Kitchen

  “That’s so like you.” My tone was angry, but my eyes betrayed tenderness. In the time we had spent together, we had come to share a deep understanding, a kind of telepathy. Despite the alcohol, I had conveyed the complexity of my feelings.

  “I wish today could never end,” he continued. “I wish this night would go on forever. Mikage, please move back in.”

  “That’s a possibility,” I said, making an effort to be gentle. I was sure he was just talking drunken foolishness. “But Eriko isn’t here anymore. If I were to live here with you, would it be as your lover? Or your friend?”

  “You mean, should we sell the sofa and buy a double bed?” Yuichi smiled. Then he said, frankly, “I myself don’t even know.” Oddly, his sincerity touched me most of all. He continued, “Right now I can’t think. What do you mean in my life? How am I myself changing? How will my life be different from before? I don’t have a clue about any of that. I try to think about it, but with the kind of worthless thoughts I’m having in the state I’m in, I can’t decide anything. I’ve got to pull myself out of it soon. Now I’ve got you tangled up in it. The two of us may be in the epicenter of death, but I was hoping to spare you this misery. It could be like this for as long as we stay together.”

  “Yuichi, don’t think like that. Let’s see what happens,” I said, on the verge of tears.

  “Right. I won’t remember any of this tomorrow. It’s always like that. No day has any connection to the one before.”

  With that he flopped down on his stomach, muttering, “I’m in a bad way. . . .”

  The apartment had taken on the silence of the dead of night and seemed as though it were listening to Yuichi’s voice. It was lost without Eriko. The feeling bore down heavier as the night deepened. It made me feel that nothing could be shared.

  Yuichi and I are climbing a narrow ladder in the jet-black gloom. Together we peer into the cauldron of hell. We stare into the bubbling red sea of fire, and the air hitting our faces is so hot it makes us reel. Even though we’re standing side by side, even though we’re closer to each other than to anyone else in the world, even though we’re friends forever, we don’t join hands. No matter how forlorn we are, we each insist on standing on our own two feet. But I wonder, as I look at his uneasy profile blazingly illuminated by the hellish fire, although we have always acted like brother and sister, aren’t we really man and woman in the primordial sense, and don’t we think of each other that way? But the place we are in now is just too dreadful. It is not a place where two people can create a life together.

  Although I had been earnestly daydreaming until then, I suddenly started to laugh. “I see two lovers looking over the edge of the cauldron of hell. Are they contemplating a double suicide? This means their love will end in hell.” I couldn’t stop laughing.

  I was certainly no fortune-teller.

  Yuichi was fast asleep on the sofa. From the smile on his face he seemed pleased to have fallen asleep before me. He didn’t bat an eyelash when I pulled a quilt over him.

  I washed the enormous pile of dirty dishes as quietly as possible, and I cried and cried. Of course it wasn’t over having to wash all those dishes; I was crying for having been left behind in the night, paralyzed with loneliness.

  I awoke the next morning to the god-awful ring of the alarm clock I had staunchly set the night before, since I had to be at work at noon. When I stretched my hand out to turn it off, I realized it was the telephone. I answered, “Hello,” and then, immediately recalling I was at somebody else’s house, I added, flustered, “Tanabe residence.”

  The party on the other end hung up with a crash. Aha, I thought—a girl. I sheepishly looked over at Yuichi, but he was still sound asleep. So much the better, I thought. I got dressed, slipped out of the apartment, and headed for work. I had the whole afternoon to agonize over whether or not to stay there that night.

  I made my way to my job. The operation occupied an entire floor in a large building, what with Sensei’s office, the kitchens, and the photo studio. Sensei was in her office checking over the proofs of a magazine article. Still a young woman, she had a great sense of style and a wonderful way with people. When she saw me she smiled, removed her glasses, and began to give me the rundown on the day’s tasks.

