When she finally reached the parking lot, Kuniko's Golf was already in its usual spot. She was probably worried about being late and had gone on ahead. Masako climbed out of the car, lit a cigarette, and glanced around the lot. Tonight, for the first time, there was no trace of the usual stench of fried food and exhaust fumes, though maybe she was just too nervous to smell it. Walking around behind the car, she stared at the trunk. There was a body in there, and tomorrow she would be figuring out how to get rid of it; and here she was, doing things she wouldn't have even been able to imagine a few hours ago. The thought made her realise that she could perhaps understand Yayoi's sense of liberation.
After checking once more to make sure that the trunk was locked, she set out along the dark road, cigarette still in hand. She didn't have much time left, and tonight of all nights she wanted to avoid doing anything out of the ordinary that would attract attention. But just as she was coming to the abandoned factory that lined one side of her route, a man in a cap jumped out of the shadows on the left and grabbed her arm. Shocked, but trying not to lose control, she realised that she'd completely forgotten about the reports of a pervert of some kind lurking in the area. Before she could even cry out, the man began dragging her toward the empty building.
'Stop!' she screamed at last, her voice piercing the darkness. At the sudden sound, the man panicked. He cupped his hand over her mouth and tried to pull her down into the tall, thick grass that grew at the edge of the road. Fortunately, though, Masako's height allowed her to turn her shoulder and catch his arm, dislodging his hand slightly from her mouth. While he was struggling to regain his grip, she swung her bag and managed to get her mouth free. Still, the other hand held her arm and was dragging her to the ground. Just as Kuniko had said, the man wasn't big, but he was solidly built, with a distinct smell of cologne coming from him.
'What do you want with me?' she yelled. 'There are plenty of younger women around.' This time she could feel his grip loosen slightly at the sound of her voice. Now she was all but certain that it must be one of the men from the factory who would have known her at least by sight, and she made a desperate effort to shake free and get back to the road. The man was quicker, however, and he slipped around her and tried to push her back toward the ruined factory. She remembered that there was a drainage ditch that ran along the road here, and there were holes in the cement slabs that covered it. Stepping gingerly to avoid them, she backed away from the man, keeping her eyes on his face. She couldn't see him clearly, but in the reddish light of the moon she caught a sudden glimpse of the black eyes staring out from beneath the cap.
'You're Miyamori, aren't you?' she said, throwing out the first name that came into her head. From his reaction she could see that she'd been right. 'Kazuo Miyamori, that's who you are,' she said, pressing, her advantage. 'If you let me go, I won't tell anyone. I don't want to be late tonight, but I'll meet you some other time, I promise.' The man gulped but said nothing to her unexpected proposal. 'Let me go now, and we can meet again another time, just the two of us.' This time the man answered, and from the sound of his heavily accented voice, she was sure that it was Miyamori.
'Really?' he said. 'When?'
'Tomorrow night. Right here.'
'What time?'
'Nine.' Instead of answering, he suddenly embraced her and pressed his lips to hers. Held tight against his hard chest, she felt the breath being crushed out of her. As she struggled, her legs became tangled in his and they fell with a loud clatter against the rusty metal shutter of the delivery bay in the old factory. Startled, the man froze and looked around nervously; and while he was doing this, Masako pushed him away, grabbed her bag, and got to her feet. In her haste, however, she tripped over a stack of empty cans.
'Find someone younger for your fun!' she screamed at him, suddenly furious. The man's arms fell limp at his side and he looked at her in a daze. Rubbing his spit from her lips with the back of her hand, she pushed through the thick grass.
'I'll be waiting for you tomorrow,' he called, his voice low and pleading. Without looking back, Masako picked her way over the concrete culvert and sprinted down the road. How could this have happened today, when she thought she was being so careful? For the first time in quite a while, she felt a surge of dark rage, tinged with irritation at her own blundering. But who'd have thought that the pervert could be someone like Kazuo Miyamori? She even remembered saying hello to him before the last shift. The thought made her blood boil.
