Strange Light Afar Page 9

  He staggered home several times a week, the front of his kimono stained and hanging open. Oiwa watched helplessly as he stumbled in through the door and crawled about the halls, shouting obscenities before falling into a noisy sleep.

  Once or twice, she gently asked what was bothering him. Each time Tamiya loudly proclaimed she was all that was wrong with his life, before drawing his sword and pointing it at her menacingly. She was too frightened to try again.

  His wife’s passivity at once amused and irritated Tamiya. He drank more and spent more, as if this salved a burning in his heart. He could not see that he was mistaking his own cruelty for misery.

  One night, a ragged voice called him from behind as he drank.

  “Tamiya-san!”

  He turned to find one of his moneylenders, a haggard old man whose upper front teeth were missing.

  “Itoh,” Tamiya spat. “What do you want? I paid you back everything I owed.”

  “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Itoh chuckled. “I haven’t seen you since you were married. I thought I would come over and buy you a drink.”

  Tamiya looked at Itoh’s wrinkled face suspiciously. The old man was a rice vendor who provided high-interest loans on the side — a hobby in which he took cruel pleasure.

  Tamiya decided accepting one drink could not do any harm.

  “How is married life?” Itoh asked as he poured sake into Tamiya’s cup. “Pardon me for saying, but you are far luckier than you deserve. A beautiful wife. A dowry with which to settle your debts. And you have enough left over to drink here every night without a care.”

  “I’m not here every night.”

  “That’s not what I hear, Tamiya-san.”

  As Tamiya thought about this, Itoh poured more sake.

  “My granddaughter asks about you all the time.”

  “Ume?”

  “Oh, yes. Ironic, isn’t it? She could not spare you a simple hello when you came to borrow money. But now she hears you’re doing well, and she wonders when you’re going to grace us again with your presence.”

  Tamiya thought about Itoh’s granddaughter. Her cheeks were as red as apples, and her eyes were big and round. Her skin was without a blemish, and on the rare occasion when she spared him a smile, everything around her seemed to smile also.

  “It’s a shame,” said Itoh. “Now with your newfound fortune, I would not object to you two getting together.”

  Tamiya was momentarily confused, but quickly realized he should be indignant.

  “How dare you! I am a happily married man!”

  “Oh, yes. So happily married that you spend most nights here drinking alone.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this.” Tamiya stood up as abruptly as he could. He almost fell over.

  “Just think about it,” said Itoh. “Nothing more. Think about starting over with a younger woman. I know ways in which your present life, along with your wife, can be put completely behind you.”

  Tamiya hesitated.

  “Go on now,” Itoh said. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

  The air was brisk against Tamiya’s face as he walked home. He could not stop thinking about the moneylender. Could Ume truly be thinking about him after all this time? Tamiya grew increasingly intrigued with each step he took. He walked faster without realizing it.

  At home he found Oiwa cheerier than usual, waiting for him with more sake and food. Tamiya felt his back stiffen when he saw her. She smiled warmly and took his hand, leading him to his cushion on the floor. She poured him a cup of sake.

  “I am so glad you’re here,” she said. “I have some good news.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She looked at the floor, wondering how best to phrase her surprise.

  Finally, she simply blurted, “I’m pregnant!”

  Tamiya felt blood rush from his face. A child? In this house? A child who would cry endlessly and demand all his attention? Did Oiwa not realize he had no more of himself to give?

  She had no way of knowing what was going through his mind. In fact, she had been overjoyed when he came home early, for this was an auspicious sign. She was sure a child was all they needed to help straighten his ways. She even imagined him getting a job. Anything that would provide a modest income would do. She hummed as she spooned him a bowl of rice.

  Tamiya looked at his wife’s belly. This would soon swell like a bale of rice, he knew. How would they appear when they walked out on the town together? What would people say?

  He thought of Ume — young and always thinking of him.

  “Are you not eating?” Oiwa asked.

  •

  The sun burned brightly the next day. Tamiya made his way to the rice shop old Itoh managed.

  As always in mid-morning, delivery men rushed in and out of the store. Young clerks helped keep the orders straight while Itoh barked instructions from the rear.

  Tamiya felt himself disappear in the commotion. A part of him wanted to remain invisible.

  But the old man’s eyesight was as good as ever. He grinned and waved.

  “I’m glad to see you!” said Itoh. “Are you here to buy rice or borrow money?”

  Tamiya glared at him, which made the rice vendor cackle.

  “Such a fearful face! Where’s your sense of humor?”

  Tamiya looked around and said in a low voice, “Oiwa is pregnant.”

  To Tamiya’s surprise, Itoh seemed genuinely dismayed.

  “I see,” he said, sighing. The old man led Tamiya to a quiet courtyard behind the store.

  “You said you knew of a way for me to leave my marriage?” Tamiya asked.

  Itoh looked as solemn as the world’s end.

  “Yes,” he said. “Indeed I said that. But you will need to be very determined. Now more than ever.”

  “I am!” Tamiya hissed. “I don’t want a child! Can you imagine how much trouble that would be?”

