That Was All It Would Ever Be

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Maybe this is all Chiki’s fault. It was supposed to go well, but things simply didn’t fall into place where they were supposed to for some reason. What should I do now? Why did things turn out this way?

It’s about Hori. I fell in love with him. He was a young man but only six years younger than me. I wouldn’t be able to tell you why I like him even if you asked. He’s just your average guy with nothing really special about him. I don’t know how Hori feels about me, but he doesn’t hate me, at least. We have a lot in common, get along well, and like a lot of the same things. Sometimes when we were talking about movie stars or books…

“O-oh, I…I have a soft spot for them,” he’d say. He was just like me. Anyway, I never introduced Hori to my husband. I didn’t want to weird Hori out or anything (or hear him say, O-oh, you must have a soft spot for him). It wasn’t like I hated my husband, and it wasn’t like I had anything to be embarrassed about, but…he lived to work. He simply lived in a different world from Hori and me. I hated the thought of him seeing my husband and saying, Oh? Wow, Kaori. So this is the guy you chose to marry, huh?

I want him to look at me and me alone. He doesn’t need any other useless data to clog his system. I’m not worried about what I’m going to do with Hori. I just like to think before I act.

I didn’t want to do anything rash, but I wanted Hori all to myself while I kept my husband on the side. I wasn’t thinking about making him my boyfriend, though. He was young, and I had no idea what he was thinking, either. Nevertheless, I still wanted him by my side.

By the way, it was Chiki’s fault that Hori and I got close. Chiki is a small piglet toy—a finger puppet, to be exact. He has a gaudy pink-painted face made out of clay, small hands (also pink), and a haphazardly sewed-together shirt made from cheap fabric. I would stick my hand through the fabric and stuff my index finger into the carboard tube connected to Chiki’s neck while my middle finger and thumb would each be in one of cardboard tubes that were his arms. Whenever I bent my index finger, it looked like Chiki was bowing. Whenever I moved my thumb, Chiki waved his left hand.

It’s the simplest of finger puppets, mere child’s play, but Chiki has the cutest little face. He has this bright-red nose, and his eyes are massively wide. He looks very cheerful. I’m afraid of having a pet (I’ve had plenty of cats die on me before), so I never had anything in my adult life that made me go, “Awww, so cute!”

I had a miscarriage when I was younger, and I still can’t have kids now at thirty years old. Regardless, just like how I don’t think my husband is cute, I never really thought that dolls or stuffed animals were that cute, either. Maybe that was why I fell in love. After all, I had never had anything cute that I wanted to dote on. I was just satisfied with my husband loving me; I thought that was enough. Parents of girls all seem to believe in the myth that women are happy as long as they’re loved and shown affection, but I think women are always aimlessly groping for something they can love and be affectionate to.

I placed Chiki on my right hand and moved his head and arms.

“Do you think Hori’s coming today?” I asked him.

“I dun think so. He isn’t scheduled to visit, after all,” Chiki replied with a shake of his head. His voice was adorably hoarse like a little boy’s. Of course, I was the one doing the voice, but it really does feel like Chiki is speaking when I look at him. His face is only half the size of my palm, but he’s extremely expressive, in my opinion.

“Oh… He’s not coming, huh?”

“You can’t call him, neither. He’s out meeting other customers, which is why he’s not gonna be in today. I know dat for a fact,” claimed Chiki with a lisp. Chiki is a little boy in Hori’s and my eyes. Not a little girl, for whatever reason…

I’d purchased Chiki at a night stall on July 25 at the Tenjin-san Flea Market during the summer festival at Osaka Tenmangu Shrine. On this day, large boats parade upstream and are met by another ritual boat. The festival is always packed, but Hori and I decided to go to Tenjin-san that day. This was the first time we ever went anywhere alone together.

I make fake flowers for a living. First, I dye fabrics and tulle, then use a type of soldering iron to shape them into flower petals. They’re the flowers people use when making hats and bouquets. I make intricate, beautiful flowers as well for something known as intimation flower art, and I used to run a workshop teaching how to do it, but I now mainly work on making what are called bridal fashion flowers. These are the flowers brides use on their headdresses, wedding dresses, and reception dresses.

