"Please return the bones to me."

Michiko thought it was quite strange. What would the government minister's wife do with the bones, once they were hers? She shut her eyes tight, and hot teats began to form at the corners. Perhaps her present attitude proved that she had really turned into a heartless monster. But hadn't her own life changed completely ever since her husband's empty bone box came back? Surprisingly enough, no one actually seemed to care when she told them her story. And after reading in the paper that a former government minister's wife had petitioned to have her husband's bones returned, following his execution at the gallows as a war criminal, she suddenly wanted to burst into tears.

On cold rainy nights, Michiko picked up men on the streets.

"One .... two.... three. ..." she counted, as she held her breath and gazed steadily toward the station. When someone approached her, she wanted to cry out, "Wait! Give me some bones!"

From time to time, men thin as ghosts shuffled out of the station. Their bones creaked as they made their way in her direction. Their lonely, glimmering eyes approached her, shining brightly. What happened on the first day was repeated over and over again. For Michiko that initial experience was unforgettable.

"How much?" the man asked.

She became flustered and giggled several times as she pressed the back of her hand to her lips. Finally, when she realized that it meant the price of spending the night with her, the region around her waist began to turn numb. She walked with the man as if in a daze. There was a smell of medicine about him. She went to the hotel which the more experienced Ran-chan had shown her.

In the few minutes which elapsed while they passed by the Musashino Theater, where the waitresses from the nearby cafes were hunting for customers, and arrived in front of the tiny shack of the Moulin Rouge Playhouse, she gradually gained courage. Could it be that the thin crescent moon above the cliff directly in front of them was causing the tremor of excitement in her? She walked between the parched illumination of the. neon lights on both sides of the road, at times stumbling on the bumpy pave ment. In her mind, she secretly clasped her hands in prayer toward the indifferent moon.

The smell of medicine lingered. "He must be a doctor," she thought. So far, they had had no opportunity to observe each other closely.

As he drew nearer, the touch of his overcoat caused a prickly sensation on the back of her hand. The wind, which swooped down from the cliff, had a fishy smell as if they were on a large lake. Michiko became aware of various sounds.... In the darkness, the ground shook below the rocky ridge. The passing trains creaked like glass boxes. "Aren't we there yet?" he asked.

"No," she replied.

"Is it a hotel?"

"Yes."

For no apparent reason, the man stopped short and looked back. Whenever anyone approached them, he drew apart and walked ahead of her, his hat drawn over his face.

She shuddered at this behavior but walked leisurely—at a distance from him. From the back, he had a shabby appearance.

The dark, stone cliff resembled a pile of rags.

She turned sharply and climbed up the crooked, uneven stone steps. Having realized his mistake, the man quickly retraced his steps and ran up the stairs behind her, panting heavily.

When they reached the Ome Highway, the moon faced them directly, shining high above the sea of neon lights below. She could see the tracks of the Keio Line, corrugated like the keys of a xylophone. The trains stirred up storms of dust as they passed. Their ominous roar, rushing toward them in waves, reverberated like the beckoning call of death from the underworld.

Her companion relaxed and came closer. "Tell me frankly," he said, "how much do you want?"

Michiko shyly concealed her nose with the shawl and answered, "I don't know. This is my first time."

"Really? This is your first time? .... You're a liar!"

The region around her breasts suddenly became flushed and she gently wiped her nose with the velvet shawl.

"You seem like a nice girl," he said in a conciliatory tone. Twice, she sneezed lightly and blew her nose with the corner of the shawl.

In the dusky sky there were long, thin layers of frothy clouds. Crossing the wide road; they descended again to the bottom of a dark cliff and headed toward the shanty town in Hinode-cho. When they finally came in front of the Kekkoya, the hotel she had visited on the previous day, a baby buggy was parked next to the wall, and a woman with a white apron stood by, looking uncomfortably cold.

The maid whom she had met yesterday was alert and led them to a dark room at the back of the second floor. The wooden floorboards, which were full of knotholes, squeaked noisily as they walked through.

Wallpaper decorated with chrysanthemums hung limply on the sliding door.

