Don't take it so hard, she said. At least you came with me to the clinic, and you paid for the operation.
She and I soon stopped seeing each other, so I never knew what became of her, but for a very long time after the abortion-and even after we drifted apart-my feelings refused to settle down. Every time I recalled that day, the image would flash into my mind of the pregnant young women who filled the clinic waiting room to overflowing, their eyes so full of certainty. And the thought would strike me that I should never have gotten her pregnant.
In the train on the way back, to comfort me-to comfort me-she told me all the details that had made the operation so easy. Its not as bad as you're thinking, she said. It doesn't take long, and it doesn't hurt. You just take your clothes off and lie there. Yeah, I suppose its kind of embarrassing, but the doctor was nice, and so were the nurses. Of course, they did lecture me a little, said to be more careful from now on. So don't feel so bad. Its partly my fault too. I was the one who said it'd be OK. Right? Cheer up.
All during the long train ride to the little town in Chiba, and all the way back again, though, I felt I had become a different person. Even after I had seen her home and returned to my room, to lie in bed and look at the ceiling, I could sense the change. I was a new me, and I could never go back to where I had been before. What was getting to me was the awareness that I was no longer innocent. This was not a moralistic sense of wrongdoing, or the workings of a guilty conscience. I knew that I had made a terrible mistake, but I was not punishing myself for it. It was a physical fact that I would have to confront coolly and logically, beyond any question of punishment.
The first thing that came to mind when I heard that Kumiko was pregnant was the image of those pregnant young women who filled the clinic waiting room. Or rather, it was the special smell that seemed to hang in the air there. I had no idea what that smell had been-if it was the actual smell of something at all. Perhaps it had been something like a smell. When the nurse called her name, the girl slowly raised herself from the hard vinyl chair and walked straight for the door. Just before she stood up, she glanced at me with the hint of a smile on her lips-or what was left of a smile that she had changed her mind about.
I knew that it was unrealistic for us to have a child, but I didn't want Kumiko to have an abortion, either. When I said this to her, she replied, We've been through all this. If I have a baby now, thats the end of working for me, and you'll have to find a better-paying job to support me and the baby. We wont have money for anything extra. We wont be able to do anything we want to do. From now on, the realistic possibilities for us will be narrowed down to nothing. Is that OK with you?
Yeah, I said. I think it is OK with me. Really?
If I make up my mind to it, I can probably find work-with my uncle, say: he's looking for help. He wants to open up a new place, but he cant find anybody he can trust to run it. I'm sure Id make a lot more with him than I'm making now. Its not a law firm, but so what? I'm not crazy about the work I'm doing now.
So you'd run a restaurant?
I'm sure I could if I gave it a try. And in an emergency, I've got a little money my mother left me. We wouldn't starve to death.
Kumiko fell silent and stayed that way, thinking, for a long time, making tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She had these little expressions that I liked. Does this mean you want to have a baby? she asked.
I don't know, I said. I know you're pregnant, but it hasn't really hit me that I might become a father. And I don't really know how our life would change if we had a baby. You like your job, and it seems like a mistake to take that away from you. On the one hand, I think the two of us need more time with each other, but I also think that making a baby would expand our world. I don't know whats right. I've just got this feeling that I don't want you to have an abortion. So I cant make any guarantees. I'm not one hundred percent sure about any of this, and I don't have any amazing solutions. All I've got is this feeling.
Kumiko thought about this for a while, rubbing her stomach every now and then. Tell me, she said. Why do you think I got pregnant? Nothing comes to mind?
I shook my head. Not really. We've always been careful. This is just the kind of trouble I wanted to avoid. So I don't have any idea how it happened.
You think I might have had an affair? Haven't you thought about that possibility? Never. Why not? I don't know. I cant claim a sixth sense or anything, but I'm sure of that much. We were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking wine. It was late at night id absolutely silent.
Kumiko narrowed her eyes and stared at the last sip of wine in the bottom of her glass. She almost never drank, though she would have a glass of wine when she couldn't get to sleep. It always worked for her. I was just drinking to keep her company. We didn't have nothing so sophisticated as real wineglasses. Instead, we were drinking from little beer glasses we got free at the neighborhood liquor store.
Did you have an affair? I asked, suddenly concerned.
Kumiko smiled and shook her head. Don't be silly. You know I wouldn't do anything like that. I just brought it up as a theoretical possibility. Then she turned serious and put her elbows on the table. Sometimes, though, I cant tell about things. I cant tell whats real and whats not real... what things really happened and what things didn't really happen.... Just sometimes, though.
Is this one of those sometimes? Well, sort of. Doesn't this kind of thing ever happen to you? I thought about it for a minute. Not that I can recall as a concrete example, no, I said. How can I put this? Theres a kind of gap between what I think is real and whats really real. I get this feeling like some kind of little something other is there, somewhere inside me ... like a burglar is in the house, hiding in a closet... and it comes out every once in a while and messes up whatever order or logic I've established for myself. The way a magnet can make a machine go crazy.
Some kind of little something-or-other? A burglar? I said. Wow, talk about vague! It is vague. Really, said Kumiko, then drank down the rest of her wine. I looked at her for a time. And you think theres some kind of connection between that some kind of little something-or-other and the fact that you're pregnant? She shook her head. No, I'm not saying the two things are related or not related. Its just that sometimes I'm not really sure about the order of things. That's all I'm trying to say. There was a growing touch of impatience in her words. The moment had arrived to end this conversation. It was after one o'clock in the morning. I reached across the table and took her hand.
You know, said Kumiko, I kind of wish you'd let me decide this for myself. I realize its a big problem for both of us. I really do. But this one I want you to let me decide. I feel bad that I cant explain very well what I'm thinking and feeling.
Basically, I think the right to make the decision is yours, I said, and I respect that right.
I think theres a month or so left to decide. We've been talking about this together all along now, and I think I have a pretty good idea how you feel about it. So now let me do the thinking. Lets stop talking about it for a while.
I was in Hokkaido when Kumiko had the abortion. The firm never sent its lackeys out of town on business, but on that particular occasion no one else could go, so I ended up being the one sent north. I was supposed to deliver a briefcase stuffed with papers, give the other party a simple explanation, take delivery of their papers, and come straight home. The papers were too important to mail or entrust to some courier. Because all return flights to Tokyo were full, I would have to spend a night in a Sapporo business hotel. Kumiko went for the abortion that day, alone. She phoned me after ten at the hotel and said, I had the operation this afternoon. Sorry to be informing you after the fact like this, but they had an opening on short notice, and I thought it would be easier on both of us if I made the decision and took care of it by myself while you were away.