“It’s because the woman might come again. That’s why Mother asked you.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Mother’s seen the woman. She saw her the other night.”
I stopped sewing for a second and looked up at Mariko. She had turned away from the window and was gazing at me with a strangely expressionless look.
“Where did your mother see this — this person?”
“Out there. She saw her out there. That’s why she asked you.”
Mariko came away from the window and returned to her kittens. The older cat had appeared and the kittens had curled up to their mother. Mariko lay down beside them and started to whisper. Her whispering had a vaguely disturbing quality.
“Your mother should be home soon,” I said. “I wonder what she can be doing.”
Mariko continued whispering.
“She was telling me all about Frank-San,” I said. “He sounds a very nice man.”
The whispering noises stopped. We stared at each other for a second.
“He’s a bad man,” Mariko said.
“Now that’s not a nice thing to say, Mariko-San. Your mother told me all about him and he sounds very nice. And I’m sure he’s very kind to you, isn’t he?”
She got to her feet and went to the wall. The spider was still there.
“Yes, I’m sure he’s a nice man. He’s kind to you, isn’t he, Mariko-San?”
Mariko reached forward. The spider moved quite slowly along the wall.
“Mariko, leave that alone.”
“The cat we had in Tokyo, she used to catch spiders. We were going to bring her with us.”
I could see the spider more clearly in its new position. It had thick short legs, each leg casting a shadow on the yellow wall.
“She was a good cat,” Mariko continued. “She was going to come with us to Nagasaki.”
“And did you bring her?”
“She disappeared. The day before we were leaving. Mother promised we could bring her, but she disappeared.”
“I see.”
She moved suddenly and caught one of the spider’s legs. The remaining legs crawled frantically around her hand as she brought it away from the wall.
“Mariko, let that go. That’s dirty.”
Mariko turned over her hand and the spider crawled into her palm. She closed her other hand over it so that it was imprisoned.
“Mariko, put that down.”
“It’s not poisonous,” she said, coming closer to me.
“No, but it’s dirty. Put it back in the corner.”
“It’s not poisonous though.”
She stood in front of me, the spider inside her cupped hands. Through a gap in her fingers, I could see a leg moving slowly and rhythmically.
“Put it back in the corner, Mariko.”
“What would happen if I ate it? It’s not poisonous.”
“You’d be very sick. Now, Mariko, put it back in the corner.”
Mariko brought the spider closer to her face and parted her lips.
“Don’t be silly, Mariko. That’s very dirty.”
Her mouth opened wider, and then her hands parted and the spider landed in front of my lap. I started back. The spider sped along the tatami into the shadows behind me. It took me a moment to recover, and by then Mariko had left the cottage.
Chapter Six
I cannot be sure now how long I spent searching for her that night. Quite possibly it was for a considerable time, for I was advanced in my pregnancy by then and careful to avoid hurried movements. Besides, once having come outside, I was finding it strangely peaceful to walk beside the river. Along one section of the bank, the grass had grown very tall. I must have been wearing sandals that night for I can remember distinctly the feel of the grass on my feet. As I walked, there were insects making noises all around me.
Then eventually I became aware of a separate sound, a rustling noise as if a snake were sliding in the grass behind me. I stopped to listen, then realized what had caused it; an old piece of rope had tangled itself around my ankle and I had been dragging it through the grass. I carefully released it from around my foot. When I held it up to the moonlight it felt damp and muddy between my fingers.
“Hello, Mariko,” I said, for she was sitting in the grass a short way in front of me, her knees hunched up to her chin. A willow tree — one of several that grew on the bank — hung over the spot where she sat. I took a few steps towards her until I could make out her face more clearly.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Nothing. It just tangled on to my foot when I was walking.”
“What is it though?”
“Nothing, just a piece of old rope. Why are you out here?”
“Do you want to take a kitten?”
“A kitten?”
“Mother says we can’t keep the kittens. Do you want one?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But we have to find homes for them soon. Or else Mother says we’ll have to drown them.”
“That would be a pity.”
“You could have Atsu.”
“We’ll have to see.”
“Why have you got that?”
“I told you, it’s nothing. It just caught on to my foot.” I took a step closer. “Why are you doing that, Mariko?”
“Doing what?”
“You were making a strange face just now.”
“I wasn’t making a strange face. Why have you got the rope?”
“You were making a strange face. It was a very strange face.”
“Why have you got the rope?”
I watched her for a moment. Signs of fear were appearing on her face.
“Don’t you want a kitten then?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so. What’s the matter with you?”
Mariko got to her feet. I came forward until I reached the willow tree. I noticed the cottage a short distance away, the shape of its roof darker than the sky. I could hear Mariko’s footsteps running off into the darkness.
When I reached the door of the cottage, I could hear Sachiko’s voice from within, talking angrily. They both turned to me as I came in. Sachiko was standing in the middle of the room, her daughter before her. In the light cast by the lantern, her carefully prepared face had a masklike quality.
“I fear Mariko’s been giving you trouble,” she said to me.
“Well, she ran outside …”
“Say sorry to Etsuko-San.” She gripped Mariko’s arm roughly.
“I want to go outside again.”
“You won’t move. Now apologize.”
“I want to go outside.”
With her free hand, Sachiko slapped the child sharply on the back of her thigh. “Now, apologize to Etsuko-San.”
Small tears were appearing in Mariko’s eyes. She looked at me briefly, then turned back to her mother. “Why do you always go away?”
Sachiko raised her hand again warningly.
“Why do you always go away with Frank-San?”
“Are you going to say you’re sorry?”
“Frank-San pisses like a pig. He’s a pig in a sewer.”
Sachiko stared at her child, her hand still poised in the air.
“He drinks his own piss.”
“Silence.”
“He drinks his own piss and he shits in his bed.”
Sachiko continued to glare, but remained quite still.
“He drinks his own piss.” Mariko pulled her arm free and walked across the room with an air of nonchalance. At the entryway she turned and stared back at her mother. “He pisses like a pig,” she repeated, then went out into the darkness.
Sachiko stared at the entryway for some moments, apparently oblivious of my presence.
“Shouldn’t someone go after her?” I said, after a while.
Sachiko looked at me and seemed to relax a little. “No,” she said, sitting down. “Leave her.”