Swallows, page 28
“I think he just figured there was nothing he could do. He acknowledged that this whole thing has been very one-sided. And he asked if Ōishi-san wanted to come and live with him and raise the children there, if she’s okay with it.”
“What?” Riki said, shocked.
“Well, you’re technically married to Motoi now, right? And you’re having his baby. Or, rather, you’re about to give birth to twins. Even though you two aren’t in a romantic relationship, he said he would welcome you there as the mother of his children.”
“That’s not what we agreed to,” Riki protested loudly.
“Wait, wait, hang on a minute,” Ririko said, raising her hand as if to hold Riki back.
“What?”
“I think that sort of makes sense, actually. Riki, just a minute ago, you were talking about how you’ve grown more attached to the twins, right? In that case, why not raise them at the Kusaokes’ house? Mokkun might be a bit of a pain, but he’s financially stable. Why not take advantage of that?”
“Absolutely not,” Riki stated clearly.
“Wait, listen to me for a second,” Yuko said, interrupting the two of them. “There’s something else I wanted to say. When Motoi told me he thought it wasn’t a bad idea for Riki to live with him and raise the kids there, I thought, God, this guy knows nothing. And it just slipped out of my mouth.”
“What did?” Ririko said, a spoonful of Bavarian cream hovering just in front of her mouth.
“That we don’t know for sure if the kids are his.”
“Are you serious? What the hell? Is this fun for you, cornering Riki like this?”
Ririko was furious, but for some reason Riki felt relieved—as though Yuko had unburdened her of something. If the children weren’t Motoi’s, then it would be chaos after the birth. Maybe it was better to hear his thoughts on the matter beforehand.
“How did you break it to him?” Riki asked, her cheeks still stuffed with watermelon.
“I told him that it seemed like something happened with an ex of yours when you went to Hokkaido. And that something else might have happened in Tokyo. And that it didn’t happen while you were ovulating, of course, so it was probably fine, but there was some risk when you consider the lifespan of sperm. I told him you were worried about it. And that, from my perspective, the likelihood of the children being his was still pretty high, but on the off-chance they weren’t, what would he do? I asked him if he would still raise the children with you.”
“Wow, you really don’t mince words,” Ririko said.
“And then he started talking some nonsense about how what you did was a violation of the contract and all that, so I reminded him that unilaterally enforcing abstinence on a thirty-year-old woman for nearly a year was practically a violation of human rights. That he should forgive you, because it wasn’t your fault. And that, even if the children turned out not to be his, he had no right to demand you return the money or anything awful like that.”
“Nice, Yuko,” Ririko said, clapping slowly.
“And then? What did he say after that?” Riki asked, her heart pounding.
“He said he understood. And that, even if the children turned out not to be his, they’d still take the Kusaoke name, and that you still gave birth to them, so he’d take it as some sort of sign and raise them as his own. And that’s when he said he’d even be grateful if you raised them with him. He’ll probably reach out to you soon. And if he tries to give you a hard time, I promise I’ll back you up. I just want to make sure you have a safe birth.”
Riki bowed to Yuko. Things had really taken an unexpected turn. Of course, she couldn’t be sure of anything until the children were actually born, but she’d never believed that Motoi would concede so much.
“Good for Mokkun,” Ririko said. “I didn’t think he’d be the bigger man like that.”
“Me, either,” Yuko said quietly.
Ririko jabbed her shoulder playfully. “Why don’t you remarry him, then?”
“I can’t do that. Honestly, though, Riki, Motoi will be fine. It’s his mother you need to worry about. Chimiko-san. That woman is scary. I can see her demanding a DNA test. I feel like she’ll definitely start something.”
“Why are you talking about this like it’s someone else’s problem?” Ririko said, glaring at Yuko.
5.3
Motoi was convinced that dogs could understand human emotions. They could intuit their owners’ feelings, just as they could sniff things out with their excellent sense of smell. Did emotions have their own scent, too? he wondered.
Maybe it was because he’d recently read an article that said dogs could even smell cancer cells, but all of this had been on Motoi’s mind lately.
When Yuko and Motoi were arguing, Mathieu would look frightened, and bury his face between Motoi’s sneakers near the front door. Even after things calmed down, he wouldn’t go back to being his usual self. It would be one thing for the dog to sense when Motoi was depressed, but it was like he could pick up on Yuko’s unhappiness, too.
Does my depression have a scent, like cancer? I wonder what it smells like. Motoi tried sniffing himself. But he didn’t smell anything. What a dumb, useless animal a human being is, he thought.
Lately Mathieu had started glancing back nervously after they left the house for their walk. It was almost like he was afraid Yuko would leave while they were out.
“It’s okay. Mama’s not going anywhere,” Motoi would say, trying to reassure the dog. But then he’d recall Yuko’s frustrated expression, and wonder whether she wasn’t getting ready to leave him this very minute. Mathieu’s gait grew heavier.
“ ‘Mama,’ I said. Ha, listen to me. I guess that makes me Papa, huh?” Motoi muttered, laughing bitterly at himself. Maybe he and Yuko should have been content with this dog instead of a child. But he hadn’t been able to stand the idea that they couldn’t have children. Perhaps he’d gotten carried away with his selfishness.
