Shizu was seeing her parents for the first time in a month. Ever since their granddaughter Tomoko had died, they came to Tokyo from their home in Ashikaga whenever they could, not only to console their daughter but to be consoled in turn. Shizu only understood this today. Her heart ached when she saw her aged parents’ thin, grief-stricken faces. They had once had three grandchildren: their oldest daughter Yoshimi’s daughter Tomoko, their second daughter Kazuko’s son Kenichi, and Shizu’s daughter Yoko. One grandchild from each of their three daughters—not all that common. Tomoko had been their first grandchild, and their faces had crinkled up every time they had seen her; they had enjoyed spoiling her. Now they were so depressed that it was impossible to say whose grief was deeper, the parents’ or the grandparents’.
I guess grandchildren really mean a lot.
Shizu had just turned thirty this year. It was all she could do to imagine what her sister must be feeling, putting herself in her sister’s place, contemplating how she’d feel if she lost her own child. But really, there was no comparison to be made between her daughter Yoko, only a year and a half old, and Tomoko, who had died at seventeen. She couldn’t fathom how every passing year would deepen her love for her child.
Sometime after three in the afternoon, her parents began to get ready to go home to Ashikaga.
Shizu could hardly contain her surprise. Why had her husband, who always protested that he was too busy, suggested this visit to her sister’s house? This was the same husband who’d skipped the poor girl’s funeral, pleading that he had a deadline to meet. And now here it was almost dinnertime, and he wasn’t showing the slightest inclination of leaving. He’d only met Tomoko a few times, and had probably never talked with her for very long. Surely he wasn’t feeling detained by memories of the deceased.
Shizu tapped Asakawa lightly on the knee and whispered in his ear, “Dear, it’s probably about time …”
“Look at Yoko. She’s sleepy. Maybe we ought to see if we could let her take a nap here.”
They had brought their daughter. Normally, this was nap time. Sure enough, Yoko had started blinking like she did when she was sleepy. But if they let her sleep here, they’d have to stay in this house for at least two more hours. What would they find to talk about with her grieving sister and her husband for two more hours?
“She can sleep on the train, don’t you think?” said Shizu, dropping her voice.
“Last time we tried that she got fussy, and it was awful all the way home. No, thanks.”
Whenever Yoko got sleepy in a crowd, she got unbelievably fidgety. She’d flail her little arms and legs, wail at the top of her lungs, and just generally make life difficult for her parents. Scolding her only made it worse—there was no way to calm her down except to try to get her to sleep. At times like that Asakawa became intensely conscious of the looks of people around him, and he’d start sulking himself, as though he were the prime victim of his daughter’s shrieking. The accusing stares of the other passengers always made him feel like he was choking.
Shizu preferred not to see her husband in that state, with his cheeks twitching nervously and all. “All right, then, if you say so.”
“Great. Let’s see if she’ll take a nap upstairs.”
Yoko lay in her mother’s lap, eyes half closed.
“I’ll go put her down,” he said, caressing his daughter’s cheek with the back of his hand. The words sounded strange coming from Asakawa, who hardly ever helped with the baby. Maybe he’d had a change of heart, now that he’d witnessed the sorrow of parents who’d lost a child.
“What’s come over you today? It’s spooky.”
“Don’t worry. She looks like she’ll go right down. Leave it to me.”
Shizu handed the child over. “Thanks. I just wish you were like this all the time.”
As she was transferred from her mother’s bosom to her father’s, Yoko began to scrunch up her face, but before she had time to follow through she had fallen asleep. Asakawa climbed the stairs, cradling his daughter. The second floor consisted of two Japanese-style rooms and the Western-style room which had been Tomoko’s. He laid Yoko on the futon in the Japanese-style room that faced south. He didn’t even need to stay with her as she fell asleep. She was already out, her breathing regular.
Asakawa slipped out of the room and listened to see what was going on downstairs, and then entered Tomoko’s bedroom. He felt a little guilty about invading a dead girl’s privacy. Wasn’t this the kind of thing he abhorred? But it was for a good cause—defeating evil. There was nothing but to do it. Even as he thought this, he hated the way he was always willing to seize on any reason, no matter how specious, in order to rationalize his actions. But, he protested, it wasn’t like he was writing an article about it: he was just trying to figure out when and where the four had been together. Sorry.
He opened her desk drawers. Just the normal assortment of stationery supplies, like any high school girl would have, rather neatly arranged. Three snapshots, a junk box, letters, a notepad, a sewing kit. Had her parents gone through here after she died? It didn’t look like it. Probably she was just naturally neat. He was hoping to find a diary—it would save him a lot of time. Today I got together with Haruko Tsuji, Takehiko Nomi, and Shuichi Iwata, and we … If he could just find an entry like that. He took a notebook from her bookshelf and flipped through it. He actually came across a very girlish diary in the back of a drawer, but there were only a few desultory entries on the first few pages, all of them dated long ago.
On the shelf beside the desk there were no books, only a red flowered makeup stand. He opened the drawer. A bunch of cheap accessories. A lot of mismatched earrings—it seemed she had a habit of losing one of every pair she owned. A pocket comb with several slender black strands of hair still wrapped around it.
Opening the built-in wardrobe, his nose was assailed by the scent of high school girls. It was packed tight with colorful dresses and skirts on hangers. His sister-in-law and her husband had obviously not figured out what to do with these clothes, which still carried their daughter’s fragrance. Asakawa pricked up his ears at what was going on downstairs. He wasn’t sure what they’d think if they caught him in here. There was no sound. His wife and her sister must still be talking about something. Asakawa searched the pockets of the clothes in the wardrobe one by one. Handkerchiefs, movie ticket stubs, gum wrappers, napkins, commuter pass case. He examined it: a pass for the stretch between Yamate and Tsurumi, a student ID card, and a membership card. There was a name written on the membership card: Something-or-other Nonoyama. He wasn’t sure how to pronounce the characters for the first name—Yuki, maybe? From the characters alone he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Why did she have someone else’s card in her pass case? He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He slipped the card into his pocket, put the case back where he’d found it, and shut the wardrobe. He stepped into the hall just as his sister-in-law reached the top of the stairs.
“Sorry, is there a bathroom up here?” He made a show of acting antsy.
“It’s there at the end of the hall.” She didn’t seem to suspect anything. “Is Yoko sleeping like a good girl?”
“Yes, thanks. Sorry to put you to such trouble.”
“Oh no, not at all.” The sister-in-law bowed slightly, then stepped into the Japanese-style room, hand on her kimono sash.
In the bathroom, Asakawa took out the card. “Pacific Resorts Club Member’s Card” it read. Underneath this was Nonoyama’s name and membership number and the expiration date. He flipped it over. Five membership conditions, in fine print, plus the name of the company and its address. Pacific Resorts Club, Inc., 3-5 Kojimachi, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo. Phone no. (03) 261-4922. If it wasn’t something she’d found or swiped, Tomoko must have borrowed this card from this Nonoyama person. Why? To use