Breasts and Eggs

by Mieko Kawakami

There must be plenty of girls who haven’t had their period yet, but I feel like I’m the only one left. I wonder what it feels like. I hear it hurts pretty bad, but that’s not even the worst part. Once it starts, it keeps happening, for decades. How does that ever feel normal?

Despite Makiko being, in the present tense, my closest living relative, the bulk of our shared experiences were in the past, from another planet. In that sense, spending time with Makiko meant living in the past.

“And don’t even get me started on how big they are. Even the doctor said, ‘I’m not sure your baby will be able to fit her mouth around these.’ No joke.

Lmao omg

I said that’s great and told Nozomi I would see her soon. But when I got up to go, she started pointing at this pen and paper, like she wanted to write something down. I got them for her, and real slow, she wrote me a note: ‘Sorry. I’m sorry about the bar.’ I was like what are you saying? Don’t apologize. After everything you’ve been through, I said, rubbing her legs for her. It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry. You’re going to get better. We’re strong, stronger than this. I wanted to smile for her, but I couldn’t stop crying. She was crying, too, and her bandages were getting wet. I just sat there and kept

the flyers, from the paper . . . ads for houses, flyers showing floorplans, you can draw on them . . . cover them with windows, little squares, any kind of windows that you like . . . One for Mom, one for Maki, one for Komi, one for everyone, and they can open them any time they want, because once you draw it, once you draw them, the light will come in, and the wind will come in, and that was how I went to sleep.

It’s really scary to think about it, though. Before I was even born, I already had everything I needed to have a baby of my own. In some ways, I was even more prepared than I am now. Set up to give birth, before I was even born . . . This isn’t just in books, though. It’s happening now, as we speak, inside of me. I wish I could rip out all those parts of me, the parts already rushing to give birth. Why does it have to be like this? —Midoriko

Think about how great everything would be if none of us were ever born. No happiness, no sadness. Nothing could ever happen to us then. It’s not our fault that we have eggs and sperm, but we can definitely try harder to keep them from meeting. —Midoriko

“I guess that maybe people need to escape from themselves.” No one had asked me to go on, but I went on. “Or from all the stuff they carry around—the past, memories, all that. For some people, though, that kind of escape isn’t enough. They never want to come back to themselves, so they decide to not live anymore.” Midoriko just stared at me. “Most people can’t, though. So they drink all the time and try to make it go away. I mean, it’s not just drinking, though. There are other ways to escape. People end up doing things they don’t want to do, but sometimes they can’t do anything to stop it. And all those things add up. It’s not good for your body. All the people around you, the people who care about you, they get worried and angry. They’re like come on, snap out of it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. They’re right, too. But I don’t know, it just gets harder.”

“Later that morning, Mom went to work and Dad left the house, too, for once. I stayed there, crying in the corner with that towel in my mouth. Makiko was home. I must have made her late for school. She tried her best to cheer me up. I was a total wreck. “So anyway, she’s like, Natsuko, close your eyes a sec. Don’t open them until I say so. I sat there hugging my knees and crying, and a few minutes later, Maki comes over and says keep your eyes shut and follow me. She grabs my hand, pulls me up, makes me take a couple steps and says okay, open your eyes. “When I do, there are socks and washcloths everywhere. Tissues and mom’s underwear are hanging off all the cabinets and poking out from the drawers, on top of the lampshade and over the laundry line. The whole place is like that. Then she’s like, okay Natsuko, let’s pick grapes now, just the two of us. You see the grapes? They’re all for us.

They took turns, working their way through the carton. Their heads glistened from the eggs. Shells crackled underfoot. The floor puddled with yolk and blobby egg white.

It was only a few minutes to the station, but this was already the most time I’d ever spent alone with Rie. We’d seen each other plenty of times, but I honestly couldn’t say if we’d ever had a conversation. To save us from the awkward silence, I went ahead and asked her about giving a kidney to save her husband. “You were with Yuko, right?” “Actually,” Rie said, glancing my way. “I’d keep it.” “Seriously?” I looked back at her. “Yeah,” she said. “Wow,” I said. “Even if you knew he was gonna die?” “I’d keep it.” she repeated. “Personally, I’d throw mine in the street before giving it to him.” At a loss for what to say, I tried my best to fill the silence. “Well, I guess he’s basically a stranger, right?” “I’d rather give it to a stranger.” Rie said.

