“I should be asking you the same thing. I’m the one who was forced into working for him, without any explanation.” Shindo thought of showing her the nice gash on her crown where they cranked her with the beer bottle.
“ . . . You think you’re tough or something?” Shoko asked.
“Guess so.”
“Give me a break . . . what am I supposed to do if someone tries to kidnap me?”
“Has that sort of thing happened before?”
Shoko bit down on her bottom lip. In the usual way, she was dressed in an old-fashioned silk blouse and long emerald skirt, like she was ready for a choral concert. As much as she did look the part of a sheltered princess, this was complicated by the fact that ninety percent of the words out of her mouth were abusive, to put it lightly.
“. . . Until I’m married, I can’t suffer so much as a scratch. This isn’t just my problem, either. A lady like me has a future husband to consider. Not like you’d understand.”
Wow, thought Shindo. She had figured that a man like Shoko’s father would refuse to let her marry, confining her indefinitely to the house.
“My future husband takes my personal development quite seriously. Customarily, I should have married him right out of high school, but he says that times have changed and let me spend two years in college. In order to repay him, I need to be the best bride humanly possible.”
“Sounds like a tough situation.”
Her response, meant sincerely, set Shoko off.
“What was that? Don’t mock me.”
“I wasn’t—”
Shoko raised her voice, smothering Shindo’s excuse.
“You’re hopeless. Always looking at me like I’m some kind of pathetic wretch, when you’re the one who’s ugly and disgusting. Quit talking like there’s something funny about this.”
Someone was in a bad mood today. Shindo sighed and gave Shoko a long, hard look.
“Listen, I’m just trying to show you some consideration, like you asked. Last thing I want is for that father of yours to make me, uh, do jump rope with my intestines. Having him looming in the background is a real pain in the butt. I couldn’t care less about you, personally. I don’t care. At all. Not even a teensy-weensy bit. Princess, you’re living in your own little world.”
In the wake of this unsparing reprimand, Shoko was quiet. Shindo hit the gas and drove along. A moment later, though, she realized something was amiss.
Shoko was crying, careful not to make a sound, shedding tears into her lap. Instinctively, Shindo touched the brakes and pulled over.
“Miss Shoko, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“This isn’t nothing. Stomach ache? Is it your period? There’s a bathroom by the—”
“Stop it! What’s wrong with you? I’m done with this shit. Go to hell!”
Shoko unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door. Before she could get it open, Shindo grabbed her wrist.
“Let go!” Shoko screamed. “That’s it, you touched me. No one cares if you’re a woman. You’re dead meat now. Hear me?”
Shoko’s teary fit was drowned out by a four-ton truck that trundled past them, laying on the horn.
“Look both ways,” Shindo said sternly. “You’ll get yourself run over.”
Shoko’s lips began to tremble.
“Always look, okay?” said Shindo.
“I hate you! I fucking hate you!”
“Great. Then ask your dad to hire a new driver. You can hang my stuffed head on your bedroom wall as a trophy.”
“Ugh! You make me sick. How can you say a thing like that?”
At this point Shoko was slumped over, sobbing uncontrollably. The wrist in Shindo’s hand went limp.
What was all this crying about? Shindo wondered, staring at the whorl of Shoko’s scalp. What did she have to cry about? Why was she crying? Made no sense. She was like a little kid, throwing a tantrum. What kind of a grownup woman cries like this?
Shindo tried waiting it out. When the girl showed no sign of stopping, she reached into the back seat and grabbed the box of tissues. Shoko took a handful and patted at her eyes, then blew her nose into the wad like a trumpet.
Other cars beeped as they swerved around the Civic. It was in the way, parked on the shoulder. Shoko helped herself to more tissues. Eventually her sobbing petered out.
“Listen, princess,” Shindo said, once Shoko’s breathing had calmed down. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to go to English class today.”
“. . . Who cares what kind of shape I’m in? I have to go.”
“All it takes is a phone call. I’ll say you’re taking the day off.”
“Then what? It’s not like there’s something else I need to do.”