  “Are you absolutely sure?” But as soon as he asked the question, Itoh knew the answer. He had seldom seen determination as steadfast as what was behind Tamiya’s twisted face.

  “Wait here, and I will be right back.”

  The old man went into the dark hall and emerged a moment later. He was holding something in his closed fist. He looked around to make certain no one was nearby.

  “I’ve been using this to keep the rats from getting in the rice.”

  He handed Tamiya a small white packet.

  “Poison?” Tamiya asked, suddenly afraid.

  “It’s the most reliable way. I don’t see you as physically capable of killing anyone. This way, you add it to her tea and it will be instantaneous. You just have to get rid of the body later.”

  Tamiya’s hands started to shake. He nodded vigorously.

  “Are you sure you wish to do this?”

  Tamiya hesitated for a moment, then nodded again.

  •

  “Water!”

  Oiwa pleads with him. The flame dances on the candlewick. His hands have not stopped shaking since the morning.

  Why is this taking so long?

  Tamiya rushes to get a cup of water. As she takes it from his hands, he thinks of a convenient reason to leave.

  “Wait here, my love,” he says earnestly. “I will run and get a doctor.”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “I must.” He pries her fingers off his hand.

  He rushes out onto the dark empty street and away from the house. When the light spilling from his front entrance is out of sight, he slows to a walk.

  He has to think. How long should he take to return with the doctor? What would be a respectable amount of time? Will the poison have done its job by then?

  He drags his feet to the doctor’s clinic.

  He manages to feign urgency once the d
octor appears at his door. They rush back to his house, where Tamiya is shocked to find Oiwa still alive, moaning in agony. There is blood and vomit on the floor. Tamiya has more than enough reason to feel faint.

  They carry her upstairs, where he lays out a futon. Oiwa reaches for her husband’s hand, and she does not let go the entire time the doctor is examining her. Sometimes she flinches in pain, digging her nails into Tamiya’s skin. He bites his lip.

  “This seems to be a very bad case of food poisoning. You must have ingested something spoiled. Fish, maybe,” the doctor tells her. “You are lucky to be alive.”

  “The baby?” Oiwa asks, although she knows the answer.

  The doctor shakes his head. The tears flow freely, and she can hardly see the expression on Tamiya’s face.

  •

  The sun never stops shining, no matter how terribly we behave.

  Days later, Oiwa notices that the mirror that usually stands in the corner of the room is not there. She calls out for Tamiya.

  There is no answer. Her hair is unwashed. She must look a mess.

  She manages nonetheless to make her way downstairs. Her legs are stiff, and the floor tilts to one side, then the other. No one is in the house. The air is cool and soothing.

  She manages to find the mirror stand, which someone has brought downstairs. It is in the sitting room, and there is enough light to see.

  Enough to see the sores all over her pale skin, dry scabs forming across the bruises. Enough to see her scalp bare, aside from the few strands left of her once silken hair, now wiry and shimmering with grease. Enough to see how her face has swollen and hardened, with a ridiculously large sty above one eye.

  She screams, just as she did that night. She screams, begging for mercy in an empty house. She screams, over and over, into the cold darkness.

  •

  Tamiya can hardly look at his wife, but he is determined to be kind. They are already whispering in the streets. He was drinking every night, they say. He was clearly not happy in his marriage. How might he have reacted to news of her pregnancy?

  Fortunately, the doctor pronounced it food poisoning. There had been similar cases in town recently.

  Still, Tamiya knows he now has to be conspicuously caring. He goes out daily to shop for food and medicine. He does all the cooking and tries his best to keep the house clean.

  Time and again, he finds himself exhausted at the end of the day, only to have Oiwa calling for him with another demand. More water. Rub her shoulder. It’s time for her medicine.

  Time and again, he is barely able to contain his anger.

  It does not help that Oiwa is obviously able to do much herself. She frequently comes downstairs and sits in front of the mirror. She tilts her head to one side as if fascinated by her own disfigurement — one eye shut completely under the sty, the other sunken and bloodshot. Once she smiles faintly, as if she is looking at someone else.

  She regains more strength and asks him to take her for walks. Anger flares in his belly, but his smile betrays nothing. He only mildly cautions her that she should not overly strain herself. When neighbors wave hello or congratulate Oiwa on her recovery, he avoids their gaze.

  He cannot shut his ears, though, and the whispers follow their backs. How horrible her disfigurement! Such a tragedy about the baby! How long do you think he will stay with her?

  She asks to go to the escarpment where they first met, and they walk arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder. Just like a decrepit elderly couple, he thinks to himself. The wind is high, and the waters below the cliff are rough.

  But the sun keeps shining. It keeps shining as if all were kind to each other.

  “You seem much better now,” he tells Oiwa.

  “Thanks to you nursing me back to health. I am so sorry to have been so much trouble.”

  She lifts her sleeve and wipes a shimmering tear from her eye.

  “Nonsense,” he says. “This is what it means to be married.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is true. You truly must take care of me now that your poison has disfigured me so.”

