Villain a Novel (2010) (12 page)

As she leaned over to sniff the miso, Fusae called out to Yuichi. “I hear you had a hangover this morning?” Instead of a reply there was a loud splash of water.

“Where did you go drinking?”

No reply, just the sound of Yuichi pouring water over himself.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive, you know.”

By this point Fusae no longer expected any response.

She turned off the nearly boiling pot of soup and put the cutting board, bloody from slicing up the fish, into the sink to soak.

So Yuichi could eat as soon as he came out of the bath, she sliced up a healthy portion of sashimi and put it out with the fried ground fish meat she’d cooked the night before. She opened the rice cooker and the fluffy hot rice sent a cloud of steam into the chilly kitchen.

Before Katsuji became bedridden she’d always cooked three cups of rice in the morning and five in the evening. Sometimes she felt like all she’d done for the last fifteen years was rinse rice to make sure these two men had enough to fill their stomachs. Yuichi had loved rice, ever since he was a child. Give him a couple of daikon pickles and he could easily down a large bowl.

And everything he ate made him grow. From the time he entered junior high Fusae could swear she actually saw him growing taller by the day. Sometimes she couldn’t believe it, found it incredible how the food she provided him helped him blossom into a grown man. She’d had only daughters herself, and could sense how raising a boy, her grandson, struck a chord deep within her, some female instinct she’d never felt with her daughters.

In the beginning she deferred to Yuichi’s mother, Yoriko. After Yoriko ran off with a man, leaving behind Yuichi, who was in elementary school, and Fusae knew it was up to her to raise the child, she naturally enough was upset by her daughter’s unfaithfulness. But more than that, she felt a new energy rising up within her. Fusae was just about to turn fifty at the time.

When Yuichi had first come to live in this house, after his mother had been abandoned by her husband, he’d already lost all trust in her. He’d call out “Mom!” to her and act spoiled, but he really wasn’t focused on her at all.

Once Fusae had taken out an old photo album to show Yuichi,
taking care that Yoriko didn’t see them. “Don’t you think Grandma was prettier than your mother?” she asked. She’d meant it as a joke, but as she pulled the dusty old album out of the closet she felt a certain tension within her. Yuichi gazed at the photo she pointed out and was silent. Looking down on his small head from behind, Fusae suddenly realized what a terrible thing she had done. She quickly snapped shut the album. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was never, ever beautiful.” Despite her age, she found herself blushing.

At Katsuji’s bedside, Fusae packed some underwear and toiletries in his leather bag. She’d bought the bag the first time he’d gone into the hospital. Figuring they’d use it only one time she’d chosen a cheap one, but with him in and out of the hospital all the time the bag, even the stitching, had started to fall apart.

“Tomorrow I’ll bring you some tea and
furikake,”
Fusae said. Katsuji’s mouth must have been dry, for he swallowed audibly.

“Has Yuichi eaten already?” Katsuji slowly rolled over and half crawled out of bed toward the dinner Fusae had brought on a tray.

“He had yellowtail sashimi. If you’d like, I’ll bring you some,” Fusae hurriedly added. Katsuji had let out a sigh when he saw the bland boiled vegetables and rice porridge.

“I don’t need any sashimi. But I want you to make sure to give something to the nurses at the hospital.” Katsuji picked up his chopsticks, his hands trembling slightly.

“What do you mean,
give something?”

“Money, of course.”

“Money? Again with the money. Nurses these days don’t accept money from patients.” As she always did, Fusae turned this notion down flat. She hated this aspect of Katsuji’s personality, something she saw in all men and disliked intensely. It was fine to think about giving tips to the nurses, but where did he imagine the money was going to come from?

“Even if you give them something extra, they’re not going to do anything special for you. They’re respected professionals nowadays,
and if you give them money they’ll think you’re looking down on them,” Fusae said, and slowly rose to her feet with a grunt. These days if she got up too quickly, her knees hurt.

Fusae watched as Katsuji, hunched over, slurped down his porridge. As she watched him, she remembered what her neighbor, old Mrs. Okazaki, had told her: “Every other month when I get a pension check I think, ‘Ah, he’s really dead, isn’t he.’”