Girl? Omg

I was tired. Get out of my sight, all of you. I’m fine, on my own. I was so tired. Even though I’d gotten nothing done. I wound up lying in my bed with my eyes open, deep into the night.

I pulled my notebook from my desk drawer and drew a line through “Sperm Bank Japan” and “direct donation.” There were only two options left: • Denmark Sperm Bank VELKOMMEN • Life without children

How many more times in my life would I sit back like this and find myself transfixed by the blue of the evening? Is this what it means to live and die alone? That you’ll always be in the same place, no matter where you are? “Is that so bad?” I asked myself out loud. I don’t need to tell you that no one answered.

“I think I like the yellows better than the blues. Hey, Natsuko, don’t the blue or I guess white ones feel a little cold to you? What are those called? LEDs? The yellow ones are a whole lot warmer.”

Agree

My lips were burning. When I touched them, I realized the skin was peeling. I wished I had some lip balm. I would’ve smeared it over my lips, then rubbed it over the rest of my face. That’s how much my lips hurt.

I was still really young, and it was just the three of us at home. Me, my sister and my mom. We were just talking and, I don’t know how it came up or why, but me and my sister were like Who do you love more—us or Dad? You know what she said? Your dad, of course. No hesitation. She didn’t even think about it. Can you believe it? We were shocked. We thought she’d get mad at us for even asking and say Of course it’s the two of you—how could you even ask me something like that? Neither of us saw her answer coming. She kept on going, too. I could always have more kids—but there’s no replacing your father. She literally said that. I felt like my heart stopped. I felt like my whole world stopped.

When they settled, Komi was hugging her knees on the floor. I sat beside her, drinking mugicha. We were in our old house by the harbor, leaning against the discolored wooden post, talking and laughing. Komi your knees are huge! Look who’s talking, Natsuko. You’re right, they’re huge! Cause I look more like you than Mom. Mom’s always saying so, how I was always just like you. Whatever, it’s cool. Hey Komi. Know how everybody has to die sometime? Does that mean you’ll die too? Well yeah, I suppose I will . . . Hey, Natsuko, you crying? Come on, there’s nothing to cry about. That won’t happen for a long time. Cheer up. Everything’s fine. Cause when I die, I’ll give you signs. Really? What kind of signs? Too soon for me to say, but I promise I’ll come visit you. I’ll call your name. That’s how you’ll know. You’ll become a ghost? You could say that. Okay. Just don’t be the scary kind of ghost. And don’t forget to visit. No matter what happens. Okay? Sure. I might come as a bird, or a leaf, or the wind, or electricity, but I’ll make sure you can’t miss me. Okay, just promise that you’ll visit, alright? No matter what. Alright, alright. I promise. Okay, you promised—I’ll be waiting, I’ll be waiting. Forever.

At the stairs down to the station, Aizawa thanked me. “This has reminded me how much I used to like to talk,” he said. “I used to talk so much.”

“When you say you want to have a child,” Aizawa said, “what is it you’re after? Do you mean you want to raise a child? Give birth? Get pregnant?” “I’ve asked myself that same thing,” I admitted. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. I guess it’s all of the above. The best way I can put it is I want to know them, this child, whoever they are . . . ” “Know them . . . ” Aizawa solemnly repeated my choice of words. I thought about what I had said, but couldn’t explain what I meant. What made me want to know this person? What did I think it meant to have a kid, or for this kid to have me as a mother? Who, or what, exactly, was I expecting? I knew I wasn’t making any sense, but I was doing all I could to string the words together and convey that meeting this person, whoever they may wind up being, was absolutely crucial to me.