  Because today there was a huge amount of prep work for the classes that would begin at three o’clock, she asked me to help and told me that I could go home after we were done. Apparently the head assistant would take over for the evening classes, so I would be finished early. I was almost disappointed, when she then made a proposal that was perfectly timed for my current dilemma.

  “Mikage,” she said, “the day after tomorrow we have to go to the Izu Peninsula to do some research. We’ll be staying three nights. I know this is short notice, but if at all possible I wonder if you’d mind coming along.”

  “Izu?” I asked, surprised. “Is this for a magazine?”

  “Well . . . the thing is, the other girls have scheduling conflicts. We’re planning on going to sample the specialties of a number of inns, and they’ll also tell us something about their preparation. How does that strike you? We’ll be staying in very nice places—traditional inns and hotels. You’d have a room to yourself. But I need an answer as soon as possible—say, by tonight?”

  Before she’d even finished, I said, “I’ll go!” With that I answered both her question and the one I had planned to ponder.

  “I really appreciate it,” said Sensei with a smile.

  As I walked toward the cooking class, I suddenly realized that a weight had been lifted from me. Right now, getting away from Tokyo, away from Yuichi, to put some distance between us for a little while, struck me as a very good thing.

  When I opened the door, I saw that Nori and Kuri, two of my fellow assistants, my seniors on the job by a year, were already at work on the preparations.

  “Mikage,” said Kuri as soon as she saw me, “did you hear about Izu?”

  Nori smiled. “Sounds great, doesn’t it? There’s going to be French food and all kinds of seafood, too.”

  “Yes. But by the way, why is it I get to go?”

  “Oh—I’m sorry. We’re both scheduled for golf lessons, so we can’t. But really, if you can’t do it, one of us will just miss a lesson. Right, Kuri? It’s okay.”

  “Yes, that’s right, Mikage, so be honest with us.”

  I smiled—both of them were so sincerely sweet—and shook my head. “No, no,” I assured them, “it’s really fine with me.”

  They had come to work here together after graduating from the same university. Naturally, having done four years of culinary study, they were real pros.

  Kuri’s sunny disposition lent her an appealing cuteness, and Nori was a beauty of the “proper young lady” variety. They were best friends. Their clothes were always in the best of taste, the kind that you can’t help but stare at. They were even-tempered, considerate, and patient. Of their type—that is, young ladies of good family, hardly a rarity in the culinary world—they were the genuine article.

  Once in a while Nori’s mother would telephone. She was so gentle and kind she made me feel shy. What amazed me was that she usually seemed to know Nori’s schedule for the entire day. But then I guess all mothers are like that.

  Nori would talk to her on the phone in a voice like a silver bell, smiling a little smile and smoothing her long, fluttering hair.

  As different as Kuri and Nori were from me, I liked them immensely. Just for handing them a ladle, they would smile and say thank you. If I had a cold they would immediately be all concern. The sight of them giggling, their white aprons brilliant in the light, made me happy. Working side by side with them was a pleasure that put me at peace with the world.

  Dividing ingredients into bowls, bringing giant vats of water to a boil, measuring—doing routine work until three o’clock suited me fine. This sunny, large-windowed room, those big tables lined up in front of the ovens, the broilers and burners, reminded me of the home-ec room
s at school.

  We gossiped, having fun as we worked.

  It happened just a little after two. Unexpectedly, someone knocked very hard at the door.

  “That might be Sensei.” Nori looked up, puzzled. “Come in?” she said hesitantly.

  Kuri whispered nervously, “I’ve forgotten to remove my nail polish! I’ll get in trouble!” I bent down, looking for the nail polish remover in my bag.

  The door opened, and we heard a girl’s voice say, “Is there a Mikage Sakurai here?” I stood up quickly, surprised to hear my name. In the doorway was a girl I had never seen before.

  Her face was a little babyish. I thought she was probably younger than me. She was small, and her eyes were round and hard. She stood her ground staunchly, wearing beige pumps and a brown coat over a thin yellow sweater. Her legs were sexy, if a little chubby. Her whole person had that roundness to it. Her narrow forehead was completely exposed, her bangs carefully curled back. Atop the supple curves of her body, her red-painted lips were angrily set.