The first time she heard this, Fusae thought about how this elderly woman had loved her husband. But as Katsuji’s condition deteriorated and he grew steadily weaker, the words took on a completely different meaning: when either a husband or wife died, your daily expenses were cut in half.

After his bath Yuichi sat cross-legged on a chair, wolfing down his meal. He must have been starving, for he followed each slice of sashimi with two or three huge mouthfuls of rice.

“I made some daikon miso soup,” Fusae called out to him, and ladled some into the soup bowl she’d turned over. Yuichi didn’t wait for it to cool but slurped it down as soon as she passed it to him.

“I should go along with you, don’t you think?” Fusae said, and sat down. She noticed a grain of rice stuck to Yuichi’s chin.

“No, you don’t need to come. All I have to do is take him to the nurse station on the fifth floor, right?” Yuichi mixed some wasabi in a plate of soy sauce, the sweeter variety found in Kyushu.

“We have a meeting again at seven in the community center. They’re talking about health foods. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to buy any. But hearing about it doesn’t cost anything,” Fusae said, pouring hot water out of the thermos into a teapot. The thermos made a gurgling sound as she pushed the button a couple of times to get out the last drops of water.

She stood up to add more water to the teapot, and that’s when it happened. Yuichi had been enjoying the sashimi and deep-fried fish paste, but he suddenly groaned and put a hand to his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Fusae hurried around behind him and pounded him sharply on the back. She was sure that something was stuck in
his throat, but he stood up, pushed her aside, and with his hand to his mouth he rushed to the toilet. Fusae stood there, flabbergasted.

She heard him retching. Flustered, Fusae sniffed the sashimi and the fish paste but neither one smelled off.

After throwing up for a while, Yuichi finally emerged, his face deathly pale.

“What’s wrong?” Fusae asked, gazing intently at him. Yuichi shoved past her, saying, “Nothing … Just got something stuck in my throat.” It was clear to both of them that this wasn’t the real problem.

“You sure? …” Fusae bent over and retrieved his chopsticks from the floor. Yuichi’s legs were right in front of her. She noticed that he was trembling—even though he’d just taken a bath and shouldn’t be cold.

Grumbling the entire time, Katsuji managed to get out of bed and get dressed, and Yuichi drove him to the hospital. It was only fifty meters to the parking lot where Yuichi had his car, and Katsuji should have been able to walk there, but he ordered Yuichi to bring the car around to the front door, which he did, reluctantly.

Yuichi tossed the bag into the backseat, raised the passenger seat up, and Katsuji, looking unhappy, struggled to sit down. Yuichi walked around to the driver’s side and Fusae said, “If the head nurse isn’t there, then Ms. Imamura will be in charge.”

Yuichi’s white car looked out of place in the dark alley alongside the row of old houses. Inside, the subdued glow of the car stereo and radio lights looked like out-of-season fireflies.

As soon as Fusae shut the passenger-side door the car roared off. For a brief moment the far-off sound of waves was drowned out by the engine.

After seeing them off, Fusae hustled back into the kitchen to straighten up after dinner. Once she was finished, she went around switching off the lights, then slipped on some sandals and headed to the community center.

The wind was cold, but the sea was calm. Moonlight bathed the boats anchored in the harbor, and an occasional burst of wind teased the electric lines overhead and made them hum.

When Fusae spotted Mrs. Okazaki on the wharf, with its sprinkling of streetlights, heading to the community center, she picked up her pace. In the moonlight of the tiny wharf, the older woman shuffling along looked eerie yet somehow comical.

“So, Grannie, you’re headed there, too?” As Fusae caught up with her, Mrs. Okazaki, who was using a shopping cart as a walker, halted and looked up.

“Oh, Fusae, it’s you.”

“Did you try the Chinese herbal medicine from last time?” Fusae asked.

The old woman started walking again, slowly, and replied, “Yes, and I feel a bit better.”

“Me, too. I had my doubts it would work at first, but the morning after I drank some, I did feel better.”

