The Gossamer Fly Read online

  Something snapped in him then, and his anger rose up at the sight of the stubborn child across the table. It was as if Frances sat there, watching, checking. He clenched the muscles of his jaw, turning his face away.

  He was angry, she knew, but she feared much more the expression in Hiroko’s eyes. Hand spread across mouth, thumb resting lightly on her cheekbone, she giggled. But above the hand her eyes were mocking and victorious. Natsuko looked down at the tight woven floor and knew it was the greatest mistake, to admit she could not eat the eyes. Now she was vulnerable to Hiroko.

  There was neither tail nor head to the carp. It came cut into pieces. From the fleshy lump she pulled off a few white flakes, and ate without tasting, the aubergine pickles and the rice.

  6

  Directly inside the door of the inn a little bridge of polished wood arched over an artificial stream. Plants and a pale metal stork were arranged on white gravel at one side. The bridge deposited them before the inn. Natsuko was delighted with the bridge and stream, but they stayed only long enough to leave their baggage. Then Kazuo led them across the road to the shrine they had seen from the traffic light.

  Cherry blossom was in full bloom and overpowered the small courtyard, people massed beneath it. It was one of the traditional weekends for blossom viewing. Natsuko recognized some of the faces from the fishing tanks. She looked up at the blossom-filled branches, at paper lanterns and swaying windbells. In front of her Kazuo was telling Riichi of famous blossom viewing parties of the past, commemorated on equally famous screens and scrolls. He overflowed with details about their sophistication and elegance, the special costumes of the court, the food eaten, the poems composed. Natsuko listened while observing the litter-strewn ground about her, unable to see in the mess any connection with the esoteric past. Mixed with fallen petals were soft drink cans, disposable lunch boxes, half eaten buns. A plane droned low overhead, nearing Osaka airport. She kicked a rotten apple core away from her feet. Behind her a transistor radio blared popular music. People sat beneath trees, with their lunch boxes and flasks of green tea. Against a wall a group of farmers sat drinking from cans of sake and beer. From their radio came the pulse of folk music. As they neared the farmers, one of the men stood up, quite drunk, and began to dance, clapping his hands, his face red above his swaying body. Nearby on a bench sat four bent old women, with thin tight buns and toothless gums. Their faces, impassive above drab coloured kimono, broke into smiles at the dancing man. From another group a solid matron in sober kimono stood up, tying a narrow scarf about her hair. She hitched her kimono above pink underskirts, tucking it into her obi sash, and joined the farmer to dance to the radio. Around them everyone clapped and sang out the chorus. Soon they were joined by another woman, with under kimono of almond green.

  Natsuko hung back, liking the dancing women and the folk music. Through it she could see the screens and poems of ancient cherry blossom viewing her father described. But the raucous farmers with their reddened faces, the close jostle of people and tired children, the litter of cans and cellophane bags eventually made her fretful. She was glad when her father turned suddenly, pointing to the path. A narrow line of red arches twisted up into the steep wooded hill behind the shrine, to a pilgrimage point. Above it was the pink of another glade of cherry trees.

  Kazuo led the way. Narrow and rough, the path went upwards steeply. At intervals they passed under the low, red lacquered torii arches. They were old and weathered, the lacquer cracked and splintered, the inscriptions written on them faint. Deep ruts in the path acted as steps. Breathing hard Natsuko pulled herself up, clinging to branches and woody shrubs. Soon a thick roof of trees was above them, the path was covered thickly by fallen pine needles and rotted cones. Above, among the dark matted branches of firs and evergreens was the bright sap green of new leaves on Japanese beech, zelkovas and katsuras that forested the hills. The air smelt strong, sweet with damp soil and pines.

  Already they were up quite high, and still climbing swiftly. Natsuko’s legs ached with the effort. Above the path went on as far as she could see, almost vertical above their heads. The others were some distance in front. Ahead Natsuko observed the swell of Hiroko’s hips, and the strong muscles of her legs hard and tight as she climbed. Natsuko hurried to catch up. The path, level for some yards, twisted up again. She held on to a thick tuft of dry grass, pulling up on it. Suddenly it gave way in her hand, a clump of soft soil spilling over her leg. She stumbled backwards, her foot twisting over, pain wrapping about her ankle. It eased as she steadied herself and straightened, but climbing was slower, and uncomfortable. She called up to them.

