Minae Mizumura - A True Novel

“I want to go out and look for the key one more time.”

The moon still shone brilliantly on the ground, but he still couldn’t find the key. He now felt it would be inappropriate to stay any longer in a house whose occupants seemed to be in mourning, though their relationship to the deceased was unclear. Unlikely as it was that he would manage to get into his friend’s house, he could at least ask the woman to call a taxi, then go back to the place and sleep on the porch. Or, even better, maybe he could stay at a bed-and-breakfast somewhere. As for finding the key, he could come back in the morning.

“I’m still having no luck finding the thing. May I use your phone again?”

Seated where she had been before, the woman looked toward the telephone with a blank expression. “Oh, yes. Go ahead.” Yusuke tried calling his friend’s cellphone and his home, but once again he only reached the answering machine.

“Is there a bed-and-breakfast near here?” asked Yusuke. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning to look for the key. And I’d like to leave some money to cover the calls to Tokyo.”

The woman shifted her impassive face toward the wall clock. It was nearly eleven.

“Well, it’s very late, and it’s also the height of the tourist season. Besides, there aren’t any bed-and-breakfasts around here.” She spoke slowly.

“In that case, I’ll just take a taxi back to my friend’s place.”

One corner of her mouth curled up in a thin smile, and some animation began to return to her eyes. After a moment, as if humoring a child, she said, “Don’t be silly. There’s a shed out back where you can sleep. I went there a little while ago and put out an old sleeping bag for you. I hope you don’t mind if it’s a little musty.”

Before Yusuke had a chance to object, she went on: “I’m sorry that’s all we can offer, but it might be more comfortable for you than staying here. It has a window, so it shouldn’t be impossible to spend a night there. Even if you did take a taxi back to your friend’s house, you wouldn’t be able to get in, anyway, would you?”

Yusuke didn’t know how to respond to this offer. From the moment he had crossed the threshold of this mountain cottage, he hadn’t felt his usual reserved and solitary self. He found himself inclined—almost eager—to accept her invitation. He knew, though, that the other occupant wouldn’t exactly welcome the idea of his staying overnight.

Seeing the uncertainty on Yusuke’s face, the woman asked him to wait, headed toward the man’s room, and, after a perfunctory knock, marched in and shut the door. Yusuke first heard low murmuring but, before long, the two of them began arguing as he’d feared they might, the woman’s voice steadily rising. He heard very little from the man. Abruptly, her voice rang out, shrill and sharp, almost shrieking: “I can’t believe you’re overreacting like this.” She went on: “Just stop that talk of yours. You know you still have years to live!” Yusuke was shocked that their conversation had taken such a dramatic turn. Even so, he stayed put instead of withdrawing, as he knew he should. His own obstinacy surprised him.

The woman presently emerged from the room and told him with remarkable composure, “By all means, stay here tonight.” Showing a touch of victor’s pride, she glanced toward the back of the house and added, “You don’t need to worry about him. He’ll come out and introduce himself properly, if it’s not too late to be proper, that is.” So saying, she sat down and calmly picked up her sewing scissors.

Yusuke stood there, undecided.

Not a sound came from the other room. Her head bowed, the woman was working steadily with her hands. It was as if she were aware of Yusuke’s dilemma and was letting him stew in it.

Was it just two or three minutes that Yusuke stood there? Or longer? The door of the man’s room at last creaked open. Yusuke grew tense, but the tall figure passed into the kitchen. The woman continued with her needlework, without looking up. He heard some cupboard doors open and close, and, at length, the man reemerged with three empty glasses in his left hand. He looked over at her and said, “Fumiko, is there any booze in the house?”

It was a deep, penetrating voice. That he should ask such an ordinary question, in such a matter-of-fact way, surprised Yusuke. Yet there was still something unusual about the way he spoke.

“Any what?” Her fingers stopped and she looked up at him. She seemed caught off guard.

“Wine, beer, anything’s all right.”

With no attempt to hide her dismay, she replied harshly, “What do you plan to do with it?”

“Have a drink, of course. Our guest is welcome to join me.” Turning to Yusuke, he added, “Please, have a seat.”

After slowly lowering himself into the rattan rocking chair, the man again motioned for Yusuke to sit down. To avoid staring at him, Yusuke looked away as he went over and sat on one of the dining chairs.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Yusuke told him.

The man looked in his direction, something close to a smile on his face. “I imagine you’ve had your fill of tea tonight.”

Apparently still shaken, the woman kept her eyes fixed on the man, then asked, “Have a drink, really?” It sounded as if the question were directed more at herself than at him. There was something akin to dread in her expression.

“Yeah,” he replied, not looking at her. She remained silent for a moment but at last stood up, her face tight, and headed into the kitchen. When she returned with a large, dark green bottle of sake, she spoke in a forced voice, as though something were caught in her throat.

“This is a local brew. You can buy it anywhere around here but it’s actually quite good. I sometimes have a glass when I can’t get to sleep, so I always keep some in the refrigerator.”

She poured some for Yusuke and herself, took a few steps, and held out the bottle for the man, her face still tight. The bold, lively brushstrokes on the white label were at odds with the tense mood in the room.

His hand reached out to take it. “What’s that smell?” he asked, looking about him.

“Oh, that? It’s mothballs. It seemed like a good time to clean out the closets,” she told him as she returned to the table. Yusuke heard the sound of sake being poured into a glass. As if to block out the sound, to defer the moment a little longer, the woman swept the fabric off the table and swung it around for the man to see. Scarlet koi danced around the room.

“Look what I found in the tea chest.”

Her voice still sounded forced.

“If this were silk, I would’ve had to just throw it away. But it’s cotton, so it’s still in good shape. You hardly see this kind of pattern anymore. I thought I would make something out of it.”

There was a caustic edge to her dry voice. His response was merely a cursory glance at the fabric, but she wouldn’t stop.

“I found an ogara of Grandma’s too. You know, a little bundle of straw? It’s more than thirty years old. I completely forgot she bothered to keep things like that. It’s the thirteenth of August, you know. I used it just before dark to light a little fire, the welcoming fire we used to make in the old days.” She picked up her scissors again.

“A welcoming fire?” The man looked puzzled.

BURNED OGARA

“Yes. The little fire for the Bon festival—to greet the returning dead. Grandma used to light one every year at this time. Don’t you remember?”

He didn’t say whether he remembered or not.