I’ve never been so grateful to work with children. Something about being immersed in their teeming world of germs and boogers and open-air coughing has fortified my immune system. Ever since Wednesday night I’ve been feeling out of sorts, but nothing like what the others must be feeling. Yoshino took her first sick day ever yesterday, and the other teachers are in various stages of cold and flu. I seem to be the only one unaffected, otherwise I’d say we’d been drugged. I do feel something though. Light-headed. Ever since salsa night I’ve been walking on the bottom of the ocean; a very relaxed state for the past forty-eight hours. I try to remember the last time I felt so at ease. Before I got mono, that’s for sure. It feels like a strange form of déjà vu.
There is more déjà vu waiting for me when the elevator doors slide closed on my Senior students. It is now eerily quiet for a Friday night at Zozo. No kids, no teachers, no light evening chit-chat with live human beings. Sadly, Lieko is the only sign of life I can see. Rather than bothering to make small talk with her, I head back to Room Five to tidy up my things. The only other teacher who isn’t sick from Wednesday night, Lieko is solely focused on typing away whatever report she has on the reception desk computer, with a look on her face like she’s been drinking vinegar. I think I know why she didn’t get sick: my hypothesis is it had something to do with that lotus-laden sangria, but that still doesn’t make sense. I drank it, and I was fine.
First I clean up my cards and Jenga pieces, then fold up the tables and push them up against the wall, leaving one table in the corner. It’s all I need to do to get the room ready for Hitomu. He didn’t show up for his makeup lesson yesterday, and after drilling Manager, despite his wicked hangover, I learned that I’d be getting a bonus for Hitomu coming in tonight. That’s all I’m going to keep telling myself to get through this last hour of the night.
To kill a little more time (and look busy), I retrieve the “窓” rag from the washroom and go around the school, cleaning up the viewing windows in each room. Still no students, no teachers in sight. Even Manager has disappeared somewhere. Déjà vu, indeed. If the lights weren’t on and Lieko wasn’t sitting on the other side of the reception desk, I’d grab my things and run home.
I pass through the silent lobby again. Lieko still doesn’t look up from the computer, but I’m out of things to do. “Where is everyone?” I finally ask.
“We have a very important meeting with Bucho at eight o’clock tonight,” Lieko says to the monitor. “But we have final lesson with Hitomu, so I must stay here until he is finished with you.”
That didn’t answer my question at all. I study her for a moment. “Lieko, where the heck did you learn to talk to people like that?” I want to add “Bitchy University?” but I’ve said enough to make my point.
She looks up at me, for once. Her face is like stone. “I beg your pardon?”
Down the hall the washroom door opens. I hear a young woman’s voice saying something about behaving so well for Liekosensei. Hitomu and his mother come down the hallway. Odd. I didn’t even hear them come in. They must have shown up during my Senior lesson. And to add to my surprise, the little toddler in the Snoopy onesie is replying with words instead of the high-pitched shrieks I now remember.
“Okay, Hitomu, time for Cybelle’s lesson!” Lieko steps out from the reception desk to greet them in her professional, high-pitched voice. “Please do your best, ne?”
“Ah, Sensei, yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” Hitomu’s mother says with a low bow. She murmurs something to Hitomu, who gives me a wide-eyed look but says nothing.
“Oh! Cybelle-sensei, Hitomu say he missed you!” Lieko kneels down to Hitomu, praising him, grinning her widest without so much as a glance in my direction. His mother bows again and releases his hand to Lieko; they turn down the hall to Room Five as if I’m not even there. I follow, allowing myself a tiny shrug. Fine, whatever. Let’s get this over with. Then I can chill out in the staff room while the others suffer through their long-winded meeting. Someone will probably just send me home.
“Ah, there you are, Cybelle-sensei! Yes! Okay! Let’s enjoy English! Do your best, Hitomu!” Lieko strides out of the room, closing the classroom door firmly behind her. I spy her hovering in the window as I grab my things from the box, and I assume she’s holding the doorknob on the other side just in case Hitomu makes a break for it. But there’s no need today. Hitomu sits like a perfect student on the floor, hands in his lap, eyes downcast. He still looks like he doesn’t get much sleep for a three-year-old … but on the bright side, I can hear myself think.
“Hello, Hitomu, how are you?”
Hitomu’s eyes lift to meet mine, as if he’s noticed I’m there for the first time. “I’m-fine-thank-you-and-you?” he whispers.
