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.