must be really strong!” said Keiji, trying not to snicker.
But they’re not. At least, they’re no match for a car.
As usual, Mitsugu Azamui was already drunk when he arrived at the house that day. What was different this time was that Dad was pretty drunk too. He and Mom had been arguing a lot about the car, and of course he always came off worst, so his confidence was at a low ebb. Mom was away for the night, on a trip to the Dogo Onsen hot spring, organized by the women’s association.
The trip had been proposed by Hatsue, the deputy chair. The election had gone very well as far as Hatsue was concerned. Her husband, Hachi-nī, was now a member of the district assembly, and although her brother, Yoshi-nī, had retained his seat, his ranking had fallen. Until then he had always gotten the most votes of any candidate in the whole district, but Hachi-nī had successfully eaten into his support in the village. Hachi-nī’s own share of the vote was not huge—the second lowest of the successful candidates—but he’d gotten his seat. Mr. Kawano had done better than expected this time around, attracting the most votes of any of the defeated candidates. But, of course, defeat was still defeat.
Hatsue was delighted by her husband’s success.
“We couldn’t have done it without shenshei and you,” she told Mom, urging her to come on the trip. Hatsue (or rather Abe Construction) paid for Mom’s expenses, as well as those of several other women who had contributed to the Hachi-nī cause.
Because Mom was away, I had to serve drinks for Dad and Mitsugu Azamui. Well, I didn’t have to, exactly, but Dad was very down because of the car and it seemed like a nice thing to do. We had the curry that Mom had left us, and then I quietly took him a glass. It seemed to cheer him up.
“Would you like some fries?” I said.
“Sure!” he said, nodding happily.
I’d bought some frozen fries that afternoon and I put them in the microwave. Keiji stood next to me, drooling.
“Aren’t they ready yet?” he demanded impatiently, peering through the glass.
It wasn’t long before the microwave went ping, but at that very same moment we heard a voice from the veranda.
“Evening!”
It was Mitsugu Azamui. Keiji’s face fell.
“Save some for me!” he said, almost in tears. “I’ll be in my room. Bring me some up there!”
Dad was drinking more quickly than usual. He and Mitsugu were in the living room as always, and I was watching from the kitchen. It wasn’t that easy to tell who was who. Dad was slouching forward just like Mitsugu. It looked as if only the table was keeping him from sinking away altogether. Mitsugu Azamui was even thinner than he had been on his previous visit. His drooping head looked oddly large on his small body. His face, tarnished by sun and alcohol, was almost the same color as his dull, close-shaved hair. His eyes looked like wounds gouged into his flat face. They oozed a yellow discharge. His whole head was like a rotten fruit that might at any moment topple onto the table.
“You had some bad luck, shenshei,” said Mitsugu, staring straight at Dad. His voice was strangely harsh and dry, as though the alcohol had burned his throat. Normally Mitsugu would have to make an effort to lift his eyes when looking at Dad, as though turning heavy stones. But today Dad’s face was so low that Mitsugu didn’t have to move a muscle.
“Damaged your new car?”
“Yeah. I’m ashamed of myself,” groaned Dad. “It’s a real headache. I’d only just bought it.”
“Were you really tryin’ to kill a deer?” asked Mitsugu. He was still staring straight at Dad. Once fixed on something, his dull, cloudy eyes didn’t shift easily. It was these eyes that frightened Keiji the most.
“Yeah. They all encouraged me—Hidaka and the rest. ‘Hit it! Hit it!’ they said, so I…”
“Was it really a deer?”
“What?”
“The thing you hit. Was it really a deer?”
I didn’t know what he meant. Dad looked confused. He didn’t seem to know what to say. “Were you watching?” he said eventually.
Mitsugu didn’t speak right away. His gaze was still fixed on Dad. Something stirred in his dull eyes, but it couldn’t gather enough force to break free. It stayed where it was, shifting uncertainly.
“Toshiko-bā always says she wants to die,” Mitsugu murmured, forcing each word out painfully. “‘I wanna die, I wanna die!’ she says.”
Again, Dad didn’t seem to know how to respond. Why were they suddenly talking about Toshiko-bā? “Has something happened to her?” Dad said dubiously.
“She’s always sayin’ she wants to die… You sure it wasn’t her on the road, shenshei? Wasn’t she lyin’ in the road like before?” He paused breathlessly between each question. “Was it really a deer you hit, shenshei? Or was it Toshiko-bā?”
“Yamamoto said something about someone lying in the road once, didn’t he?” said Dad, glancing toward me in the kitchen.
When Mr. Yamamoto was the policeman here, someone had come knocking on his door early one morning. It was a young truck driver from Marugi Fisheries. He told Mr. Yamamoto that there was an old woman lying on the road and he couldn’t get his truck around her. He wanted Mr. Yamamoto to do something about it. The truck driver had tried his best to get her to move, but she simply wouldn’t. It was all very strange. If it had been a drunk, then maybe it wouldn’t have seemed so odd, but it was an old woman. There weren’t even any houses nearby. It was such a peculiar situation that the driver couldn’t bring himself to pull her off the road, but no matter what he said to her, she just lay there, stock-still, eyes closed. He’d begun to worry that he might have hit her somehow without realizing. But then, to his relief, he noticed some faint movement in her throat. Seeing that she was alive, he turned his truck around and went to Mr. Yamamoto’s house for help.
Mr. Yamamoto told Dad that the driver had described the old woman’s face as rough and craggy. Mr. Yamamoto went back with the driver, but when they got to where he’d seen her, there was nobody there. No sign of her at all.
“The driver looked stunned,” Mr. Yamamoto said. “As though he’d been tricked by a spirit. ‘I saw her right there,’ he’d said, pointing at the road. Maybe I should have checked if he’d been driving drunk,” he laughed. “Anyway, it’s a strange place.” He tapped Dad on the shoulder. “Be careful you don’t get tricked by any spirits while you’re there.”
Dad was looking at me.
“I wonder if that old woman was Toshiko-bā.”
Of course, I didn’t know.
“Toshiko-bā always says she wants to die,” said Mitsugu Azamui again. “You sure it was a deer you hit, shenshei?”
Toshiko-bā was another big name in the village. The kids, especially, were scared of her.
Mitsugu Azamui’s stare was certainly unnerving—his eyes always looked as