  ‘Well, come a bit further. There’s a clearing here. You can wait for us and rest,’ said Kazuo, coming back, taking her hand and helping her up.

  ‘We’ll go on. Hiroko can stay with you here.’ Kazuo turned, Riichi following. They began to climb again. Soon they were lost from sight.

  They were just at the edge of the cherry glade she had seen from below. Woven among the other trees blossom spread upwards in pink patches. The floor of the clearing was dry and earthy, grassy weeds fringed the sides. She walked to the edge and looked down the wooded drop to the temple below. They were a long way above it. The cherry trees filled the courtyard, obscuring the heads below, the blossom reminding her of candy floss. For a moment the farmer’s radio was silent, and the jingle of wind bells drifted up. Then the radio started again, fainter. She turned back into the clearing. A few large stones edged one side of it. Hiroko sat on one, fanning herself with a handkerchief.

  It was quiet. The noise from the shrine was far away, hardly touching the peace. In the trees was only the sound of small birds. The sunlight pushed between leaves, splattering yellow lozenges on the floor of the clearing. An opening among the treetops showed a patch of sky. A crow flew over. It cawed once, wings flapping lazily against the cloud. Hiroko stood up and wandered off without a word. Natsuko was relieved. Dropping her head back she stretched until the skin of her chin pulled tautly at her neck, and took deep breaths. The sweetness of damp soil and rotted leaves filled her nostrils, the astringency of pine was fresh in her head, the sun warm on her face. She was glad they had come up here, glad she was forced to sit, like this.

  ‘Natsuko.’ Hiroko called from the far end of the clearing, smiling, beckoning. Immediately suspicion filled her but, against the tall trees, Hiroko looked unassuming.

  ‘Come. Look what’s here.’ Hiroko called again, stepping into the long grass at the edge of the clearing, among the trees.

  It lay deep among the fallen leaves and grasses, curled up as if it were asleep. And at first she thought it was just sleeping, and dropped on a knee, crouching to the cat. It was white and lay on its side, back curved, paws drawn up together in front. Against the white fur its pads were pink as her palms. The eyes were closed, but the ears stood up in stiff points, alert, etched with a tracery of fine red lines. She touched it with one finger, hesitantly. The fur was soft, but underneath she felt the hardness of it. It did not move, and knowing then that it was dead she pulled sharply back.

  ‘Look,’ Hiroko said, bending forward, holding a short stick. Pushing it under the animal, she turned the cat over. It fell with a small thud, and a cracking of dry leaves.

  Natsuko looked only once, quickly before she ran. But the picture of it was there, stamped in her mind now. She knew it would never leave her. The raw pulpy mess of it, skin torn away, the inside alive with swarming black insects, would be with her always. Her stomach heaved and she retched, bending over, holding on to the trunk of a tree. Swallowing hard she forced herself to walk, calmly, back to the row of stones. To appear as unaffected as possible was the only defence against Hiroko.

  But under her now the stone was cold. She could not locate the flat, comfortable angle she sat upon before. Looking up through the branches to the sky, she felt imprisoned, locked in by thick trunks and leafy hands. Now she sensed the secrecy of the woods, and became aware of constant stirrings, the noises n
ot only of birds, but of insects and small animals. Their movement awoke leaves, breaking twigs, a slithering through grass. She was an intruder, not meant to know the secrets held here, of death and violence. It was all around her, in the dense tangle of shrubs and branches, in the gnarled snaking roots of trees. It was another world, full of eyes that watched her from the thick matted branches. The weak spearings of sun could never open the clearing to warmth or light. It was cold and savage by day, at night filled by wandering spirits from the temple below.

  Faintly, a few bars of radio music drifted up again. They must still be dancing, all the old men and women. From where she sat Natsuko could just see a corner of temple blossom. It looked overblown and irrelevant now. Instead at the side of the clearing she noticed a tree, splintered, struck by lightning long before. Its dead shaft soared up, bony and white. Near the root the trunk was rotted and mealy.