“Wow — I mean, I’m great! Thank you for asking! High-five?” I tease him a little, moving my hand so he has to try and hit a moving target. It makes him smile a little. “Good job, Hitomu! What’s that, Jibanyan? You want to sing the ‘Hello Song’ to Hitomu? Okay, let’s do it! Hello, hello hello hello, hello hello hello, hello hello what’s your name?”
“I’m Hitomu.”
“Holy cra— uh, great job, Hitomu! What’s that, Jibanyan?
Another song? Well, sure, why not? Hitomu, would you like to sing a song with me? Jibanyan, can we sing the ‘Welcome Song,’ too? Hello, hello, hello, and how are you? I’m fine, I’m fine, and I hope that you are too! Good job! High-five! Now let’s stand up!”
I make a rising gesture with my hands and stand. Hitomu smiles a little more as he rises to his feet. Shock is an understatement for what I’m feeling right now. He didn’t even wipe his hands after my high-five. As I start the song on the CD player, he claps and sways back and forth a little. I wonder how long it took Lieko to teach him the “I’m fine” reply as we dance to “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” together. Pretty good for someone his age. As we move, Hitomu goes through the motions slightly faster than the song recites the names of body parts. He even seems to know the “Baby Shark” song. Since when did the little guy become such an expert? Maybe … wait, why does all this feel so familiar? Have we done all this before? This déjà vu thing is getting out of hand. I stop the CD player and dig through my teacher’s box.
“You know something, Hitomu, you’ve done such a good job I think you deserve some … bubbles! Would you like some bubbles?”
Hitomu gasps. “Shabondama …”
“Then let’s say, ‘Bubbles, please!’”
“Bubble, pwease!” Suddenly, Hitomu crosses his legs. “Ah! Oshikko.” His voice is barely a whisper. He has to go pee.
“Oh! Okay, sure, go ahead.”
I open the door and peek outside. I can’t see Lieko at the reception desk; she must be in the staff room or something. Thank goodness or this would be awkward. Hitomu scoots to the washroom, holding his crotch. When I follow after him, he waves his hand in protest. “Jibun de dekiru,” he says at normal volume. He can go by himself.
“Great! Go nuts.”
He shuts the door behind him, singing what I understand to be a song about going potty. Impressive. Here I was bracing myself for the screaming of a lifetime. Whatever phase Hitomu was going through seems to have ended. I almost feel sad that he won’t have any more lessons here. Oh, well. Shou ga nai. With nothing to do but wait for him, I go to the lobby and see if his mother is still there. I’d love to get insight on what cured her son of his gaijin terror.
His mother is gone. No one’s here except for Lieko, who is no longer sitting behind the reception desk. She’s kind of squeezed into a corner, like she’s hiding. Afraid of something. Maybe there’s a spider on the floor.
“Wow. The business meeting is that boring, huh?” I ask as a joke. Of course, she doesn’t reply; I don’t expect her to. I sift through the foam puzzles on the desk. Hitomu might like to do one of these. Lieko turns her head and watches me so intensely I expect her to yell at me to get back to the room and stop wasting Hitomu’s mother’s time, but she says nothing.
“What is it? Another spider? Should I get the spray?”
No answer. She just stands there, staring down the hall now, hands clenched so hard her knuckles are turning white. It’s like she doesn’t even know I’m here.
“Let me guess; you want me to get back to work? Well, you can relax. Hitomu’s in the washroom. Listen. Hear him?”
Down the hall the water in the washroom is running. “Te o aratte, te, te, te,” Hitomu sings.
Lieko relaxes, slightly. She peels herself from the wall, sits back down in the receptionist chair, and takes a deep breath as she smooths her hair and her suit. “Good. If that is the case … just do your job.”
I kinda saw it coming, but it still makes me suck in my breath to hear her say it. “What?”
“We must be professional, no matter what. And so must you. Go back, now.”
“Are you serious? You’re telling me I can’t leave the room even if the kid has to go pee? You know what? No. You’re not serious.” I find the puzzle I’m looking for, deliberately taking my time to make sure all the pieces are there before turning on my heel. She can’t tell me what to do.
Lieko shakes her head. “Never mind,” she sighs. “Just return to your room before Hitomu.” I turn to leave when I hear her mutter under her breath: “Yokatta, kidzuite inai.”
Thank goodness, she doesn’t get it.
Now I’m peeved. This was so close to being a perfectly good day. “You know something, you’ve got some nerve. Of course I get it. And I’ve understood Japanese for the past seven years. Just because I’m not Japanese doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. You need to chill out, you know. My successor may not be so willing to take your crap.”
