Nan-Core (6 page)

“Oh? Come on, don’t get angry. Sorry, that was shitty, even for a joke,” Yohei, stunned at my sudden pallor, offered a genuine apology, then tried a subtle change of subject. “Think about it though, this theory you have of Mom being replaced by someone else—that makes us half-brothers.” He winked, jabbing his fork in my direction. “That’s kind of cool, you know, dramatic, or something.”

I had, of course, already thought about this. With him sitting in front of me it was hard to imagine it was true, but I wasn’t ready to joke about it either.

I hadn’t taken after either of my parents, but Yohei’s eyes and facial features had clearly come from Mom. They also shared a number of traits beyond their looks—slight far-sightedness, dog- and cat-hair allergies. It felt stupid, but those kind of things had begun to weigh on my mind.

“Let me ask you then. Who else could have written it if it wasn’t Dad? Don’t tell me you think it was Mom.”

“Why not? She could totally have written such stuff.”

I was stunned into silence.

“She could have written it when she was young, maybe she wanted to submit it to some magazine. She loved books, and she used to read loads of novels … Y’know, she had that daydreamer side to her, and she was quite the romantic.”

Daydreamer? Romantic? Was it possible that, as younger and elder sons, we had wildly different impressions of Mom? She used to bring books home from the library, I knew that, but she was plain and mild-mannered, the very model of a housewife. There was no way I could believe a love of books made her a romantic, much less the kind of person to do something like write a novel.

I wanted to push Yohei on the subject, but he’d turned his face down while he was talking about Mom and now he was blinking rapidly. The steak was gone. I looked away and mumbled something vague.

“Hey, calling Mom a bit of a daydreamer made me remember this weird thing,” he said, keeping his voice flat to mask the embarrassment of me seeing him with damp eyes.

“What is it?”

“Never mind.”

“Hey, come on, stop acting like a brat. You’ve already started to say something, so out with it.”

“It’s just … I don’t like it when you twist my words, Ryo. You already have.”

I was well aware of how antagonistic he could get if I was too direct, so I retrieved a menu and made him choose something for dessert in the hope that we might start again. Once we placed our orders I put the question to him, trying to sound casual. “Hey, Yohei, did Mom seem a little strange to
you towards the end?”

“Strange? In what way?” His voice was tight when he threw the question back at me. He’d probably noticed something odd about her behavior, too.

I said nothing and waited.

“I suppose, now that you mention it, she did seem a little gloomy. Like bursting into tears in the middle of watching TV. And she’d give a jolt, sometimes, when I called to her.”

“Do you think she …”

“She what?”

“Was she scared of something?”

“Like what?”

“Ah, I really don’t know, but … Say for example she found the notebooks and read them.”

“And back to the notebooks! Why do you keep bringing them up? What, you’re saying she read them, found out her husband was a murderer, and got freaked out?”

“You can’t say that that’s a hundred percent impossible, can you?”

“There’s something wrong with you, Ryo. Of course she was afraid. She knew Dad was going to … pass away soon. It would’ve been weird if she hadn’t been afraid.”

I found myself with nothing to say in response. He was exactly right. Not to mention, that was probably what I had thought at the time. If I had let something like that slip from my mind, I was forced to wonder if there was something drastically wrong in the way I was looking at things. Perhaps it was all some kind of wild delusion I’d cooked up.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” It was my turn to apologize. And yet I couldn’t help thinking back to Mom, stooped forwards
as she dragged her feet in Dad’s sandals; there had been an entirely different type of fear in her eyes that day, something that hinted at a much more sordid secret. “Yohei, what was it you were about to say just now about Mom? Spit it out.”

“But it’s from way back, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Whatever, just say it.”

“Well, when Granddad was still alive we used to share a room, right? There was this one time, I think you were still in seventh grade, when I woke up in the middle of the night. I opened my eyes a bit and saw Mom sitting by your bed, watching your face.”

“And?”

“Yeah, well. She kind of … She was holding a pillow to her chest.”

“…”

“Ah, see? You’re twisting it already, that’s why I didn’t want to say anything. It wasn’t like she was—”

“Oh, you mean she wasn’t about to smother me with a pillow?”

