Enoshima (Part Two of Two)

Part One at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/enoshima-part-one-two

Enoshima (Part Two of Two)

On a fateful Friday afternoon, Kai was walking home from school. As he crossed a busy road, his mind was elsewhere, lost in a conversation typed on his mobile phone. At this juncture, most have the approaching weekend in mind. Thoughts drift and the mind meanders. The car broke too late, the screeching from tyres reverberating making onlookers turn and witness the impact. At least the driver got out and called an ambulance. It was all in vain. Our boy died in hospital a few hours later from his injuries.

Life was difficult after that. The funeral came and went. We both made our way through the well documented, various stages of grief. It’s said that depression can be the longest but, in my case, anger was the part that wouldn’t let go. My job at Whitehall was a salvation for a while; somewhere to escape to. I tried to avoid feeling anything by treading the well-worn path of working and drinking, working and drinking, rinse and repeat. I was even squirreling whisky away in a hip flask and taking illicit swigs at work. I kept seeing Kai in his russet-coloured, school uniform, his blazer with a proud badge sewn on the chest. He would grin at me in my dreams, that cheesy, silly grin full of teeth before running and jumping into a waiting swimming pool. A crude analysis was that this was my brain making sense of his death. What goes on inside our heads can be the greatest tormentor.

I’m not proud of the months that followed Kai’s demise. Our marriage drifted closer to rocks in a metaphorical stormy sea where reconciliation was becoming more necessary and yet, seemed so distant. My beloved had lost herself in her job working as an estate agent in London. We rarely spoke about anything meaningful. Days and nights just clicked by relentlessly. At last, things changed when Atsuko was sitting in our reception room on the ground floor of the house. I came home to find her fussing a stray ginger tomcat that had wandered in through the cat flap. My parents had owned a tabby at one point and the feline entry point was a throwback to when they lived here.

I thought nothing of it at first. It was an occasion I saw her feeding it that made me take note of this new dynamic. I imagined the animal to be a mature adult. Considering it was an alley cat, it looked well fed, its fur unkempt but clean, its face alive with eyes like pallid lamplights. Assuming it was hungry, Atsuko went to fetch food. She returned with a bowl full of something which was gratefully and voraciously accepted by our visitor. I asked what it was that was in the bowl. It was cat’s rice; of course, it was.

The adoring way Atsuko gazed at the cat triggered something inside me. We had started to aimlessly chat about our unexpected caller when my wife threw a conspiratorial glance in my direction. I asked her what she was thinking about. In time, a thoughtful reply came that she believed the interloper to be our son’s spirit returned in animal form. I remember my head spinning trying to come to terms with the notion that my boy could be here and exist in this way. It challenged sanity and my sense of stoicism. I just felt more anger. Atsuko said that we couldn’t carry on like this. Of course, she was right. We simply couldn’t.

It was later in a bar in Piccadilly Circus that I sat nursing a scotch, pondering what to do. Everything appeared so dark now. Life was a stodgy, sticky substance that I was coated in from head to foot. I was inert, unsure which way to turn. I looked over and saw a young family eating at a circular, wooden table. The boy would have been a similar age to Kai. They ate and talked and laughed. I remembered how we had been like that once. It made me pine for how things were and wish that things could be different. Subliminally, this scenario of happy families would have played out in plain sight on many occasions over the last few months so why this particular instance moved me remains a mystery. Right place, right time? Possibly. I resolved to return to Japan to try and rekindle something between us.

With a taxi due to ferry us to Heathrow on an overcast Saturday morning, Atsuko appeared mournful, her eyes scraping the floor. I asked her what was up and she confessed that the cat had not visited in days. I thought about assuring her that it was simply a moggy that was probably scavenging in someone else’s house but I decided against it. The anthropomorphism of the cat was her ongoing wish fulfilment that turned it, somehow, into our son. At least in her head. To add more, curious fuel to a beguiling fire, Kai had been a redhead in life which simply made the comparison even more compelling for my wife. That and the passion for cat’s rice were common denominators.