The maid immediately called her out in the hall and asked, "Say, did you get paid?"

"No, not yet," Michiko said.

"You should get it first. Ran-chan is already here. Are you going to stay for the night?"

"I don't know."

"Then, get him to stay here and have him order something to drink. You'll be all right. I'll leave the bedding out in the hall. Anyway, get what's due and find out whether he's staying overnight. You've got to pay the cashier."

"Yes."

Michiko wrapped the dingy shawl tightly around herself and went inside. The man was standing with his gray hat propped on the back of his head. He was younger than she had expected. And contrary to her previous impression, once inside he seemed to be much taller. It must have been the low ceiling. He was thin. He looked.at the wristwatch on his bony wrist.

"Shall we stay for the night?" he asked.

Michiko was relieved. She cupped her mouth with her hand and gave a wan smile. The man appeared to be particularly pleased with himself and took her hand; the touch of his warm, moist hands made her feel wretched.

"I'll have to take the money to the cashier," she said.

He seemed to understand her plight and, squatting down on the rough straw mat, he took out an old, worn wallet.

"How much?" he asked.

Michiko frowned. Although Ran-chan had told her to get as much as possible, somehow she could not talk about such things. She heard the bedding being placed out in the hall; the sliding door at the entrance bulged inward. The man counted ten 100-yen bills and put them in her hand.

"By the way, would you like something to drink?" she asked.

"I'll just have two bottles of sake and some peanuts." She went out into the hallway, stepping over the bedding, and walked downstairs to the cashier. The latter took six of the bills from her.

On the way back, when she went to the toilet, a tall girl with only a slip on and a coat draped over her shoulder shook loose her hair as she ran out of the water closet. Slamming the toilet door shut with a bang, she passed Michiko and pattered down the hall.

The interior of the water closet smelled of fresh, flowershaped, pink napthalene. This scent mingled with the traces of the offensive perfume the girl must have worn.

Michiko took the hundred-yen bills out of her purse and counted four. She was about to cry. Opening the small window in the toilet she breathed in the cold air. In that brief moment, all her memories of the past seemed to rush back in a mighty torrent. The reflection of headlights lit the window glass brightly and abruptly faded away.... There must be a highway below. She put both arms on the dirty window sill and propped her chin, weeping bitterly as she inhaled the freezing air.

She tried to think about her dead husband. She reflected that her present situation was unavoidable.

"There must be some other way...," he seemed to be whispering in her ear.

Michiko answered that there might have been, but she no longer had the strength to look for one. The faces of her father, Emiko, and Kanji spun in front of her like picture cards. Having cried herself out, she felt much better. She took out her compact and pressed the grimy powerpuff firmly around her reddened eyes.

When she went upstairs, the man and the maid were speaking to each other in low whispers. He was pouring the sake by himself into the cup on the tray. Scooping up three or four 100-yen bills, the maid brushed by Michiko on the way out.

"How about a drink?" the man said.

"I don't drink," she replied.

The bedding was piled in one corner. The scroll picture on the wall of a beautiful girl was probably a printed copy. The slender beauty stood with a hand in her hair. From the ruffled hem of her garment a slim leg extended from the vermilion underskirt.

There was a single window. The thin green walls would allow everything from the other side to be heard. In the small, four-and-a-half mat room, a partially burned out mosquito coil remained on the window ledge.

"This is terrible saké," he said.

"Oh?" she responded.

"They probably make money by mixing it with water."

"Is that so?"

"How old are you?"

"Much older than you think."

"Let me guess."

"All right."

"Are you twenty-five?"

"No, twenty-six."

"You don't look your age."

"Don't you think so?"

"Are you a widow?"

"No...."

"Don't tell me you've never slept with a man before."

"Well.... actually I was married once."

"Did he die in the war?"

"Yes."

The man finished one bottle and began on the second.

Suddenly from the adjoining room, she clearly heard the harsh voice of a woman cry out, "Now, stop that! You're tickling me!"