“Later on, I saw her mother. At the hospital. She said she knew it was coming, and she was strong, but then she asked me this. ‘What am I going to do about her eggs?’” “Her eggs?” “Sometimes when young men and women are about to go through radiotherapy or chemo, they freeze their sperm or eggs so they can use them later. To give them the option of having kids, once they’re better. Noriko had done that. But then she died, leaving just her eggs. I can’t imagine how hard it was for her mother. That woman was an extremely thoughtful person. She thanked all the doctors and nurses, but when it was just the two of us, she started crying and told me: ‘Maybe if I used those eggs, I could have Noriko again.’”

what is love if not grief persevering :'(

Through her tears, she asked me, ‘What can I do to get Noriko back? Maybe if I use her eggs, I could have another Noriko.’ There wasn’t anything I could say, anything I could do.” Aizawa exhaled gently. “I’m not sure why, but what you said reminded me of that, of Noriko.”

“She’s definitely the best part of me, and my ultimate weakness. She’s part of me, but she’s also out there in the world. Anything could happen, she could get sick or die in some freak accident. Thinking about that, even for a second, scares me so bad I can’t breathe. Having a kid around is terrifying.”

I mean, a man can never understand what really matters to a woman. Ever. When you say this sort of thing, people are quick to call you narrow-minded, or say you’ve never known true love or whatever. They say you can’t lump all men together like that, but sadly it’s just the truth. No man will ever understand the things that really matter to a woman. If you think about it, it’s just obvious.”

“But what do you mean about ‘what matters to a woman’?” “I mean the pain,” said Rika. “How much it hurts to be a woman. If you say that, though, people look at you like you’re throwing yourself a pity party. They’ll tell you how men have a lot of pain to deal with, too . . . but sure. Who said they didn’t? They’re alive, now, aren’t they? Of course they live with pain. The difference is, who’s putting them through that pain? How can they make it better? Who’s to blame for hurting all these men?”

“Then there are the real bastards, like my ex,” she shook her head. “He went around, patting himself on the back, like he’s so much better than all those men. ‘I know the pain that women feel, I respect women. I’ve written papers about it, I know where all the landmines are. My favorite author is Virginia Woolf’ and all that . . . So fucking what, though, right? How many times did you clean the house last month? How many times did you cook? How many times did you go grocery shopping?”

“In other words,” he said, blinking repeatedly, “I have the very highest quality of semen. As potent as it gets.”

This guy is a trip

I watched the ice cubes shifting in my glass of tea. Was this guy for real? Was this legit or what? After that preamble, had any women actually taken home his sperm and used it to get pregnant?

I watched the words come and go. I couldn’t even blink. I felt unbelievably sad. My throat quivered. I placed my palm against my chest. I knew that me and Naruse were still alive and everything, but the people we were then, back when he sang to me, were gone forever. It hurt so bad I thought my heart was going to pop. It pained me to remember Naruse, the teenage Naruse who was gone now, and the way he’d felt about me back then. He really cared about me, even though I was a lost cause with nowhere to go. Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older. We could say goodnight and stay together. Wouldn’t it be nice. Wouldn’t it be nice—but that was a long, long time ago. Now I was in Tokyo, in Sangenjaya—all alone.

“I’m sure you’ve given a lot of thought to how to have your baby, but have you really thought about what that really means?” I looked at my own knees in silence. “What if you have a child, and that child wishes with every bone in her body that she’d never been born?”

People always find a way to justify their behavior. You tell yourself that’s the way it is, then do whatever you want.”

Every morning, I always followed Mom out to the payphone she called Komi from. If it sounded like Komi was coming, I became totally fixated and ran down to the station, literally hours early, to sit down by the ticket gate and wait for her. When she arrived, I jumped into her arms. I loved her smell.

That empty lot where all the weeds are growing used to be a takoyaki spot. The place was always packed. They had a cute picture of Lum Invader from Urusei Yatsura on the sign. The old lady who ran the shop had painted it herself. She drew me Lum a bunch of times, like it was nothing. I used to think she was the one who created her.

Urusei Yatsura metioned