“Of course she wasn’t, don’t be stupid. Anyways, I pretended I was asleep, wondering what she was watching you for, and after a while she just got up and walked out. I remember thinking it was weird as I went back to sleep. See, I only just remembered that when you said that stuff about Mom being switched with someone else.”

“What was she holding the pillow for?”

“I don’t know, she was probably half-asleep.”

“Hey, doesn’t our family seem a little weird, the more you think about it?”

“How so?”

“Well, for example, Mom and Dad never tried to mix with other people.” My parents were decidedly antisocial. Even with the neighbors they hardly ventured beyond basic greetings.

“That’s just because they got along well and preferred each other’s company.”

I remembered something the moment Yohei said this. The fact that I could recall such a trivial thing seemed to suggest it had stuck in my mind, that it didn’t quite make sense. “What about when Dad bought that microscope? That was middle school too, right?”

It had been a Sunday. Dad had taken us to the Takashimaya department store in Namba. We were in the middle of eating lunch in the food court when a man we’d never seen before came over. Dad sprang to his feet. I worked out from their conversation that the man had been a colleague of Dad’s from his old job in Tokyo. The man animatedly explained that he had left that job, too, a few years earlier to take over the family business; that he was from Osaka originally and was out visiting clients even though it was a Sunday. When they said goodbye the man suggested they get together for a drink sometime soon and offered Dad his business card. When Dad said he had forgotten to bring his, the man pulled out an address book and copied down the name and number of Dad’s workplace. Yohei and I looked at each other—Dad had given the man a completely fictitious name, and probably a made-up number, too. To make things worse, when he’d paid for the microscope, I had happened to see him pull his cardholder from his inside pocket along with his wallet, while Yohei busily grinned and pawed at the top of the box.

When the man was gone, Yohei innocently asked Dad why he’d told the man a lie. Even then I knew it was probably better not to ask.

A long time ago he stole money from the company, he’s a bad person, it’s better we keep our distance
. That was Dad’s response. There was sweat on his forehead. I remembered being suddenly seized by a bizarre worry that it was in fact Dad and not the other man who had embezzled from the company. In hindsight, it was obvious Dad would never have done such a thing. He had always been light on worldly desires.

But Yohei didn’t seem to remember it at all. “When he bought the microscope from Takashimaya? I can recall that day pretty clearly, you know. You sure you’re not getting that memory mixed up with something else? Or maybe it’s some hodgepodge of fantasy and memory.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“I mean, sure, Mom and Dad might have been a little insular, but come on, they were honest, upstanding citizens otherwise.”

“All right, what about this. Don’t normal parents like to tell their kids about when they were young, about their own childhoods? We hardly know a thing, only that Dad lost his parents when he was a kid. They never told us about how they met, what their lives were like before they were a couple. Plus, they never told us about when we were babies. It was like they purposefully avoided bringing up the past. Something happened back then, I’m sure of it.”

“But Mom told me all about the time I was born. They were worried because I only weighed a little over five pounds. And I had downy hair, with fine black strands even on my back.”

Yohei couldn’t possibly know how much of a shock it was for me to hear that. “Mom told you all that?”

“Yeah.”

I watched him as he dug into his pear pie and felt a lonely chill spread through my bosom. “I bet that was when I wasn’t around. It fits, since you were born after the move to Komagawa. She wouldn’t have said anything if I was there. If she told you about the time you were born, she’d have to do the same for me. I don’t remember her ever telling me where I was born or what the experience was like. And all the photos, right? You know, they all got burned up years before in that fire, so not a single one was left.”

“I don’t really get it, but … You really, truly believe it, don’t you? That Mom was switched with someone else when we moved to Komagawa.”

For the first time Yohei looked bewildered. Or maybe his expression was closer to fear. I couldn’t tell whether he was scared because he had started to doubt Mom and Dad, or whether he was simply scared of me.