-
As she ran up the stairs to the factory door, combing her fingers through her dishevelled hair, she found Komada, the health inspector, just getting up to go.
'Good morning,' Masako called. At the sound of her breathless voice, Komada turned.
'Hurry up,' she said. 'You're the last.' While the sticky tape was being rolled across her back, Masako heard her laugh for the first time in ages. 'What have you been up to?' she asked. 'You've got dirt and grass all over you.'
'I was in a hurry and I fell down.'
'On your back? You didn't hurt your hands, did you?' If there was the tiniest scratch, you weren't allowed to touch the food. Masako hurriedly inspected her fingers: dirt under the fingernails but otherwise no damage. Relieved, she shook her head.
Pleased that she had managed to avoid any suspicion about the attack, she gave a non-committal laugh and headed for the changing room. It was already empty, so she threw on her work clothes, grabbed her plastic apron and cap, and ran to the bathroom. Checking her face in the mirror, she found a small smear of blood oozing from her lip. 'Shit,' she muttered, rinsing it off. There was also a bruise on her left forearm, probably from being dragged through the grass. She wanted no trace of that man anywhere on her body. She wanted to strip down on the spot and examine herself; but that would make her late, and the evidence would be recorded on her time card. She held her anger in check as best she could, but when she remembered Miyamori telling her that he would 'wait for her tomorrow', the thought that she couldn't have him arrested, that she couldn't even file a complaint, nearly made her lose control.
She carefully washed her hands before running downstairs to the factory floor. The time clock read 11.59. She'd made it just in time, but it was later than she usually punched in - and she'd had better evenings.
The women were just filing into the plant and beginning the sterilisation procedure. She noticed Yoshie and Kuniko waving to her from the front of the line and then realised that Yayoi was standing right next to her, her face covered by her mask and cap.
'You're late,' Yayoi said, her voice barely audible. 'I was worried.'
'Sorry,' Masako muttered.
She peered at her. 'Did something happen?'
'No, nothing. How about you - you didn't have cuts on your hand, did you? They write it down if you do.'
'No problem,' said Yayoi, staring off into the gaping, frigid factory. 'I somehow feel as though I've gotten stronger,' she added, but the slight tremor in her voice didn't escape Masako.
'You're going to need that strength,' she said. 'But at least it's a choice you've made yourself.'
'That's right,' said Yayoi. They lined up behind the last of the workers waiting for the disinfectant wash. Yoshie, who had already taken her place at the head of the conveyor belt, glanced around again, urging them to hurry.
'So how do you plan to do it?' Masako whispered, as she scrubbed her hands and arms under the powerful jets.
'I don't know,' Yayoi muttered, her weariness suddenly visible in her sunken eyes.
'It's your problem, so you'll have to figure it out/ Masako told her before heading off toward the head of the line where Yoshie was waiting. As she made her way through the room, she looked for Kazuo Miyamori among the Brazilian employees in their blue caps, but there was no sign of him. She was certain now that it had been him.
'Thanks again,' Yoshie said to her as she approached. Masako was confused for a moment.
'For what?' she said.
'You've got to be kid
ding. For the money, of course, and for delivering it. You really saved my skin. I'll pay you back as soon as we get paid.' Yoshie gave her a nudge with her elbow as she passed along the work order for eight hundred and fifty grilled beef lunches. Masako grimaced, amazed that something that happened only this evening already seemed like the distant past. It had been a long day.
'You didn't show,' said Kuniko, who had brazenly taken over the job of passing Yoshie the containers since Masako was late.
'Sorry. Something came up and I got a late start.'
'Really?' Kuniko said. 'I called you just before I left to be sure you'd be there.'
'And no one answered? I guess it must have been after I left.'
'I guess so. But if you left that early, why were you so late getting here?'
'I had some shopping to do and got delayed,' Masako said, her tone discouraging any further questions. Kuniko fell silent, but Masako could tell that she wasn't satisfied. She'd been right: they would have to be careful of Kuniko and her intuition.