Something about that last remark makes Lieko open her mouth to say something, but I don’t give her the chance. I head back to my room. The washroom door is wide open, which means Hitomu’s waiting for me. Good timing. Another moment of standing in this woman’s presence and I’d probably take a swing at her. At least, that’s what the old Cybelle would have wanted to do. The new and improved Cybelle is still as professional as ever. And for the sake of staying sane for the next three months, I can swallow my words and keep my cool for this little boy.
I stop just outside Room Four to take a few deep breaths. It’s quiet in my room. In fact, all of Zozo is quiet. I can barely hear the staff meeting down at the other end of the school. I don’t even hear Lieko at the reception desk. All I can hear is Hitomu’s quiet, quivering voice, murmuring something. He must be singing to himself again. Poor kid. I’ve kept him waiting long enough. I continue down the hall to Room Five. “All right, Hitomu! You ready for some bubbles …?”
Hitomu is not alone. There’s a woman in here. An old, dishevelled-looking woman. Her back is turned to me, but I can tell by her long, greying hair and her greying rags of a dress that she should not be here. She’s standing over Hitomu, who is cowering under the tables pushed up against the wall, squeezing himself into the corner of the room so hard his tear-stained cheeks are turning red.
“Tabetai,” the old woman croaks, tottering closer and closer to where Hitomu hides. “Oishi-sou, yawaraka-sou. Tabetai.” So tasty, so tender. I want to eat.
The puzzle falls from my hands. I don’t know what to do. Do I shout for Lieko to call 119? Do I burst in on the staff meeting to get help? Do I tackle the old woman and tell Hitomu to run for it? I’m frozen in place, watching a horror movie unfold before my eyes. I seriously don’t know what to do.
“Please,” I hear Hitomu whimper. “Don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me, please don’t eat me.”
“Tabetaaaai …” I want to eat.
“No. Please don’t.”
The old woman wobbles back and forth, moaning over and over again. “Tabetai. Ta. Be. Ta. I. Tabetaaaaaaaai.”
“I don’t want you to eat me,” Hitomu whispers one more time.
The old woman goes quiet. Then something in her snaps. With a wet snarl, she shoots out a hand and grabs Hitomu’s short hair, like she’s trying to rip his scalp off. “TABETAI.”
Option three it is.
In the split second it takes to lunge at her and slam her into the wall, a dozen thoughts go through my head. Most of them revolve around getting arrested, losing my work visa, and being deported over arm-barring a decrepit old woman. The others are about how little I care. The next thing I know, I have the old woman’s gaunt wrists bound in my hands behind her back. Hitomu is hiding behind me, still crying. It won’t be easy to drag her all the way to the elevator. A faster way pops into my mind. The emergency exit.
“Hitomu-kun, hijouguchi,” I tell him.
Without hesitation he runs out the door. I pull the old woman nice and hard (I hope it hurts) and herd her in front of me just around the corner of the hall. Hitomu reaches up on his toes to push the handlebar of the emergency exit. It’s too high for him. “Scooch over,” I say, not really caring if he understands me or not, but he does. He ducks out of the way as I push the old woman ahead of me, kick the door open, and shove her into the stairwell.
“Hhhhrrrnngh …” she turns and snarls at me. Now I recognize her. I have seen this woman before. Here and there, around town. She’s the same woman who spat at me a few months back, for sure. What she’s doing here, how she got here, or why she’s attacking my student, I don’t know. Don’t care, either.
But now that she has seen me apparently she has something to say. “Hrngh … gaijin … kuso, baku-gaijin …”
She lunges at me with another snarl. I hiss back at her like a snake. “Put one of those chicken-bony fingers on my student again,” I add, “and I’ll eat your fucking face.”
She reels back, afraid, and retreats into the stair railing. I step back inside and let the door slam shut on its own with a resounding, satisfying clang. The door does not open again.
“You all right, buddy?” I turn and kneel to Hitomu’s level. Without warning, he runs right at me. I have no idea what he’s doing until I feel his chubby arms wrap tight around my neck and his little feet scrambling up my torso. It feels like a small hyperactive monkey scuttling up my tree trunk of a body. “Daijoubu?”
He’s not crying anymore, but his voice is still unsteady. “Un. Daijoubu.”
I have no choice but to pick him up as I stand. “Shinpai shinaide ne,” I pat him on the back. “She’s not coming back.” I turn to the door just to make sure. I can’t hear any gurgling or snarling anymore on the other side, but I don’t hear footsteps retreating down the stairs, either. Just silence.