The next day was a Saturday. There was a cool breeze and a light covering of clouds. Shaggy Head was fairly bustling, in the dog run and inside, and yet I was finding it impossible to concentrate on work. I was getting orders mixed up and taking out cakes without a fork. At one point I tripped over a leash and almost crushed a Chihuahua underfoot. I realized that Ms. Hosoya was watching me with a frown. It was before two p.m. and the day was still long.

Ms. Hosoya came over and asked, “What’s up with you today, boss?”

“I didn’t sleep much, I think I’m a little spaced out.” It was true that I had hardly slept—I’d spent most of the night lost in thought.

“You’re really pale, maybe you should go upstairs and lie down for a bit. The three of us can manage things down here.”

One of the three was in the kitchen, meaning that without me Ms. Hosoya and Nachi would have to manage the floor, the run, and the register. That would be difficult.

“But I’m already causing enough trouble, what with me taking off early tomorrow.” I had explained earlier in the morning that I would have to head out Sunday afternoon. I had managed to convince another member of the part-time
staff to come in on her day off, but I felt bad regardless. “And Nachi is, well, he’s like that.” I nodded towards a table in the corner.

Whenever Clutch, a black pug, came to the cafe, Nachi never failed to come up with an excuse to neglect his work and fuss over the dog. He was already crouched next to the tiny creature, which was as small as a rat, stroking it with his index finger.

According to the elderly lady that owned him Clutch had an exceedingly noble pedigree, and that may have been why he was so small. “He’s stayed a pup his whole life, even as he became an old man.” He couldn’t walk or bark, so the only thing to do was hold him gently, like something fragile. For some reason the odd creature, unrecognizable as a dog unless someone told you, appeared to be an endless source of happiness for Nachi.

Ms. Hosoya glared at his hunched back, clearly on the verge of tutting with disapproval. Nachi looked around, perhaps sensing her menacing mood, jumped to his feet, and walked over with a sheepish grin.

“Ha ha. I wish he’d chew on my finger, just one time.” Nachi always said this. The tiny dog was incapable of moving anything beyond its eyes and mouth, so gnawing at a finger was the only way for the small creature to express affection. But Clutch only ever bit his owner. “When he bites her, she says it’s so sweet and cute that she could cry.”

“Yes, well, as you can see Nachi here will do his best to help, so go and get a little rest. You’re only bringing down the mood, looking that sickly. Go on, off you go.” She shooed me upstairs, waving me off like I was a dog.

“Thank you, maybe just an hour, then.”

I padded up the stairs, still in my apron. For some reason I walked as softly as I could.

The second floor, consisting of a couple of small rooms, a kitchenette, and a bathroom like the kind found in business hotels, was where I lived. The plate and mug I’d used for breakfast were still on the table, but I couldn’t summon the energy to clean up.

I went over to the window and stood there for a while, watching the field through the thin curtains. As it was a quarter of an acre in size, it was a little too cramped for the larger dogs to dash about freely. Even so, these days facilities such as these were the only places dogs could run around outside without a leash.

Some of the dogs seemed lonesome, wagging their tails at their owners watching from the veranda, while others darted back and forth in endless drifting circles.

At its northern edge the field lifted into a gradual slope which stretched out beyond the fence, connecting with a wood at the foothills of a small mountain.

I could see Chie at the fence, working with a shovel. Long, slender limbs. She wore gloves and had a towel tucked around her neck as she filled in the various holes made by the dogs—

Memories of her dwelt on the grounds and in my room like ghosts, frightening me.

We had once gone past the fence a little ways into the woods and made love in broad daylight, on an overhang above a mountain stream that served as a natural observation platform. While we were anxious of hikers happening upon us we
let the strange lust take hold of us anyway. In the end we only accomplished half of what we desired and rushed back to my room. For the next three days—the whole of the last August’s
O-bon
holiday—we gave up on plans to see movies or go on drives and instead shut ourselves up in my room, barely leaving my creaky single bed.

When I heard Chie was gone, it was purely a physical sensation of loss that hit me first. It was so powerful that it knocked the life out of me, and it took a while before I was able to register the sadness in my heart. I still didn’t know, even today, if it was Chie herself that I missed, or if it was her smell, her warmth, her weight, the touch of her skin, the physical sensation of her.