Maki Kashimada: Touring the Land of the Dead: Two Novellas

I asked everyone if they wanted to try some chocolate that I had bought from the convenience store nearby.

“No thank you,” Meiko answered forlornly.

I tried to offer some to Moeko.

“Chocolate? Ah, okay. I’ll try some. It’s good for your health, after all.” She took a piece into her hand, staring at it vacantly for a short while.

I turned toward Yōko. She was watching the TV so intently that she probably wouldn’t respond even if I asked her, I thought. I withdrew the hand that had begun to offer her a piece.

For some reason, we were all watching TV together. I couldn’t stop thinking about my sisters and Mom. Whatever it was that the people on the other side of the screen were saying hardly even entered my mind.

All of a sudden, a great sigh emanated from the TV. For some reason, that startled me, and I glanced at the screen. It looked like we had all been watching a health program.

“This disease has a long incubation period. By the time it’s discovered, it’s already beyond curing. Death is the only outcome.”

What kind of illness could it be? I wondered. Could it really be that horrible, this disease? Maybe I should have been paying more attention.

Even Mom, usually so fastidious about health issues, was watching the program in idle silence.

“We’ve asked our guests to make a note of their lifestyle habits, to see whether or not they have a chance of developing it.”

Insufficient sleep, smoking, alcohol, an oil-rich diet. The things that they mentioned would apply to just about anyone.

“To our viewers at home, if you’re living like this, this disease may soon affect you too. In fact, it wouldn’t be at all surprising if it’s already struck, so be sure to see your doctor for regular checkups.”

“We might end up dying too,” Meiko said idly, her voice betraying her lack of concern.

“Everyone dies one day,” Yōko responded. She too seemed preoccupied.

“There’s no escaping it,” Moeko murmured in agreement.

My sisters’ words piled up in my heart like snow.

The questions echoed in my mind: What exactly is haunting us sisters? Are we all afflicted by some incurable disease too? Hey, Mom, why did you give birth to us? Why did you only have daughters, and four at that? If you had had a proper mix of boys and girls, my sisters wouldn’t have ended up all getting charmed by the same man.

It’s unnatural, this situation, all of us sapped and listless. It feels like a funeral. The only words that come to mind are melancholy and darkness, but it’s also somehow sacred. One day, we might all be featured in a human-interest piece in the local newspaper. Four sisters, bringing themselves to ruin. Yes, this ruin would include me too. It had probably begun even before S showed up. Five women, living together almost incestuously. How are we supposed to keep on going, how are we supposed to keep on living? It’s all over. Ahead of us, there’s only death. I could feel it instinctively. Children will offer white flowers to our pale bodies, like it’s some kind of celebration. But it’ll still be the end. The children will be so innocent that they won’t have realized that yet. They’ll just keep giving us more and more flowers. And they’ll probably say: Those women, they’re so pretty. Yes, I know. I know just how pretty we all are.

Yōko broke down into tears. Only in front of me, though. It’s over, she said. It’s all over. Everything that we’ve ever had as sisters. I’m not saying this because I loved him, you know? I mean, he’s so dependent, so useless. And look what he’s done to us all. He’s ruined us. Please. Let me cry with you, let me cry on your lap. You understand, don’t you, Nanako? You can see what’s happened, can’t you? All I can do now is cry. There’s nothing else left.

I startled at this, at brushing up so close to her beautiful soul. She was so different now from the person whom I had seen smoking and acting like a delinquent in front of S. Why, I wondered, why did my proud Yōko have to end up falling in love with that guy? I could hardly believe it.

None of it makes any sense. Men, women, the way they fall for each other, she said, as if she could read my thoughts. I mean, it’s not like I chose to fall in love with someone like him.

Yōko, you really are so pure. I feel like I’ve known it for the longest time. You’re tough, you’re artful, but in a different way to most other cunning women. That man should have realized it by now too. That this place is too elegant to really call a Shitamachi. It was always his intention just to play around with an easy Shitamachi girl, wasn’t it? But he must have realized his mistake by now. The real inhabitants of this neighborhood have been living here for generations. From my grandfather’s, my great-grandfather’s time. And we’re always dumbfounded by the strangers who come here. They expect to see the spirit of the Shitamachi in each of us as well. The idea of a loose, rundown Shitamachi, whatever that’s supposed to be. It’s all a lie. If they could see who we really are, they would know that we’re reserved, that we’re shy around strangers.

So I know. I know just how much you’ve been overdoing it trying to meet his expectations. That you were simply playing the role of a Shitamachi woman. Meiko and Moeko may have just been watching him from a distance, that man, that stranger. But I know. I know that you, Yōko, you gave your whole body to him. And, for you, that was your ruin. And for Mom, it no doubt means disgrace.

But the thing is, we’re all dying to know. About this person who has come here to our neighborhood. I wonder whether he has found anything around here that really conjures up the image of a Shitamachi. People call this a town of literati, but I wonder whether there’s anything left of that old-fashioned spirit.

He might be drinking at the Eau de Vie right around now. Or maybe, I wondered, he’ll be making his way up Sansakizaka in the middle of the night, almost all the way to the cemetery. Only an outsider would think to go there.

Please, please sleep with me tonight, begged Yōko, normally so resolute in her solitude. Dressed in a tanktop, I crept into her bed, like I used to so long ago. I was brimming with curiosity, and ended up showering her with questions about S. To the point that even I wondered whether I wasn’t being rude. Where do you go on your dates? How often do you have sex? That kind of thing.

He still acts like a tourist, Yōko answered. He’s so interested in this neighborhood that he just can’t help himself. He started going on about the Yasuda Kusuo Residence, right, and even suggested we go there on one of our days off. Why would you pay to go somewhere like that? No way! Then he started going on about the Shimazono Residence too. That there’s a concert coming up there, or something.

Yōko kept on talking.

I guess we just gradually started having sex more and more. He only really treated me well the first time though. He must have thought that I’d pretty much just offer myself up to him. It’s like he doesn’t have a clue what people are like around here. He doesn’t even understand the difference between a Shitamachi and a loose, sleazy town. He practically sees us Shitamachi women as prostitutes. Guys from around these parts are so much better.

A lot of people think of our town as the quintessential Shitamachi, but that image just leaves us feeling all flustered and confused. Because it couldn’t be any further from the truth. I mean, the vast grounds of Nezu Shrine lie in the middle of a quiet residential area. Like an empty, blank space. Foreigners and tourists from all over the country make their way there, maps in hand. But us, we went there for sketching practice when we were in elementary school. There was never anything particularly special about it for us. We didn’t understand the first thing about it. Now that I thought about it, Yōko’s unhappiness must have started all the way back then.