“Cybelle-sensei, arigatou,” Hitomu whispers into my ear.
Aw. I rub his back again. “Dou itashimashite, Hitomu-kun.”
He giggles. Then he sits upright in my arms. “Ah, mite! Liekosensei da!”
Uh-oh.
I turn around. Sure enough, Lieko is standing right there, holding Hitomu’s bag. She does not look happy.
“Okay, Hitomu-kun!” She extends a hand. “Let’s play in our colouring book while we wait for Mommy!”
Hitomu turns to be let down to the floor. I comply, still kneeling as I watch him take Lieko’s hand and let her escort him back to the lobby. I’m in trouble, I know it. The look Lieko gives me over her shoulder cements it.
I follow them both. Hitomu hops onto one of the stools at the reception desk while Lieko pulls out his colouring book and crayons. Happy as a clam, Hitomu picks up a pink crayon and scrawls all over the picture of Zozo the Clown counting cookies. “Mite,” he points to the pink circles. “Akumu ja nai yo, donatsu da yo!” They aren’t nightmares; they’re donuts.
“Good job, Hitomu!” Lieko sings. “Now, Cybelle-sensei and I must talk in staff room. Please, keep colouring! Cybelle-sensei, will you join me in staff room?”
Nice try. “I think we should wait until Hitomu’s mother gets here.”
“Cybelle-sensei,” Lieko’s voice drops an octave or two. “I must have serious talk with you.”
I look her dead in the eye. “I’m not leaving him here alone.”
Her smile flickers and becomes a frown. I continue to watch Hitomu colour, his legs swinging excitedly. I even draw a cupcake with him when he offers me a couple of crayons. Lieko can drop all the hints that I’m in some level of trouble. I’ve got words for her, too. I have seen and heard some wild shit here in Japan and as time went on things have bounced off me or at least made interesting bar anecdotes. What happened today is different, and I plan to let his mother know as much.
“Nani shiten no?” Hitomu asks when I start a new doodle.
“I’m drawing footprints,” I answer.
“Eh? ‘Pootfrents’?”
“Footprints.”
“‘Pootfrents’?” He tilts his head. “Nande?”
“Nande ya nen!” I respond. He bursts into giggles, asking “Nande?” again and again, laughing harder each time I repeat myself. This goes on for about five minutes. Then, something in his face changes. “Sawatte ii?” he asks, reaching for my face. Smiling, I nod. He strokes my cheek, and then the back of my hand. “Eh … meccha yawarakai,” he whispers, holding my hand. Super-soft.
Hitomu’s mother steps off the elevator. Her arms are laden with a bouquet of flowers and a small paper shopping bag. “Eh? Hitomu-kun?” she says at the sight of him peacefully sitting at the reception.
“Mama!” Hitomu leaps down from his stool and runs into his mother’s arms, chattering away about the stickers he got in Lieko’s class and how he did his best today in mine. Lieko jumps right in, interrupting him with deep, polite bows and high-pitched Japanese about how his lesson went. I listen for keywords but hear nothing about a strange woman breaking into Zozo and attacking him. Guess that’s up to me —
“Cybelle-sensei, arigatou!” His mother suddenly turns to me. “Anou, purezento … sankyuu purezento …” she hands Hitomu the flowers and the bag. He toddles over and hands both to me. I kneel down to receive them.
“Oh, wow! Thank you!” I bow. I wasn’t expecting this.
“Yes. Eeto … Hitomu thank you. For lesson. Eh … he loves … Cybelle-sensei, so he … anou …” she explains the rest in Japanese, that he asked his mother to get presents for me. He picked them out himself. I find it odd that they’re both for me, and they brought nothing for Lieko, but I keep my mouth shut and open the bag.
It’s a Peanuts pencil case. Hitomu leans over and points at the characters. “Snoopy da yo. Charlie Brown da yo.” He points to the red wagon Snoopy is sitting in. “Hitomu no wagon da yo.”
“Aw, thank you, Hitomu-kun. I love them! Purezento daisuki. Arigatou!”
“Cybelle-sensei, daisuki!” Hitomu wraps his arms around my neck, then runs to his mother.
Whoa. None of my young students call me by my full name, let alone tell me they love me. My eyes sting.