Holding the bottle in his hand, the man raised his head without a smile. Its absence made his expression seem frightening. His long chin reminded her of an old advertisement for Kao Toilet Soap. Michiko could not quite make up her mind about spending the night with him and kept stalling nervously, fidgeting with the worn metal clasp of her handbag.

All of a sudden, she thought of the woman in the white apron standing near the baby buggy when they came in. How strange that she should be reminded of her now. It was absurd. The woman had a blank expression. Perhaps the face was particularly hazy because her attention had been drawn to the white apron in the darkness. Also, this scene may have made a deep impression since the buggy was quite similar to the one which she once used for her daughter, Emiko. Michiko had a strange premonition that this scene would return to haunt her in the future. Something struck against the other side of the wall. With her head bent, Michiko traced random words on her knee with her finger. She could not hold back this growing, oppressive feeling that her whole body was turning into ice, that the deep torment within her soul would overflow, and seep out through her fingertips as tears of anguish. It would take stubborn courage to last out this night. A deep, murky sigh began to form in her throat.

"How did you find a place like this?" the man asked.

"A friend of mine told me," she answered.

The man merely grunted a reply, apparently not interested in prying into her personal affairs.

Being petite, Michiko's knees were tiny, and when she sat down, she looked more like a schoolgirl. But her breasts rose fully against the shapeless, navy blue coat and the frayed jacket of a faded cream color. She had a slender neck and a small face.

"How did you get that sore on your neck?"

"Well, when I was a little girl, I had lymphangitus and had it operated on."

There was an inch-long scar swelling on her thin neck.

"Are you a doctor?" she asked.

The man gave a wide grin and showed his unsightly teeth for the first time.

"Do I look like one?" he replied.

"Yes," she said.

The man remained evasive on this point. He did not even carry a valise and seemed to be leading a comfortable existence. After drinking the saké, he yawned slightly, took out a package of Peace from his coat pocket, and lit one with a lighter.

"We'd better get ready for bed," he suggested.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"A little past ten."

It was a curt, impersonal reply, which gave her no chance to make a friendly overture.

When she began clumsily to lay out the bedding, he stood up and went to the toilet. She spread out the poorly starched sheeting and put the two thin quilts on top. The green rayon stitches on the quilts were unraveling in places, and the cotton filling was coming out. When the man returned, he opened the sliding door wide.

"Isn't it cold?" he asked.

"It's because there are no curtains on the walls," she explained.

Without any display of emotion, he quickly took off his coat and trousers, and practically wrenched off the tie, then removed his gray sweater and white shirt. When he was down to his knitted brown underwear, he slid between the covers.

"Damn, it's cold! Say, put all my things on top of the bed," he said, as he raised his head and pointed with his chin, "and while you're at it, lock the door."

"Yes."

Michiko placed a glass ashtray by his pillow. The cigarette which he had started to smoke had gone out, retaining most of its original length. After she had attended to the flimsy lock and carefully laid out his carelessly strewn clothes on the reclining figure, the edge of the quilt began to twitch nervously. What appeared to be crumpled long underwear and briefs peeked out.

Her heart suddenly stopped beating, and she was overcome by a feeling of utter disgust.

She recalled a poem by Storm, which she had read as a school girl: "Today, only today...." She had forgotten the next line but remembered the rest well:

Michiko liked it so much that she had sent it in a letter to her husband who was then overseas. She had even written: "If you should die, my daughter and I will commit suicide and follow you." Every time she heard the words, "The Potsdam Declaration," she thought of Storm's biography where it mentioned that he had left his brithplace in Husum, gone to Potsdam, and become an assistant judge at a military court. She was perfectly certain that Potsdam was the place where Storm had lived. She had no special interest in literature herself, but had friends in school who did, and among the books she was persuaded to read, Michiko had come across this poem by the German poet, which had particularly appealed to her.

She ignored the articles of underwear protruding from the quilt, as if they were unfit to be touched.

"God, it's cold. Come on in and get warm!"

After extending this invitation, the man deliberately chattered his teeth.

She took off her overcoat and stockings and turned off the light. In the total darkness, the cold suddenly penetrated her whole body. It was not entirely from the cold alone, but Michiko began to tremble.

.........................

Reference