Now that she had completed her training, the Woman in the Purple Skirt was fast losing all trace of having once been a newbie. The moment you emerge as a regular member of the staff, the distinctions among employees with different lengths of service seem to fall away. In the cafeteria I would occasionally see her chuckling along as the older ladies gossiped away—and frankly, from a distance, I found it impossible to tell her apart from them. It was amazing how the Woman in the Purple Skirt had succeeded in making herself exactly like everyone else—in her hairstyle, her clothes, the way she carried herself, her facial expressions, and even the way the master key at her hip jangled on its chain when she shook with laughter.
But when I looked carefully, it was clear that what she felt inwardly didn’t match what she projected outwardly. She wasn’t actually enjoying being a part of it all—not in her heart. Even if her lips were smiling, her eyes were not. All the other cleaners had animated expressions on their faces, but she alone had a touch of sadness about her. She was forcing herself, trying to appear to be having fun so as not to dampen the mood. Hey, let me help you get out of there. It’s stifling, isn’t it? Twice now, I’ve tried to tell her this. “Hey, listen . . .” “Hello?” But both times, it was just when everyone else was talking most loudly and excitedly, and nobody even realized I had raised my voice.
How time passed. It was now coming up on two months since the Woman in the Purple Skirt had become a fully certified housekeeper. All I could conclude was that, for better or worse, she had fully mastered how one is supposed to behave at work.
It made me a little sad to think about it, but, well, what can you do? This was a job made up almost entirely of women, so it was only to be expected that the main thing anyone wanted to do was gossip. Even if you didn’t enjoy it, you had no choice but to go along with it.
And there really was no end to it. On and on it went, with one topic being discussed and then discarded for another. Today it might be about this person, tomorrow about that one. Always someone would be passing on tidbits about someone else—it didn’t matter if they were a veteran member of the staff or a new employee. I had heard them talking about practically every member of the team. And not surprisingly, I now heard them talking about the Woman in the Purple Skirt.
“Hey, Hino-san’s looking quite different these days, don’t you think? She’s not at all like she was when she first got here.”
“Mm. Yes.”
“She’s filled out quite a bit. And she’s way more cheerful, isn’t she?”
“Mm. Yeah.”
“When she first came, she looked so gloomy. And so pale and sickly!”
“She looks much better now. She’s now definitely, shall we say, ‘healthy.’”
“Mm. I agree.”
So they were saying positive things about her. And they were right. The Woman in the Purple Skirt had indeed changed quite noticeably over these two months. The change was perhaps most obvious in her face. Her once hollow cheeks had filled out, and she had a glowing complexion. In short, she had got a little plump. Although she didn’t actually seem to be eating a huge amount. In the first few days, all she would have during the brief lunch break would be a cup of tea. I remember how worried I was that at any moment she might collapse.
In the café, there was a dispenser for complimentary cups of hojicha right next to the vending machine, and she would always avail herself of this tea whenever she wanted a drink. There she would sit, cradling the plastic cup with both hands, drinking the tea slowly, sip by sip. Even on her first day, as I recall, people would come by to chat.
“Oh, hi!” I would hear them say. “You’re the new employee, aren’t you? Is that all you’re having—tea?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t tell me you’re on a diet?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s no good, then, is it? You should fatten up a little! Listen, which one of these snacks would you like? Choose any you like. I’ll pay.”
Sometimes it would be a doughnut that they’d pay for, sometimes a sweet bean-jam bun, other times a roll. I had also seen her getting candy, bubble gum, mikan oranges, packets of cookies . . . I drank tea every day, just like she did, but nobody ever offered to buy me anything. Maybe it was because I drank my tea standing up, and she drank hers sitting down? The Woman in the Purple Skirt always drank her tea sitting all alone at a round table big enough for six people. There was something a bit sad and lonely about the way she looked. That might explain why everyone wanted to go up and help her. It was a daily occurrence for the director to buy her a can of hot coffee, but I had also seen Supervisor Tsukada give her the seaweed-wrapped rice ball that came with her udon soup lunch special. There was absolutely no need for her to bring a lunch box to work when she could fill her belly this way. And when nobody bought her anything, she could fill herself up with what was in the hotel rooms. It appeared she had now figured out how to do that.
Every once in a while, the Woman in the Purple Skirt would lock the door of the hotel room that she was cleaning. I had to assume that she had been taught this by Supervisor Tsukada and the more senior members of the staff. True, it was something everybody did, but strictly speaking it was against the rules. Normal procedure was to leave the door wide open while we were cleaning—and this applied to everyone,
