A Japanese Schoolgirl Read online

“Maya, I’m wondering if you talked to Yukio that morning.”

  “Is that a question?”

  “Possibly.”

  “What is it for then?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “Well then, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to even think about it now.”

  I just look away from her without saying a word.

  Have I ever seen her smile? No. Never. Her face is like that of a Japanese traditional doll. Even when Maya speaks something to me in a busy street, she lets her lips move only slightly. Her words are almost inaudible, but she appears not to care about it. She seems to dislike making use of her facial muscles, but it has never put her at a disadvantage.

  Even with her flat expression, Maya is still able to give us an air of cuteness. I once heard Reiko saying to other girls at school, ‘It’s not easy to figure out how Maya does it. I desperately need to learn her magic because I have to dodge that clinging gaze from Mr. Buddha.’

  In our gakko there is a popular moon-faced ethics teacher who tirelessly carries a soft smile like the Smiley. He also has very large ears that remind us of an African elephant’s.

  His nickname is Mr. Buddha and everyone in our class is quietly aware that he has been infatuated with Reiko. Even in the middle of a class there is a moment when he glances stealthily at Reiko as if he were peeping at her through a frosted glass shower door of the bathroom.

  *

  Maya looks back over her shoulder and whispers, “If these passersby were all zombies, what would you do?”

  “I’d voluntarily try to catch the infection.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I have no intention to be eaten alive. Do you?”

  “It sounds clever.”

  “I hate pain. That’s all. Especially the kind that lasts long.”

  “Like a broken heart?”

  “Have you ever had it already, Maya?” I stare at her in excitement.

  “Sorry. No comment.”

  Maya and I look for a quiet place. So far we have spotted five cafes to choose from, but there is a problem, that is, Maya’s taste seems to differ from mine not in a subtle way.

  That interior looks too Dada for my school uniform, she says, too Romantic for my school bag. Too retro for my age. Too avant-garde for my mobile.

  No problem, I say.

  In fact I have no intention of taking objection to her aesthetic judgment.

  Her mother is a professor who teaches the Western art specializing in Postmodernism at a well-known art college and her father is an executive producer in one of Japan’s major four Networks. Last year he produced a popular television series dealing with the feud between a wife and her mother-in-law in a brutally satiric way.

  Her father drives a BMW and her mother a MINI cooper.

  My father drives a Toyota and my mother his Toyota.

  Banzai.

  *

  We have settled to go into a tearoom attached to a Japanese traditional wagashi-ya, a confectionery.

  It is so crowded with middle-aged women in Japanese kimono that it takes several seconds to find an unoccupied table. I am told that Maya occasionally stops at this place with her aunt and uncle.

  “I’ve never told of it to my parents, though,” she adds.

  “Your uncle is the bank for your pocket money, isn’t he?”

  “A kind of. Yes, he’s yummy.”

  “How I envy you.”

  “Actually, my uncle was cut off from our family, from my daddy, soon after I was born. That’s what I heard from my mother.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know,” Maya shakes her head uninterestedly, “They both seem to prefer not to talk about it.”

  And she lets only her eyes smile.

  Maya orders a sweet sakura-mochi with a cup of matcha, a very strong powdered green tea dissolved in hot water, face-twistingly bitter, and I a bowl of mitsumame, face-meltingly sweet. Sakura-mochi is made from glutinous rice, stuffed with red azuki bean paste, and wrapped in a cherry leaf for a flavor of spring season. Cherry leaf is so pickled and sweeten as to be eatable even for children with milk teeth. My favorite, mitsumame, is made from boiled beans, agar-agar cubes and slices of fruits such as apple, mango, pear, and peach in sugar syrup. Agar-agar cubes look like colorful tiny cubic glasses glistened in honey.

  Maya throws a glance at a spoonful of pink and green agar-agar cubes I am about to scoop up.

  She says, “I should have ordered an azuki-bean sherbet. Sakura-mochi seems a trifle too early for this snow-flickering season.”

  “But an azuki-bean sherbet is literally icy, Maya.”

