Women On the Other Shore (12 page)

I think back, I know that's exactly the way I was. It's not scary so much as heartbreaking."

Sayoko thought of Akari bursting into tears as they were about to leave for school, screaming that she didn't want to go. She bawled even harder when she was handed over to the staff. None of the other kids in the schoolyard were ever crying when Sayoko was there.

Just two days ago, she'd overheard an older staff member remarking that it wasn't often they got such a determined crier. But what Akari's distress reminded her of most was not herself as a child; it was herself as a mother, wandering fretfully from park to park.

Aoi had been fiddling with her toenails as she listened. "Yep," she said, rising to her feet and starting for the kitchen. "I know just how you feel—though I don't have any kids myself. When it comes right down to it, I think our whole generation suffers from a morbid fear of being alone."

She raised her voice to make herself heard from the kitchen.

Sayoko peered through the opening in the buffet as Aoi reached on tiptoe for something on a high shelf.

"A morbid fear of being alone?" Sayoko said, her voice a question.

"Uh-huh. It's like, if we don't have friends, it's the end of the world, you know what I mean? Somewhere along the line, we had it drummed into us that kids who have lots of friends are bright and happy, and kids who don't have any are dark and gloomy, and dark and gloomy is bad. That's how it was for me anyway. That's what I always thought. Though maybe it's not just our generation. Maybe its universal."

She was preparing bowls of snacks as she spoke. For the last part she seemed to be talking mostly to herself.

Sayoko looked toward Aoi again in surprise. Had she said something to Aoi about the parks? Had she told her about all those months she'd spent moving from one park to the next, irritated with Akari for her inability to blend in with kids her own age even as she 92

faulted herself for not being able to make friends with those children's mothers?

Aoi emerged f r o m t h e kitchen with a bowl in each hand—one holding potato chips, t h e other mixed nuts. She set them down on the coffee table.

"Sorry," she said. "I don't cook, so this is all I can offer."

Sayoko looked at t h e bowls without really seeing them. "You may be right, b u t . . . " she started to say in answer to Aoi's previous remark, t h e n stopped, not sure how to go on. She reached for a potato chip and p u t it in her mouth.

"I remember, w h e n I was a kid, I believed it was bad not to have friends," Aoi said. "And you know, it was pretty painful—to think that. If I had a kid, I'd worry that it was so ingrained in me, I'd pass it on to my child. T h a t ' s what's scary. Though maybe I should stop this babbling until I actually have one." She burst into a laugh.

"But it really
is
better to have lots of friends, don't you think?"

Sayoko said. She almost blushed at how desperate her words sounded. But she simply had to know. To know what kind of person Akari would become? To know whether her own choice was right or wrong? To know where Aoi's remarks would ultimately lead? It wasn't clear to Sayoko exactly what it was she wanted to know, but she felt a powerful desire to understand.

"I'm not around children, so I don't have much of an idea what kind of things can affect how they grow up. But to me, it's a whole lot more important to find something that makes you unafraid of being alone, rather t h a n to have so many friends that you wind up being terrified of solitude. At least that's what I think now."

Sayoko gazed at Aoi sitting on the floor across the coffee table from her. She felt like she'd put her hand out and had it slapped.

Right. Maybe what she needed to teach Akari was exactly what Aoi had just said. Maybe it was a mistake to fret over her daughter's lack of friends as she handed her in tears to the nursery school staff each 93

morning,
or
to feel disappointed that she still hadn't named any new playmates when she picked her up at the end of the day. Sayoko's eyes remained fixed on Aoi as all this went through her mind.

"I wonder...," she began, but again found her thoughts in too much of a jumble to go on and fell silent.

"But I suppose feeling okay even when you can't get a man is carrying things a little too far." Aoi tossed a nut into her mouth, then threw her head back and laughed.

Sayoko's cell phone rang. She didn't need to look at the display to know it was Shuji calling. A quick glance at her watch told her it was almost ten. She picked up the phone and rose to her feet as it rang again.

"I'd better go. Thanks for the wine and snacks. Maybe we can have you over sometime, too. I'll cook up a feast."

"As far as I'm concerned, you could spend the n i g h t . . . but I guess that doesn't work for you. Here," Aoi said, hastily opening her wallet to pull out two V 10,000 bills and thrust t h e m into Sayoko's hands.

"Take this for taxi fare. Just ask for a receipt and bring it to me at the office. Tell the driver to take the toll road. It'll be quicker."

Sayoko started to push the bills away, but then realized she wasn't sure she could even make it to the nearest station without getting lost. She accepted the money with a grateful bow. Aoi offered to walk her out to the main street, but she insisted t h a t wasn't necessary and said good-bye at the door with a casual wave.

Closing the door behind her, she rode down in t h e elevator and hurried outside, racing headlong down the street. S h e t u r n e d a corner and the main road with a constant flow of headlights in both directions came into view fifty or sixty meters away. Breathing hard, she ran the rest of the way and searched a m o n g t h e endless stream of cars for a cab with its VACANT sign lit up.

In a taxi smelling strongly of its vinyl seat covers, Sayoko closed her eyes and pictured the apartment she had left b e h i n d only moments 94

before. She saw Aoi in t h e living room, not bothering to clear away the glasses and bowls on t h e coffee table, throwing herself down on the sofa and switching on t h e T V , sipping at t h e rest of t h e wine as she laughed at some comedy r o u t i n e all by herself. To
find something
that makes you unafraid of being alone, rather than to have
so many
friends that you wind up being terrified of solitude.
S h e t h o u g h t she was probably feeling a b o u t t h e s a m e way Noriko h a d felt w h e n Aoi so lightly laughed off h e r worries a b o u t t h u m b - s u c k i n g .

