Noburo:
When Noburo opened his eyes the room was so black, that for a moment he felt like a blind man must feel. He was faced with complete nothingness. There was only a suffocating darkness without shape, form or colour. He lay there for a few seconds, eyes wide, staring into the negative space. Then he got out of bed and stood in front of the window. He was at a loss to know why he'd woken. He glanced at the red digits on his bedside clock. It was 5.55am. He could hear Yoko breathing in the room next door through the paper -thin partition. She lay on a futon on the floor submerged in a narcotic slumber, weighted down by a heavy quilt.
He raised the blinds gently and looked up at the sky studded with myriad stars and wondered. He wondered why Yoko didn't sleep with him any more and he wondered why he didn't dream these days. He used to dream vividly every night and be able to recount them in great detail to Yoko the next morning. Nowadays, his sleep was broken and troubled.
It had been a shock when his boss had called him into the office and had given him the news of his early retirement, murmuring something about ‘restructuring’. Outwardly he had been calm and reasonable, refusing to betray the turbulent emotions that churned his guts. That night in the bar, he shared the bad news with his friends. They were sympathetic but some had already been awarded ‘the seat by the window’ (passed over for promotion, but not formally laid off) after a lifetime’s work. It was an ominous sign of the times.
On the train home Noburo sat staring impassively at the floor. After drinking numerous glasses of Sake he still wasn’t drunk. He still wasn’t sufficiently anesthetized to tell Yoko that after forty years service he was no longer employed by the Fujitsu Insurance Company. He felt abandoned and isolated. It was as though he had suddenly lost his parents and left an orphan. It was almost like bereavement. Fujitsu Insurance had been his life and now it was over. Noburo mourned its passing.
He had been with the company since he left university. As an only child, his parents had been delighted. From the tender age of three Noburo’s professional life had been mapped out. He was to become a salary man like his father before him. His parents made sure he went to the best schools that would ensure his entry into a top university. This was a secure and respected position and was guaranteed for life. Once he had joined the Fujitsu insurance firm it immediately became his life. He was an intelligent and astute man and by securing several new contracts every month he showed how invaluable he could be. In return he was methodically trained in all aspects of the different departments. On his way to ‘enlightenment’ and ultimately, a high salary, he made many friends. Young, enthusiastic men like himself. They trod the same path, working, eating and socialising together. They worked late into the night, and by means of release from the day’s drudgery, caroused in the bars downtown into the early hours.
Noburo’s diligence, determination and popularity with his peers came to the attention of his superiors and he was selected for promotion. He was made divisional general manager. The company swallowed him whole and became his ‘family.’ Like all families, the firm continued to make more and more demands on his time until he was working late every night. When he arrived home the apartment was in darkness except for the little night light in the hall and Yoko was in bed asleep. When he left for work early the next morning she had hardly stirred. Their precious weekends were often sacrificed to the golf course where he conducted important business deals. However, unquestioning loyalty to his employers meant that he remained uncritical of their procedures. On the brief occasions he had time to reflect, usually on the last train home, he wondered if by surrendering his will so completely to the company he had sacrificed some part of his relationship with Yoko.
Sometimes he felt as though he was sleepwalking through life. His recent retirement meant that the luxury of life’s certainties were no longer in place. The comfortable predictability of routine had dissolved into days without purpose. Yawning gaps appeared between his daily rituals. Weeks stretched into infinity of euni. His work had been everything to him. He felt somehow diminished. His status as a man, the provider, the head of the household, was being gradually eroded by the removal of his job.
He stood there shrouded in silence, clenching and unclenching his fists, overwhelmed with feelings of impotence.
Sighing heavily he slid open the window. An icy stream of air slipped into the room. Impervious to the wintry blast he gazed out at the neon vista and the stark silhouettes of the trees caught in the sodium glare of the streetlights. His eyes strayed back to the clock. It was 6.05am. The Tokyo express would be speeding towards the city now, packed with salary men, faces ashen with fatigue, leaning against each other for support. Gearing up for another marathon of a day, which would end in the early hours in a sushi bar with sake -soaked colleagues or succumbing to the charms of a young Geisha.
He shivered and turned away from the window. He got dressed quickly and padded into the kitchen.
He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of milk. He sat hunched at the table absently drinking out of the bottle, the fridge door swinging open. The light from inside the fridge cast an eerie glow over his solitary figure. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness suddenly descended upon him from nowhere and settled heavily on his shoulders.