For the past few days, he and Yuko had spent many hours discussing the future of their relationship.
They concluded that, after the children were born, Yuko would move out of the house and they would stay divorced. Motoi felt hurt, and rejected. Well, Yuko really had rejected him. She said that she wouldn’t acknowledge him as her husband anymore, that they weren’t compatible.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, the news that Riki’s children might not be his hit him like a rear-end collision, shaking him to his very core. What was it, exactly? Pride? No, it wasn’t that. It was something more fundamental, complex. Something to do with how he conducted himself as a human being—in other words, his ethical position.
Truthfully, he had no desire to raise the children if they turned out not to be his. And yet he was the one who had made it easier for Riki to get pregnant. So, regardless of how much money he’d paid, it was unethical for him to abandon the mother and her children.
He’d abandoned his last shred of dignity when he’d declared to Yuko that he’d take responsibility for the twins, no matter whose they were. But when he really thought about it, he wasn’t sure he could.
After sniffing his way around the telephone pole, Mathieu finally peed. He was a squatter, even though he was a boy dog. It had always been that way, and Motoi had never thought much of it.
“Good morning, little Mathieu,” a voice said behind him as he was lost in thought. Startled, Motoi turned around. A middle-aged woman was standing there with her shih tzu. Motoi ran into her most mornings when he was walking Mathieu, so she probably lived nearby. Recently, they’d begun exchanging a few words whenever they saw each other, so he supposed they were dog-walking friends at this point.
Though it was quite hot out, the woman was wearing her usual attire: a long-sleeved Uniqlo hoodie—perhaps for sun protection—and a sun visor with a face shield that came down to her chin, which made her look like a welder. She wore sunglasses on top of all that, so Motoi had never seen her actual face. In fact, if he saw her out somewhere else, he probably wouldn’t recognize her. She could spot him, though. She seemed to know that he was famous in the dance world.
The woman’s shih tzu was quite plump. The long hair on its ears had been arranged so that it looked like the dog had a little bob cut, and every December the woman would dress it up in a Santa suit.
“Good morning,” Motoi said politely as he squirted some water from a water bottle over where Mathieu had peed.
“Is Mathieu-chan a girl?” she said. “I forget.” The woman squinted at Mathieu’s underbelly. “Oh, he’s a boy! But he squats when he pees?”
“Yes, he’s always done that. Apparently, the reason male dogs lift their leg to pee is to avoid hitting their testicles—but we had his removed when he was still a puppy.”
The middle-aged woman nodded. “I see. We neutered ours, too, but he still lifts his leg when he pees. It always makes me laugh—like he’s trying to show up the bigger dogs, despite his short little legs. I guess a boy dog is a boy dog at the end of the day, even if he’s been neutered.”
Motoi remembered how sorry he’d felt for Mathieu when they’d gotten him neutered. He wondered whether there was anything they could do to save the dog’s testicles—almost as though he were the one undergoing the procedure.
But in the end, he’d been swayed by the argument that getting Mathieu neutered would mean he would look like a puppy for longer, that he’d be gentler and easier to take care of. Yuko had also convinced him that they should do it to prevent Mathieu from bothering other people’s dogs, which Motoi agreed with. There was no way around it.
“A boy is a boy, even if he’s been neutered,” he repeated, as though to himself. The woman nodded.
“That’s right. Before I got this one, I used to have a girl dog, same breed, and, I tell you, it was like night and day. Girl dogs are gentle, and sweet. They never go crazy and run around like they’ve lost control of themselves. There really is something different about them.”
What a strange way of putting it, Motoi thought to himself. But it was true—sometimes Mathieu would run around like he’d reverted to his wild state, or growl and pretend he was about to pounce on something. And when he wanted Yuko to pay attention to him, he’d roll over on his back and show her his belly. Yes, he was a boy dog, all right.
“But that means these little guys are the last of their generation. We humans really are selfish, aren’t we?” the woman said with a smile, then turned and left.
The last of their generation. That’s what I couldn’t stand being, Motoi thought.
He had inherited something from his parents, who had each inherited something from their parents, who had in turn inherited something from each of their parents. He didn’t want to be the one to interrupt the genes that had been passed down from one generation to the next.
But that wasn’t all. He’d felt guilty. Getting divorced and remarried meant that he’d already interrupted the hereditary line.
“I didn’t know you were so obsessed with producing an heir,” Yuko had said to him. “If you want one so badly, why don’t you make your own Ōoku?” There was no need for her to add “since I can’t have kids anymore.” What good would that have done, seeing as Motoi was a man without the ability to give birth? Was Yuko implying that hiring a surrogate was like having an Ōoku? Even though he’d compensated Riki and gotten her approval for the whole process?
And was she saying that it was his fault they’d grown apart? That it was because he’d wanted his own child so badly that he’d gone so far as to hire a surrogate? But Yuko herself had wanted kids too; hadn’t she dedicated herself to the grueling process of artificial insemination?