  Hiroko walked back into the clearing with a satisfied expression on her face. She sat down again on the stone beside Natsuko. Her stockings were laddered, bits of dry stalk and leaf stuck to them. Bending she began to pick them clean. ‘Wasn’t it horrible?’

  Natsuko said nothing, knowing she waited, watching.

  ‘It’s been tortured,’ Hiroko told her.

  ‘No. No.’ She could not hold it back. Horror fell out of her. The end of her voice was a sob.

  ‘Of course. Didn’t you see the wire about its neck?’

  Once, near the house, she had seen some boys with a puppy. They stood in a circle about it. The puppy was no bigger than their feet, fluffy brown with bright eyes and nose. Each time it rushed to escape it was kicked and stoned. Quickly, she ran away, but the sound of its yelps stayed with her. It was a long time before she could pass the place without looking apprehensively about, feeling she would see its body, lying somewhere, dead and maimed.

  ‘Why? Why did you have to show it to me?’ She was afraid she might begin to cry. Her throat was tight, words hurt as she spoke.

  ‘You’re a big girl now. You should see all things in the world. Everything has its place. Your mother has spoilt you. She has made you soft.’

  ‘No. No.’

  ‘Of course she has.’

  ‘Don’t say things like that.’

  ‘But it’s true. She has made a baby of you. What will you do in life, if now you can’t even look at a dead cat?’

  ‘It was more than dead. It was horrible.’ Natsuko felt the injustices burning in her.

  ‘It’s still dead. Dead things can’t hurt you. And stop crying like that.’ Hiroko shrugged.

  Natsuko wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, Hiroko gave a short taunting giggle.

  ‘You’re an ai no ko, a half-caste child. You have no place here. I expect you could go to America. They seem to accept everything and everyone in America. Or maybe they would have you in England, or anywhere else in the rest of the world. But it’s different here in Japan. There is no place here for you. You will probably have to go away.’

  ‘Stop it. I hate you.’ Natsuko sobbed, tears spilling down her neck inside her collar.

  ‘It’s the truth. But if you don’t like it, you had better make up your mind to change. Your mother won’t come back. Forget all the things she taught you. It makes you a nuisance to your father. Your brother is different. He tries. Your father is pleased with him.’

  From above came the noise of feet and voices. Kazuo and Riichi came into view.

  ‘Don’t tell about the cat. Understand?’ Hiroko threatened.

  She did not know how she had failed to foresee it. She was to share a room with Hiroko. Kazuo and Riichi would have another. The thought was heavy in her stomach. Clutching a small plastic bowl and a cake of soap, she followed Hiroko on the way to the big communal bath. They were identically dressed in blue and white cotton yukata, provided by the hotel. Only their narrow sashes were different colours. Natsuko was cold and naked beneath the thin cotton. Winter was officially ended long before, and the hotel was unheated. In the rooms were glazed china hibachi braziers, to warm their hands. But the corridors were long draughty avenues of polished wood. Hiroko’s bare heels slapped the soles of her slippers, walking ahead.

  Steamy air swirled behind the frosted glass door of the women’s entrance. Immediately they went inside, it soaked into the yukata, which grew suddenly warm and limp about Natsuko. Hiroko took a large orange plastic basket from a pile in the corner, and walked to the shelves at the side of the room.

  Turning Natsuko around by the shoulders, she began to untie the sash of her yukata. Winding it into a neat ball around her fingers she dropped it into the basket, and pulled the garment from Natsuko’s body.

  Slatted wooden boards covered the floor. Curling her toes around a thin plank Natsuko felt diminished by her nakedness. She stared down at her clenched toes and soggy splinters in the wood. Beside her Hiroko undressed.

  ‘Come.’ Hiroko turned, leading the way. Her body was smooth and narrow, the buttocks low slung and soft. Her hair was drawn up into a high rubber band, the knots of her backbone rippled down into her waist. She slid open another glass door and stepped into the women’s washroom.

