost out to my father from the very start, and there’s no one in the family who can best him. I’ve studied as hard as I could ever since I can remember. My greatest joy in life is trying to improve my scores. For the longest time I set my sights on trying to outdo my mother. You know, my mother always says she never had career aspirations, but I think she wanted to become a doctor when she was young. Her father wouldn’t permit it; besides, she wasn’t smart enough to get into med school. But she always regretted it. Being raised to be a woman is pathetic, isn’t it? That’s what she always says. She uses being a woman as her excuse for not getting ahead in life. But if you really try your best, you can succeed even if you’re female.”

“Are you saying that—no matter what—all you have to do is try your best and you’ll succeed?”

“Well, of course. If you try hard enough you’ll be rewarded.”

Yeah? Well, you’re in the world of Q High School for Young Women 8 5

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now, my dear, and no matter how hard you try you’re not going to get your reward! We live in a world where almost anything you try to accomplish will be met with failure. Am I wrong?

I wanted to say this to Kazue. Moreover, I wanted to teach her a lesson.

If she should ever set eyes on a girl like Yuriko and her monstrously perfect beauty, Kazue’s efforts—no matter how prodigious—would just be laughable, wouldn’t they? But Kazue stared at the mottoes on her wall with a look of utter determination.

“Do you think it’s true because it’s what your father tells you?”

“It’s like our family code. My mother believes it, too. And the teachers at school, they’ll tell you the same thing. It’s the truth, that’s all.” Kazue looked at me in surprise, her little eyes mocking me, flashing with color.

“Speaking of mothers, do you know what happened to me today?”

It seemed like the right time to spring this on her. I glanced at my watch, wanting to go home. It was already past seven.

“All I know is that it was Hanachan’s birthday,” Kazue replied with a laugh, and then, as if remembering homeroom, her face crumbled into a frown.

“My mother died,” I said.

Kazue leaped up from her chair in surprise. “Your mother died?

Today?”

“Yeah. Well, technically it was yesterday.”

“Shouldn’t you go home?”

“Pretty soon. May I borrow your phone?”

Kazue pointed wordlessly to the stairs. I inched my way quietly down the dark stairs toward a thin stream of light that leaked out from under a closed door. I could hear the sound of a TV. I knocked.

A man’s voice called out irritably. “What?” Her father. I opened the door. The only noticeable feature in the cramped sitting room was the wood-paneled walls. Kazue’s younger sister, her mother, and a middleaged man sitting on the couch in front of the TV turned simultaneously to stare at me. The dishes on the shelf direcdy across the room were all the kind you would buy at a supermarket. And the dining set, sofa, and chairs were the cheap preassembled kind. If the Q gang were to see this they’d have a field day, I thought. Kazue would be toast!

“May I borrow the phone?”

“Certainly.”

Kazue’s mother pointed toward the darkened kitchen. There, just out-8 6

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side the entrance, was an old-fashioned black rotary phone. There was a small handmade box next to the phone with the words TEN YEN. Kazue’s parents just sat there looking at me expectantly. Neither bothered to tell me I needn’t worry about the cost. So, I fished around in the pocket of my school uniform skirt and finally came up with a ten-yen coin to drop in the box. The coin made a dry sound as it fell. Apparently, few visitors stop by this house. To charge a fee for the phone was like a sick joke, I thought, as I dialed the numbers on the stiff rotary while carefully scrutinizing Kazue’s family.

Kazue’s younger sister—who had been deprived of her precious chair on my account—was now sitting at the dining room table busily scribbling in a notebook she had spread out in front of her. Peering over her shoulder, her mother was pointing something out to her in a low voice.

They both glanced up to check on me and then once again began to stare fixedly at the notebook. Kazue’s father was watching some land of quiz show on TV—and looking quite relaxed in his undershirt and pajamatype pants. I could tell at a glance that he just happened to have the channel turned to that particular program and although he was looking at the TV, he wasn’t really paving attention to the show. He jiggled his legs up and down nervously. He seemed to be in his late forties. He was short, his complexion was ruddy, and his close-cropped hair was thinning.

At a glance he looked like a pudgy little country bumpkin. I felt cheated. Since the only Japanese man I knew was my grandfather, I was curious about Japanese fathers. Besides, I’d been dying to see just what kind of person this father of Kazue’s was—especially since he ruled over wife and daughters from his exalted position as Number One in the family ranking. And yet here he was, just a gloomy middleaged man.

What a letdown.

The phone rang and rang and finally someone picked up.

“Grandpa?”

“Where’d you go traipsing off to?”

The person on the other end wasn’t my grandfather. It was a neighbor, the insurance saleslady.

“We’ve got a problem. Your grandpa’s blood pressure has skyrocketed and he’s taken to bed. It seems your father and your sister in Switzerland had an argument, and that’s what brought it on. They’ve called any number of times and have got him all stirred up. Your grandpas always been a real sucker, you know. They both managed to calm down but then he 8 7

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started to feel sick, and then, when you didn’t bother to come home, he started worrying about you!”

“I’m sorry. Is Grandpa okay?”

“He’s okay. He had the super call me, and I ran over right away. That helped calm him down. He’s sleeping like a baby now. It’s too bad about your mother. It’s for times like this that you need insurance, you know.”

It sounded like the conversation was going to go on indefinitely, so I hurriedly blurted out, “I’m coming right home.” But to get home from Setagaya would require that I cross Tokyo proper. It was going to take forever.

“How long will it take you?” she asked.

“At least an hour and a half.”

“In that case, you’d better call your sister before you leave.”

“Call Yuriko? Is it that urgent?”

“It is. She said they have to go to the funeral parlor and she’s very impatient. Anyway, she has something she has to discuss with you, she said.”

“But I’m at someone’s house right now.”

“So? Tell them you’ll pay for the cost of the call. There’s no time to wait until you’ve gotten home.”

“Okay.”

What on earth would my father and sister be arguing about? All I could think was that something horrible had happened. “I’m sorry, but I need to make an international call to Switzerland,” I told Kazue’s mother. “An emergency has come up.”

“An emergency?”

Kazue’s mother looked at me warily, her eyes narrowing behind her silverrim glasses.

“My mother died last night and my younger sister needs me to call her.”

Kazue’s mother looked shocked, and she turned to look at her husband.

Kazue’s father looked back at me abruptly. His eyes turned up at the corners and seemed steeped in irritability. The light that flashed from them was strong and suggested an intent to take on anyone who met their gaze. “That’s awful,” he said, in a dark, insinuating voice. “I wonder if you would dial the operator first when placing your call. That way you can ask for the charges when the call is complete. It will be best for both of us.”

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