Etsuko

By Trivedi Jaimin

“She’s dead.” “What? Who?” “The one whose door you used to knock when you were a kid, every damn day, even when I reprimanded you, but you never listened.” “Calm down, mom! It’s one in the morning, I’ll call you when I wake up.” “Of course, keep avoiding me, you will remember me when her spirit goes to hell and then casts deadly spells on you. Estuko never spared anybody.”

In the morning, Masaki packed her bags like her mother expected her to, when she called. It’s custom, something you do. Whenever someone dies in the town, everyone shows up to attend the funeral. She belonged from a place where everybody knew everybody, and those who got fed up with this over-friendliness somehow found a way to move to a metro, start a new life, where they can live without being peeped on by hundreds of people at all times. Masaki was happy here in Osaka, but she also missed the leisure of her home back in Tomari. She was, quite admittedly a cog in the big Japanese machine. She worked late hours, wasn’t married, napped on the train and remained quiet when groped in the train, like she was supposed to, obviously no one wanted to work with a victim. Moreover, she never saw herself as a feminist. ‘Why hate men,’ she thought.

She boarded the train to Tomari and also on her unique train of nostalgia. Her nostalgia though abundant with exhilaration, was stained by fear; or mystery, she wondered. Should mystery elicit excitement or fear? She grew up with boys, older boys, teenagers, which explained why her hair was still short, which according to her mom made her undesirable to eligible suitors, and the suitors which liked her hair were too sleazy to marry. You never know when they cheat on you with a prostitute, she thought. Etsuko was a prostitute. ‘What does it even mean?’ She though to herself. At least, that’s what everyone said. For Etsuko was someone, whom if a man became friends with, often had to leave his house in the following months or move to a different city. Coming back to the boys she grew up with; they were nice boys, cultured, until one summer everyone suddenly started playing a little harsh, they started throwing the ball harder which was a problem for her. And then, they started throwing balls at her chest but she quickly got used to it. She used to jump up and down to dodge the pacy balls which amused the boys and cheered them up, which in turn, strengthened their friendship.

On one such evening of amusement, when she dodged the ball, it flew into the yard behind her. She was joined by a couple of boys from their ‘clan’ to fetch the ball. The door to the yard was thorny and the boys asked Masaki to wait outside. They went inside and took awfully long to return. She figured that they went inside the house. Their faces were pale when they came out of the door. They were covered in sweat and had an odd smirk that decorated their face and they giggled at each other coming out. “So, this is how it feels,” they said to Masaki. “You missed out on something special. Etsuko is special.” ‘Aah, this is where Etsuko lives.’ ‘I’ll join you next time,’ she said with a grin.

Much to Masaki’s surprise, a peculiar pattern started to emerge which perplexed her. The ball started going into Etsuko’s yard quite often. Masaki often wondered, on one hand she pat herself on her back on improving at this game of dodgeball, but on the other hand, she felt like she was missing out on something quite extraordinary when the boys went to get back the ball. Masaki couldn’t quite handle it. She switched positions with the guy standing opposite to her in the circle. From the next day, she tried throwing a harder shot across, but the guy still dodged it and the ball somehow always ended up in Etsuko’s garden. One day, she had it enough when one of the lads, on purpose, threw the ball far into Etsuko’s kitchen from the open window. Masaki tried to hide sensing trouble. For some time, she heard no noise. Realising that maybe it wasn’t a big deal and no precious crockery was destroyed, she volunteered to bring the ball back, much to the group’s disappointment.

Masaki crept to the door trying not to get caught by what the tales describer to her, as a hypnotic giant. The door was open. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. A smart kid wouldn’t close the door, but a respectful kid would. She followed the smell of the cooking in order to judge the direction of the kitchen. The scent got stronger by the step. A really spicy, heady, nostalgic yet unsettling gingery smell was heading her way from the slightly open sliding door. As she edged even closer, she heard a woman humming tunes of the dead. The voice had weight in it and it was evident with the large shadow cast under the kitchen lamp. Masaki was almost numbed to the strong aromatic scent but wasn’t unaware of it. Then tracing the shadow up, her eyes met a middle-aged woman, quite stout and tall in stature and looked very much like every other lady in the town. “Come in, my dear. Sit down, I’m making some ginger toffees.” “Thank you for the offer, mam! I’d just take away the ball and won’t trouble you anymore.” Masaki’s voice quivered while answering. “What’s the trouble in this?” Etsuko turned with a smile. Thinking that she’d be a horrible person, Masaki almost closed her eyes only to be greeted by a lovely and modest face. Yes, her bottom tooth was rotting, but that must be due to all the toffee, thought Masaki. Her hair had a bit of silver in it, it suited her. And she sat down at the table in the centre of the kitchen and insisted on having a conversation with Masaki.

The toffee was addictive. Masaki and Etsuko talked till it was dark. They talked about everything, if Tojo was a good ruler, menstruation and the female body, marriage and jobs to do when you turn forty and if Masaki was suitable for having kids. Their friendship blossomed over the freshly made ginger toffees. Masaki never knew what it was like to have a girl for a friend. Etsuko shaped her character. She left the house and reached home quite late. Her furious mother shouted, “Where were you, you irresponsible imbecile! The boys told me. Never make the mistake of going there again or I’ll lock you up in my room and marry you off in the neighbouring village.” Masaki didn’t care about the yelling for she had the best day ever. While she still joined the boys on the weekend to swim in the lake and barbeque the fish, of which, the boys enjoyed one more than the other, she spent most of her time visiting Etsuko. Etsuko however, never allowed Masaki to come for a sleepover even though she requested many times. Masaki thought that Etsuko went early to bed because of aging and all that sugar she devoured throughout the day. Under that dim kitchen lamp, Masaki became a woman. She learned how to cook, how to talk and curtsey and how to treat a man right. In spite of being an expert in these qualities, Etsuko was hated by all women in town, and Masaki was still unmarried on the day of the funeral.

The train arrived at Tomari. Masaki got off the train with a tear in her eye. She went towards the exit but stopped midway to grab a candy as she did not have breakfast that morning. Having breakfast meant that she wouldn’t be able to eat lunch at her home and her mother would feel that she’s anorexic and there would be a whole intervention about her feeding and bowel habits. Hence, Masaki went for a candy, and it was that ginger toffee she often craved in Osaka. She tasted the toffee on her way out but licked it once and threw it in the bin nearby immediately. It didn’t taste right she thought, it wasn’t Etsuko’s candy. “What did she put in there?”

By Trivedi Jaimin