Watersong
Contents
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
PART I
1 The Ear Prostitute
2 Through the Darkened Glass
3 That Coffee-Scented Summer
4 Onion and Water
5 The Woman Who Fell in Love with a Voice
6 The Polite Giant
7 Yellow Butterflies
8 The Proposition
9 Atonement and Forgiveness
10 One of Those Days
11 The Katsuragi Hotel
PART II
12 Under the Bright Lights
13 Nameless Season
14 Phone Calls
15 The Rolling Acorn
16 She Must Have Been a Cat in Her Previous Life
17 In That Tiny Red Phone Booth
18 It’s Not So Bad to Live in Tokyo
19 There Is No Smoke Without Fire
20 Smoked Beef Brisket
21 Something Like Christmas
22 The Persistent Ones
23 The Cat’s Paradise
24 White Curtains, Tiny Roses
25 Hunting the Giant
26 Mizuki Harada
27 The Water and the Sea
28 Like a Mild Tokyo Earthquake
29 Water Women
30 Welcome to Singapore
31 I Hope You’re Happy
32 An Empty Tin of Mints
PART III
33 Tracing Water
34 What You Didn’t Know
35 Sleeping Lotus
36 Sink or Swim
Epilogue
WATERSONG
Clarissa Goenawan is an Indonesian-born Singaporean writer and translator. Her award-winning short stories have appeared in literary magazines and anthologies in Singapore, Australia, Japan, Indonesia, Italy, the UK, and the US. Rainbirds, her debut novel, has been published in eleven different languages. Her second novel, The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida, came out in 2020. Watersong is her third novel.
Scribe Publications
2 John St, Clerkenwell, London, WC1N 2ES, United Kingdom
18–20 Edward St, Brunswick, Victoria 3056, Australia
3754 Pleasant Ave, Suite 100, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55409, USA
Published by Scribe 2022
Copyright © Clarissa Goenawan 2022
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publishers of this book.
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
978 1 914484 11 7 (UK edition)
978 1 922585 20 2 (Australian edition)
978 1 950354 97 9 (US edition)
978 1 922586 44 5 (ebook)
Catalogue records for this book are available from the National Library of Australia and the British Library.
scribepublications.co.uk
scribepublications.com.au
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PROLOGUE
A long time ago, when he was a kid, he’d dreamed of drowning.
He fought hard, moving his arms and thrashing around as the water pushed him down. Excruciating pain burned in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. Through the clear water, the sunlight shifted, dancing with the ripples. The surface felt so near, yet unreachable. A woman called his name.
Shoji! Shoji!
He woke up drenched in sweat, gasping for air. The dream was vivid, and it continued night after night. Worried it was a bad omen, his mother took him to a famous fortune-teller.
The old woman sat behind a folding table covered with a black cloth in an alley near Nakasu-Kawabata Station. A handwritten sign advertised her services.
They had to line up behind three customers who’d arrived before them, though he couldn’t wait to leave.
When it was his turn, the fortune-teller grinned at him. He flinched. His mother put her hands on his shoulders, edging him forward.
‘My son has been having the same nightmare. Three times in a row.’
‘That’s worrying.’
The old woman reached for the boy’s hand. Her wrinkled skin brushed against his as she turned his palm face up.
His mother’s grip on his shoulders tightened. ‘Do you see anything?’
‘Yes, I see water. Too much water.’ The woman furrowed her brow. ‘Black, murky water. A lot of darkness.’
There was a pause.
‘Your son will come across three women with the water element in their names. One of them could be his soulmate.’ She closed the boy’s palm. ‘But if he’s not careful, the water will flood. He, or someone close to him — these women perhaps — may drown.’
His mother turned pale as he stared at the age spots creeping all over the old woman’s arms, wondering what they were.
‘Madam, you’ve got something on your mind.’
‘There was an accident involving a relative …’ His mother’s voice was small. Shoji looked at her curiously, but she shifted her eyes away from him. ‘Is there anything you can do for my son?’ she asked the fortune-teller, desperate.
The old woman cleared her throat. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you a definite answer, madam.’ She turned to the boy. ‘But your son has a kind heart, and kindness is often rewarded. With a bit of luck, he might be fine.’
MIZUKI
水月
CHAPTER 1
THE EAR PROSTITUTE
Akakawa, 1995. At a glance, the building didn’t look much different from the high-end westen-style cafés in Daikanyama. It was housed in an elegant, pristine-white, western-style building. But, looking closer, everything had been meticulously planned to ensure complete privacy for those inside, from the frosted-glass windows to the carefully tended garden that blocked the entrance.
