Free Hotel Iris by Yōko Ogawa

help me change beds.” Her orders always made me miserable. She beat me down and robbed me of any happiness.
    I did the dishes. There were bits of ham with teeth marks to be scraped away, yogurt-coated spoons to be rinsed, leftover coffee to be poured down the drain.
    Stragglers were still coming down for breakfast. A womanwith big breasts in shorts and a tank top and a young man in sunglasses ordered an espresso and a tea with lemon. When I told them we only had regular coffee, the woman pursed her lips and the man snorted in disgust. I retrieved the lemon I had just put in the refrigerator and cut a slice. They had an endless stream of requests and complaints: Do you have blueberry jam? The cheese is too hard. Could you reheat the bread? There’s something on this knife. … A mountain of dirty dishes filled the sink. The glass the woman had used was smeared with pink lipstick, and no matter how much I rubbed it would not come off.
    In the lobby, guests were beginning to check out. “Mari!” Mother called my name from somewhere. The cool of the morning had given way to a hot summer sun beating down on the courtyard. Someone was ringing the bell on the front desk. I threw the lipstick-stained glass into the sink, and it shattered with a lovely crystalline crash.
    The maid was obviously just pretending to be sick. She must have known I had a date with the man who wrote the letter, and she was trying to prevent me from keeping it. Perhaps she was angry with me for bringing up the beaded purse in front of Mother. Perhaps she wanted to punish me. Or perhaps she simply enjoyed making me suffer.
    The translator had no telephone, so I had no way to cancel our appointment. Somehow, I would have to get away from the Iris by two o’clock. I could not disappoint him.
    After I had taken care of the guests in the lobby, I hid from Mother and phoned the housekeeper.
    “How are you feeling?” I asked.
    “It’s kind of you to call,” she said. Her tone was self-satisfied.
    “Perhaps you drank too much beer.”
    “Maybe—that would do it in this heat.”
    “Mother’s pretty upset.”
    “She’s always upset.”
    “Why are you pretending to be sick?”
    “Who’s pretending?” she said. I could tell she was barely able to keep from laughing. “Don’t talk nonsense. Why would I lie to get out of work? I don’t get paid unless I show up.”
    “You don’t fool me,” I said. Mother had turned off the vacuum cleaner. I drew the phone closer and cupped my hand around the receiver. “I know what you’re up to. You want to keep me here, keep me from going to the dentist.”
    “Don’t be silly! I couldn’t care less about your dentist. You can go see him or not, it’s all the same to me.” I could hear ice clinking in a glass and then the sound of swallowing. She was eating and drinking, and she wasn’t even trying to hide it from me. “And how would you know whether I’m faking or not? My stomach really does hurt, too much to be cleaning rooms, that’s for sure. Besides, your mother told me I could stay home—”
    “Be here by one thirty,” I said, cutting her off.
    “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”
    “No, listen to me. By one thirty at the very latest.”
    “And why should I?”
    “Because if you aren’t, I’ll tell Mother. You know what Imean. And you’ll lose more than just a day’s pay; you’ll lose everything.” The vacuum cleaner started up again, but it was quiet at the other end of the line. I was afraid that she would say I could go ahead and tell, that she wanted to be done with us. Or that she would threaten to tell Mother I was meeting a man. I tried to calm myself; everything would be all right. I had burned his letters, so there was no proof. But what she had done was terrible. All I had to do was show Mother my little purse in her bag—or make her undress to reveal my slip. “You have until one thirty,” I said, and then I hung up.
    It was a terribly busy day, without so much