  The ocean’s roar seems to grow louder on the wind. He releases her arm and takes a few steps backwards.

  “It could only have been you,” Oiwa says, pointing her finger and piercing his heart with the accusation. “It could not have been food poisoning. I was so careful about what I bought and ate, for the sake of the baby. I checked every fish, every piece of vegetable.”

  Thin strands of hair hang stiffly around her hunched shoulders. She truly looks frightful. When she opens her mouth to speak, he realizes she has lost a few teeth.

  The accusing finger trembles in the wind. Oiwa has trouble speaking without choking on her anger.

  “I was a fool to think a child could make things better between us! You could not even stand to be with me!”

  Tamiya is only half-listening. He looks around. No one is nearby. But the wind rises and carries the whispering voices from town. Waves rise and fall on rocks beyond the cliff. Their marriage was doomed from the start. How long will he stay with her now? How can he even stand to look at her?

  It is all so very simple. No poison. No mess. No blood or vomit or a sick wife you have to take care of afterwards. Why did you not think of this before? She is so weak she cannot run. She has lost so much weight that she is as light as a twig.

  His fingers tighten around her shoulders, and she moans.

  The vastness of the sea is so inviting. This will solve everything. There will be no more suffering — not for her nor for him.

  She screams as he tosses her over the cliff. His heart is pounding in his chest. He feels so light, he thinks the wind might even carry him away also.

  •

  The whispering voices grow louder, but no one saw anything. No one can contradict his claim that Oiwa lost her footing while they were on their walk along the escarpment. He had been distracted for just a moment. Just one moment. Did he mention that was the place they had met?

  Ume eagerly plans their wedding. She and her grandfather can hardly contain their glee.

  Tamiya still has most of Oiwa’s dowry. This forgives the old rice vendor from providing another. It is Tamiya’s second marriage anyway. No one pays much mind to the whispers.

  No one except for Tamiya. At night when the house he shared with Oiwa falls silent, he cannot help but hear the voices.

  It has only been a month! Has he no shame? They say Oiwa’s body was carried far out to sea and devoured by sharks.

  He lies awake at night, trying to ignore the whispers that fly past his ears like tiny insects. The harder he tries to sleep, the more deftly sleep eludes him.

  As the darkness grows heavy, he notices another layer to the voices — a barely audible, melodic humming. After a while Tamiya realizes that, unlike the chattering in his head, this voice is coming from downstairs, even though no one else is in the house.

  As he slowly makes his way barefoot down the cold steps, he notices candlelight in the sitting room. As he draws closer, he sees a woman kneeling in front of the mirror. Her kimono is soaked, as are the strands of hair hiding her face. She is singing softly to herself.

  “Oiwa?” he asks, despite the impossibility of this. “Is that you?”

  She stops humming but does not turn around.

  “What are you doing here, Oiwa? What do you want?”

  Her shoulders fall, as if she is weary beyond words.

  A familiar anger returns and emboldens Tamiya. He clenches a fist and takes a step forward, but a sudden draft smothers the candle. In the near darkness he can see that she is gone. Deafening silence returns to the house, but he knows he will never sleep well again.

  •

  The wedding is hurriedly held at a local shrine. The priest is more than happy to take the bribe from Itoh to squeeze them into the summer schedule. The
rice vendor fears the groom might change his mind. Tamiya has certainly been acting strangely. Anyone might be nervous before a wedding, but he seems unable even to look at his own shadow without recoiling in fright.

  An uneasy crowd gathers more out of obligation than celebration. The whispers are so loud now that it does not take a paranoid mind to hear them. Tamiya hears the voices above the flute and the mouth organ as he and Ume follow the procession to the shrine. The townspeople line the winding path along the escarpment to the sacred gates, not too far from where he met Oiwa — from where he tossed Oiwa into the ocean.

  She looks so beautiful! He looks so guilty!

  Tamiya tries to think only of the wedding as they reach the shrine — of how the skies are breathtakingly blue, of how a pheasant is singing beyond the woods.

  Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!

  The men and women of the town continue to whisper as the ceremony proceeds. It is as if they do not see the priest in the gold silk robes, or the shrine’s young maidens pouring ceremonial rice wine into the bride’s and groom’s cups.

  Tamiya glances at his bride, who is shyly staring at the floor. Her ornamental wig and hat are regal, as is her kimono, and Tamiya’s chest eases a little.

  Everything is turning out as planned. The rumors are certain to settle given time. He has riches and a bride who is appropriately young and beautiful. Laughter percolates from somewhere inside him as he gazes lovingly at Ume.

  As if she can feel his stare, she turns to him.

  Tamiya sees a face that does not belong to Ume. Scars slide across delicate features and dead skin. A black tongue hangs limply from her mouth.

  It is even more horrible than he remembers. Oiwa’s lips are chapped and flaking. Fresh bruises mottle her cheeks and forehead. The lump above her eye has split open, and some dark ooze runs down her cheek. All of her teeth have fallen out, and her gaping mouth is a bottomless darkness.

  “We will be together now always,” Oiwa says hoarsely, and she smiles horribly.