Yukiko Motoya - The Lonesome Bodybuilder - Stories

“Where do I shop?” Similarly out of breath, I looked up toward the new supermarket that stood at the top of the hill. I used it often, because it had a wide selection and good prices.

“Oh, that place. I thought so,” Kitae said, sounding disappointed.

“Is it bad?”

“I wouldn’t say bad,” she said. “It’s just that as soon as it opened, everyone started shopping there. Isn’t it such a shame when we have such a traditional Japanese main street right here?” She waved to the employee sitting behind the counter in the dry cleaner’s. “Of course, I understand the appeal of being able to pay for everything at once, but you lose the human touch, don’t you.” At the middle of the hill, she stopped to catch her breath. She watched the line of people waiting to buy a bento outside the Chinese restaurant, then took out her usual white terrycloth handkerchief and wiped her brow. “So, San, are you about to do your shopping now?”

I nodded. I’d been thinking about tonight’s menu as I left the apartment.

“Then come with me for a bit.”

“You mean to the local shops?” I asked.

“I’ll introduce you to my grocer, and the butcher, and the fishmonger I use.” She neatly folded away her handkerchief, and set off purposefully, overtaking a young person wheeling a bicycle.

“And so the mountains ended up being the best solution.”

I couldn’t tell if Senta was listening or not, because he was stuffing his mouth with prosciutto while making small huffing noises. He seemed to be in a rush to get his next plate of food, even though I’d told him there were no time restrictions. Hakone, who’d taken a spoonful each of several different dishes on an appetizer plate, sat down beside Senta and started intently conveying food to her mouth.

“It’s so different from our usual all-you-can-eat place,” she said, cradling her cheeks in her palms as she savored the mixed seafood marinée. “The place Senta and I always go has so many choices, it’s almost a joke. We assumed that was the point of going all-you-can-eat, but actually, the better places stick to what they’re good at, I guess. Or it’s more like they really refine each dish.”

A server stopped by the side of our table, so I asked for a refill of sparkling water.

“We’re in your debt. You took me out once already, and now you’re treating us to this high-class all-you-can-eat,” Hakone said.

“It’s called a buffet,” Senta butted in.

“Don’t worry about it. A thousand-yen bento to thank you for seventy thousand yen? And I knew Senta would enjoy it too.”

Hakone picked up the finely decorated bowl of chilled vegetable potage.

“We’ve been going hungry since last night to make the most of it, Sis.”

“No problem,” I said vaguely, and sipped my freshly poured sparkling water. I’d invited them to a hotel lunch because I’d recalled Senta grousing about not being allowed to eat his fill when they ate out.

While I received an agreed-upon amount each month from my husband for living expenses, Senta and Hakone shared their finances, even though they weren’t married yet. Hakone held the purse strings and, having a good head for money, made a rule of feeding Senta a bowl of rice before they went out to eat. Since Hakone was the one bringing in most of the income right now, Senta couldn’t really complain.

“So does either of you know a good mountain somewhere?” I ladled a spoonful of curry from a silver sauce boat over my saffron rice. I’d deliberated for a while between it and the beef stroganoff, but in the end I’d given in to the curry’s dark allure.

“A mountain? Do you mean for the camper van trip?”

“This is a different mountain.”

“She’s going to abandon a cat,” Senta said.

“What? No! You’re throwing Zoromi out?” Hakone said, looking up from her platter.

“No, no. Not Zoromi. It’s a cat belonging to someone I know.”

“Oh. I thought you meant Zoromi!”

“I’m not going to abandon Zoromi. This person’s cat started peeing all over the apartment. It’s been a year, and they’ve tried everything. She and her husband finally decided to let him go live in the mountains.” I spooned more curry onto my rice.

“‘Go live’ is one way of putting it,” Senta added quietly. “Sis, aren’t you gonna tell them the truth?”

“I don’t need to—she knows, really.” That was why Kitae had held on to Sansho all summer. “She promised her husband she’d do it once the weather gets a little cooler.” After taking me shopping at the local shops, Kitae had bowed her head and asked whether I could drive them up to a mountain somewhere. I sighed. “I hate a problem without a good solution.”

Maybe this was the kind of thing my husband was trying to avoid too, by playing his game all the time.

“I’m going for the grilled duck breast.” Senta stood up.

Hakone, busy coiling spaghetti carbonara and spaghetti pescatore alternately onto her fork, didn’t even glance his way.

“Is Senta always like that? Even at home?” I asked. I tried to recall what he’d been like growing up.

“Like that? Yeah, I guess he is,” Hakone said, head tilted, seeming not to understand the question.

Just as I thought—his face doesn’t degenerate like my husband’s . I said, “I guess he’s not a man with many worries.”

“No.” Hakone nodded thoughtfully. “But his screenplays always seem to be full of really conflicted characters. Which makes me laugh. Because when he’s at home he’s usually got a belly full of cabbage, you know? I mean, I pad his meals out with cabbage just to make the other dishes go further. So I always think, why doesn’t he make a film about cabbage? I think that’d be a lot more interesting. Don’t you?”

I looked toward Senta as he prowled back and forth in front of the silver trays of food. “Maybe you’re right. That could be interesting.”

Senta went back to the buffet for two more helpings after that. “The beef stroganoff and curry on rice combo works better than you’d think,” he said as he shoveled it into his mouth.

Hakone got a small mountain of cake from the dessert section, and expressed regret at having to leave more than half of it.

I paid and met the two of them at the hotel entrance where they’d been waiting. They bowed at me like flunkies, saying, “Thank you for the meal,” in unison.

As I was waving goodbye and walking away, Senta came running back toward me. “Sis! The mountains you were asking about earlier? How about Gunma Prefecture?”

“Gunma?”

“I just remembered that when I went out there to help a friend’s shoot, there were some mountains there that looked pretty untouched. There might be animals living there.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’ll send you the address later.”

“Yes, please.”

Senta turned on his heel again and ran off into the station.

After taking a stroll around town and doing some shopping, I came home to find my husband’s work shoes in the entryway.

It was only 4:00 p.m. Wondering whether he was back from work already, I called out, “I’m home!” There was no answer.

I left my shopping in the hallway and went into the living room. On the table was an empty glass and an open container of the sweet-and-savory sautéed shishito peppers I’d made ahead and stashed in the refrigerator. I picked them both up and moved them to the sink in the kitchen along with a pair of abandoned chopsticks, and went back out into the hallway, saying, “Anybody home?” This time, I encountered a pair of suit trousers and a dress shirt on the floor, still retaining a somewhat human form.

I picked up the clothes and knocked on the door to my husband’s room. When I opened it, Zoromi, who had been curled up on top of my husband’s desk, looked at me, got up, and thrust his front legs forward in a stretch. He must have gotten trapped inside. He made an affectionate sound and brushed up against my shin.