Masako noticed that as Yoshie was preparing to start the rice machine, she kept glancing down the line. Following her gaze, she spotted Yayoi standing off to the side, as if lost in a fog. She looked rather conspicuous, with her back covered by the large brown stain of dried sauce from last night.
'Did something happen to you two?' Yoshie said.
'Why do you ask?' said Masako.
'Well, she's looking dazed and you were late.'
'She looked dazed last night, too,' Masako reminded her. 'Forget about us, Skipper, and start worrying about Nakayama. He'll be around any second; better get the line rolling.' The only stations left were for the difficult job of laying out the meat. Masako took one of them, and Yoshie, giving up her probing with a slight nod, threw the switch. The work order itself was sent down the line first for the workers to read. Then the automated rice-delivery system started with a thud, and the first square lump of rice dropped into the container that Kuniko had handed to Yoshie. Another long, hard night had begun.
While she was separating the curled, cold pieces of meat, Masako felt someone watching her and looked up. Yayoi had taken the spot directly opposite her.
'What?' Masako whispered.
'If he ended up like this,' Yayoi whispered back, her franticlooking eyes wandering to the chopped meat on the line, 'they'd never figure out who it was.'
'Shut up,' Masako hissed, glancing at the women on either side. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be paying any attention. She shot a reproachful look across the line, and Yayoi lowered her eyes. First she seems too cheerful and then she melts into tears. Masako suddenly had serious doubts about whether Yayoi would be able to cope with what lay ahead. But now that she was an accomplice, Yayoi's problem was hers as well.
7
In the factory, sealed as it was like a stainless-steel box, there was no way of knowing what the weather was like outside. As they dragged themselves back upstairs at 5.30, the first person in line let out a groan.
'Oh no! It's raining!' Instantly Masako thought of the trunk of her Corolla being pelted with rain. They would have to decide soon what they were going to do.
'You in a hurry today?' Yoshie asked as she pulled off her mask.
Bending over, she used it to wipe the grease off her shoes. 'Why?' Masako said, using her own mask to clean the sides of the sneakers she wore on the factory floor.
'Why? Because you look like you've seen a ghost and I want to know what's wrong.' Yoshie, who was shorter and rounder, glanced up at her tall, thin friend; but Masako had already stored her shoes in the cupboard and was staring out the window at the grey morning sky. She'd imagined a heavy rain, but it was a soft drizzle she saw falling on the test track of the car factory across the way.
'You'll put wrinkles on that face of yours with all that worrying,' Yoshie said, refusing to let the matter drop.
'Something important has come up,' Masako said, still lost in thought. She had begun to worry that Yayoi was planning to spend the day getting rid of Kenji's body, when what she really ought to do was go home and play the part of the worried wife. If she did, though, that left Masako to deal with the body, and it had just dawned on her that she would never be able to get it out of the trunk by herself. She studied Yoshie's attractive face for a moment and then made her decision. 'Skipper, I've got a favour to ask.'
'You know I'd do anything you want,' said Yoshie, who was always ready to help. 'I owe you a lot.' Masako, however, was still wondering just how to explain the situation as she got in line to punch out. Suddenly remembering that she should be keeping track of Yayoi, she looked around and saw her straggling up the stairs at the very end of the line. Kuniko, on the other hand, had hurried ahead and was waiting for them. She had obviously sensed that something was going on with Masako and Yayoi and would be sulking at being left out. Yoshie joined Masako in line. 'Can you keep a secret?' Masako asked, her tone quite serious. 'And who would I tell?' said Yoshie, sounding almost indignant.
'What is it?!' Still finding it difficult to actually say what Yayoi had done, Masako punched her time card and stood in silence for a moment, her arms folded across her chest.
'I'll tell you later,' she said eventually. 'When we're alone.'
'Okay,' Yoshie murmured, turning to look at the sky outside the window. Since she commuted on her bicycle, she was probably worried about the rain, Masako thought.