  I was worried. She didn’t seem unlikable, but . . . I couldn’t imagine what she might have come for, although the reason was definitely not trivial.

  Nori and Kuri, distressed, watched her from behind my back. I had to say something.

  “Excuse me, but who are you?”

  “My name is Okuno. I’ve come to speak with you.” Her voice was hoarse but high-pitched.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m working right now. Would you mind calling me tonight at home?”

  “At Yuichi’s house, you mean?” she piped up. At last I understood. She was this morning’s hang-up caller. I said with conviction, “No, at my house.”

  Nori interjected: “Mikage, it’s okay to go out. We’ll tell Sensei you had to do some last-minute shopping for the trip.”

  “That won’t be necessary. We’ll be finished very soon,” said the girl.

  “Are you a friend of Yuichi Tanabe’s?” I asked, making an effort to remain calm.

  “Yes, I’m a classmate at the university. I came here today because I have something to ask of you. I’ll be clear about it. Stay out of Yuichi’s life.”

  “That’s up to Yuichi,” I said. “Even if you are his girlfriend, it doesn’t strike me as something you should decide for him.”

  She turned red with anger. “Do you think what you’re doing is right? You say you’re not his girlfriend, yet you go over there whenever you want, you spend the night, you do what you please, don’t you? That’s worse than living together.” Her eyes had filled with tears. “I never lived with him, I’m just a classmate; of course you know him better than I do. But in my own way, I love him. I comforted him when his mother died. A while back, when I told him how all this bothered me, he just said, ‘So what about Mikage?’ ‘Is she your girlfriend?’ I asked. ‘Let’s not talk about it now,’ he said. Then, since the entire school knew there was a girl living at his house, I just dropped the whole thing.”

  I started to say, “I’m not living there anymore . . .” but she interrupted me. “You don’t accept the responsibilities of a relationship. You just like to have fun and you keep him tied to you. Parading your slender arms and legs, your long hair, in front of him, never letting him forget your womanhood—thanks to you, Yuichi is half a man. That would really suit you, wouldn’t it, to leave things undecided forever? But love is not a joke, it also means sharing someone else’s pain. To slip that burden, with that cool face of yours, saying you understand everything. . . . I’m asking you, please, don’t see Yuichi anymore. I’m begging you. Because as long as you’re around, Yuichi is stuck.”

  Her insights were pretty self-serving, but because the violence of her words hit me exactly where it hurt, I was deeply pained. She was about to continue. I saw her open her mouth again, and I yelled, “Stop!”

  She shut up, startled. I said, “I understand what you mean, but we each have to face our own feelings. What you say doesn’t take into account any of mine. How can you be so sure, when you don’t even know me, that I don’t think about these things?”

  “How can you speak so coldly?” She answered my question with a question, tears streaming down her face.

  “You say you’ve loved Yuichi all along?” I said. “With that attitude, I can’t believe it. I just heard about his mother’s death and I was sleeping over because of that. You’re not being fair.”

  My heart filled with a terrible sadness. Surely she didn’t want to hear about how Eriko had taken me into their home, about the emotional state I had been in at the time, about the complicated, fragile relationship I had with Yuichi now. She had only come to blame me. So even though I wasn’t a rival, after this morning’s phone call she must have asked around about me, found out where I worked, and ridden the train here, from somewhere far away, no doubt. All for a depressing mission that could offer her no solace. When I imagined the workings of her mind, the senseless anger that spurred her to come here, I pitied her from the bottom of my heart.

  “I’m not insensitive,” I said. “I know what it’s like to lose someone. But this isn’t the place to talk about it. If you have anything more to say . . .” I was about to tell her to call me at home, but instead I ended up blurting out, “. . . or perhaps you’d like me to sob hysterically and chase you with a kitchen knife?” I admit that it was rather coldblooded of me. She gave me an evil scowl and said in a chilly voice, “I’ve said all I had to say. Excuse me.” Those were her parting words. With the click, click of her little beige pumps, she turned and walked to the door. Then, slamming it with a bang, she was gone.