  It was full of women and children, soaping and washing. Around the pink tiled walls, low near the floor, were a row of taps. Running water gushed noisily. They found two sets of free taps and crouched down, placing the plastic bowls on the floor. Next to Natsuko a woman knelt, her head a lathery mass of shampoo. Beside her a child filled and refilled his bowl, sluicing the water over himself, watching it slap the tiles at his feet. Wet hair plastered his forehead in streaming fingers. Through the steam bodies gleamed wetly. Natsuko looked over her shoulder and saw the gentle, repeated curve of crouched back after naked back, all pink with warmth and scrubbing. A concentration of soaping and rinsing filled the room. Next to Natsuko now the woman massaged soap up and down her arms, in circular movements over her breasts and stomach, eyes closed. Tight permed curls of wet hair covered her head like wriggling black worms.

  Hiroko pulled at her arm impatiently. Taking the soap in her hand Natsuko turned on the taps, mixing water in the bowl, splashing it over her body so that the warmth engulfed and relaxed her. Rubbing up a lather on to her skin she soaped herself all over. Beside her Hiroko knelt on one knee and Natsuko observed the soft white skin of her inner thigh and at the base of her stomach the dark, feathery triangle of hair, and the delicate swell of her breasts, the nipples small and pert.

  Sometimes Natsuko bathed with her mother. Having seen no other woman naked, she accepted her mother as she was. But she realised now how different physically her mother was to Hiroko with her slight limbs, the flesh tight about their core. On her mother nakedness had overflowed, loose in places, sinewy in others. On the back of her knee spread a web of blue veins, one of them knotted and raised. Across her stomach fatty tissue had the look of old dough. There seemed much more to her naked than dressed.

  Hiroko was finished. Taking up a bowl of water she threw it over Natsuko. It ran through her hair, blurring her eyes, filling her nostrils so that she spluttered. Hiroko was already opening the next glass door, ready to enter the main bath.

  It was bigger than a swimming pool, irregular in shape. Steam breathed off its surface. It was sunken low in the ground, tiled a bright green, and one side was rough and rocky, like a grotto. One length of the bath was entirely window, huge and uninterrupted, looking out on to a narrow garden of white raked gravel, rocks and bamboo. Behind the purple hills of Arima uncurled. The bath was not crowded, and most of the men sat at the further end with small folded squares of wet towel on top of their heads, to cool them. Their area was cordoned off from the women’s area by a rope.

  The bath was hotter than Natsuko expected. She jumped back to the first step, pulling her feet out of the water. Hiroko was already in, flushed pink beneath the water. Slowly, lowering herself inch by inch Natsuko gradually worked her way in. The heat made her dizzy. Sitting on the bottom step beside Hiroko, she leaned her head back on th
e rocks behind, and stared at the window of tranquil garden. It was all right now. The heat passed right through her body, making her feel too heavy to move. Beneath the water her limbs appeared pale and swollen. When she moved her legs they floated up without effort, as if disconnected from her body. On her lips the condensation of the steam had a caustic taste, filled with the minerals for which the spa was famous.

  Propped up on her elbows beside Natsuko, Hiroko paddled her legs out in front. Her slight breasts swayed gently, the nipples large pink discs below the surface. Between her legs the soft hair moved weightlessly, like the fronds of weeds. Natsuko remembered the feathery plants around the sides of her grandfather’s pond, stirred by the motion of the fish. Hiroko appeared asleep, face tipped back, eyes closed. Natsuko stared without interruption, and soon, what had appeared inviolable became ordinary, even dull. She remembered the naked woman of New Year’s Eve, the sudden sob in Riichi’s breath, and wondered what it was she could not see. Looking up then, she saw her father.

  They must have been sitting there all the time, he and Riichi, some distance away, amongst the men. She waved to them, and tried to get up. But now the heat was too much, spiralling up through her in waves, making her feel faint. She pulled herself heavily out of the water. For a moment everything swirled about her. Abruptly she sat down on the top step, head in hands. It passed and she looked up again. Her father was motioning her to leave the water. Below, Hiroko had moved up a step. Her nipples broke the surface, her breasts bobbed gently as she walked up the steps and out of the bath. Kazuo and Riichi watched the water run in streams down her legs and arms, following her nude back as she walked to the door. Seeing their eyes upon Hiroko’s nakedness Natsuko felt a tightening in her chest, and a confusion of feeling she did not understand. It burnt in the steamy air. Looking down at the wet tiles then she saw her own shadow was a spindly rag. Suddenly she wanted to cry.