Part Three: Yoko

Yoko stepped gingerly out of the shower onto the rubber mat. She was afraid of slipping on the wet tiles and hurting herself, exactly like her friend Mitsouko. While stepping out of the shower Mitsouko had slipped and fallen, cracking her thin skull like an eggshell on the unyielding, wet tiles. Her body lay undiscovered for three days until her husband Yukio arrived home from his business trip and found her lying, cold and stiff on the bathroom floor in a pool of congealed blood. The smell was indescribable, he had confided to Noburo over a few strong cognacs. Mitsouko's sister-in-law came to clean their apartment but the odour of death still hung about the place. No. She wouldn't like to die like that. Not completely alone and without anyone to even say a prayer at the Shinto shrine for her.

On the occasion of her fiftieth birthday she had suddenly become aware of her own mortality. She felt had reached a great age. A half century. This should have been the milestone of maturity created by the wealth of her experience. She had always been slim and agile and full of energy. Noburo said that even now she had the face and body of a much younger woman. But with the onset of age she began to feel that her powers of energy and stamina were fading. She was a like a battery that was running down. She was becoming weaker and losing power. Uncontrollable feelings of anxiety and confusion would suddenly overwhelm her. Dr Noguchi told her that she was showing symptoms of the menopause and gave her some pills to mask the symptoms.
They seemed to help for a while but lately she had felt a slow tension building up inside her. Inexplicable fires of anger raged deep inside her and there were days when she felt as though her entire life was coming undone and hanging in threads just like the tapestry that Noburo had given her for her birthday.


She stepped up to the full length mirror and studied her naked body. She frowned at the slim figure reflected there. Her breasts were small but full and with prominent rosy nipples now fully erect after her shower. She sighed and began gently kneading her breasts, feeling for the dreaded lumps but thankfully found nothing. She considered herself luckier than her best friend Mariko. One rainy night Mariko had been driving home through the slick, wet streets of the Shinjuko district, when a dog suddenly ran out in front of her car. She skidded and braked hard, and struck her chest on the steering wheel. Some months later she began to feel sharp pains in her breast. Tests revealed a large lump in her breast which resulted in a partial mastectomy.
This proved to be a disaster for Mariko. She was a proud and attractive woman with a beautiful body. Her husband loved to show her off to his friends. For him, she was the perfect woman. After the operation she became depressed and refused to go out. Her husband was not a patient man. One day he took a mistress. Poor Mariko felt utterly worthless. He came home late one night to find Mariko half-lying on their new cream leather sofa. Her wrists slit open like bloody mouths spewing blood all down their new shiny leather sofa. Yes, she should be grateful she was still intact.








She stood there shivering, dripping water onto the tiles. She put her head on one side to shake the water from her ears, and her black hair swung away from her face. She grimaced at herself in the mirror. Her perfectly even white teeth twinkled between her parted lips. Andrew had complimented her on her teeth.
He came to her desk to correct her written English grammar, as he bent over her, she could smell the soft wool of his sweater. She inhaled his foreign masculine scent. He was a man not of her race and a giant among her people. They had never meant it to happen. When he had discovered her in the empty car park at the back of the Language School looking forlornly at the flat tyre on her car, she had been glad of his help. The rain which had begun as a light drizzle when she had left the school had turned into a heavy downpour.

He had a pump in the boot of his car and had pumped up the tyre.
It was hard work and in spite of his youthful energies, his face was shiny with perspiration.
‘Well, there you are then Yoko. It’s all fixed.’
‘Thank you so much Andrew san’ she murmured shyly and turned to get into the car, but something made her turn round. He was still standing there, watching her. He was smiling. Then she heard herself saying, ’Perhaps you would like some tea? There is very good teahouse near the school. I go…..we go there. My friends and me……I can take you to your apartment.’
Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed loudly, making her jump. ‘Well that’s really nice of you Yoko. I’d love to’.
She knew that he was married with a child. She knew that this was dangerous territory, for both of them. She guessed however, that he wasn’t happy. The other female students noticed that he wasn’t ‘looked after’. Sometimes he came to the classroom with his shirts creased and buttons missing. His eyes looked tired and bloodshot, and sometimes he was unable to disguise the stress with his usual banter. Once, when she was in the car park about to get into her car she saw his wife arrive. She was small, thin and dark. Not English like Andrew. Not pretty. She was very angry and shouted at him. They didn’t see her watching them.
He was the focus of intense lunchtime gossip among her friends but she didn’t take part. She rinsed her mouth and put the toothbrush back in its holder.
It had all started so innocently. Then it was like a raging forest fire between them. Their emotions had taken them both by surprise. Now everything was coming to its logical conclusion.

