The Konbini and the Happy Tree | 3 - Yuka

Fiction in three parts: the uncanny meeting of an immigrant, a cashier, and an old woman

Read the first parts here:
1- Éloïse
2 - Aoto

⬩

3- Yuka

Déja vu. I’ve been here before, somewhere else. But here.

This moment feels like freedom! I know how silly it must seem to anyone else. Here I am at the konbini, just buying some snacks. This other woman here and the boy at the till must think I’m a crazy old lady.

The kind looking cashier takes my items and I hand him a 1000 yen bill on the little plastic money tray.

You see, since my son moved me here in May during Golden Week, I’ve wanted to come to here late at night. To escape. Just for a short while. I used to do it even when my husband was alive; I think it started when my first child was born.

All of it makes sense — people I know in Hokkaido are dead or really old. My brother can’t take care of me or even himself…my daughter moved to Tokyo a long time ago. I can spend more time with the grandchildren and Fukuoka is a lovely city. But do you ever do things that make sense and still make you sad? It’s better, of course, to be strong and bear it. When you know it’s right, what is the point of complaining?

“Obaa-san, are you ok?”

“Sorry, son, yes. I was just considering whether to eat here at the counter or bring these snacks home.”

“Please stay a while. It gets lonely in the store.”

“Ok! Will you join me? I will buy you a beer if you like.”

The young man laughs: “I cannot drink alcohol while I’m working, but thank you, obaa-san. I’ll bring my Coke over to the counter after this lady purchases her snacks.”

The counter seats are smooth beige plastic, swirling a little when you sit on them. In the darkness, the world beyond is masked.

⬩

My mind must have wandered in the imagined dark space outside the window. Somehow both the cashier and the other woman in the shop are now at the counter with me. He asks me if I speak English because the other woman does not speak Japanese.

I am delighted and switch to my second language, “I do! I lived in L.A. in my late teens and twenties. I was a ballet dancer.”

“English is my second language, too. I come from Geneva but live here. Over there —” Her hand motion is simply reflected back to us in the window, but we understand she is locally situated, “I was awake and saw this light from my balcony.”

“It’s always on. Isn’t that weird? It literally never goes off. It depresses me, even though it’s good for my job.”

“Quite convenient, really. I can tell you’re a poetic young man, but some things about modern life are brilliant. When I started my late night escapes back in the seventies, I had to coordinate with my sister. She never married, you see. She always had her own place…it was sort of our place. Anyway, she kept snacks around for this purpose and we would sit and just chat like we were teenagers again.”

“Funny, back in Switzerland, things are more like the seventies. I can never decide if I miss it or not.”

“Well, there is a balance. The bears are taking over Japan, because we simply haven’t given them enough space.”

“Oh—!”

“Yes, it’s true. Right, cashier? I’ve got a story about a bear in Hokkaido. Want to hear it?”

“Yes, obaa-san. We could use a good story!”

“Ok, so I used to visit the local konbini in Sapporo late, just like tonight. And one night, while I was approaching the familiar green and orange lights of 7-11, I saw something obscuring the sign. I very soon realized this was an Ussuri brown bear, a big one. I stayed still. Someone had told me to do this if I ever encountered one. We all knew they were around. Some of my friends even made peace with the idea of being eaten by one, which to me felt a lot like giving up, like maybe they just needed a little excitement in their life. Well, when I saw the bear, I certainly didn’t want to be eaten. He was hungry, though. It was early April and snow was still on the ground. You know how much we had last year. I imagine he couldn’t find his natural food, you know? And here he was, looking at me, in a way I thought was a snack. Instead, he turned toward the konbini, the same one I was heading toward, and he opened the door. Did you know bears can open doors? Pretty easily actually. Always lock your doors. Well, not in Kyushu, no bears on this island! And in Tokyo, you’re probably ok, too, as they won’t travel that far from the mountains, but you better still look your door because of the underwear snatchers. Have you heard of them? My, my.”

I can’t help myself from giggling sometimes even when I’m trying to develop a spooky tone. The immigrant woman looked as frightened as my grandkids when they had first heard the tale, so I felt like a little comic relief would be welcome. Now she’s more relieved and drinking her hot tea: “That is a little disturbing…”

“Ridiculous. Silly. Luckily that also doesn’t happen in Kyushu as far as I know. Although could be dangerous, I’ve read about those incels in America causing trouble. What was I saying? Right, so this bear, he opened the door. This is when I saw he was male and I was a little relieved because I knew that crazed mother instinct wouldn’t kick in if there were cubs waiting for food in the dark. This one was out for himself. Guess what he did after that? Guess where he went?”