  It was over, leaving behind the bitter aftertaste of a confrontation in which nothing was gained.

  “Mikage, you did nothing wrong.” Kuri came to my side, looking concerned.

  “Yes,” said Nori, peering kindly into my eyes. “She’s insane. I think she’s gone a little crazy with jealousy. Cheer up, Mikage.”

  In the afternoon sunlight of the kitchen, I found myself feeling immensely tired.

  That evening I went back to the Tanabe apartment for my toothbrush and towel. Yuichi was out. I made myself some instant curry and ate it alone.

  Cooking and eating in this house felt natural, almost too natural. I was absently mulling over my conversation with the girl when he came home. “Hi,” he said.

  Even though he couldn’t know what had happened, and although I had done nothing wrong, I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yuichi, I just found out I have to go to Izu, for work, the day after tomorrow. I left my apartment in a mess the other night and I must go home and straighten up before the trip, so I think I’ll stay there tonight. Oh—there’s some curry left, help yourself.”

  “I see. Okay, I’ll give you a ride,” he said, smiling.

  We set off in the car. The city flew past. We’d be at my place in another five minutes.

  “Yuichi?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Umm . . . Let’s . . . let’s go have tea.”

  “I thought you were in such a hurry to pack and everything. It’s fine with me, though.”

  “I have this incredible craving for tea.”

  “Let’s do it. Where do you want to go?”

  “You know that barley-tea shop above the beauty parlor?”

  “Isn’t that a little far? It’s clear across town.”

  “I just have a feeling that’s the best place.”

  “Okay, why not?” Even if it didn’t make any sense to him, he was being very nice about it. Because he could see I wasn’t feeling so hot, if I mentioned wanting to see the moon over Arabia right now, he’d say, “Let’s go.”

  The little second-floor tea shop was quiet and cheerful. Surrounded by white walls, the place was warm and toasty. We sat down across from each other at the innermost table. There were no other customers. Movie sound-track music was playing faintly.

  “Yuichi, when I think about it, isn’t this the first time we’ve ever been to a café together? It’s very strange.”

  “Is that right???
? His eyes widened. He was drinking smelly Earl Grey whose soapy odor reminded me of many a late night at the Tanabes’. I’d be watching television with the sound down low in the dead quiet of midnight, and Yuichi would come out of his room to make tea.

  In the uncertain ebb and flow of time and emotions, much of one’s life history is etched in the senses. And things of no particular importance, or irreplaceable things, can suddenly resurface in a café one winter night.

  “We’ve drunk so much tea together,” said Yuichi. “At first I thought it couldn’t be true that we haven’t been to a café together, but come to think of it, it is.”

  “Funny, isn’t it.” I smiled.

  “Nothing, nothing at all has any flavor for me now,” said Yuichi, staring at the lamp on the table. “I must be really tired.”

  “That’s only natural,” I said, somewhat surprised.

  “When your grandmother died you were like this, too. I remember it well. We’d be watching TV or whatever, and you’d say, like, ‘What are they saying,’ and I’d look up at you and you’d have this expression on your face, like your mind was blank. Now I understand completely.”

  “Yuichi,” I said, “the fact that you’re relaxed enough with me now to tell me how you’re really feeling is a source of comfort to me. It makes me very happy. So happy I feel like shouting it from the rooftops.”

  “What kind of talk is that? Sounds like it was translated from English.” Yuichi smiled, the light from the table lamp shining on his face. His shoulders shook beneath his navy blue sweater.

  “It does, doesn’t it? If. . .” I wanted to say, “If there’s anything I can do, just say so,” but I stopped myself. I silently implored: May the memory of this moment, here, the glowing impression of the two of us facing each other in this warm, bright place, drinking lovely hot tea, help save him, even a little bit.