“I’m looking for a woman, have you seen her? She’s about thirty years old, with long hair . . .”
What is she wearing? people asked. I was about to tell them she was wearing a purple skirt—then clamped my mouth shut.
What had the Woman in the Purple Skirt been wearing last night? For the life of me, I couldn’t remember.
Where on earth could the Woman in the Purple Skirt have gone?
I’m still looking for her, even now.
The other day, another new recruit joined the company. This one seems to have had some previous experience cleaning hotel rooms. She’s getting the hang of things pretty quickly, but as usual the older ladies were all grumbling that she didn’t call out her greetings loudly enough. Ordinarily, they would have bullied her so relentlessly that she would have given notice within a month. If only someone were around who could give her voice lessons. Unfortunately, however, the director was in the hospital.
Recently a small group of us went to pay him a visit. Since a great crowd suddenly turning up at the hospital would probably not be appreciated, we had drawn lots to decide which of us would go. I ended up being one of the lucky four, and Supervisor Tsukada, who hadn’t been selected, somehow managed to come along anyway.
The hospital that the director had been admitted to, specializing in rehabilitation, was a fifteen-minute walk from the hotel.
We entered his ward to find four beds, two unoccupied. In one, a scrawny old man lay sprawled on his back, staring up at a small TV hanging from the ceiling.
We waited for a few minutes, and then the director appeared, accompanied by his wife.
“Director! You’re able to get out of bed!” Supervisor Tsukada rushed up to give him a hug.
“Oh! Careful!” The director’s wife just managed to stop her husband from folding and crumpling to the ground.
“Oh, thank goodness!!” Supervisor Tsukada took the director’s hand, and pumped it up and down vigorously. “I was so worried about you!”
“Ow! Ow! Please, that hurts! Er . . . What are you all doing here?”
“What a question! We’ve come to see you, of course!” Supervisor Tsukada announced, sticking her chest out proudly.
“That’s very kind of you. We appreciate it, very much.” The director’s wife bowed her head.
“You might have called beforehand . . . ,” the director said.
“We did. They must not have given you the message,” Supervisor Tsukada said, and then turned to the director’s wife. “He’s looking so much better than I thought he would. It’s such a relief.”
“Yes. Thank you for your concern.” The director’s wife smiled graciously.
Had the talk about her ruling the roost been wrong? She didn’t have a trace of makeup on her face, and she seemed meek and retiring. From the moment she entered, she’d kept her hands hovering about her husband, to see to his every need.
“Yes, you look quite well! At this rate, you could be back at work tomorrow!” Supervisor Hamamoto said.
“Don’t be absurd,” the director said, handing his crutch to his wife, and dropping onto the bed with a pained smile.
“When will you be able to leave the hospital?” Supervisor Tachibana inquired.
“The week after next. On Thursday,” the director replied.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Such good news!”
“But I’ll have to use crutches for quite a while, and report to the hospital for regular checkups. Who knows when I’ll be fully recovered. . . .”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to do desk work. Don’t worry—no one would think of asking someone with their leg in a cast to do physical labor,” said Supervisor Tsukada.
“Well, yes, but I—”
“Everyone’s saying how much they miss you. With you away, the hotel manager comes to the morning meetings every day. It’s unbearable—such a depressing way to start the day. Isn’t that right, team?” She looked around at the others.
Everyone nodded, their faces beaming.
“Did the, um, hotel manager say anything?” the director asked.
“What do you mean?”
“About . . . you know . . .”
“You mean . . . about what happened with that woman?”
The director nodded.
“He said it’s now in the hands of the police. That’s all.”
“The police . . .” A furrow appeared in the director’s brow.
“That’s what he told us, at the first meeting after the incident. It’s all up to the police now, where it goes from here. All we have to do, as members of the staff, he said, is to wait, and trust that you’ll make as swift a recovery as possible.”
“I see.”
“But isn’t that good news!” Supervisor Tachibana exclaimed. “To know that you’ll be able to leave the hospital so soon!” Then she added: “I really thought you were going to die when I heard you were hospitalized after falling from the second floor!”
“Supervisor Tachibana!” Supervisor Hamamoto elbowed Supervisor Tachibana. “Don’t say that! It’s not the time and place!”
“Ha ha ha. Just kidding!”
“Well, I actually thought I had died,” said the director. “When I came to in the hospital, everything around me was white. For a second, I thought, Hang on a minute, I’m in heaven.”
“Thank goodness you got away with just a concussion and a few broken bones.”
“We’re so sorry for all the worry and inconvenience. . . .” The director’s wife again bowed her head.
“Inconvenience? Nonsense!!” Supervisor Tsukada dismissed this with a curt wave of her hand. “After all, the director is the one who’s the victim in all of this!”
“That’s right! He’s the one who had that stalker following him around for weeks!”
“None of us had the slightest idea, you know. Well, we often used to catch sight of the two of you together, but we just thought, Wow, they really seem to enjoy each other’s company—wonder if they’re in a relationship? Oops! Sorry! That just slipped out. I shouldn’t have said that. Not in front of your wife.”
“It’s all right.” The director’s wife shook her head. “My husband seems to have been unable to tell her clearly enough that her attentions were unwelcome.”
“How could I? When she was threatening me? She told me that if I didn’t go out with her, she was