Entering, Shoji saw a framed pen-and-ink illustration of a teapot hung on the wall. A pair of potted English ivies stood near the wooden front doors, which had shiny golden handles. He took a deep breath. The enthusiasm he’d felt earlier had evaporated once he’d got off the bus.
‘Are you nervous?’ Yoko asked.
He forced a smile to reassure his girlfriend. ‘No.’
‘Your palm is sweaty.’
He quickly let go of her hand and wiped his on his trousers.
‘Just kidding,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘Don’t worry, Shoji. You’re a good listener. I know that better than anyone. You’ll be fine. Actually no, not just fine. You’ll be amazing. You’re perfect for this.’
He wasn’t convinced, but he had to nail this interview. He needed a job to stay in Akakawa. Even a dodgy one would do.
•
Three days ago, his girlfriend had returned home earlier than usual. Yoko’s eyebrows rose when she saw him lounging on the low sofa in front of the television. She probably thought he should’ve been out there. Somewhere, anywhere, doing something …
Shoji got up. ‘Have you had dinner?’
Yoko shook her head. ‘Not hungry.’
‘Bad day at work?’
She didn’t answer. After taking off her coat, she sat down next to him and hugged her knees to her chest. ‘What’s the show about?’
Shoji looked at the television. It was showing a family drama, but he hadn’t been paying attention.
‘Stop turning on the TV if you’re not watching it. You’re wasting electricity.’
Yoko switched the television off before burying her face in her knees. She stayed quiet for a long time. He guessed today was one of those days. Shoji sighed. He couldn’t cheer her up because she wouldn’t tell him anything about her job. She probably felt uncomfortable discussing her kind of work. He took a deep breath and rubbed her shoulders.
The silence made the slightest sounds more pronounced: the whirring ceiling fan, the ticking clock, the rustling of leaves, and the chattering of passers-by seeping through the windows.
After Yoko calmed down, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’
Shoji gave her a gentle pat. ‘It’s all right.’
‘You’re still wearing the same clothes as this morning,’ she said, staring at him. ‘Were you home the whole day?’
He shifted his eyes. ‘Kind of.’
‘What about the job search?’
‘Let’s talk about it another time,’ he said. ‘You look tired. You should rest.’
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘It’s bothering you, so we should talk now.’
Taking a deep breath, Shoji stared at the window. Traces of water from yesterday’s rain had left streaks on the glass. He’d not noticed them until now.
‘I can’t find a job here,’ he said. ‘Maybe everyone was right. I should’ve looked for a suitable position in Tokyo. The recruiting season isn’t over. If I return now, I should be able to catch the last wave.’
She stared at him. ‘You’re leaving.’
‘I have no choice.’
‘But you do have a choice.’ Her tone was flat. ‘You always have a choice.’
He grew defensive. ‘Look, I need a job to survive. My savings are running out. I can’t rely on you to pay for everything.’
‘Didn’t I tell you it’s fine?’ Yoko straightened her legs. ‘I don’t mind. We’re a couple. We help each other. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?’
That was true, but … ‘I do mind. I don’t want to depend on you financially. It’s not fair, and it’s not right.’ He paused and reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘Yoko, I’m not leaving you. I’m just leaving Akakawa. We can still see each other on our days off.’
‘I don’t like this,’ she mumbled.
Me neither, he wanted to say, but kept quiet. Instead, he looked around the room. This old, cheap apartment wasn’t as comfortable as the one he used to share with Jin back in Tokyo, but he’d grown fond of it.
‘Why don’t you come and work with me?’ Yoko asked. ‘I can recommend you. I’m sure they’ll say yes. The pay is good.’
Shoji hesitated. ‘You mean … the company also runs a host club here?’ He thought of those glitzy places where young, handsome men clad in suits entertained rich, female clients. They were common in Tokyo, but he was surprised to hear they had spread to the suburbs too.
Yoko gave him a puzzled look. ‘What?’
‘Your work …’ He looked away, trying to hide his unease. ‘You’re some sort of high-class hostess, aren’t you?’
She burst into laughter.
‘Stop that,’ he said, embarrassed.
Yoko lunged forward and hugged him. ‘You’re so cute, Shoji. You wouldn’t mind if I was working as a hostess?’
‘I would.’ He avoided her eyes. ‘But you didn’t listen when I asked you to stop this job you couldn’t tell me about. I want to respect your decisions, even when I don’t agree with you.’
She put her palms on his face, turning his head to look at her. ‘I’m touched.’
He reached for her hands and pulled them away. Was she being sarcastic?
‘I’m sorry. I should’ve told you everything from the beginning,’ she said. ‘My job isn’t what you imagine. I don’t think it’s anything most people could imagine.’
He kept quiet. Go on.