I get the sketches and materials from the designer. After that, I think about where I’m going to put the roses or other small flowers on the veil or clothing based on what I was given, then get working on seeing it to fruition. I use a lot of fantastically colored flowers like gold or blue roses as well. Wedding attire has been getting flashier and more colorful every year. Some people even wear solid-white wedding dresses covered with small pastel roses; others decorate their sleeves with gold flowers.

Demand for gorgeous, colorful bridal clothing that gets everyone’s attention has been escalating by the day. Wedding venues and rental dress shops have been receiving orders for newer and newer dresses to the point that they can’t keep up, which is why I’ve been getting more work lately as well.

Nowadays, I pay a housewife, who I used to teach at my workshop, to make small flowers and leaves for me. It’s my job to take those pieces and make the finished product, along with the most technical, difficult pieces of clothing, such as the veil or headpiece.

I like my job, and I get a lot of freedom to create what I want. Whenever the clothing companies or designers compliment my work, it motivates me all the more to work even harder. My husband doesn’t seem to be thrilled about me dedicating myself to my job, but he doesn’t seem to be against it, either. His own workday is extremely busy, and he works late every day. By the time he gets home at night, he’s so exhausted and cranky. He almost never eats dinner at home.

My husband spends far more time with his coworkers than he does with me. Whenever I think he’s back early for a change, he’s immediately stuffing something into the trunk of his car.

“What are you doing?” I’d ask him.

“I’m going to America tomorrow on a two-week business trip.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t tell you?”

No, he never did.

He wasn’t trying to be a jerk. He honestly believed he’d told me, but he simply forgot. Work seems to be the only thing that’s ever on his mind, after all.

Sometimes, he gets calls from the office on our home phone, but he never seems bothered by it. In fact, he seems thrilled. He gets so caught up in the conversation, as if he has this sweet sense of camaraderie with his colleagues. There’s even a hint of satisfaction in his cheerful voice—something sexually intoxicating that makes my heart skip a beat.

Work and friendship.

And if that isn’t enough, there’s a competitive streak between them that makes their friendship nicely flexible, malleable.

My husband is thirty-five years old, and he seems to be in a work environment that he absolutely loves. Plus, the camaraderie among his coworkers seems to be what gets him going in the morning—the glue that holds his life together. His satisfaction put me at ease because I could live my secret life without having to worry. He can keep himself entertained and fulfilled all on his own.

I had no idea he’d be this low-maintenance.

I resigned myself to that thought. I’d always sensed that he was dedicated his work. He never seemed to want children or anything like that, either. It was only after I started this job that I stopped being annoyed at how he was “playing without me.” Ever since then, I’ve actually felt relieved that he’s not home often, whether it be a business trip or overtime. Besides, my own work has me visiting countless department stores, fashion shows, and wedding venues.

Whenever the flowers I make are a hit, it pushes me even harder to breathe new, fresh air into my work, which is why I buy so many foreign wedding dress books. I’ve started going to the movies lately as well, and I even buy and make clothes for myself, since I like to dress up now. And I finally have my own money! My husband is very Americanized; he used to only give me money for daily necessities.

“I can’t trust you with that much cash. You’d spend every last cent I gave you. You know what they say: ‘If your head is wax, don’t walk in the sun.’ You’d eat through all our savings bit by bit.”

I didn’t think that, but I guess it might have looked like that from my husband’s point of view. Nevertheless, my work pays very well, to my delight, and I haven’t told my husband that, either. I’ve only told a few people about how much I make.

I’ve surprisingly been able to relate to and understand my husband more ever since my business became my hobby as well. It’s not like I fell in love with him all over again, but I can now see why he enjoys himself so much, because I also love what I do for a living.