  “That’s why it’s for now. Cafe in winter is the most summery place you know. Look at me,” she says and takes a snapshot of me with her Mobile.

  “Do I look okay?” I ask.

  “You are unkind today but look adorable. Yes, I think you're kawaii.”

  Then she casts a sidelong glance at a middle-aged Caucasian woman in a black leather jacket, who happens to pass by the window. I guess she’s a German, Maya whispers, The Germans love leather things, especially tight leather jackets.

  “Definitely, she’s chic and sexy.”

  “Look, Maya. I’ve been wondering if you have a mind to tell me something about the death of Yukio when you phoned me last night.”

  “Oh boy. I no longer feel like I can finish my sakura-mochi. Help yourself.”

  “Is that something I said?”

  “I’m just wondering if it’s too warm here for sakura-mochi.”

  “I’m sorry, but I just can’t get rid of the incident out of my mind.”

  “You’re not the only one who feels uneasy about what Yukio left for us.”

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Okay. I don’t.”

  “Do you realize how we’ve been concerned with our secret we shared with Yukio?”

  “Our secret?”

  “Yes, Reiko and Takeshi are worried about it too. You’re not the only one.”

  Then Maya bites her lower lip, looking me in the face. But I have no idea what she has just said.

  Secret? What is Our Secret?

  Maya adds quickly, “You ought to understand how we all feel about it. Because you’re one of us the least, aren’t you?”

  “Well, I’m glad you reminded me of that. I’ve been worried about it too, I mean, about our secret.”

  I have tried to make myself sound truthful. Maya pauses and, gracefully holding the cup with both hands, starts sipping matcha the green tea. The backs of her hands look soft, smooth, and sensitive.

  She continues, “What if someone else peeks into our secret?”

  “I don’t think it possible.”

  “But Yukio must have had no time to cover up the secret. No one was able to foresee such a terrible accident including Yukio himself you know.”

  “An accident?” I theatrically raise my eyebrows.

  “No?”

  “That was not an accident, Maya.”

  “That was a suicide, then, I guess.”

  “A suicide?” I knit my eyebrows this time.

  “No?” Maya anxiously bites her lower lip.

  “I think Yukio was a kind of person who would never die without a suicide note.”

  “You never know.”

  “No, it’s totally unthinkable.”

  “So you wish.”

  “Look, Maya.”

  “No, Luna, please listen. I think you just can’t accept what happened to him and to us. You know, almost all eyewitnesses testified that Yukio had thrown himself into the railroad track from that platform.”

  “Almost all eyewitnesses? Wow.”

  “Yes, I myself still like to believe it was an accident. Yes, it was cold, wet, and slippery that morning, so it was very likely. But it wasn’t. It was a suicide.”

  “Look at me, Maya. I don’t think that was an accident. And I don’t think that was a suicide, either.”

/>   “What are you saying?”

  “I said, that was neither an accident nor a suicide.”

  “What was it then?”

  “Well, you had better finish your matcha before it gets cold.”

  “No.” Maya grimaces.

  I continue after a careful pause, “You know…giving a little push would’ve been enough on a crowded platform. No surveillance cameras could capture the scene of the crime because it happened in a blind spot. Think about it.”

  “No, it can’t be.”

  She tries to smile but the smile has instantly frozen on her face.

  “Those things happen, Maya, sometimes. Yukio was murdered by someone, probably someone we know very well.”

  Maya leans back away from me.

  “Oh boy, Luna, I think you studied too much.”

  “The problem is that I cannot find the motive for murder.”

  “If there were actually someone who could do such a horrible thing, the person must have been possessed by Oni.”

  “You mean, this?”

  I say and hold my fists to both sides of the temple and then stick my forefingers straight up.

  Oni is a Japanese version of a devil, a cold-blooded supernatural creature with horns, claws, and gashed smile from ear to ear in its furious-looking red face. Oni is the servant of the King of Hell. It represents the forces of evil and is taken especially as the embodiment of human atrocities.