‘I’m a listener,’ she said. ‘I listen to other people’s problems, letting them air whatever is eating them up inside.’
Oh. ‘Something like a therapist?’
‘Kind of, but not really. The place I work at looks more like a high-class tearoom than a clinic, at least from the outside. We serve an excellent range of teas too. And we’re extremely exclusive. We only serve our members. Don’t ask me how the company does the vetting. I have no idea. What I do know is the exclusivity comes with a hefty price tag. And to justify that fee, we guarantee absolute confidentiality and zero judgement.’
He stared at her. The more she explained, the dodgier this job seemed.
‘I must never, ever disclose any conversation I’ve had with a client, even if my life were on the line. I wouldn’t even be telling you this much if I weren’t suggesting you work there.’ She bit her lip. ‘What do you think?’
Shoji drummed his fingers on his knee. ‘Do I have to answer now?’
Yoko shrugged. ‘You’re the one who said you really needed a job, but it’s fine if you’re not up for it. I’m just trying to help.’
‘Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t want it.’ It was true that he was desperate. And if, by joining Yoko’s company, he could understand her better, that would be a bonus. ‘I’ll give it a shot.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ll inform Madam.’
‘Madam?’
‘That’s how we address the lady who runs the Akakawa branch.’
‘Isn’t that a bit weird? Sounds like …’ He tailed off.
‘A mama-san who manages prostitutes?’
He didn’t want to say it, but she had. ‘Erm, kind of.’
She laughed. ‘In a way, it’s a fitting description. After all, we’re prostituting our ears.’
•
Yoko opened the door and Shoji followed her in. He noted the place had a reception area, unlike most tearooms.
‘My dear!’ A plump woman in a white suit greeted them from behind the counter. ‘This handsome young man must be your boyfriend.’
He bowed. ‘I’m Shoji Arai. A pleasure to meet you.’
‘We need to talk in private,’ she said to Shoji before turning to Yoko. ‘Sweetheart, would you mind fetching Mr Sato? Ask him to mind the counter. After that, go to the waiting room.’
Yoko went through the next set of doors. Meanwhile, Madam took her time to stare at Shoji.
She was middle-aged, with curly, dark-brown hair that reminded him of a bird’s nest, and she held a black pen in her right hand as if it were an extended body part. Shoji tried his best to appear relaxed while maintaining eye contact.
An older man in a black tuxedo came in. This had to be Mr Sato. Shoji bowed to him. The man bowed in return and took a good look at Shoji, long enough to make the younger man feel uncomfortable. Somehow, he looked familiar, but Shoji couldn’t place him.
Mr Sato’s silver hair contrasted against his black jacket. He had white gloves on, like the ones worn by taxi drivers. Everything about him was prim and proper. Shoji could picture him ironing his clothes, making sure not a single crease blighted the fabric.
Madam whispered to Mr Sato while gesturing wildly with her pen. Her nails were painted turquoise. Mr Sato nodded, and Madam whisked Shoji through the doors.
In the corridor, the two of them passed a large room. Through the huge glass windows, he could see about ten people inside. There were two long leather sofas in the middle of the room. A few people were walking around aimlessly, but most of them — including Yoko — were sitting. Shoji stole a glance at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.
‘She can’t see you,’ Madam said. ‘It’s a one-way mirror.’
At the end of the corridor, they passed through another set of doors into a spacious room. Now this looked like a tearoom, albeit in a western style. From the front of the building, Shoji wouldn’t have guessed the place was this big. With floral wallpaper and white pillars decorated with gold carvings, the tearoom was grand enough to hold a lavish wedding banquet. He counted at least thirty tables, separated from each other by curved frosted-glass panels, Victorian lace curtains, or strategically placed potted plants. Classical music played in the background. A white grand piano stood in the corner, but it looked more like part of the decoration than an instrument anyone played regularly.
Madam led him to table fifteen. The partition was designed in such a way that Shoji couldn’t tell whether anyone was sitting there until he reached the table. Once he was seated, a young man wearing a similar black tuxedo to Mr Sato came in with a menu. Madam took it and dismissed him with her pen.
‘Mr Arai, what do you know about this job?’ she asked.
Shoji cleared his throat. ‘It’s to be a listener.’
‘That’s a good place to start. Can you imagine what kind of individual would pay for this service?’
She passed the menu to him. There were only five teas listed — English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Chamomile, Peppermint, and Jasmine White. Shoji was not surprised by the English teas, given the decor of the room. But what was surprising was the price list. A pot was as expensive as a multi-course dinner at a high-end restaurant. Then he saw in small print underneath ‘one hour’ — so the price was for the listening service, not just the tea. Still, what kind of person could afford this?