The flight was a quiet affair and a cab at Haneda Airport duly took us to the Shinjuku Granbell Hotel. We had a week to sort things out. I had an itinerary of places I thought we could visit that might have an emotional connection for us. The days that followed were hollow. Atsuko continued to fret about the missing cat which seemed to be a recurring symptom of ongoing grief. We revisited sites that should have had meaning for us – Koyo-san with its mysterious temples, Osaka with its dramatic nightscapes and another trek up Mount Fuji. There was only one day left when I made an odd request of her.

A taxi took us to a Tokyo train station. Whilst waiting on the platform surrounded by a myriad of humanity, I asked if she was willing to wear a blindfold for the rest of our final excursion. She complied and we bumped and shuffled our way, dragged along by the masses as we boarded to continue the journey to Katase-Enoshima. I hoped that Atsuko wouldn’t remember our previous trip to the intended destination, deliberately avoiding telling her where we were going.  Alighting several stops later along with many others, I flagged another cab that took us across a bridge to an island in Kanagawa Prefecture. The driver gave me the latest in a string of odd looks I had been given by people wondering whether I was a kidnapper. I paid him for the ride, smiled and took my partner gently by the hand.

We walked for a while before I untied the knot at the back of the covering. We were standing on a winding, concrete path that led to the top of the island. Flanked on either side was green grass flush from recent rain. A traditional village loomed in the distance with flat-roofed houses. A nearby expanse of water flowed behind us. For as far as the eye could see, there were cats roaming, looking for food, navigating established feline routes or simply hovering, waiting to decide what to do next. We were back on Enoshima – Cat Island.

For the first time on the entire trip, Atsuko looked happy. Her face lit like a candle at the sight she had been greeted by. She turned and beamed at me, her arm grasping mine, her demeanour noticeably animated about the location we were in. It felt like we were skipping along, gliding, when we abruptly stopped dead in our tracks. There, a few feet away, was a ginger cat very much like the one from London. Atsuku stared almost as though trying to absorb the cat into her soul via the power of her will. I was hoping that this universe of mousers might break the thick frozen ice that was our relationship these days but I hadn’t anticipated the situation we were in now. I had been optimistic about moving away from the concept of the reincarnation of our beloved Kai but that conceit was set to continue.

She edged towards the cat, it spying her cautiously whilst other animals watched on wearily. After what felt like a lifetime, the two were finally together, my wife delicately stroking the ginger’s fur coat. A look back at me was a wordless, wide-eyed plea to make an impromptu adoption. Before anything could be said, a short elderly man with a long grey beard that ran down to his pigeon-chest appeared. He wore a denim cap, loose fitting beige jacket and baggy trousers. Perhaps he was an official of some kind. He shook his head slowly and wafted his finger in the air in a gesture that clearly indicated that there was to be no removals of any occupants of the island. The spell was broken.

So here we are sitting facing each other in our ground floor room in London. Atsuku hasn’t said anything for a while. I swish the whiskey around the inside of a crystal tumbler and think about how we have come to this. The impasse isn’t what it was but the uncertainty remains. I look at her beautiful face, my darling of the Orient. I wish I had a magic wand that could fix everything. There’s a scuffling noise, the clank of a flap closing and the ginger tom is back in the room. My wife jumps up, runs to the door and flicks metal catches so that the feline exit is locked. Briefly cuddling the moggy, she crosses the room to the cordless phone and dials. I ask who she is calling. A reply comes whilst cupping the handset that the vet will be asked to check if the stray is microchipped. If not, Atsuku will have the procedure done and adopt the animal.

Someone starts to speak on the other end of the phone. I wander up the stairs and into the kitchen. Moments later, I reappear with a saucer. Atsuku’s brow furrows and she mouths “What’s that?” I smile, pop the food by the cat and quietly reply cat’s rice. The talking continues then there’s a pause as the person at the vets goes to do something.

Atsuko peers over again and whispers “Ai wa kanashimi no mukou ni”. I think about this and hear the cat purring. Love lies beyond sadness. Yes, perhaps it does.

Image free to use at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Big_red_cat_in_the_streets_of_Enoshima_(9409551923).jpg