Pretending to ignore the whole transaction, she went to change. She slipped into her white uniform and then shoved the envelope far down in the pocket of her work pants; it would be awkward, to say the least, if it fell out during the shift. Through the line of hangers, she could see Yoshie and Kazuo together. She had apparently just finished her explanation, and Kazuo rose and left the lounge with the two women in tow. The Brazilians had a line of lockers next to the bathroom.
As Masako was scrubbing her hands and arms at the sink in the hall, the other two came back.
'That's a relief,' Yoshie said, picking up the little brush Masako had been using. 'He's a nice guy.' Kuniko turned on the water at a spigot well down the line.
'Did he understand what you wanted?' Masako asked.
'He seemed to. We told him we had something valuable we wanted to store in his locker, and he agreed right away. He said he'd be a little late getting off work and to please wait for him. He was very polite.'
'I'm glad it worked out,' said Masako, looking up just in time to see him walk by on his way to the factory floor. His build was so different from Japanese men - the thick neck planted on a powerful chest. His deeply chiselled face looked straight ahead as he passed. A man who would have been in his element under the Latin American sun seemed sadly out of place in the white uniform and ridiculous cap of a Japansese night-shift worker. She wondered whether he still had the key; but what really puzzled her was why this young foreigner should be attracted to her at all.
-
Work on the line stopped earlier than usual that morning, due to the typhoon. The part-time women sighed gloomily as they looked out the window in the entrance. Dawn had brought the storm with it. The rain fell sideways in heavy sheets, and the spindly pagoda trees around the car factory across the way seemed ready to snap in the wind. The gutters on both sides of the road were flowing like small rivers.
Yoshie frowned as she stared out at the storm. 'I don't think I'll be able to ride a bike in this.'
'I can give you a lift,' Masako offered.
'Could you?' She looked relieved. 'I'd really appreciate it.' Pretending she hadn't heard this exchange, Kuniko busied herself with her time card. 'I hate to ask,' Yoshie added, 'but would you mind waiting till Miyamori-san finishes work?'
'Not a bit.'
'I'll meet you at the parking lot.'
'No, I'll go get the car and pick you up here.'
'Thanks,' said Yoshie, glaring at Kuniko's broad back as she marched obliviously down the hall.
Masako changed quickly and left the factory. The heavy skies of the night before had burst open, pelting the earth with rain and wind, but to her it seemed almost refreshing. Realising that her umbrella was useless, she closed it and decided to run the short distance to the parking lot. The rain fell in enormous drops, soaking her in a matter of seconds. She brushed the hair out of her eyes, worried only about the bag of money she clutched in front of her as she ran. When she reached the abandoned factory, she could see that the concrete cover on the culvert was still where Kazuo had left it. The sound of roaring water rose from the hole, and it crossed her mind that Kenji's other belongings - apart from the key - must have been washed away. As she ran on, buffeted by the wind, she pictured that torrent to herself, and a laugh rose in her throat. She too would be free! The very thought made her feel freer.
When she reached the Corolla, she slipped into the driver's seat without stopping to brush off her wet clothes. She found a rag she kept under the dashboard and wiped her arms. Her jeans, heavy with rain, seemed to tighten around her legs. She turned the windshield wipers to the highest setting to see if they could keep up with the downpour and switched on the defrost. The blast of cold air brought goose bumps to her damp skin.
Easing the car out of the parking lot, she retraced her way to the factory. As she pulled up in front, Kuniko was just coming down the stairs, as flashily dressed as usual in a baggy black T-shirt and flowered tights. She glanced at Masako's car, but then opened her blue umbrella and walked off in the storm without a word. Masako watched in the rear-view mirror as the wind pulled her along. Perhaps they could still work together at the factory, but she resolved never to have anything to do with her beyond that. And as she watched in the mirror, Kuniko seemed to fade into the flood, as if in response to the thought.
Yoshie was coming down the stairs now, and she was surprised to see Kazuo following her, his clear plastic umbrella held out over her head. His black cap was pulled down around his ears. Catching sight of Masako's car, Yoshie hurried over and tapped on the window.
