Distant Thunder. Wahei Tatematsu
was being questioned by a swarthy man with tobacco-stained teeth, someone obviously ill at ease in a suit. The man was a coworker of Tomiko's, and an awkward speaker. His wife was dressed well enough but appeared as small and dirty as a roadside statue.
Mitsuo would have liked to make some clever response, but he was too nervous to think of one. Sweat dripped around his throat, which was constricted by an unaccustomed necktie. "Driving and fishing." Having forced the words out, he finally looked over at his intended mate. She had sat with her eyes cast down upon the table, but when he spoke she looked up. As soon as her eyes met Mitsuo's, however, she looked down once more and only glanced at him occasionally. He decided she was expecting him to speak to her.
"What are your hobbies, Ayako?" The instant the words were out of his mouth he felt like a fool. Who cared what her hobbies were, anyway? He himself had none. He was lousy at singing and had no talent for entertaining others. He didn't need anything extra in his life, and a woman was certainly not an extra. A woman was someone to be with all day long. They would raise tomatoes in the hothouse, battling all the dangers that imperiled the fruit between planting and shipping. He would work hard and when he looked over, would find his wife right beside him, working just as hard. He would make a bed of straw in the hothouse and enjoy her there before falling asleep. He might even build a separate room inside the hothouse for privacy. He wanted a woman as plump as a tomato. That's all that was lacking in his life, a woman.
He didn't need a house. The two of them would build something from scratch. The things that fell apart around him would no longer bother him.
He wanted to drag the woman away from the stiff formality of the omiai, open his heart to her, and hear her side of things. That would be a much better way to decide upon a marriage than this kind of torture.
She smiled, but her eyes remained filled with tension. Mitsuo imagined the two of them talking face-to-face. "I like to cook," she whispered, barely moving her lips.
Her father's voice resounded through the tiny room. "No one makes stew like Ayako. She went to a cooking school, you know." The group sat at a round table set up for Chinese cuisine, so the absence of Mitsuo's father was not quite so obvious. Of course, Ayako's father was being delicate about the situation.
One by one the dishes appeared, but nobody ate. The serving containers piled up on the table. The juice became tepid, and the condensation on the glasses evaporated. Mitsuo was dying for a beer, but he had come by car and would have to drive home. Tomiko was wearing a formal kimono. The gloss of the silk set off her brown skin.
The conversation ground to a halt. Mitsuo decided to share a little of what he had been thinking earlier.
"I run a hothouse. It's about two thousand square meters now, but I plan on doubling the size. I'll alternate tomatoes and cucumbers to get the most from the soil, and I expect things'll go well. So I'd like to know if Ayako is up to doing farm work. I don't want a wife who's only interested in raising children. Beauty is great, but only for decoration."
In the middle of this speech, Tomiko reached under the table and tugged on the hem of his suit. The young woman in front of him certainly seemed strong enough for farm-work. He imagined how she would feel in his arms.
Her father leaned forward and said, "You mean you can actually make a living from a hothouse that size? The fact is, that's just about how much space we have left. We used to have just under thirty thousand square meters, but now it's nearly all industrial. Our house is right off the highway." He laughed, perhaps at the contrast between past and present.
Mitsuo nodded gravely, sipping his juice. He looked out the window. They were in a suburban, roadside restaurant. A tour bus had pulled up, and a large group of elderly people herded behind a travel guide carrying a flag. As they walked past, everyone peered inside the room where Mitsuo's party sat.
Ayako's father resumed, "If you can really make a go of it in that tiny bit of space, I'd think seriously about quitting my construction job and giving it a try."
"I'll be happy to tell you what I've learned. There are things you need to know about hormones, temperature, and so on. Once you get used to it, you can pull it off, believe me."
"That would be great. With a hothouse, you can time the shipping to get the very best prices."
"I grow tomatoes, you know, but right now there are too many for me to ship out. Things are so far behind, I'd be willing to have the wedding ceremony right now and have Ayako start working with me tomorrow." Mitsuo gave a deep laugh.
Ayako frowned. Her father put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Ayako, give him a hand with the tomatoes, starting tomorrow. You're lucky: it's inside work, so you won't get sunburned."
"Being in the sun is fine with me, even if I do get burned." Ayako glared at her father. "Anyway, maybe you've forgotten, but I've already got a job."
Tomiko helped herself to a piece of roast pork. She chewed carefully, her head bent toward the table. Mitsuo stared at Ayako. Her firm jaw made him believe she was tough. Her eyes, nose, and mouth were bigger than he preferred, but they were all well shaped. Her fleshy cheeks shone in the light, which glared off the asphalt outside and also revealed the powdery makeup she wore. He wanted a tough, sturdy wife. And it didn't hurt that the woman had huge breasts.
Ayako's father broke the tension by raising his arms and saying, "Come on everyone, the food's getting cold. Let's eat." Each person eagerly filled his and her tiny plate, as though competing to see who could pile on the most. Mitsuo ate a heaping portion of unfamiliar food, the names of which he didn't even know. One dish combined fried vegetables with shellfish, meat, and nuts. Another contained tofu mixed with minced meat and red peppers. Mitsuo washed the food down with his juice. The taste of the spices reached the tip of his nose and made his eyes water.
He thought he and Ayako would make a good couple. Working so hard in the hothouse, he didn't have much of a chance to meet women. Even if he and Ayako had different opinions, working together on the same soil would soon accustom them to each other. She looked at him, and Mitsuo was aware he'd made a good impression.
"You've got a good son there, Mrs. Wada. Why don't you quit your job with the construction company and help him out?" Ayako's father asked.
Tomiko swallowed her food and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "To tell the truth, we don't often talk about things, so I didn't know how he felt."
"I think the youngsters should go for a drive or something. What do you say, Ayako?" Once again her father patted her on the shoulder, his rough and bony hand seemingly rooted there.
Ayako shook her shoulders. Mitsuo saw her cheeks flush beneath her makeup. He clasped his hands behind his head and smiled, then rose, pushing back his chair. He noticed an elaborate mosaic of a Chinese woman on a screen that hung on the wall facing him. Ayako's father urged his daughter to stand as well. She did, and Mitsuo found she was shorter than he had imagined. The glare from the asphalt formed a pool of light on the ceiling.
A warm, humid wind blew outside. Water splashing in a fountain sounded like the crackling of a fire. Mitsuo and Ayako waved to their parents through the window. From inside, their images were distorted in the glass.
A crowd of beribboned sightseers swarmed over a souvenir shop next to the restaurant. They took turns snapping each others' pictures in groups of threes or fours.
Mitsuo stopped walking, and Ayako did the same. He extended his hand, motioning for her to walk closer to him. She hesitated, but then drew nearer to him, trampling her shadow as she stepped. Mitsuo narrowed his eyes. He thought: This is my woman.
The car windows had been tightly closed, and they were greeted with a fiery blast of air when they opened the doors. The vinyl seats were blistering hot. The moment he drove out of the parking lot, Mitsuo jerked off his jacket and tie and tossed them on the back seat. Mountains rose through the windshield. As Mitsuo drove closer, the mountains became a massive wall of sunlight, waves of luminosity rolling down the slopes toward the car.
Ayako's perfume, unlike any other Mitsuo had ever smelled, pervaded the car. He imagined her scent soon spreading through the expanded