Manager steps out of Room Three to bid them farewell as Hitomu’s mother puts his Mickey Mouse winter coat on him. Now is my chance. “Hey, Manager,” I call to him. “Can you translate something to Hitomu’s mother for me? I want to tell her, and you, about this —”
“Ah,” Lieko interrupts. “But, Hitomu has an appointment from now, so they must go. Maybe, another time, they will visit Zozo, but for now they must leave quickly.” She turns back to Hitomu and his mother, who have already boarded the elevator, and continues thanking them. Maybe Lieko is telling the truth. The mother does seem to be in a hurry, scooping Hitomu into her arms. Lieko and Manager bow several times as the doors close. Hitomu waves at me one more time. And that’s it. No more Hitomu.
“How were the lessons?” Manager asks.
“They were fine,” Lieko plants herself between me and Manager before I can speak, explaining something to him in rapid-fire Japanese. Again, I don’t catch the word “obaachan” or anything remotely close to what happened today. Do I tell him? It seems pointless now that Hitomu and his mother have left, potentially forever. It’s worth a shot, though.
“Manager, something —”
“Cybelle, please sit and relax in staff room,” Manager switches to English. “We will finish meeting soon, and then we can all go home. Otsukaresama!” He takes off, back to Room Three, mid-sentence.
“Hai,” I reply to the door slamming shut. Although I only have fifteen minutes left on the clock, it doesn’t sound like a bad suggestion. At least, not until Lieko steps in, slides the door closed behind her and stands over me.
“Cybelle,” Lieko folds her arms. “Do you know what you have done?”
“Let me guess.” I stare back up at her, nonchalant. I can’t let her scare me. “Is this about me speaking Japanese?”
“It is about more than that. You shouldn’t have —”
“Stop. Right. There.” I stand up. “First off, my speaking Japanese with a three-year-old is the least of our problems. If you’re going to let some homicidal woman off the street wander into our school, you have no right to tell me off about anything. His mother needed to know —”
“His mother would have never believed us. There was no point in worrying her about her son any more than she needs to be. Hitomu has a problem. A problem that he has to deal with himself.”
What the hell? “A ‘problem’?! You call what happened a ‘problem’?! No. Tomohide humping the floor is a problem. The jumping spiders in Room Three are a problem. An old woman trying to rip your hair out and eat you is —”
Lieko shakes her head like I’m the idiot. “Please, keep your voice down. The teachers are still in important meeting. You do not understand. You were not born here. We’re not like you. Just stick to what you know from now on and everything will be fine when you go home. We don’t need you bringing down this school any more.”
On the other side of the staff room wall I can hear the teachers filing out of Room Three. The staff meeting is over, yet for whatever reason Lieko has chosen this moment to vent her true feelings toward me. Well, bring it, woman. “How exactly did I bring this school down by talking to a little boy in the only language he understands? Let’s hear it, Lieko.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Coddling the students. You give them special treatment and it will bring them down. I wasn’t coddled. I didn’t have that luxury to have someone rescue me. That child will have to deal with it his whole life. Just like that teacher you all fell so madly in love with has had to deal with it his whole life. Well, he seemed to be doing just fine. Fine enough to ruin our whole school year so he could flirt with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve said all I needed to say.”
I forget all about keeping my voice down. “That teacher …?” Wait. She’s talking about the guy Yoshino wanted me to remember. Memories of that strange girl who spoke to me in Kobe flood my mind. “You remember him! What happened to him? Where is he? Who is he?”
Lieko turns her back to me, arranging and collecting papers from the workbench. “That’s not our problem. Our problem is doing our jobs and dealing with the mess he left us.”
The mess? “You mean the typhoon day …?” I think hard. I still can’t remember. Everything is so fuzzy. “Lieko, this is important. I need you to tell me what —”
“No. I won’t talk about him anymore. And don’t you dare tell anyone about him, either. I’m the one who’s had to reschedule everyone and deal with everything after it happened. Don’t tell me you’ve seen him again.” She glares at me.
“Of course not. That’s why I’m —”
“Good. Bring him back and I’ll have you fired.” She turns away again, talking more to herself as she picks up her things: “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ve worked too hard to come this far. Monsutaa like you are NOT ruining my life anymore, and if Hitomu is lucky, one day he will say the same.”
Monsutaa. Monsters. Everything goes numb. “What did you call me?”