'Sorry to bother you,' she said, squinting against the rain, 'but d'you mind opening the trunk?'
'Why?' said Masako.
'I think he's saying he'll put my bike in for me.' She pointed behind her and Masako found herself staring into Kazuo's clear, innocent eyes. Without a word, she pulled the lever that released the trunk. The top popped open, obscuring the view through the rear window. But just at that moment the wind picked up and the top began to flap alarmingly. Masako opened the door and hopped out into the pelting rain.
'You'll get soaked!' Yoshie called. 'Get in!' She had to yell to make herself heard over the howling wind.
'I'm already soaked!' Masako yelled back.
'Get in!' Kazuo said, coming over to her and pressing firmly on her shoulder. Having little choice, Masako crawled back inside. A moment later, Yoshie tumbled into the passenger seat.
'It's awful out there,' she said. Kazuo, who had apparently gone around to the bike racks behind the building, came back pushing Yoshie's bicycle. He picked it up with ease and started manoeuvring it into the trunk. It was a heavy old bike that Yoshie used mainly for shopping, but he somehow managed to load it so that only a bit of the front wheel protruded. Getting out to check, Masako could see that the trunk was almost shut; she should be able to drive.
'Get in,' she said. He looked up at her, his face as wet as if he'd been swimming. His white T-shirt clung to his body, and there on his chest hung the key. He raised a hand to shield it from her eyes.
'Thanks,' she said.
'You're welcome,' he answered, without smiling. The wind shrieked by and a branch tumbled between them.
'Get in,' she repeated. 'I'll give you a ride.' Shaking his head, he picked up the umbrella he'd left on the ground, opened it, and walked off toward the abandoned factory.
'What was that all about?' Yoshie said, turning to look at his receding figure when Masako had climbed back in the car.
'I'm not sure,' said Masako. She avoided looking in the mirror as she pulled away from the kerb.
'It was nice of him, though,' Yoshie murmured, wiping her face with a towel. 'I'm lost without that bike.' Masako said nothing, peering out at the road through the frantic rhythm of the wipers. She turned on her headlights when they pulled on to the highway, noticing that the other cars had theirs on as well. They crept along, the spray splashing from their tyres. Yoshie tried to suppress a yawn as she said apologetically, 'Sorry to bring you so far out of your way. And I'm afraid your trunk's getting wet.' Through the rear-view mirror, Masako could see the top of the trunk bobbing in time with the bouncing of the car. Inevitably the rain was getting in - and washing the place where Kenji had been.
'Not to worry,' she said. 'I've been meaning to clean it out.' Yoshie fell silent for a time. 'Skipper,' Masako said at last, her eyes still on the road. 'Would you be willing to do it one more time?'
'Do what?' Yoshie said, turning toward her with a shocked look.
'I think some work might be coming in.'
'Work? You mean do that again? Who for?' Her mouth was hanging open.
'Kuniko talked, and word got around. Now it looks like it might turn into a line of work.'
'She talked? Then somebody's blackmailing you?' Yoshie pressed her hands against the dashboard as if she were suddenly terrified by the way the car was being driven.
'No, they want to pay us for the same kind of job. There's no need
for you to know the details; you can leave that to me. I just need to know whether you'd be willing to help me if it happens. I could pay you.'
'How much?' There was a quiver in her voice, but a hint of curiosity as well.
'A million,' Masako said. Yoshie sighed and then was quiet.
'For the same kind of work?' she asked after a moment.
'We don't have to get rid of it afterward. All we've got to do is cut it up at my house.' Yoshie gulped. Masako lit a cigarette and the car filled with smoke.
'I'll do it,' said Yoshie, coughing.
'Really?' Masako glanced at her. She looked pale and her lips were trembling.
'I'm desperate for money,' she said. 'And I'm willing to march into hell if I'm following you.'
Was that where they were headed, Masako wondered. She peered through the streaming windshield. Only the tail-lights of the cars ahead of them were visible. She could no longer feel the tyres on the road, and the car seemed to be floating along. It all seemed unreal, as if her talk with Yoshie were only a dream they were having together.