  “All is your imagination,” says Maya.

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re wrong.”

  But Maya herself seems to have been already trapped in my dark idea.

  I put a leading question to her: “Do you think it safe? I mean…I’m afraid if someone might uncover our secret.”

  “If it actually happens, it would be a matter of life and death to me.”

  “Oh, come on, Maya.” I try to look compassionate.

  “No, it’s not an exaggeration. I’d rather kill myself if it becomes a reality. I’ll do anything to protect my secret.”

  “Wow. You sound like a politician.”

  “You don’t think I’m serious.”

  And she covers her face with both hands. But it doesn’t make me feel responsible for the sign of her distress at all. I am confident that she is merely acting and that she won’t shed a single drop of tears.

  “Are you all right, Maya?”

  “Well, I would like to have one more sakura-mochi.”

  “Maybe we have to do something about it ourselves. About our secret you know.”

  “Takeshi told me exactly what you have just said soon after the funeral ceremony.”

  “But I don’t want both Takeshi and Reiko to know what we have talked about here. Could you keep this secret from them?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know why my Mobile’s battery is draining.”

  “Don’t change the subject, Maya.”

  “I think you’re rude.”

  “But, sharing a secret is fun, isn’t it?”

  She nods at me with that distinctive flat expression.

  “But I can’t promise you anything,” she adds with a light shrug.

  Ghost

  The toilets I found nearby a Yakitori restaurant appear to be recently refurbished and well lighted, although there lies a small quantity of feces inside one of toilet booths and it looks scary. My mother was right in warning me that public toilets would be germ-friendly. By now Maya should have gotten on a train to go home. After washing my hands, I look into a mirror to check a tiny itch near my lower lip. It seems to be nothing, no sign of a pimple, and that relieves me.

  In wagashi-ya Maya accidentally dropped the word SECRET from her lips. It might have had something to do with the motive for murder. What kind of secret was she sharing with Yukio? Did she share it with Reiko and Takeshi as well? Is it something that can be disclosed? Yes, it must be. That’s why Maya became so anxious even as to say that she would kill herself if the secret were exposed to other people.

  Yukio must have left something that could be looked at.

  Something tangible.

  When I am about to put moisturizer on my lips, all fluorescent lights on the ceiling begin to flash on and off at once. Then someone whispers ‘hello’ in my ear from behind.

  I am choked with terror. There is this unearthly presence to be felt in close proximity. The next moment I feel someone or something throwing its arms around my neck from behind.

  Suddenly a weird heaviness rests on my shoulders.

  Oh, no. Help me. Somebody please help me.

  Shh. Stop it, Luna. I’m here to help you. Look at us in the mirror.

  One by one those fluorescent lights on the ceiling are returning to normal.

  Oh no, it’s you.

  Yes, it’s me, Yukio the genius.

  Please take your hands off me, will you?

  Luna, it’s truly unkind of you to say that. I’m basically a well-mannered person, am I not?

  But you look horrible now. Am I daydreaming?

  No, I’m real.

  No, I think you’re a ghost.

  Think different, Luna. I am back, and I’m pleased. Isn’t this something we can celebrate together? Let’s look at us in the mirror once again, shall we?

  The strange thing is that Yukio has only the upper half of the body left with him. What are dangling from the opening of his abdominal cavity are intestines and the viscera. Like serpents, both small and large intestines are coiling themselves around my waist. They feel eerily warm and slimy.

  We’re in public toilets, Yukio. And you’re in Lady’s room. If somebody sees us talking like this, we’d be put into a mental hospital for sure.

  Don’t be skittish. Nobody comes in, I promise. What is so unfortunate is the fact that I look like a disemboweled fish. The train was the Reaper. I’m afraid if I look like I have done hara-kiri too deep and too wide.

  You don’t have to be worried about it, Yukio. You’re already dead.

  How insolent you are. Have mercy on the deceased.

  Whatever you say, you are dead. DEAD.

  Yukio burst into laughter.

  Wow. Was that I said funny that much?

