Free Something Strange Across the River by Kafū Nagai Page B

down.” She slapped at a mosquito that had landed on my forehead.
    The house was filled with more mosquitos than ever. It seemed their needles had grown fatter and sharper. Oyuki produced a tissue from her pocket and wiped the blood from my forehead. “Just look at this.” She showed me the stained tissue before crumpling it up.
    “When those mosquitos go away the year will be over.”
    “I know. I think they were still around for the winter festival last year.”
    For a moment I thought I’d heard her refer to their breeding in the rice paddies, but quickly realized that was a story from another age I’d heard as if in a dream. “You want to go for a walk around here, maybe to Yoshiwara?”
    “Sure,” she said before turning her head to the gentle chime of a bell in the distance, standing and rushing to the window. “Kane-chan! Over here! What are you standing around for? Get me some iced dumplings and mosquito coils will you? Good child.”
    She sat at the window, jesting with the passing customers. Occasionally she would speak to me from the space between the Osaka screens. When the man from the ice shop came by she brought something over to me.
    “Here. You like iced dumplings, don’t you? These are on me tonight.”
    “You sure remember the little things.”
    “Of course I do. There’s a reason too, so do me a favor and stop these affairs of yours.”
    “You think I’m running off to someone else’s house when I’m not here? Heh.”
    “That’s how men are.”
    “I’ll choke on these things. C’mon, let’s get along, at least while I’m eating.”
    “Whatever,” she said with affected scorn, jabbing her spoon into the carefully piled mountain of shaved ice she held.
    A customer passed by the window and peaked inside. “Hey there, lady, looks good.”
    “I’ll give you one. Open your mouth.”
    “I’ll pass on the poison. Too young to die tonight.”
    “You’re just another penniless loser, give me a break.”
    “What was that? You pond scum!” The man said and walked on. She didn’t seem satisfied. “Bastard trash!” She called.
    Another passing man burst into laughter.
    She spooned some shaved ice into her mouth and left the spoon there, hanging from her lips as she gazed out into the alley and absentmindedly called out, “Hey there, hey there, busy?” To which eventually a man would stop and look over, at which point she’d put the charm on thick and sweetly drawl, “Come on in, I’m not busy. Come on, mister,” or, depending on perhaps how the man looked she would turn suddenly businesslike and clip, “Certainly, well, come in for a moment and if you are not satisfied you can just go on your way,” to which neither the first or second or subsequent men responded, at which point, without disappointment, unaffectedly, as if reviving an ancient memory, she would return to her melted piled of ice and then fish out a dumpling to chew on, or pull on a stick of tobacco and puff up small plumes of smoke.
    I’ve already attempted to describe Oyuki. She was an energetic woman, and not too depressed over her circumstances. Sitting in the tea room, I could see her through the thin curtains, sitting by the window and fanning away the mosquitos as quietly as she could. Perhaps it was that scene, which had become so familiar to me, that first gave me such an impression. Perhaps my observation had never seen past the superficial, perhaps I’d only ever seen a facet of her true self.
    However, there is something to be gained by the assertion of my observation’s accuracy. Regardless of the state of her inner self, there was an amicable connection between the outside passersby and Oyuki on the other side of the glass that was harmonious and true. What I mean to say is that if I was mistaken in characterizing her as essentially carefree and untroubled by circumstance, it was no doubt a mistake born of this harmonious, amicable connection. There are masses of people on the other side of