station and my home –
The one lantern amidst the darkness where once there had been ten, twenty or thirty others, illuminating the street, advertising their pleasures and their wares. But there is no illumination –
No wares or pleasures to be had here now.
I step inside. I sit down at the counter.
‘A man was here looking for you last night,’ says the master. ‘Asking questions about you. After your new address…’
No one who they say they are. In the half-light
…
I shrug my shoulders. I order some sake –
‘No sake left,’ says the master. ‘Whisky?’
I shrug my shoulders again. ‘Please.’
The master puts the glass of whisky on the counter before me; it is cloudy. I hold it up to the light bulb –
I swirl the mixture around –
‘If you don’t want to drink it,’ says the master. ‘Then go.’
I shake my head. I put the glass to my lips. I knock it back –
It burns my throat. I cough. I tell him, ‘And another!’
I drain glass after glass as the old men at the counter joke with the master, horrible jokes, terrible jokes, but everyone smiles, everyone laughs.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he!
Then one old man begins to sing, softly at first, then louder and louder, over and over –
‘Red apple to my lips, blue sky silently watching
…’
*
In the half-light, my wife sits sewing at the low table, my children asleep under the mosquito net, and suddenly I feel too drunk, too drunk to stand, to stand and face her with tears in my eyes –
The two eggs broken in my pocket –
But she says, ‘Welcome home.’
Home to where the mats are rotting. Home to where the doors are in shreds. Home to where the walls are falling in –
Home. Home. Home. Home. Home. Home
…
I sit down in the
genkan
with my back to her. I struggle with my boots and then ask, ‘How are the children?’
‘Masaki’s eyes are much better.’
‘How about Sonoko?’
‘They are still inflamed and swollen.’
‘Haven’t you taken her back to the doctor?’
‘They washed them out at the school yesterday but the nurse told her to stay at home until they have cleared up. They are worried it will spread to the rest of the class…’
Now I turn to face her and ask, ‘So what did you do today?’
‘We queued at the post office most of the morning…’
‘And did you get the money? Did they give it to you?’
‘They told us to come back tomorrow. So then we went to the park in Inokashira but their eyes hurt and they were hungry and it was so hot that we came back here before lunchtime…’
‘Have you eaten anything today?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘Some bean-paste buns.’
‘Fresh?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many?’
‘One each.’
‘One each for the children and one for you?’
‘I wasn’t hungry.’
‘Liar!’ I shout. ‘Why do you lie?’
My wife stops darning the children’s clothes. She puts away her needle and thread. She closes her sewing box. She bows slightly and says quietly, ‘I am very sorry. I will try harder.’
Now I stand up. I walk across the mats –
These rotting mats
…
‘There was a murder today, maybe two murders,’ I tell her. ‘My room has pulled the case and so you know this means I’ll be away for the next twenty days or…’
My wife bows again. My wife says, ‘I know. I understand.’
I take the three hundred yen from my pocket. I put it on the table and I say, ‘Take this.’
My wife bows a third time. My wife says, ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s not much, not with the way prices rise,’ I say. ‘But if I can get away, I’ll try to come back and bring what I can.’
‘Please don’t think about us,’ she says. ‘We will be fine. Please just think about solving the case.’
I want to upend the table. I want to tear apart the children’sclothes. I want to slap her face. I want to beat her body –
I want to make her really, really hate me –
I want to make her really leave me –
This time. This time. This time
…
To take the
The one lantern amidst the darkness where once there had been ten, twenty or thirty others, illuminating the street, advertising their pleasures and their wares. But there is no illumination –
No wares or pleasures to be had here now.
I step inside. I sit down at the counter.
‘A man was here looking for you last night,’ says the master. ‘Asking questions about you. After your new address…’
No one who they say they are. In the half-light
…
I shrug my shoulders. I order some sake –
‘No sake left,’ says the master. ‘Whisky?’
I shrug my shoulders again. ‘Please.’
The master puts the glass of whisky on the counter before me; it is cloudy. I hold it up to the light bulb –
I swirl the mixture around –
‘If you don’t want to drink it,’ says the master. ‘Then go.’
I shake my head. I put the glass to my lips. I knock it back –
It burns my throat. I cough. I tell him, ‘And another!’
I drain glass after glass as the old men at the counter joke with the master, horrible jokes, terrible jokes, but everyone smiles, everyone laughs.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he!
Then one old man begins to sing, softly at first, then louder and louder, over and over –
‘Red apple to my lips, blue sky silently watching
…’
*
In the half-light, my wife sits sewing at the low table, my children asleep under the mosquito net, and suddenly I feel too drunk, too drunk to stand, to stand and face her with tears in my eyes –
The two eggs broken in my pocket –
But she says, ‘Welcome home.’
Home to where the mats are rotting. Home to where the doors are in shreds. Home to where the walls are falling in –
Home. Home. Home. Home. Home. Home
…
I sit down in the
genkan
with my back to her. I struggle with my boots and then ask, ‘How are the children?’
‘Masaki’s eyes are much better.’
‘How about Sonoko?’
‘They are still inflamed and swollen.’
‘Haven’t you taken her back to the doctor?’
‘They washed them out at the school yesterday but the nurse told her to stay at home until they have cleared up. They are worried it will spread to the rest of the class…’
Now I turn to face her and ask, ‘So what did you do today?’
‘We queued at the post office most of the morning…’
‘And did you get the money? Did they give it to you?’
‘They told us to come back tomorrow. So then we went to the park in Inokashira but their eyes hurt and they were hungry and it was so hot that we came back here before lunchtime…’
‘Have you eaten anything today?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘Some bean-paste buns.’
‘Fresh?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many?’
‘One each.’
‘One each for the children and one for you?’
‘I wasn’t hungry.’
‘Liar!’ I shout. ‘Why do you lie?’
My wife stops darning the children’s clothes. She puts away her needle and thread. She closes her sewing box. She bows slightly and says quietly, ‘I am very sorry. I will try harder.’
Now I stand up. I walk across the mats –
These rotting mats
…
‘There was a murder today, maybe two murders,’ I tell her. ‘My room has pulled the case and so you know this means I’ll be away for the next twenty days or…’
My wife bows again. My wife says, ‘I know. I understand.’
I take the three hundred yen from my pocket. I put it on the table and I say, ‘Take this.’
My wife bows a third time. My wife says, ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s not much, not with the way prices rise,’ I say. ‘But if I can get away, I’ll try to come back and bring what I can.’
‘Please don’t think about us,’ she says. ‘We will be fine. Please just think about solving the case.’
I want to upend the table. I want to tear apart the children’sclothes. I want to slap her face. I want to beat her body –
I want to make her really, really hate me –
I want to make her really leave me –
This time. This time. This time
…
To take the
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