In the darkness of t h e back seat, Sayoko t u r n e d to look for t h e building that stood tall a b o v e t h e s u r r o u n d i n g n e i g h b o r h o o d , t r y i n g to pick out t h e light f r o m Aoi's w i n d o w s h i n i n g b r i g h t into t h e n i g h t .

6

They had agreed to meet three stations down the line. Aoi said it wasn't necessary, but Nanako insisted it would be better that way.

"You're the one who'll regret it if somebody we know sees you with me," she pointed out.

Not until a family conference late the night before had Aoi finally won permission from her mother to spend summer vacation working at an inn in Izu with Nanako. Aoi didn't understand how her mother could possibly object. It wasn't as if she was asking to go all by herself, nor was she going just to lie around on the beach; she was going with a classmate for an honest-to-goodness job.

During the discussion, Aoi could barely contain her fury. She was more disillusioned with her mother than she'd ever been before.

"It only worries me more to have you going off with a girl from
that
place," her mother had declared.

Under the table, Aoi's hands shook with rage. What did she know about Nanako anyway? Just because nothing was ever good enough for her in this town, she had no right to insult a friend of Aoi's she knew nothing about. The way she said
"that
place," as if the housing complex where Nanako lived was a slum—did she think their own run-down house was some kind of palace?

But Aoi knew that talking back would nix any hope she had of going to Izu. So she held her rage tightly in check. And as she desperately held it in, tears began to spill down her face. They were tears of anger, but her father thought they came from disappointment at having her summer plans dashed, and this moved him to speak up for her.

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"She's a junior now. She's practically grown up," he said. "It's time she started getting s o m e experience, and working at an inn is a great opportunity." His cheeks glowed red with drink, but he managed to bring Aoi's mother around. S h e agreed Aoi could go on condition that she phoned h o m e every night.

But getting permission to go failed to pacify Aoi. She should have lain awake t h a t n i g h t b u r s t i n g with excitement, but instead she lay in bed with tears spilling f r o m her eyes. What had Nanako done to deserve her m o t h e r ' s scorn? T h e scorn of a woman who herself clung to cheap delusions a b o u t her past as if her very life depended on it.

Mrs. Narahashi h a d r e m a i n e d in a peevish mood ever since their move, finding n e w jobs a n d t h e n quitting them one after another, and in recent m o n t h s she'd b e e n taking her frustrations out on Aoi.

When something u n p l e a s a n t h a p p e n e d at work, it would remind her that her daughter was t h e reason they'd had to move in the first place, and she'd d r o p s o m e catty remark on her when she got home.

Once while talking a b o u t plans for after high school Aoi mentioned applying to colleges in Tokyo, and her mother snapped back in a tone so cold it sent a chill d o w n h e r spine: Did she really intend to move back to t h e big city all by herself after making the whole family move away just for her? Another time she as much as accused Aoi of bringing t h e bullying on herself. With each nasty crack, Aoi's disillusionment with h e r m o t h e r climbed to new heights. But it was the way she'd sneered at N a n a k o that was truly unforgivable.

In the morning, M r s . Narahashi offered Aoi a mollifying smile and handed her an envelope filled with cash. "Put this away somewhere in case you get into a jam sometime," she said. "And if you wind up never needing it, you c a n pay me back double from your earnings."

Her smile broadened. It was a rare effort at humor on her part.

Aoi had half a m i n d to r e f u s e even this peace offering, but she suppressed t h e urge. Although her employer would be providing 97

room and board, she had little of her own money to take along, and there was no telling when having a little extra cash on hand might save the day.

"All right, double your money back," she said with a smile.

Her mother saw Aoi to the door and sent her on her way with the same wildly flapping wave she remembered from her first day of high school. "Have a nice trip, dear."

When Aoi stepped off the train at the third station, Nanako was waiting only a few meters down the platform and spied her right away. They practically tumbled back onto the train together and collapsed onto facing seats in the nearly empty car, clasping hands and squealing with excitement.

"Yippee, we're on our way!"

"I was seriously worried they might not let you come, Aokins!"

"Did you bring your swimsuit?"

"Are you kidding? What else are we going to do with our free time? I took care of my unwanted hair, too."

"I brought some nail polish and makeup."

"Seriously? This'll be great! We can try stuff out on each other after work every night."

"Except we have to save time for schoolwork, too. I hope you brought your workbooks."

They chattered rapidly back and forth. Nanako was wearing a denim miniskirt with two tank tops layered one on top of the other and, like Aoi, had packed her things in a jumbo-sized nylon bag. It crossed Aoi's mind that they could be mistaken for runaways.

Outside the window, lush green rice fields stretched as far as the eye could see under a cloudless sky. The landscape changed so little, you could almost start to believe that the train was standing still.

Today we finally escape this place,
Aoi told herself over and over.

There were only a few other passengers in their car: an old lady carrying a shopping basket with a light towel wrapped over her head 98

and tied under her chin; a small child and her grossly overweight young mother; and a pimply-faced junior high boy who looked like he was headed for a summer study course somewhere. These were people who would probably spend their entire lives in this place, never able to get away. Wherever they were off to now, they would be going back h o m e later in the day. They might complain of boredom, but they would forever go on fearing everything outside that boredom. As Aoi studied them, she sensed a kind of grim acquies-cence flowing out of their bodies into the air around them.
But we're
not like them,
she told herself.
We're going somewhere much farther
away. We're not afraid of what goes on outside this little place.
The thrill it gave her m a d e her want to shout it out to the entire world.