  No, I’m suffering from the paroxysm of laughter. That’s all. I just couldn’t help but laugh. And please regard me a revenant.

  Of course, you’re only a ghost. Where is the pair of your glasses by the way?

  I have no idea. I no longer need it. I think I probably have twenty-twenty vision now.

  I’m glad to hear that. Now you look handsome, I mean, you look better.

  Me? Really?

  Oh, you’re getting heavy. Please get off my back, will you?

  No, I won’t. Did you say I was heavy? It’s a total nonsense. I have already taken half of my weight off. No diet can ever achieve this kind of success this much and this fast. Don’t you remember that I lost half of my weight in a flash? Hey, Luna, listen to this catchy line: ‘While your husband winks, you can lose half of your weight. Visit our clinic in Tokyo with a train ticket in your hand.’ How about this?

  No, stop squeezing me so tight. I can hardly breathe.

  You’re such a liar. I know it’s due to your chronic asthma. It’s not my fault.

  What do you want from me, Yukio?

  You did it very well back in the tearoom. In that wagashi-ya, you acted as if you had been sharing the secret with Maya even though you knew nothing about it. That was quite a performance. She never looked on you with suspicion all the while you were with her. You can be a trickster.

  I’ve never thought of myself capable of doing that kind of thing.

  Did you steal a look at her when Maya bit the lower lip, by the way? Her lip looked like a ripen fruit. I like her lips very much.

  You talk dirty like a grown-up. It doesn’t sound like you the self-styled genius at all. Look at you. Look at your internal organs. These are like grease-stained wires dangling inside the damp elevator shaft.

  Excuse me, but these are not things fa
lling apart. Take my body as beauty of chaos emerging out of darkness.

  Wow. Here comes your legendary delusions of grandeur and that is full of intellectual vanity.

  I appreciate your sharp criticism. Anyhow, I no longer have to buy a pair of shoes.

  Good for you.

  The thing is, everybody dies alone even in a crowd or in the arms of the loved one. It feels so lonely and helpless.

  What is it that you expect me to say?

  Please find out who did this to me, will you? Who killed me? I’m sure you too want to know the answer too.

  But you’re dead already and I owe you nothing.

  That’s exactly why you’re the only one I can count on.

  Professor

  I am about to reach the top of the hill when something begins to haunt me. The tiled roof of Yukio’s house has been clearly visible from here since the whole sky was clouded over. Now the wind becomes surprisingly chilly. I stop in the middle of a narrow street on the hillside where an old residential town spread. Although this street no longer gives me gooseflesh, I still come to feel uncomfortable as I approach the very spot my little sister Naomi had that ill-fated accident.

  There is a red pillar-box on the corner of the sidewalk.

  Whenever I look at it, my legs freeze. There is also a small but an ancient-looking temple surrounded by shadowy bamboo thicket. It looks eternally deserted as was before. On both sides of the stone-flagged gateway are placed two stone statues of guardian dogs in a sitting posture and my little sister Naomi used to touch them by turn as if to stroke living dogs.

  ‘Good boy. Good girl. These dogs are brother and sister,’ she mumbled.

  Naomi was five and I was eleven then.

  What did I see in that public toilets anyway? Was there really the ghost of Yukio or was I just seeing things? Whatever it was, I no longer want to think about it. I am just a typical of Japanese schoolgirl in a private high school. All I know is what I have to do. I think I was born to make a dream of my parents come true, specifically that of my mother. She wants me to be hired by one of top five banks in Japan and to get married to a very promising young executive.

  She says: No matter how severely those top banks get into financial trouble, they would be always bailed out by the government expense, that is, our tax. It is the securest job with good pay and good status. Security is the backbone of life, you know. An adventure is nothing compared to security. It’s like a stopover from one’s life. If there were no home to return, however, would it be possible for the word ‘travel’ to mean something to begin with? Of course, high ambitions alone never bring a secure old age to anyone, but a girl still has to be more ambitious than boys. You have to be ambitious to catch the right spouse.