5
When the typhoon passed, the brilliant summer sky went with it, as if swept away by a broom, and in its place the colourless dome of autumn appeared. As the temperature fell, Yayoi's overheated emotions also began to cool - her anger and remorse, her hopes and fears. She lived with her boys now, and the new life had begun to seem normal. But the women in the neighbourhood, who at first had rallied around the tragic widow out of sympathy and curiosity, quickly withdrew as she turned into a self-confident single mother. She rarely went out now, except to the factory or to shuttle the children back and forth, and she began to feel strangely cut off.
Had she really changed so much? What had she done except cut her hair - and try to fill in as a father figure for the boys, now that Kenji was gone? Yayoi hadn't realised yet that she was changing gradually from within, having thrown off the shackle that Kenji had been and exchanged it for an internal one, the guilt of having killed her husband.
-
One morning, when it was her turn to clean up around the garbage collection site, Yayoi went out, broom and dustpan in hand, to do her bit. The local residents left their trash by a utility pole at the corner where the wall along the alley turned, the spot where Milk had been crouching the morning after she had killed Kenji. Yayoi looked up at the wall. The stray cats in the area often perched there, hoping to find the garbage unguarded. A dirty white one that might have been Milk and a large brown tabby were sitting on it, but they fled as Yayoi approached. Milk had never come home after that day and had now joined the ranks of the strays, but Yayoi had long since stopped caring. She went on with her work.
As she swept up the scraps of food and paper left behind by the garbage truck, she had the feeling that she was being watched by unfriendly eyes, neighbours staring out at her from behind their curtains. The thought made her increasingly edgy, until to her surprise she heard a pleasant voice.
'Excuse me.' Yayoi looked up to find a woman standing there with a friendly smile. There was no trace of the nosiness she'd come to expect; so maybe this one didn't know about her. She tried to remember if she'd seen her before. The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, straight hair and simple make-up, as if she worked in an office, but there was something hesitant about her, as though she'd not had much experience with the world. Yayoi liked her immediately.
'Are you new in the neighbourhood?' she asked.
'Yes, I've just moved into that building,' the woman said, turning toward a block of ageing apartments behind her. 'Is this where I leave my garbage?'
'Yes. The schedule's posted there.' Yayoi pointed at a sign attached to the pole.
'Thanks,' the woman said, pulling out a notepad and copying down the information. She was dressed to go out, but the white blouse and navy-blue skirt were simple and understated. She waited until Yayoi had finished her sweeping and was about to go before she spoke again.
'Do you always clean up here?' she asked.
'We take turns,' Yayoi said. 'I suppose yours will come up eventually. There's a neighbourhood circular that explains the system.'
'Thanks so much,' the woman said.
'If you can't manage it because you're working, I'd be happy to cover for you,' Yayoi offered.
'That's kind of you,' she said, looking rather surprised. 'But I'm not working at the moment.'
'You're married then?'
'No, I'm not, though I'm certainly old enough.' The laugh that came with this brought out fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Yayoi decided they were about the same age. 'I just quit my job, and I'm unemployed at the moment.'
'Oh, I'm sorry.'
'Actually, I'm giving myself a treat: I've gone back to school.'
'Graduate school?' Yayoi said, realising she was being nosy. Still, she was just happy to be talking to someone. She had no real friends in the vicinity, and things had been strained at the factory since Kenji had died. It was fun to chat like this, even with a total stranger.
'No, nothing so grand. It's just something I've been wanting to do for a long time. I'm taking dyeing lessons. I'm hoping to make a living from it some day.'
'Then are you doing something part-time while you're learning?'
'No, I've got enough saved for two years of school - as long as I live like a pauper,' She laughed and turned back toward the dilapidated wooden apartment building, known in the area for being run-down but cheap.
Yayoi told her her name and said: 'We're the house at the end of the alley. Come by if you have any more questions about things like the garbage.'