Lieko doesn’t answer, or maybe she didn’t hear me. She’s already walking out the door, greeting Bucho and thanking her for all her hard work. She slides the door closed behind her, apologizing for missing the meeting, she had something to deal with …
I’m left in the staff room, alone and stunned and angry. Not just angry. My blood is boiling. My armpits are sweating, my heart is racing. I want to scream every Japanese profanity I can think of. Not the best idea with all my co-workers and the regional manager on the other side of the door. I want to punch the wall, but it’s painted concrete. No. It’s fine. I can hold back the tears. I can take my anger home. I can keep it balled up in the hollow of my stomach until I get into the elevator, at the very least. I just need to sign out, pick up my things, otsukaresama my way out as I get my shoes and everything will be fine. Professional, polite, and playful. I can do this.
I sign out on the staff room computer. I push in the stool I was sitting on under the workbench. I stomp over to the cupboard. No sign of my purse. “Son of a bitch, not again. Not today …” I scan every shelf, moving over binders and boxes.
And that’s when I locate it. It’s been shoved deep into a corner, squashed right under Lieko’s giant Louis Vuitton bag.
I CAN’T DO THIS.
With an unrepressed roar, I grab Lieko’s purse and hurl it at the staff room door. It isn’t until it leaves my fingers that I realize her purse is open. That, or I just broke the zipper. Either way, the spray of cosmetics and pens and wallet and sanitary napkins and notebooks as the bag bursts against the door is the most satisfying exhibition of rage I have ever experienced.
“Eh?! Nani? What was that?!” Bucho says on the other side of the door.
Uh-oh.
Lieko slides it open again. She looks at me, then down at the carnage of her belongings on the floor, then back to me. I don’t care. I’m ready. Ready for her to lunge at me like that old woman lunged at Hitomu. Ready to physically defend myself. Ready with that list of Japanese curse words running through my head just a few moments ago. I’m ready for this bitch.
“Lieko-sensei.” Manager’s voice is gentle. “Cybelle-sensei. Come with me, please?”
With a dignified sniff, Lieko turns and follows Manager to Room One. I step over the mess and follow, maintaining the same arrogant look on my face. I’m about to get it. Not sure how much Lieko will get, but I am definitely about to get it. Three months ago, I would have been in tears. Now, I am defiant. They won’t fire me for throwing someone’s purse, not if I apologize enough.
Conveniently, there’s only one chair in the room. Manager takes it once he closes the door behind me. Arms folded, he first lectures Lieko about everything she said to me, which was all completely audible on the other side of the door. He tries to get the details out of her on what exactly she was talking about, because he couldn’t understand it all, but his questions are all rhetorical, so Lieko answers none of them. She simply looks down at her shoes, nodding when appropriate, and bowing with a murmured “sumimasen” whenever it seems like it’s her turn to talk. I’ve seen enough Japanese TV shows to know I should do the same.
“Cybelle-sensei.” Manager then turns to me. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m sorry for what I did. It won’t happen again, Manager.”
“Good. Good.” Manager turns his attention back to Lieko.
She peeps up every now and then, but Manager’s tone changes completely. Their whole conversation is in Japanese, but from what I can understand, Manager is pissed for various reasons. He’s not going to be manager for much longer, and Lieko may have had something to do with it. Bucho and others at Head Office want the changeover come springtime, but she’s not going to be in charge for long if she can’t keep the gaijin under control. She will have to do better. I don’t interject because all I can think of is how she knew. When Yoshino was talking about that guy on Tuesday, I had no idea. But all this time, Lieko knew. And the mess she said he left us … she has to mean the typhoon holiday. I wish I could remember something, anything about it — everything that happened around that time is still a nightmarish blur — but rather than tell me, she calls me a monster and expects me to deal with it.
“So, from now on,” Manager switches to English, “what will you do, Lieko-sensei?”
Lieko sniffs. Is she crying? “I will work hard and do my best.”
“And Cybelle,” Manager turns back to me, his tone of voice is still firm, “what will you do now?”
I know what I’m supposed to say. I know what I’m legally obliged to spout in order to appease Manager, Bucho, and the rest of the Zozo gods and not get myself fired three months early. They want to hear me say that I’m sweeping this under the rug with all the other moments I’ve had to sweep under the rug working for this company; to turn yet another blind eye to this malevolent woman and keep working at 110 percent like I always have. But there is one thing about all of this that keeps the words locked in my throat.
It’s the fact that I am not losing my mind. I never did.
“Cybelle?”
“I’m going to work hard and do my best. And …” Lieko still isn’t looking at me, but I turn to her when I speak, anyway.
She’s crying.
I don’t care.
“I’m going to get my friend back.”
“How the hell am I going to get my friend back?”