“I don’t know…” Aoto is cringing, holding his collar and tightening up , “The cashier?”

The boy makes me laugh in a welcome way. “No! No. This isn’t some mirrored story about you or some metaphor for being a konbini cashier. Don’t worry, child.”

“Ok, I’ve got no idea then.”

“Well, this bear, it sat down in the aisle with all the chips and cookies and generally packaged snacks. It sat, and then it swooped its bear claws and grabbed. It ate and ate and ate until it ate itself to sleep. Right there. Finally the konbini boy — he was even younger than you — dared to move and ran out of the shop where he ran straight into me and screamed. He must’ve thought I was another bear. Well this woke up our snacking friend who roared and began destroying the shop, no doubt feeling trapped and afraid or frustrated and isolated. But we were too fascinated to run ourselves. We watched invisibly from the far window, observing him throw everything in the shop until the only things to throw were the appliances. And this was the problem: a bear doesn’t know how to stop himself. He kept going — cash register, coffee machine…and then he got to the refrigeration and began pulling this in a rocking motion until it came unhinged and he could grab the entire compartment. Only of course it fell directly on him. The weight was not enough to kill but the electricity from the broken wires ran through his body until he suddenly stopped. Completely.”

“Oh my — did you try to call for help?”

“It was too late. He was dead. We called, of course. They came and eventually took him away. Poor hungry bear. Out of his home. We wondered if we could have helped him.”

“No, no, Obaa-san. You would have been killed.”

“Maybe. Anyway, just after my son said I had to move down here to Kyushu. Which isn’t all that bad, I’ll give him that. But what gets me, besides the warmer weather and all, is that I’m no longer free. I love him and my grandkids. His wife, too, she’s lovely and treats me well. I don’t know…I am free but I’m not. Or I’m displaced I guess.”

“Sure, I understand. I’m from Tokyo. But I miss home. Sometimes my inner core, my energy, just feels confused. In dissonance with my surroundings. It’s a lot cheaper trying to be a writer down here. I guess the newness helps me write sometimes, too.”

“Trying to be? Aren’t you a writer or not a writer? What do you mean?”

“No, like, you know, a paid writer. Like, successful and stuff.”

“Do you have enough money?”

“I do, yes. I’m fine. I live with some roommates and living is cheap here.”

“So, why don’t you think you’re successful?”

“Well, I’m working here, right? Ha ha. It’s true, most writers in history haven’t been rich from their art. Anyway, I’m working on this novel that I write on my phone while I’m at work. This is a great job for me, really. I shouldn’t complain at all. Nights are pretty quiet. And if the CCTV were watching me, they would just see me texting like everyone else does. I do everything I’m supposed to, so I’ll never get in trouble. This way, I work about forty hours in the shop but about half of that is also writing time.”

“This is wonderful. I bet you get a lot of ideas from late night customers as well.”

“Ha, sometimes. You’re not too bad as inspiration goes.”

“Ok, well use my name then. I am Yuka. No need for formalities. What about you?”

“Aoto.”

“Éloïse.”

“Éloïse, tell us. Why are you here?”

“I’m just…I moved here with my family. My husband works at the university. I worked at a bank back in Switzerland. So, here I am with our child and trying to figure out what the hell I should be doing with my life.”

“Wow, I always thought the Europeans here were more…superficial? No, sorry, that’s not the right word. I don’t mean it as an insult. I’m just interested in you — you sound a lot like me even though I’m just a twenty-four year old Japanese struggling writer on my own.”

“You’re so young, Aoto. Plenty of time to figure it out. I know it sounds so silly, but I bought this tree. I think it’s called a Gajumaru? I stuck it on the balcony and I think it’s saved my life.”

“Can we see it, this tree? I mean, can we see it from here?”

Photo by Angel Luciano on Unsplash

Out from the automatic doors and under the early morning moon, the woman whom I dare not say also reminds me of myself points toward her tree across the water.

The three lost souls — for aren’t we all lost and found and lost again — turn our heads in slow Noh theater style toward the balcony across the water where there, in the soft light of the moon, the almond shaped leaves of the banyan tree reach up and out in a massive opening of hope toward some abstract notion of justice and good. We can let go of those threads we hold so close; let the earthquake come, let it unsettle the lives that we have carved too rigidly.

Aoto gently places his hands on our shoulders: “Come back inside. The wind is coming in cold. I will warm some sake.”

⬩ fin⬩