Starting a month before, a pharmaceutical company, headquartered in Tokyo, apparently, had been holding health seminars at the community center. Fusae hadn’t been interested, but the head of the local women’s association had invited her, and after that she hadn’t missed a session.

As she walked along the wharf, the cold sea wind made her joints ache. The distinctive fishing-harbor tidal smell mixed in with the cold wind and tickled her nose, which had started to lose all feeling. Fusae deliberately walked on the seaward side to block the cold wind from hitting the elderly Mrs. Okazaki.

“I was wondering if I could bother Yuichi to buy some more rice for me,” Mrs. Okazaki said just as the community center came into view. “Whenever you go out shopping is fine.”

“You should have asked me sooner. I just had him do some shopping.” Fusae put her hand on the old woman’s back and guided her into the center.

“The Daimaru store will deliver, but they charge four thousand yen for ten kilograms of rice, and on top of that a three-hundred-yen delivery fee.”

“Don’t ever shop at Daimaru. Four thousand yen for ten
kilograms? If you drive to the bargain store, you can get it at half price.”

Mrs. Okazaki had stepped up onto a stone step and Fusae took her arm. The older woman grabbed tightly on to her wrist.

“I knew that, but I don’t have anyone like you do, Fusae, with a car who can go shopping for me.”

“We’re friends, so don’t hesitate to ask us. We’ll be happy to. I’m always asking Yuichi to go shopping for us. It’s no trouble for him to pick up a few things for you, too.”

Directly ahead of the short flight of steps was the community center, which with its imposing gate resembled a shrine. Fluorescent lights lit up the interior, reflecting a shadow of someone looking down at them.

“But you do still have some rice left, right?” Fusae asked.

As she stepped up the last stone step Mrs. Okazaki said, in a forlorn voice, “I should be okay for another four or five days.”

“I’ll have Yuichi pick up some tomorrow.”

Just as she spoke, a voice came from the community center. “Is that Mrs. Okazaki?” it called. It came from the shadow, who was, in fact, the instructor of the seminar, a plump medical doctor named Tsutsumishita. As he spoke, he hurried down to them.

“Did you try the herbal medicine from last time?” he asked.

Mrs. Okazaki strained to stand up straight and smiled happily.

Dr. Tsutsumishita guided them into the community center and they found many of their neighbors already there, seated on cushions spread out at random on the floor and chatting with each other.

Fusae went to get cushions for herself and Mrs. Okazaki, then sat down next to the head of the women’s association, Mrs. Sanae, and eavesdropped as she chatted with Mrs. Okazaki about how well the herbal medicine had worked, how their legs weren’t so cold when they went to bed.

Dr. Tsutsumishita brought over a paper cup with hot tea. “That’s so kind of you,” Fusae said gratefully. “I shouldn’t be having a man wait on me.” She took the cup from the tray.

“Grannie, I wasn’t lying about that herbal medicine, now was I? Didn’t you still feel hot even after you came out of the bath?” Dr. Tsutsumishita patted Mrs. Okazaki’s shoulder and sat down beside her.

“It’s true, I did feel warm. Though when I first got it I thought it had to be a joke.” Mrs. Okazaki spoke in a loud voice, and around the hall other people laughed, agreeing with her.

“Well, I’m not about to come all this way on my short little legs just to pull a fast one on you.” Still seated, Dr. Tsutsumishita wiggled his short legs, evoking a burst of laughter.

For the last month Dr. Tsutsumishita had been lecturing on how to maintain good health after age sixty. Fusae at first had gone unwillingly, but she gradually found this doctor—who used his own shortcomings as grist for his talks—an enjoyable speaker, and since the afternoon had been counting the minutes to this evening’s seminar.

“Well, let’s get started.” Dr. Tsutsumishita stood up and addressed the group of old people scattered around the hall. One old man in the group had a red face, and must have been imbibing some
shochu
before he came.

“Today’s topic is blood circulation.” Dr. Tsutsumishita’s voice carried well throughout the hall. As he stepped up to the podium, the audience smiled in anticipation, as if they were about to hear a performance of comic
rakugo
.

Right beside the podium was a colorful
Big Catch
flag that nowadays was used only during the dragon-boat races.