I used to be a little jealous of how close my husband was with his colleagues, but I can empathize with him now to the point where I’m like, Yeah, I don’t blame him. Whenever he’s busy with work, our cuddle time is over in the blink of an eye, and I only get a taste of love, even though this should be when we are affectionate the most. And yet now I think about those habits of his and go, Yep… That’s about right.

I once thought that there was something lacking about a relationship whose void is filled only with understanding and empathy, although there was nothing I could have done about it. Plus, I’m a necessity to my husband. Sometimes, his coworkers (and their wives) come over to our place for dinner parties, and I make sure to pretend like my husband and I are really close, because I know that’s what he wants. There are always a lot of couples who have lived abroad before, so the parties tend to be very lively. That’s when I play the role of a great partner to my husband. My acting chops are more than up to snuff for him. I wear a white crepe de chine blouse with tight, trendy blue jeans and a platinum necklace with matching earrings. My hair is very short, which I know gathers the attention of both men and women alike. I pretend to be a wife who’s loved by her husband and who always gets her way, and my husband pretends to be the smiling, sweet, devoted man who dotes on me. Even after the party is over and the guests go home, we’re sometimes still giddy.

You have the happiest home life I’ve ever seen! You don’t have any children, but you two seem to be so close and perfect together. Talk about a successful marriage!

That was surely the impression we left on my husband’s boss and his wife when they came over, and we had plenty of evidence to back that up. Things like this were extremely beneficial to my husband at the workplace, given his position there. Our successful performances left us intoxicated even after the party had ended.

“Kaori, care for a drink?”

My husband took a bottle of leftover white wine out of the bucket of mostly melted ice.

“Sure.”

That was all we needed to say to each other. After that, we hopped into the bath together and gave each other more love than usual—slower and steadier love. This wasn’t love rekindled in the heat of the moment, though. It was more like, Yes! We did it, partner! We were celebrating this little show that we’d pulled off.

It was the same whenever we were invited to someone else’s house for a party. I would wear a black, broad-brimmed hat and a dark-red velvet trench coat that had this vintage, elegant style to it like something from the good old days. I had a red grosgrain ribbon on my black hat, and when I would take my hat and coat off at the door, I would be wearing a leopard-print blouse with silk, black skinny pants. In other words, I always let my clothing do the talking for me and go with whatever my husband wants to do. Nevertheless, I like to pretend that I actually love parties and I’m truly excited about being there deep down. Before long, the act becomes a part of me, and I actually begin to genuinely enjoy myself at these parties. But by the end of it, I’d still feel like, Great performance today, partner! Looks like the guests bought the act hook, line, and sinker! I wasn’t unhappy with my life, however, because I felt that everything was going well, and that was what mattered most.

Hori works for a bridal fashion company and comes in to pick up the products I make once or twice a week. Young men in his position normally came in, checked if the amount matched the order, and made sure that everything was just as the designer specified before promptly leaving without even really saying a word to me. Hori, however, would carefully observe the headpieces and flowers I made, saying things like:

“Wow, these are very stylish.”

“Such a delicate color palette.”

And before I even knew it, I was in love with him. It’s hard to tell his age based on appearance alone, but he’s apparently twenty-four years old and single. He’s tall, on the thin side, and is average looks-wise. And he’s pale, to boot. His hair is slightly brown and pin straight. His physique is nothing to write home about, either. Calling him scrawny would be a compliment, in fact. But for some reason, I fell in love with him.

“This crimson orchid looks really flashy at first glance, but there’s something refined and pure about it,” he told me. Here was someone who understood.

“Everyone keeps saying to make my flowers flashier, but I just can’t come up with eye-popping, gaudy designs. Everything I make turns out cutesy,” I replied.

“You’re right, everyone wants flashy nowadays… The reception dresses people are wearing lately are starting to look like something out of Arabian Nights or those carp streamers people hang on Children’s Day. They’re way too loud. But I guess there has to be something about them. After all, you see people at weddings everywhere from Kushiro in the north to Kagoshima in the south wearing flashy dresses like that. What is with young people these days? Am I right? The modern Japanese person is obsessed with flashy things. Maybe all young folks want to be celebrities?”

