“If you were an animal, you’d definitely be a fox,” the young man next to Kuzuha had piped up out of the blue.
Kuzuha’s eyes twinkled. “If, you say . . .”
When he’d first joined the company earlier that year, the young man had worn a permanently glum expression and was forever gazing down at his shoes. The other people in the company referred to him as “that depressed-looking boy” and “the miserable kid.” Recently, though, he’d started to lighten up a bit. Even this ridiculously bad conversation opener was kind of cute, Kuzuha thought. At any rate, it was a hundred times better than that creepy old guy who’d told her at their first meeting that she looked like a fox before placing his hand on her knee. What a horrible, senseless age it had been, Kuzuha thought, when that kind of sexual harassment was so rife that nobody batted an eyelid when it happened.
After he’d got used to life in the company, the young man was moved over from the production line to Kuzuha’s section. He certainly didn’t look like he was harboring any special abilities, but Mr. Tei must have had some kind of plan in mind for him. Kuzuha was told to show him around and give him a feel for the kind of tasks their work involved.
For the first time in her life, Kuzuha was doing a job where she felt she was putting her talents to good use. In fact, until now, she’d thought that phrase—putting your talents to good use—was just some sinister nonsense they spouted in ads, but she’d discovered that it really was a concrete, material thing that mattered. Doing a job where you could put your talents to good use, where it was okay to go at things with everything you had, was wonderful. Having hidden her power away for so long, Kuzuha had a whole load saved up.
Kuzuha couldn’t help but feel sympathy for this young man walking beside her now, in the process of shedding his melancholy. The poor guy, she thought. What had he done to deserve being flung out into such a world?
Society had changed a great deal since Kuzuha’s time working in an office. She’d heard that now it was hard even for men to become fully fledged employees with permanent contracts. Society had become more equal, but in a bad way. Women hadn’t risen up—rather the men had slid down. Kuzuha knew that the glass ceiling, which had previously been apparent only to women, was now visible to this young man, too.
I bet that comes as a surprise to you, doesn’t it? Kuzuha wanted to say to him. It’s different from how you were told it would be, right? You know what, though? As women, we’ve grown up with that ceiling since we were tiny. There was never a time when we couldn’t see it. But somehow or other, we’ve all managed to live with it. It’ll work out in the end for you, too.
Kuzuha wanted to tell this young man all that, but she guessed he’d figure it out for himself eventually. That didn’t stop her feeling sympathetic toward him, though, especially when she considered that not only did he have the ceiling to contend with—he also had to endure being watched over by men of the older generation, and being told to bear all the pressures that came with being a man. Just take it, go on! Take it like we’ve done all this time! Kuzuha figured that must be tough. At the end of the day, he’d just have to learn to ignore those older guys. Times changed, after all. Having observed them quietly throughout her life, Kuzuha could say with confidence that most of those men were basically scum.
In one way, the quantity of despair that men and women were feeling would soon become more or less equal. Maybe that would make it an easier world for people to live in, Kuzuha caught herself thinking somewhat indifferently, as if it was unrelated to her. And indeed, it was unrelated to her. Such things were affairs for people, not foxes.
Standing in front of the door to her office, Kuzuha, the department head, opened the door for the young man beside her.
What She Can Do
From where they stood, it was all her fault. She was entirely to blame.
She’d left home, taking the child with her and bringing her short-lived marriage to an end. In more ways than one, her other half wasn’t the paternal sort, the husbandly sort. In more ways than one, he wasn’t the child-support-paying sort either.
It was her fault, they thought, for not considering her child. For getting divorced, for becoming a single mother. She was in the wrong because she hadn’t properly thought through the consequences. She was wrong for prioritizing her own needs.
What was she supposed to do now? She felt utterly lost. She had no one to turn to. She needed to work and she needed to look after her young child, but there was only one of her. She was so desperate that she’d gladly have accepted help from a cat, but even if a cat had consented to step to her aid, there wasn’t much it could have done.
There was no one around to tell her about the benefits she was entitled to. They looked coldly on her situation. She had brought it on herself, they said, and refused to proffer a helping hand. This would be a test of her capabilities, they declared, resolving to watch how much she could accomplish on her own, eagerly anticipating the moment when they would be able to point, their chests puffed out in self-satisfaction, and say, “See! I told you so!” They didn’t feel any twinge of pain or guilt about adopting such an attitude. It was her own fault, after all.
“Still, you have to feel sorry for that poor child.” They