'Thanks. I'm Yoko Morisaki. It was nice meeting you.' She sounded so relaxed, so normal. Yayoi wondered what she would think if she knew about Kenji.
-
The next day, after a late afternoon nap, Yayoi was in the kitchen making dinner when she heard the buzzer on the intercom.
'It's Yoko Morisaki,' said a cheerful voice. Running to open the door, Yayoi found her new friend holding a box of grapes. Once again her clothes and make-up were subdued and tasteful, and she seemed genuinely pleased to see her.
'Come in!' Yayoi said.
'I just wanted to stop by and thank you for being so kind yesterday.'
'There's no need to,' said Yayoi, taking the grapes and leading the way back to the living room. Since that night, the only people she'd had in the house were her parents, Kenji's relatives and coworkers, Kuniko, and the police. It was wonderful to have a guest she felt relaxed with.
'I didn't realise you had children,' Yoko said, glancing at the crayon drawings taped to the walls and the toy cars scattered in the hall.
'Yes, two boys. They're at day-care.'
'I envy you. I love kids; I hope you'll introduce us soon.'
'I'd love to,' said Yayoi. 'But I have to warn you, they're a bit wild. They'll tire you out.' Yoko sat down in the chair she was offered and stared at her for a moment.
'I would never have guessed you had two children. You look too young and pretty.'
'That's sweet of you,' said Yayoi, delighted to receive a compliment from a woman her own age. She hopped up to make some tea, which she served with the grapes.
'Is your husband at work?' Yoko asked, spooning sugar into her cup.
'My husband died two months ago,' Yayoi explained, pointing toward the picture of Kenji in the new household altar in the next room. The photo was a few years old, and Kenji looked young and happy - and unsuspecting.
'I'm so sorry,' said Yoko, turning a bit pale. 'I had no idea.'
'Of course you didn't. Don't think a thing of it.'
'Was he ill?' she asked timidly, as if she'd very little experience of people dying.
'No,' said Yayoi, searching the woman's face. 'You really don't know?'
'No.' Her eyes were wide as she shook her head.
'He got mixed up in some kind of trouble. Have you heard about what happened in Koganei Park?'
'You don't mean . . .' A look of acute em
barrassment spread over her face. Apparently, she really hadn't known. She looked down at her lap, with tears in her eyes.
'What's wrong?' Yayoi said, surprised by the tears. 'Why are you crying?'
'I just feel so sorry for you.'
'Thank you,' Yayoi murmured, moved at what seemed like the first sign she'd seen of pure human sympathy. A lot of people had expressed their condolences after the incident, but she had always sensed an undercurrent of doubt. Kenji's relatives blamed her quite openly, and her own parents had gone home. She knew she could count on Masako, but being with her made her nervous, as though she might cut herself if she weren't careful. Yoshie was hopelessly old-fashioned and judgemental; and as for Kuniko, she never wanted to see her again. Having felt isolated from nearly everyone for some time, Yayoi was genuinely touched by her new friend's tears. 'I really appreciate having you here,' she told her. 'The neighbours have been keeping their distance, and I've been very lonely.'
'You've no reason to be thanking me,' said Yoko. 'I'm afraid I'm terribly ignorant about how the world works, and I often wind up saying the wrong thing. So I often don't say anything at all, out of fear of hurting somebody. To tell the truth, that's more or less why I quit my job and decided to take up dyeing. I thought I might be able to make a little world of my own there somehow.'
'I understand,' Yayoi said; and then, slowly, she began to tell the official version of what had happened to Kenji. Yoko listened quietly at first, as if slightly afraid, but as Yayoi spoke she seemed to relax, eventually coming out with a question.
'So that was the last time you saw him, when he left for the office that morning?'
'Yes.' At some point Yayoi had come to believe this herself.
'How sad,' she said.
'I never imagined something like this would happen, that I'd never see him again.'
'And have they caught the killer?'
'No, they don't even know who did it,' Yayoi said with a sigh. As she continued to construct her story, the fact that she had killed Kenji seemed less and less real.