Observing the farce being played out before his eyes, Shinzaburō found himself unexpectedly marveling at their teamwork. Yoneko was stunning in her supporting role. There was no way Tsuyuko alone would have garnered such impact. Their methods certainly ran against the grain of traditional sales techniques, but it had to be said there was something formidable about them. It must be down to desperation, Shinzaburō thought—desperation at their lack of success. He even began to consider just buying one of the damned things out of pity, but when he pictured his wife’s expression upon seeing the new acquisition, the temptation fizzled away. For two or three years now, his wife had only had eyes for Scandinavian homeware, not this traditional Japanese decor.
Tsuyuko and Yoneko were keeping up their noisy masquerade. With sudden clarity he saw that whether he chose to buy a lantern or not, hell awaited him regardless.
The next thing he knew, Shinzaburō was laughing out loud. It felt like a long time since he’d laughed properly like this. If push came to shove, he thought as he chuckled, you could carry on life like these goofballs did, and you’d still be fine. Well, depending on your definition of fine, of course—but at any rate, nothing terrible would happen to you if you broke the rules. With that thought, Shinzaburō felt a hot surge behind his eyes, and quickly clenched his teeth.
Apparently unnerved by this alteration in him, Yoneko and Tsuyuko spoke.
“Have you had a change of heart, Mr. Hagiwara?”
“Have you decided to accommodate my request, Shinzaburō?”
“No, I’m not going to buy a lantern. But still, thank you, nonetheless.” His voice sounded dignified, somehow, and free. When he next looked, Tsuyuko and Yoneko appeared to be suspended in midair. The next moment, the lights in the room went off again, as if someone had blown out all the candles.
Shinzaburō woke to the sound of sparrows cheeping outside the window. He lifted his head from the living room floor and saw four lanterns strewn about him. Tsuyuko and Yoneko were nowhere to be seen.
At the sound of keys in the door, Shinzaburō quickly sat up and prepared himself for the next onslaught. But the person who came rushing into the room with a loud “Hi! I’m home!” carrying her suitcase so the wheels didn’t leave marks on the floor, was his wife. Taking in the messy room, with Shinzaburō stretched out sloppily on the floor, she frowned and said in a tone of utter disbelief, “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Shinzaburō couldn’t help but notice that her gestures and her expressions weren’t unlike those of Tsuyuko and Yoneko. Why did all women pull the same face when they looked at him?
“What have you been doing in here? I thought you were supposed to be looking for a job while I was gone! And what on earth are these? Some kind of failed DIY experiment?”
Listening to his wife’s protestations as she picked up the lanterns littering the room, Shinzaburō thought of his wallet, which would probably be a few notes lighter, and a pang of dread spread through him. Of course, for a salesperson to take money without permission went against every rule in the book, but he wouldn’t have put it past those two. It was basically theft! How much were they charging for those blasted lanterns, anyway? Ah, there was nothing for it—now he really would have to find a job as soon as possible. Shinzaburō gingerly pulled himself up from the floor, where a pool of light filtering through the curtain gently flickered.
Shinzaburō spotted Tsuyuko and Yoneko only once after that encounter.
He’d been on the early shift at his new workplace and was back home preparing dinner when he heard a woman’s voice outside the window. Peering through a gap in the curtain, he saw the two of them standing at the gate next to the nameplate. They appeared to be in serious conversation.
Shinzaburō remembered. It had slipped his mind entirely, but after coaxing the truth about the peony lanterns out of Shinzaburō, his wife had bought a sticker at the home goods store that read NO SALES VISITORS! and had stuck it up next to their nameplate. That had been about a year ago now. The business cards they had given him that evening many months ago had mysteriously vanished, and for some reason he couldn’t recall the name of their company, though he was sure he’d made a mental note of it.
“There’s one here, too! How cruel.”
“We can’t go in now, not with this talisman stuck up . . . What a pity!”
“It’s so heartless.”
“It really is sheer heartlessness.”
Tsuyuko and Yoneko were wearing the same outfits as before.
A talisman, indeed! Shinzaburō smirked. Such melodrama, as usual! Just what exactly was the deal with these two? And yet he couldn’t deny that he was a little bit pleased to have seen them again. The next moment, they both looked toward the window in unison and Shinzaburō lunged away from the curtain.
My Superpower
Questions with Kumiko
No. 9: So, what’s your superpower?
I’ll begin by pointing out what Okon and Oiwa have in common: both their faces swelled up something terrible. As you are doubtless aware, both women became disfigured—one from being poisoned, the other through disease. Both subsequently became ghosts, avenging those who had brought about their ruin.
Since childhood, I’ve observed the way both Okon and Oiwa are portrayed on TV and in films as terrifying monsters. That’s the form people expect them to take. Ultimately, that’s just the way that the horror genre works, whatever world you’re living in. It’s no fun if zombies don’t rise up from the dead, if Carrie isn’t drenched in pig’s blood. Walls need to be splashed and plates need to be smashed. Without all that violence and gore, viewers simply switch off.
But the thing is, I never thought of Okon and Oiwa as terrifying monsters. If they were terrifying, so was