My last cube of agedashidoufu, swishing around in the small cold pool of ponzu sauce at the bottom of my favourite bowl, does not answer. After my having poked at it for the better part of an hour, I pop it into my mouth. For three weeks I’ve racked my brain over this exact question. I’m just glad I have the privacy of this apartment when I need to wallow in my own stupidity. What the hell was I talking about? Lieko could have called my bluff that day, and at least I shut her up, but truth be told I had no idea what the hell I was talking about. With a sigh, I toss my bowl and chopsticks into the sink and go through my giant stack of boxes to be shipped, full of books, papers, even nengajou postcards … not one single piece of information about this guy. The worst part is I don’t even remember his freaking name; would I recognize it even if I found it?
I’m hungry again. My appetite has been off the charts all week. I’ve been able to curb it with big helpings of water and green tea until today, my busiest Friday in years. I had an early start at 10:00 a.m. and my lunch was cut short by another makeup lesson. Then I came home and made a quick omuhayashi, starting my meat-eating weekend early. It disappeared in about ten minutes. I thought this giant serving of tofu would satisfy me, but it was like eating tufts of cloud soaked in a delicate soup.
I check my phone: 8:47 p.m. I flip through a few channels. Finding nothing of interest, I go through the cupboards in search of a snack. Nothing really grabs my interest except some microwave popcorn my sisters brought. I don’t own a microwave, so I throw my coat on over my pyjamas and head to 7-Eleven to use theirs. Of course, I purchase a few things to make up for it: a bag of barbecue chips, some umeboshi and sweet corn onigiri, two boxes of Korean brownies, two cartons of vanilla Essel Super Cup, and a carton of Lipton’s peach iced tea. I greet the cashier, who is as tall as Lieko, but seems eager to speak English with me. Three weeks, I think to myself as I head back home. Three weeks of a Lieko-free workplace. Ever since the Hitomu thing, she has been completely ignoring me, and I her. She doesn’t even eat lunch in the staff room anymore. It’s kind of like she’s ignoring everybody. Maybe she plans to do so until spring when she becomes the new manager. Fine by me. I’m so glad I’ll be gone by then.
The popcorn and brownies are done by the time I finish my Spirited Away DVD. Not sure if I should watch something else since it is Saturday tomorrow. Busiest day of the week. Curling up under my kotatsu, I polish off the onigiri, chasing them with the barbecue chips as I boot up the new laptop to watch some good old Jump! Maru Maru Chuu episodes. Perhaps Yusuke Yamamoto ducking from Matrix-agent-like “hunters” will get my mind off things. It doesn’t. Maybe a big bowl of Monkey’s Heaven will make me feel better. It means sacrificing my ice cream, and I don’t have any grated coconut, but I haven’t had it in years and my brain craves distraction as much as my stomach craves … well, it’s craving everything right now.
Much to my dismay, hunting for Kahlua and filling the apartment with the scent of burning alcohol and banana does not stop the slew of endless questions racing through my mind like a runaway bullet train: What did this guy look like? How tall was he? How deep was his voice? What colour was his hair? His eyes? I groan. Right. Japanese. My height. Maybe. Geez, I sound like Manager. Hyuu Kinomoto: a famous actor’s first name and a shoujo heroine’s surname. Guess now I know why he insists everyone call him “Manager.” But enough judging my boss. If I don’t figure this out, I’ll climb the walls … and then Manager will complain about all the claw marks.
I soak my frying pan in some soapy water in the sink and pace around, eventually deciding against Instagramming my dessert and opting to chug the last half of my peach tea straight from the carton. Pacing gets tiring real fast in such a small space. Eating a bowl of melty ice-creamy soupiness in bed sounds like a bad idea, so I hoover it down in the kitchen, leaning against the wall and licking my bowl as another episode of Tosochu — Run for Money begins. An actress I don’t recognize gets tagged by a hunter five minutes into the game. She collapses on the ground, half-crying: “Maji? Eh, maji?!” She reminds me of my senior high students when they lose at a game of Jenga. I’ll miss that when I go back home. No more Sachina and Meruna to entertain me on Friday nights. Leaving my bowl in the sink, I crawl back into bed and pretend to concentrate on the screen this time. That girl outside Bar Iznt. I knew I’d seen her somewhere before, too. But where? She sure as hell isn’t a former student. Her English was perfect, despite her unplaceable accent. Where do I know her from? And if this guy is so important to find, why didn’t she give me a name? Who are these people?!
“Ugh. No more thinking!” I pull my blanket over my head. I need to get off this thought train. Maybe I’ll do a little light cleaning in the kitchen.