Hori joked as if he wasn’t young himself.

I liked the genuine, mild-mannered way he smiled. I liked the reserved way he laughed, too. When I first realized I liked him, it felt like something in my heart had been triggered and there was no way to stop it from escalating. I immediately got the urge to talk to Hori about music, books, movies—just anything, and that’s how it all started.

Hori didn’t act like he knew something when he didn’t like a lot of young people do. That’s why after I first met him, I didn’t think, Wow! That was some fine acting again, Kaori! I could be myself, smile, and laugh when I was with him. We only talked for ten, fifteen minutes whenever he visited, but I was so happy every day he was scheduled to come in. For whatever reason, there was something very comforting and familiar about him, as if we’d met somewhere before. I felt as if I’d known him in a past life.

One day, when I was making flowers, I suddenly felt like looking through a photo book called A Hundred Years of Early Modern Japanese History, which I grabbed off my husband’s bookshelf. When I flipped through the pages about wartime, I found various pictures of the atrocities committed by the Empire of Japan’s army across China. One of the pictures was of a young man—I don’t know if he was a member of some guerrilla force or a spy or just an ordinary farmer, but he had his arms tied behind his back and was about to be executed by Japanese soldiers. He had pin-straight hair and clear eyes with sunken-in cheeks, just like Hori. His bright, clear eyes were calm; it looked as if he were asking the people about to execute him, You sure you wanna do this? You sure you’re really okay with this? There was a hint of derision in his firm, heroic gaze.

But maybe I’m just overthinking things. Maybe he was frozen in fear and despair as he lay on the verge of death, and his eyes were randomly staring off into space as he kneeled in a daze. That tiny photograph burned itself into my mind, and maybe Hori’s delicate frame reminded me of it. But there’s no way I could tell him, Hey, you kind of look just like this one POW who got executed, so I’ve been keeping this to myself.

Having Hori around became very convenient after he got used to coming over to my house. He could handle basic repairs for electronics that my husband wouldn’t even touch, or help clean up—basically whatever I needed help with when he came over on Sundays. My husband is never home on Sunday. Whenever he had any spare time, he’d be entertaining clients or meeting coworkers on the golf course, so I would invite Hori over for a little lunch.

I don’t own a cat personally, but I feed a stray mother and two kittens that hang out in my backyard. When Hori came over, he gently reached out, and they let him pet their heads while they calmly ate. There’s also a weasel that took up residence in my backyard, but when it was passing through my garden that day, it suddenly noticed Hori and froze in place with its eyes locked on him for some time.

“I love animals. I want to get a pet and live in the countryside one day,” Hori said, and I immediately agreed with him. Hanging out with cats and dogs in my bare feet, riding horses—that would be the life, but it was a life that would never happen. I would continue my act with my husband while thinking, My acting was flawless today! and Hori would travel from Kushiro to Kagoshima, selling bridal fashion all along the way.

“A city mouse like me wouldn’t be able to handle it, though,” he joked. I could easily tell he was born in Osaka. He was very nonchalant about everything and highly adaptable.

One night, we went to Tenjin-san together. There were so many people crowding the bridge that we couldn’t see the ritual boat procession, so we decided to go to the main shrine to worship and bought a finger puppet at one of the stalls outside. The festival music in the background was very Osaka-ish, really lively and busy: dum-dum-tss-chiki, dum-tss-chiki, dum-dum-tss-chiki, dum-tss-chiki.

The music at Kyoto’s Gion Festival is slower and more drawn out like: dummm-tsss-chiiiki. People in Osaka always complain that it bores them to death, but the music nonetheless got stuck in my head, which was why I named my new finger puppet piglet Chiki.

We went out for pasta in southern Osaka after that. It was the first time I’d ever wandered the streets of Osaka at night with a younger man. The restaurant was a tiny hole-in-the-wall, but it felt so alive. We drank wine and had so much fun with Chiki as well. Hori’s pale complexion and soft skin became slightly flushed.