'But you can't even tell Kuniko,' she said.
'I promise.' From her friend's voice Yoshie had guessed that it was something important and let the matter drop for the moment.
They were about to turn the corner into the lounge when they heard Komada, the health inspector, telling Yayoi off.
'Yamamoto-san, make sure you wash your uniform today. We don't want to be treated to a third night of smelling that sauce.' Yayoi, after apologising, pulled off her cap and wandered over to where Masako was standing. Her hair stuck out at odd angles from her hairnet and there were dark circles under her eyes, but if anything she looked even better than usual. A part-time student worker with dyed blond hair who had taken off his own mask and cap stood staring at her, openly impressed.
Masako pulled her aside. 'You need to get home quickly and stay there.'
'But..., ' Yayoi murmured.
'The Skipper and I will handle it.'
'The Skipper?' she said doubtfully, glancing toward the changing room. 'Have you told her?'
'Not yet, but I won't be able to move it alone. If she won't do it, you'll have to. But you're going to be the first one they suspect, so if possible you should be at home pretending that nothing's happened.'
Yayoi sighed, seeming finally to understand what her role was.
'You're right,' she agreed.
'Go home, and do just what you always do,' Masako told her.
'Then, around noon, call your husband's office and ask if he's there. When they tell you he's not, say that he didn't come home last night and that you're very worried. If they tell you to file a missing persons report, do it. You need to do everything you can to avoid suspicion.'
'I will,' said Yayoi.
'And don't call me today. If something happens, I'll call you.'
'Masako,' she asked, 'what are you planning to do?'
'Just what you said we should,' she told her, smiling bitterly.
'That's the plan.'
Yayoi gasped, the colour draining from her cheeks. 'You really mean it?' Masako stared for a moment at her pale face before answering.
'Yes. At least I'm going to try.'
'I don't know how to thank you,' Yayoi said, her eyes swimming. 'I can't believe you'd do this for me.'
'Don't thank me yet,' said Masako. 'I don't know if I'll be able to manage it or not. But I think it's better than burying it in the mountains. It's got to vanish without a trace. We don't want any evidence at all.'
When her turn had come, Masako had gone to use the bathroom, and it was there she decided that Yayoi's suggestion had been the right o
ne. As she stared at the large blue plastic pails by the bathroom door, she knew it was the only workable plan. 'But it's a crime,' Yayoi murmured, as if suddenly thinking better of it. 'I don't want to drag you into this.'
'I know,' said Masako. 'But I'm going to try to look at it as just one more unpleasant job. And getting it picked up with the trash is the best way, afterward. That is, if it doesn't bother you. It's your husband we're going to chop up and toss out. Are you sure you can handle that?'
'Yes,' said Yayoi, a faint smile playing across her lips again.
'Actually, it serves him right.'
'You're scary,' said Masako, watching her intently.
'So are you,' said Yayoi.
'No, it's not quite the same for me.'
'Why not?'
'Because I'm treating this as just a job.' Yayoi looked slightly puzzled.
'Masako-san,' she said, 'what did you do before you came to work here?'
'The same as you. I had a husband, and a child, and a job. But I was alone.' Yayoi looked down, perhaps to hide her tears, and her shoulders drooped. 'No crying, now,' Masako said, patting her gently on the back. 'It's all over, and you're the one who ended it.'
Yayoi nodded as her friend shepherded her into the lounge.
Yoshie and Kuniko had already changed and were sitting together drinking coffee. Kuniko was watching them suspiciously, a thin cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.
'Kuniko, would you mind going on ahead today? There's something I've got to talk over with the Skipper,' Masako told her.
Kuniko shot a questioning look at Yoshie.
'What could it be that doesn't include me?' she wondered aloud.
'A loan,' said Yoshie. 'You know, money ., . that you borrow.
As in, I'm borrowing money from Masako.' At this, Kuniko nodded a bit reluctantly, shouldered her fake Chanel bag, and stood up.