On the fridge door among an assortment of magnets was a photo of a little boy with dark brown eyes creased up in a child’s innocent laughter. Yoko doted upon her little nephew and had photographs of him all over the house. She had been unable to have children. It had been a bitter blow to them both. To ease the pain Yoko had thrown herself into her job. Books had always been important to her. The shelves on the walls of their house were groaning with books. They were her drug, her escape, her refuge and her consolation. So when she was offered a part time job at the local library she took it without hesitation.
As long as she was happy that was all that mattered. He only wanted the best for her. That’s why he had worked so hard for so long. He wanted give her a large house with good quality furniture. Unlike his parent’s modest apartment which was so small and cramped. Once, when he was home for a rare weekend, Yoko held a birthday party. Their usually quiet house vibrated with western music and rang with female laughter. Young women chattered like a flock of magpies and some sang along to the music in their thin high voices. He had felt awkward but secretly proud. So proud that he had been able to provide Yoko with a beautiful house and garden to entertain her friends. Bowing and smiling, he had discreetly withdrawn into the study. It seemed such a long time ago.
Now that he had more time at home Yoko was never there. He had to admit that they had been leading separate lives for many years but that could all change. Now he was at home they could spend more time together. If only he could rekindle the flame that once sparked their love. She was so different to the girl he married all those years ago. She had been so shy and demure and anxious to please him. Now he felt he no longer knew her. At first he thought he it was his imagination when she seemed to be trying to avoid him. What with her job and her numerous classes and meetings she was hardly ever in the house. They almost never ate together anymore or enjoyed each other’s company. Sometimes he arrived at the apartment very late. Yoko was already in bed fast asleep, but he never stayed out all night like some of his colleagues. They often spent the night in an alcoholic haze, cocooned in the coffin- sized containers of the Capsule hotels, having missed the last train home.
They were like strangers sharing the apartment. He felt cast adrift, coasting along on his own. It was too hard. He needed her. He was no good on his own and knew he couldn’t function. Yoko had always organized everything. He sat for a moment, his head in his hands. Then an idea suddenly struck him, lighting up the dark, despairing corners of his mind. They would go on a little holiday together. When they had first married Yoko had wanted to take a holiday at Mt. Fuji. He had booked a room at the hotel for them both but he was suddenly called in to work, an emergency had arisen. He could not refuse. The company took priority over his family commitments. They did not go and Yoko never mentioned Mt Fuji again.
The sound of a door quietly closing broke into his thoughts. He could hear Yoko moving around the apartment. He decided to try and prepare her breakfast as a surprise.
When Noburo opened his eyes the room was so black, that for a moment he felt like a blind man must feel. He was faced with complete nothingness. There was only a suffocating darkness without shape, form or colour. He lay there for a few seconds, eyes wide, staring into the negative space. Then he got out of bed and stood in front of the window. He was at a loss to know why he'd woken. He glanced at the red digits on his bedside clock. It was 5.55am. He could hear Yoko breathing in the room next door through the paper -thin partition. She lay on a futon on the floor submerged in a narcotic slumber, weighted down by a heavy quilt.
He raised the blinds gently and looked up at the sky studded with myriad stars and wondered. He wondered why Yoko didn't sleep with him any more and he wondered why he didn't dream these days. He used to dream vividly every night and be able to recount them in great detail to Yoko the next morning. Nowadays, his sleep was broken and troubled.
It had been a shock when his boss had called him into the office and had given him the news of his early retirement, murmuring something about ‘restructuring’. Outwardly he had been calm and reasonable, refusing to betray the turbulent emotions that churned his guts. That night in the bar, he shared the bad news with his friends. They were sympathetic but some had already been awarded ‘the seat by the window’ (passed over for promotion, but not formally laid off) after a lifetime’s work. It was an ominous sign of the times.
On the train home Noburo sat staring impassively at the floor. After drinking numerous glasses of Sake he still wasn’t drunk. He still wasn’t sufficiently anesthetized to tell Yoko that after forty years service he was no longer employed by the Fujitsu Insurance Company. He felt abandoned and isolated. It was as though he had suddenly lost his parents and left an orphan. It was almost like bereavement. Fujitsu Insurance had been his life and now it was over. Noburo mourned its passing.
He had been with the company since he left university. As an only child, his parents had been delighted. From the tender age of three Noburo’s professional life had been mapped out. He was to become a salary man like his father before him. His parents made sure he went to the best schools that would ensure his entry into a top university. This was a secure and respected position and was guaranteed for life. Once he had joined the Fujitsu insurance firm it immediately became his life. He was an intelligent and astute man and by securing several new contracts every month he showed how invaluable he could be. In return he was methodically trained in all aspects of the different departments. On his way to ‘enlightenment’ and ultimately, a high salary, he made many friends. Young, enthusiastic men like himself. They trod the same path, working, eating and socialising together. They worked late into the night, and by means of release from the day’s drudgery, caroused in the bars downtown into the early hours.