It was only after they’d asked Riki to be a surrogate that things had changed between them. And now, on top of that, the tremendous investment he’d made might fail because of Riki’s selfish actions. It had all been a gross miscalculation on his part.
“Hey, Mathieu, I might be the last of my generation, too. Just like you,” Motoi said to the dog, who was trotting peacefully by his side. Mathieu looked up at him, as though to say, It’s different for you. His round, black eyes seemed more intelligent than a human’s.
“I know, you’re right. If Ōishi-san’s children turn out to be mine, that won’t exactly be true.”
And yet, if they weren’t his, did he really have the courage to raise them and spend money on them? These twins who shared none of his genes? No, he corrected himself. It wasn’t that he lacked the courage. He simply wasn’t obligated to.
But he’d told Yuko that he’d take responsibility for the children and raise them no matter whose they were.
What should I do? What should I do?
As he was mumbling to himself, Motoi realized he was standing in front of the nameplate that read “Motoi Kusaoke Ballet Studio.” He scooped Mathieu up in his arms. The pre-K ballet class was just about to start, and a couple of mothers were entering the studio with their two- and three-year-old daughters. The mothers were both young, beautiful women. Their children were adorable, and dressed in fashionable outfits, as though to flaunt their wealth. Motoi was briefly reminded of the shih tzu in the Santa suit, though admittedly these children were much cuter.
“Good morning, Motoi-sensei!” the mothers greeted him. Their daughters echoed them. Motoi greeted them back, then watched the little girls bounce away, holding their mothers’ hands.
Riki was now pregnant with twins—a boy and a girl. How adorable would Motoi’s own daughter be when she reached the age of these little girls, and started to learn ballet herself? Just imagining it made him tremble with joy.
A pair of twins, boy and girl. For Motoi, already in his forties and without much to look forward to, they were the ideal children. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought it possible. If the twins were genuinely his, he would let them both do as they liked. He let his fantasy carry him away, swelling up like a balloon.
His son, of course, would take ballet lessons. But it was possible he might not have the talent for it, and even if he did, he might not want to pursue it as a career. No matter, he would take lessons at least until junior high, since that would ensure that his body would be lovely and lithe, and he’d be able to learn about the world through ballet. That’s how it had been for Motoi. But a boy would also need academic training. They’d have to think about entrance exams for junior high. Which meant he’d need to put his son in cram school by the time he was in third grade, at least.
He would send his daughter to a private school, where she’d wear a cute little uniform. It wouldn’t hurt to give her a thorough training in ballet, either. If she took after Chimiko, she’d probably be quite the stunner, and have the right body type for ballet, too. Motoi would train her both physically and mentally from a young age, so she’d have a good head start. After that, it would be up to her how far she wanted to pursue it, but Motoi would always be by her side to advise her. He couldn’t wait. With twins, he felt like he would get to live his own life twice—no, four times.
Just then, he remembered Riki. Suddenly his fantasy burst, and he fell back into despair. What was he going to do if the children weren’t his?
Yuko had already said she wasn’t willing to remarry, and the twins’ birth mother would divorce him as soon as they were born—meaning he would be completely on his own.
He began to feel panicky, his thoughts spinning off. He had been gripping Mathieu to his chest without realizing it, and the dog squirmed to get away.
Motoi climbed the stairs to the second floor, still holding Mathieu. Chimiko must have heard his footsteps, because she opened the door for him when he arrived. She didn’t have any lessons today, so was dressed in a casual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt.
“Morning. You’re early today,” Chimiko said with her usual brusqueness. Her voice was hoarse. Immediately Motoi felt less tense. He nodded, pouting a little.
“I’m all right, I guess.”
“Did Yuko go to work early this morning?”
“No, I was just up.” Motoi had left the house before Yuko. Usually, he saw her off before leaving for the studio, but he hadn’t felt like doing that for the past few days. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he waved goodbye and called out, Have a good day, she’d never come home again.
It’s not like he hadn’t taken the decision to get divorced seriously. Still, he regretted reaching for the easiest option. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that it might affect her emotionally. He’d had no intention of slighting her. It had just presented itself as the most logical step, given the circumstances. But it must have made her feel even more isolated.
“Were you working?” Motoi asked, glancing at the laptop Chimiko had open on the breakfast table.
“Yeah, I was just trying to figure out how much income we’ll have this year. Our enrollments have been down lately,” Chimiko said, squinting at the screen.
“What are you talking about? We’re at about seventy percent of our peak season,” Motoi replied, putting Mathieu down on the floor. The dog ran over to Chimiko and nimbly leapt up onto her lap.
“And now we’re at about seventy percent of that.”
“Which puts us at less than half of our peak season numbers,” Motoi said, calculating quickly in his head.
“Right. Two more students said they’re quitting this month, too.”
The declining birth rate in Japan was part of the problem, to be sure, but recently a new, modern-looking ballet studio had opened up on the other side of the train station, which had claimed some of their students. Then there was the recession: many families simply couldn’t afford ballet lessons for their children anymore.
“Two students from the class downstairs quit, too. So now we’re down to three. I’m tempted to call it quits, but I just can’t bring myself to.”
