Out

by Natsuo Kirino

They were quite a trio: a son who had given up both education and conversation, a husband in the grips of a depression, and Masako who had opted for the night shift after being downsized from her own company. Just as they had decided to sleep in separate bedrooms, they seemed to have chosen to shoulder their own separate burdens and inhabit their own solitary realities.

“I don’t know how to thank you, but I’ll find a way. I can pay you,” Yayoi said. “I don’t want your money.” “Why not? Why would you be willing to do all this?” she went on as she lifted Kenji by the arms. “I’m not sure,” said Masako, grabbing the limp legs of the man who had once been Yayoi’s husband. “But I’ll figure that out later.”

He was in his late thirties, swarthy, with close-cropped hair, small, upturned eyes, and full lips. Though he wasn’t exactly handsome, there was a composure in his face that made it appealing. But his clothes were ridiculously loud. A slick black designer suit that ill suited his sturdy frame, topped off with a gaudy tie. A gold Rolex and a gold Cartier lighter. The effect was almost comic, and strikingly at odds with the mournful look in his eyes. His eyes. His eyes were like well water. Anna remembered a photo she’d seen in a magazine somewhere of a dark pool hidden away in a high mountain valley. The water was steel gray, still and cold, and Anna had imagined that its depths sheltered strange creatures in the tangles of water grass. No swimmer, nor any boat, would go near a pool like that. At night, the black crater would suck up the starlight, while its strange inhabitants watched unnoticed from the depths. Maybe the man beside her had chosen his shiny costume to keep people from looking into his own dark pool.

“The one good thing about it is that it pays twenty-five percent more than the day shift.” “I don’t see how that could be enough to make a difference,” he said. “Maybe not. But if you had the choice of spending three hours less on the job for the same pay, it might make sense.” “I see your point,” he said, though it was obvious he didn’t. “I suppose it’s hard to understand if you’ve never had a part-time job.” “Not many men do,” he said, failing to see the irony in this admission. “If you did, I think you’d see that it’s only natural to want to make a little extra pay for a little less work.” “Even if it means living your life out of sync with the rest of the world?” “Even then.”

She seemed to contain two contradictory impulses, like two sides of a coin: a longing to be rich, to dress up and flaunt herself, and feelings of worthlessness that made her want to curl up in the dark where no one could see her. Maybe she should just declare bankruptcy. She had toyed with the idea, but if she went ahead with it, she might be cut off from her precious credit cards for life. There was always the old solution of trying to live within her means—but she’d rather die than do that!

“Your payment’s due, isn’t it?” said Masako, dispensing with formalities. Apparently she hadn’t forgotten. “That’s right. I’m wondering what I should do.” “Don’t ask me. It’s your problem.” “But didn’t you say we’d get another loan to cover this one?” she whined, feeling she’d been misled. “So go get one,” Masako told her. “I’m sure you’ll find someone dumb enough to lend you more money. Use that to pay off Jumonji and then go find another to pay off that one.” “How does that solve anything? I’ll just be running in circles.” “What do you think you’ve been doing?” “Don’t say that! I’m asking you what I should do.” “You are not. You don’t want advice, you want money.”

She would worry about the consequences later, for right now she felt she was getting even with them. She’d never been any good at deferring her pleasures, but for the moment at least she could defer the pain.

She’d begun to wear clothes that pleased her again, as she had when she was working at the credit union. She knew why: she was in the process of reassembling a self she’d thrown out long ago. But as the pieces came together again, she realized she was no longer the same woman, like a broken doll that could never quite be whole again.

She looked across the table at him. She knew very little about the world, but she could tell this man was dangerous, that he’d probably had experiences good and bad she couldn’t even imagine, and that he was free now to do whatever he wanted. She had probably never passed anyone like him on the street. Their worlds were so completely different that it seemed strange they should even speak the same language.

He remembered how Anna had accused him of treating her like a lapdog. For just a moment, he missed the smooth skin and perfect features of the woman he’d turned into the top girl at Mika. The top pet in the shop. Anna herself had known that once she’d realized this, she would never be able to keep that position, however hard she tried. That was just the way things worked. She’d been so popular precisely because she hadn’t known she was a pet. But it was all over the minute it dawned on her, and there would always be a shadow of self-awareness from then on. It was a quality that was essential in a woman for a man to fall in love with her; but men who were only interested in buying a woman’s body hated it with a vengeance. They wanted good looks untouched by any self-knowledge; not a cat but a kitten.