It was a little after seven when Tsuge arrived home. His apartment took up one corner of the third floor. Misuzu greeted him when he pushed on the reinforced metal door, looking anxious.
‘Darling, there’s something—’
Tsuge pushed his way through, telling her to keep it for later. He picked up the cordless handset and shut himself in the room at the end of the hall. He was tired of her complaining. For the last month, it had been ceramics class. It was the latest obsession of the chief of administration’s wife. She looked after the local wives’ group and insisted the others join her. Misuzu hated it. She was proud of her slim fingers, which meant it was agony for her to use them to mix clay. When he’d suggested she should give it up, she’d just told him she didn’t want to be isolated. And when he’d suggested she should put up with it, she’d fallen silent then started to tug at her hair before finally lashing out at the things around her.
She’d been beautiful, full of a passion for life, when he’d first met her. He’d proposed on their second date. He hadn’t forgotten, even now, that he’d been obsessed with her. But she’d thinned out in the ten years since their marriage and now all she did was use him as a sounding board to vent her grievances. It was because of this that he’d begun to question the sense of his decision. Had he really wanted her? Or had he simply been excited, ten years ago, by the fact that she was a relative of his high-flying boss? Was there a part of him now that felt betrayed by witnessing the man’s decline, realising that the gamble hadn’t paid off? Work will be work. Home will be home. He remembered having sworn to maintain the distinction but it had all become jumbled over time. The two worlds. The two sets of emotions.
Focus.
Tsuge forced himself back to the present. He opened the directory listing the details of all the members of the assembly and dialled Sakuma’s number.
‘Sorry to call so late.’
‘Tsuge, right . . .’ The assemblyman’s tone was apologetic from the start. ‘Sorry. I failed to get anything from Ukai. He told me it was none of my business.’
‘I see. Thank you for trying.’
‘No problem. Doesn’t look good, though, does it? It does seem as if he’s sitting on something big.’
Tsuge smoked a few cigarettes after the call. He’d vowed never to smoke at work, whatever his stress levels. The captain had given it up, so everyone – starting with Sakaniwa and the director of Administrative Affairs – had opted to follow suit.
He started to call the other assembly members. The conservatives had nothing. Taking a deep breath, he called an assemblyman in the opposition he trusted. Still no leads.
He looked into the living room, still edgy, and saw that Misuzu was in the middle of getting dinner ready. She turned his way.
‘Darling, just listen.’
‘Uh-huh.’
He thought he’d been clear that he had no intention of hearing her out. Apparently ignoring this, she came over to whisper in his ear.
‘It’s Morio. He’s being bullied at school.’
‘What?’
‘They steal his satchel, leave him out of things.’
Tsuge felt a sudden chill. He stared into his son’s room. He saw the boy, turned away and with his back slouched, his small hands fiddling with the pieces of a board game.
‘Morio!’
He’d called out before he had time to think. His eight-year-old son’s pudding-bowl haircut rotated. The boy looked beaten down, anxious. He was perhaps expecting his dad to be cross. Tsuge didn’t know what to say. He remembered the small town. The tiny world. For a total of nine years in primary and secondary school, Tsuge had been controlled by a boy with snake-eyes. He didn’t doubt that he’d looked anxious, too, just like his son did now.
Crush anyone who dares get in your way.
He said nothing. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything suitable to say to the weak-looking reflection of himself.