Noburo’s diligence, determination and popularity with his peers came to the attention of his superiors and he was selected for promotion. He was made divisional general manager. The company swallowed him whole and became his ‘family.’ Like all families, the firm continued to make more and more demands on his time until he was working late every night. When he arrived home the apartment was in darkness except for the little night light in the hall and Yoko was in bed asleep. When he left for work early the next morning she had hardly stirred. Their precious weekends were often sacrificed to the golf course where he conducted important business deals. However, unquestioning loyalty to his employers meant that he remained uncritical of their procedures. On the brief occasions he had time to reflect, usually on the last train home, he wondered if by surrendering his will so completely to the company he had sacrificed some part of his relationship with Yoko.
Sometimes he felt as though he was sleepwalking through life. His recent retirement meant that the luxury of life’s certainties were no longer in place. The comfortable predictability of routine had dissolved into days without purpose. Yawning gaps appeared between his daily rituals. Weeks stretched into infinity of euni. His work had been everything to him. He felt somehow diminished. His status as a man, the provider, the head of the household, was being gradually eroded by the removal of his job.
He stood there shrouded in silence, clenching and unclenching his fists, overwhelmed with feelings of impotence.
Sighing heavily he slid open the window. An icy stream of air slipped into the room. Impervious to the wintry blast he gazed out at the neon vista and the stark silhouettes of the trees caught in the sodium glare of the streetlights. His eyes strayed back to the clock. It was 6.05am. The Tokyo express would be speeding towards the city now, packed with salary men, faces ashen with fatigue, leaning against each other for support. Gearing up for another marathon of a day, which would end in the early hours in a sushi bar with sake -soaked colleagues or succumbing to the charms of a young Geisha.
He shivered and turned away from the window. He got dressed quickly and padded into the kitchen.
He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of milk. He sat hunched at the table absently drinking out of the bottle, the fridge door swinging open. The light from inside the fridge cast an eerie glow over his solitary figure. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness suddenly descended upon him from nowhere and settled heavily on his shoulders.
On the fridge door among an assortment of magnets was a photo of a little boy with dark brown eyes creased up in a child’s innocent laughter. Yoko doted upon her little nephew and had photographs of him all over the house. She had been unable to have children. It had been a bitter blow to them both. To ease the pain Yoko had thrown herself into her job. Books had always been important to her. The shelves on the walls of their house were groaning with books. They were her drug, her escape, her refuge and her consolation. So when she was offered a part time job at the local library she took it without hesitation.
As long as she was happy that was all that mattered. He only wanted the best for her. That’s why he had worked so hard for so long. He wanted give her a large house with good quality furniture. Unlike his parent’s modest apartment which was so small and cramped. Once, when he was home for a rare weekend, Yoko held a birthday party. Their usually quiet house vibrated with western music and rang with female laughter. Young women chattered like a flock of magpies and some sang along to the music in their thin high voices. He had felt awkward but secretly proud. So proud that he had been able to provide Yoko with a beautiful house and garden to entertain her friends. Bowing and smiling, he had discreetly withdrawn into the study. It seemed such a long time ago.
Now that he had more time at home Yoko was never there. He had to admit that they had been leading separate lives for many years but that could all change. Now he was at home they could spend more time together. If only he could rekindle the flame that once sparked their love. She was so different to the girl he married all those years ago. She had been so shy and demure and anxious to please him. Now he felt he no longer knew her. At first he thought he it was his imagination when she seemed to be trying to avoid him. What with her job and her numerous classes and meetings she was hardly ever in the house. They almost never ate together anymore or enjoyed each other’s company. Sometimes he arrived at the apartment very late. Yoko was already in bed fast asleep, but he never stayed out all night like some of his colleagues. They often spent the night in an alcoholic haze, cocooned in the coffin- sized containers of the Capsule hotels, having missed the last train home.
They were like strangers sharing the apartment. He felt cast adrift, coasting along on his own. It was too hard. He needed her. He was no good on his own and knew he couldn’t function. Yoko had always organized everything. He sat for a moment, his head in his hands. Then an idea suddenly struck him, lighting up the dark, despairing corners of his mind. They would go on a little holiday together. When they had first married Yoko had wanted to take a holiday at Mt. Fuji. He had booked a room at the hotel for them both but he was suddenly called in to work, an emergency had arisen. He could not refuse. The company took priority over his family commitments. They did not go and Yoko never mentioned Mt Fuji again.
The sound of a door quietly closing broke into his thoughts. He could hear Yoko moving around the apartment. He decided to try and prepare her breakfast as a surprise.
No comments:
Post a Comment