The Electrical Field by Kerri Sakamoto

didn’t know whom. Her skin looked very white that afternoon; her hair, in its elaborate roll, blacker than usual. She resembled a doll, a doll dropped in the snow, forgotten by its owner. No sooner had I stepped down than she was patting the bench for me to sit beside her, as if it were spring, as if the seat were warmed by the sun. I dusted aside the snow and sat, setting down my groceries.
    “I’m so glad you came, Saito-san” was what she said, as if I’d shown up by invitation, but I caught the distracted tone in her voice. She stared into the electrical field for what seemed a little eternity. I cleared my throat, about to rise, tomention getting back to Papa, for it was nearing dinner time. I’d grown fond of her, that was true, but also hurt, I suppose, that she’d confided nothing to me of her new life at work, that secret life: what had transformed her so. She sensed the irritation in me just as I was gathering up my bags, and quickly, deftly, she drew out a small thing she’d been cradling in her palm, inside her bag.
    “He gave it to me,” she whispered, a little out of breath. It was a glass dome filled with water; a pink rose blossom floated in it. A small bloom, really, a lovely hybrid tea, I guessed, but at certain angles it became monstrous. As I held it I saw beads of air cling to the petals, so tiny, less than a sigh held in them. Chisako snatched it from my gloved hands.
    “A gift from Mr. Spears, my supervisor. For working late.” She drew the dome to her open mouth and puffed on it, clouding the glass with her warm breath until the pink inside disappeared. Instantly it was visible again as the glass cleared in the cold air. “He picked it himself.”
    “He should pay you instead,” I said.
    “This means much more, Saito-san.” She breathed on it again, so close her teeth touched the glass, as if she might swallow it. It disturbed me seeing her with it; already it was precious to her, this insignificant thing.
    “It means nothing,” I said. “It costs less than the overtime pay he owes you.” I felt compelled to say this, so she would not be taken for a fool. “Give it back to him,” I said. I heard how harsh and commanding I sounded. Best to be firm, I told myself. For Chisako’s sake.
    She held it away then, no longer trusting me, that I might not damage the silly thing. “You have no feeling, Saito-san,”she said, stroking the glass, then tucking it into her bag. “No feeling at all.” With that, she got up and headed down the road; no goodbye, not so much as a thank-you. I could only ponder her behaviour, her ingratitude, taken aback as I was. I sat for some time, long enough for another bus to pull up and open its doors. At my feet, my groceries were sprinkled with snow. I waved the driver on and headed across the field, thinking what a silly woman she was, how naive. For the matter had nothing at all to do with feeling, with the feeling I did or did not have. Slowly I made my way home, marking the snow with each careful step.
    I pasted the newspaper article beside the previous one in my notebook, wrote the date neatly across the top of the page, matching the one written two days earlier. I glanced down at Chisako once more. I tried not to think again of that afternoon at the bus stop, of how I’d failed to nip things right then, in the bud.
    I left the book open on the dining-room table for the Elmer’s to dry while I went on with my afternoon chores. I could never clean this house enough, there was more dust than ever. It wasn’t an old house, although it wasn’t new like the bungalows across the field; yet it was disintegrating little by little, I was convinced, turning to dust, like so many things. The walls were thinning on all sides, and sound leaked in and out.
    I knew Sachi would be sitting at her window watching through the night, or at least until Keiko chased her from it, but I refused to look out. I refused to let her sense me there, keeping her