Even though I couldn’t do any impressive tricks like ventriloquism, I placed Chiki on my right hand and said: “Hey, I’m Chiki,” in an extremely believable child’s voice. “Quick question. Are you two just friends or…?”

“‘Or’…? What do you think?” I teased him, but Chiki shook his head and asked more directly:

“Are you guys dating? Or not?”

“This fella’s a little too forward, and annoyingly immature,” Hori said.

“He’s still got to learn his manners, huh?” I replied. Chiki then pointed right at my face.

“Don’cha gotta hurry home tonight?”

There was something hilarious about how Chiki said “don’cha” whenever he was trying to lecture me.

“Don’cha think your husband’ll start to worry?”

“That’s nothing a child like you has to be concerned about.”

“But he’s gonna be real mad if you come home late.”

“It’s fine. He’s working late tonight, too,” I replied.

“Huh. You both always go home late?”

“Yep.”

“Why d’you live together, then?”

To keep up the act. For appearances. But would Chiki even understand that?

“What d’you like to do for fun?” Chiki asked me.

“Good question… I guess I like to drink wine and daydream, kind of like what I’m doing now. And I like being with you, Chiki.”

“D’you like bein’ with Hori?”

“He’s really fun to be around.”

“You like him?”

“Oh, well…I—”

“Chiki, quit it. Stop teasing the adults.” Hori smacked Chiki’s peach-colored head in a fluster.

“Owie. Why’d you hit me?”

“Because you don’t know when to keep your mouth shut.”

“Dun pretend you weren’t curious.”

“Shh! Chiki, come on. Stop.”

“Why? You like Kaori, don’cha?”

“Sorry about him,” I said. “He’s being such a brat.”

We happened to go out for a drink after that as well. I placed Chiki in my bag at the bar, and while we were drinking…

“Havin’ a third drink? Don’cha know you’re not gonna be able to go home if you have that much?!” I made Chiki shout at Hori.

“So what if we can’t go home tonight? We’re adults. Mind your own business.”

“Ooh, are you two gonna be naughty? Is that what’s gonna happen?”

It was all so absurd that I burst into laughter. Hori and I probably used jokes to gradually help us relax because like they say, “if your head is wax, don’t walk in the sun.” With Chiki around, we could simply laugh off how naughty we were being.

Chiki turned his gaze at Hori to protest, but Hori immediately covered Chiki’s mouth.

“Keep quiet, you stupid little oinker…”

“Takes one to know one. Owie, you’re gonna make me even stupider!”

Their exchange was so ridiculous that I clutched my stomach and cackled. Hori’s a real joker, to my surprise, for someone who looks like a POW about to be executed. The more of his sense of humor he shows me, the more fun I have. He comes off as a really mild-mannered man, but deep down, he’s kind of like a treasure chest filled with all sorts of fun stuff.

That day, Chiki became the center of our universe.

“How’s Chiki?” Hori asked whenever he called me.

I keep Chiki in one corner of my workroom, stuck on top of an old bottle of lotion wrapped with a towel. Otherwise, Chiki would be lying face flat on my table like a broken marionette while scraps of fabric and dust gradually covered his body.

At first glance, Chiki looked like a complete doofus with his goofy nose and slack-jawed mouth, but I learned that there was much more to him than that.

“Your husband’ll still be on his business trip dis Sunday, right?”

“Oh, hmm… Good question.”

“You wanna go for a drive, don’cha? Hee-hee-hee, can’t wait.”

Oh, you little…

“You’re way too smart for your age,” I said before smacking Chiki.

But it turned out just like Chiki said it would. We went up to Hokusetsu in the mountains that Sunday. My husband had left the car behind, so Hori ended up driving. I held Chiki in my left hand and showed him the view from the window. It was still hot, since autumn had just started, but the wind smelled differently already.

“Ah, da wind feels sooo good,” Chiki blissfully commented. While it was really me talking, Chiki’s voice was always so adorable, just like a child’s.

“The wind does feel nice, doesn’t it?”