A third episode of celebrities running for their lives accompanies my rummaging through the cupboards to separate the cans and bottles of food I can finish by March. I collect a few in a bag so that I might be able to donate them somewhere, but also wonder if my successor will want some of them. It would save him or her the arduous task of shopping that first week. I let out a sarcastic laugh. I can imagine the look on Lieko’s face when she learns she’ll have to take the new NET grocery shopping. It would be the same one if she found out I didn’t clean everything out of my kitchen.
I head back into the living room with an opened can of peaches, power down my computer, and turn on the TV again, hoping for something interesting. I’ve just finished off a meal and a half, but my dessert stomach can squeeze in a little more. The channel I’ve landed on is airing something called Yokai Daisenso. Looks interesting enough. I’m also going to clean out my purse. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve done that. Among the ruin of construction paper cut-outs I want to leave for my successor, I find Miyoko’s book. How did I forget about this? I curl back up in my futon to go through it.
What a coincidence. Yokai in my hand, yokai on the TV.
I flip through the pages. No English; just strange, beautiful paintings on every page. A red-skinned demon with horns holds a burning man, like a cigar. A baby with one eye gets a bath. A person made of ceramics looks ready for war. And then there’s the kappa teaching a classroom of demonic creatures. My favourite picture so far. One other comes a close second: a creature on all fours with an elephant’s trunk and tusks, leopard spots, long hair, and it looks like it’s on fire. The kanji is unfamiliar, but I can read the furigana next to it. “Baku.” That sounds so familiar. I crawl back to my purse to get my phone. According to the Imiwa? app, it’s a Doctor of Philosophy or “a mythological creature that devours bad dreams.”
Wait. Baku-gaijin. That’s what that old woman had called me. But that makes no sense. I’m no dream-eating yokai. Unless she meant “baka”-gaijin. Maybe I misheard her. Then again, after almost seven years here, I’m not in the habit of mishearing Japanese. Written another way, the app says it can also mean a burst of laughter. “Well, that certainly helps,” I groan.
I stretch the book over my head and stare at the picture, hard. “Baku-gaijin.” She must have meant “stupid foreigner.” Nothing else makes sense. It’s like the time I had to carry a ton of groceries home and this old guy at the station yelled “Akachan wa fukuro ga ippai!” at me. Manager and I got into the longest argument later about whether the guy was calling me a “baby with a ton of bags” or not. In the end, I couldn’t convince him otherwise, but I was so sure … still am.
The floor rumbles. Somewhere in the distance, a garbage truck is driving down the street. It’s way too late for garbage trucks to be driving around. And it sounds like it’s driving awfully fast, heading straight for my building. Shutting my eyes, I find myself bracing for impact. The floor shudders with a ripple, the truck sound fades, and all is silent again.
My eyes fly open. An earthquake, maybe? No. Everything in the apartment is fine. No swinging light fixture, everything still on the shelves. Even the tall stack of boxes in the corner hasn’t budged. A real earthquake would have done something. Oh, well. I’m fine; that’s what’s important. There’s no way I can sleep now, though. Too shaken up. Might as well watch this movie and see where it goes.
I pick up the remote to press the subtitle button, then stop. The TV is bright white, but blank. “What the hell …? Come on, NHK, don’t do this to me now.” It’s happened. They’re onto me. They’ve cut my cable after all these years. No. It’s the TV itself that’s the problem. Or maybe the remote? I look down at the buttons and realize I can’t read any of them. The buttons that used to have numbers and Japanese are all squiggles and wiggles.
“Great. Now, I can’t read. What’s next?”
I get up to turn the TV off manually. My arms and legs feel heavy, sluggish, and it takes some time to get to my feet. I feel unsteady. My knee crashes against the kotatsu against the wall. Too much food. Too much peach tea. “Well, now I’ve done it. I’m too big for my apartment. Great, Cybelle.”
The room is suddenly way too bright. No, it’s my face almost pressing up against the light fixture when I turn my head. I stagger, try to block the light with my hand. No such luck. I stumble around until I feel my hand run against the wall and flick off the light. “That’s better, I guess …” There’s still a bright source of light nearby. The lampposts outside, maybe? I can see them through the open curtains. That’s got to be it.
With one reach of my arm I draw the curtains open. The night sky is alive with dragons and monsters and bird-like creatures, all glowing neon pink, purple, green, and bright.
“Whoa …” Must have been one hell of an earthquake. Did the centre of the earth open up? Have the demons of old been unleashed?
I slide the window open and begin the arduous process of squeezing through it. Only one way to find out.