She could hear Noburo moving around the house. She took a thick, towel and briskly rubbed herself dry, then she folded the towel carefully over the rail. She went towards the bedroom to get dressed but paused as though she had forgotten something. She went back to the bathroom. She checked that she had switched off the shower and refolded the towel with great care over the rail. She gave the towel a last caress, smoothing it with her hands. She held her hands out in front and stared at them curiously as if they didn't belong to her. They trembled slightly. She went to the washbasin and began to wash her hands vigorously under the tap. The water was very hot and was scalding her hands a dark, angry red but she didn't seem to notice. She dried her hands roughly then folded the towel over the rail once more patting it gently. Then she walked into her bedroom and began to get dressed. She could hear Noburo making tea in the kitchen. He moved about the house quietly trying not to disturb her.

Noburo had laid the breakfast table with great care. Gleaming porcelain bowls and sparkling silverware bought on a trip to London nestled on a snowy white damask tablecloth bought a souvenir from an Italian holiday. In pride of place stood the large white teapot with the bamboo handle, a present from his parents. Near Yoko's plate he had placed a jar of English marmalade and her elegant Worcester porcelain teacup. She loved all things English, and even kept some loose-leafed Twinnings breakfast tea in a tin with a picture of Buckingham palace on it.


Yoko took her place at the table like a guest at a wedding feast. He poured tea into her little cup. ‘I thought we could take a little holiday together. We could take a trip up Mt Fuji and then there’s the Akiogahara forest. It’s a very ancient wood. There are many beautiful, rare trees. I’ve always wanted to take a look around there.’

Yoko looked up, ‘The Aokigahara Forest? Isn’t that the place where people go to die?’

‘Yes, I’ve heard the stories, but it is an interesting place. I must say I’m very curious. I should like to see if it’s all true!

‘How morbid’, she shuddered

'You're being very negative Yoko', Noburo murmured. 'Mt Fuji is a fabulous place and is a truly wonderful sight in the Spring, especially with all the trees in blossom. Besides, Hashimoto has half shares in a very elegant hotel in the area. Most of the rooms have panoramic views of Fuji san and it's full of Gajin all the year round.'

She scratched absently at the raw, scaly patches on her hands.
'But what about my English classes?
Mr Andrew is preparing us for the exam. It's in two weeks time.'

'That's no problem. We could leave tomorrow afternoon and return next Saturday. You'd be back in plenty
of time for your exam!'

Yoko gazed out at the terrace now bathed in Spring sunshine. The weeping cherry he'd planted to mark her thirtieth birthday was smothered in a froth of pale pink flowers.

She sighed heavily. She tried one last lame excuse. 'It'll be very crowded; it always is at blossom time.'
'Come on Yoko', pleaded Noburo. ‘We need a little holiday. We need to spend some time together. Since my retirement I’ve hardly ever seen you. You're out every day'

She lowered her head guiltily over her bowl. Then she raised her eyes level with his.

'Noburo, I have great respect and admiration for you. You've worked so hard to give me everything but surely you can see that our lives have changed.
He looked at her keenly, ‘What do you mean, ‘Changed’?

‘Well precisely that. Surely you didn’t think I actually liked being left alone in the house day in day out, never seeing anyone, only the shopkeepers. Spending my days cooking and cleaning and preparing your Bento box for your lunch‘
‘Yes, but I thought you………’
‘What? You thought that I would have children to occupy me. But I didn’t, did I?’ her voice trembled, hovering on the edge of tears.
She looked out of the window. An icy crevasse of silence yawned between them filled with the absence of the longing for a child.
‘No!’ She shook her head slightly. ‘Now I have my own friends, hobbies and interests. I have my own life! I feel………..alive!!'

‘What a pretty speech. You use the words 'respect' and 'admiration' but not the word 'love'! Noburo's voice shook with emotion.
He stared at the sink and noticed a tile coming loose from the splash back. If he didn't replace it they would all come loose and fall off. He felt that Yoko had lifted up the edge of the secure marriage they had together and was pushing her finger under the emotional adhesive, working it loose little by little.

He prised his eyes from the tiles and let them wander over the bookshelves laden with hundreds of books from floor to ceiling. His and hers. His vinyl collection of Western classical music boasted titles such as La Boheme, Aida, Tosca, Bizet's Carmen. He loved opera. Yoko did not. 'The voices are all mixed up and discordant' she complained once. Her choices were more eclectic with many foreign singers and pop groups.
He rested his eyes kindly on Yoko. She was still a very attractive woman. He noticed she seemed thinner, her face was becoming gaunt and pale, yet she was busier and more energetic than ever. Sometimes, she seemed so far away. She was locked in another world. He wanted to break down that barrier and find out what she was thinking.
Yoko studied the bottom of her empty teacup. Then she gave a little sigh. She didn't want to go into any more protracted explanations so she said
'Well alright. When I come back from my English class I'll pack some things. As you pointed out, there'll be lots of Gagin to practise my English with'
'That's settled then. I'll ring Hashi to reserve us a room.' He smiled widely at her like a trusting child.

In the distance he could hear the high pitched wine of the Tokyo Express whistling along the tracks way below their house and he echoed the sound by humming an aria from his favourite opera as he began to clear away the breakfast dishes.