“I’m hungry… Hurry up and feed me,” Chiki whined.

“Who brought the brat? Because I don’t remember us inviting any brats with us.” Hori played along, which made it all the more hilarious.

The forest greenery had become a bit more subdued, and even the abundant weeds were losing steam. What stood out the most, however, was how different the clouds were now: so fluffy and light.

There were some willows along the riverside and a nice shaded area as well. It was still a little early, but if we kept going straight, we would suddenly end up in the middle of a massive apartment complex.

“Let’s eat here.”

So we ended up having a picnic by the riverside. After covering the table with an old tablecloth, Hori and I brought our lunches over. The perfectly square shunkei-lacquered lunch boxes were stuffed with a variety of food.

“W-wow… Now, this makes me happy.” Hori started smacking his lips.

He was once again keeping Chiki occupied while I was getting out the cups and chopsticks.

“Chiki, you’ve never had such a wonderful feast out in nature like this before, have you?”

“I’ve had a tough life…”

Now that he mentioned it, this would be my first picnic, too, although my husband often had picnics at the golf course with his work buddies. I used to watch him entertain himself without me and started wondering if I’d slowly wasted my life away like someone with a wax head walking into the sun.

Inside the lunch boxes were meatballs, chicken meatloaf, braised vegetables with salad, dried plums, and burdock root—all of which Hori seemed to love. Contrary to his delicate frame and pale complexion, he seemed to be in very good health and had a healthy appetite to go with it. I’d never seen someone eat my cooking with such enthusiasm before.

He’s so young, I thought fondly. Hori had told me that the food at his boarding house was awful, which probably explained why he ate until his stomach was on the verge of exploding.

“You’re such a pig!” I made Chiki shout. “Got anythin’ else you wanna say, Hori?”

“No, I think I’m good.”

“Betcha wish you could eat like dis every day.”

“You know it.”

Hori wore a dazed, innocent expression as he sprawled out over the picnic blanket with his arms crossed behind his head. It was a very quiet day, with only a few cars driving down the prefectural road in the distance every once in a while.

“Chiki, go find me a wife, will ya?”

“Wives don’t grow on trees, y’know. Find one for yourself.”

“Oh, shut up.”

I ate a lot as well, so I was feeling great. I usually ate alone, so most of the time, I couldn’t even remember what I ate even right after I finished it. Plus, there was something really nice about relaxing outside in the fresh air with a full stomach.

“Those eggs with soybeans in them were amazing. Soybean omelets, I think is what they’re called,” Hori said to Chiki. “I’ve had chive omelets before, but omelets with rice and black sesame? Incredible. Plus, Chiki, there’s something aesthetically pleasing when you wrap it all up in dried seaweed.”

“I liked da chicken meatloaf. Da burdock root was real good, too. Anyway, no more food talk. You got any plans after dis?”

“Hmm… What do you think I should do, Chiki?”

Hori was very calm, which reminded me of that POW’s clear eyes moments before he was executed. Maybe Hori was more daring than I thought.

“You’re only gonna make things worse if you go too far, Hori,” Chiki retorted.

I thought about all kinds of situations and places we could go. There was one place I wouldn’t mind going, since I had feelings for him, but that’d just create problems for me, so I had to really focus on making sure things didn’t get complicated.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to take her anywhere that’d complicate things for her too much.”

Was Hori trying to sound me out? Heh-heh.

But I was interested.

“You oughtta pack it up and get outta here while you still can!”

“Oh, shut up,” I joked while smacking Chiki on the head.

“Hori’s gonna wanna take you to places if you stay here too long, don’cha know?” Chiki shouted.

I couldn’t help but laugh. This was exactly what I liked about Hori. He was so funny. But if I just made someone like that my lover, then that was all it would ever be. I took Chiki out of Hori’s hand.

“Yeah, Hori. This is about more than just getting laid!” I made Chiki yell.

Hori smacked Chiki’s head, gazed at the vast blue sky, then slowly lay back down on the ground. It looked like he was going to take a nap.