“Maybe, looking back. But until I left the house, that was normal life for me. With my gramma always bundled up like that, my grampa had to do all of the chores and errands by himself. It was Gramma’s job to tell me stories. She knew all kinds. Sometimes folk tales, or stories about interesting people that she knew when she was young. Since Grampa wouldn’t let us have a TV in the house, this was basically the only form of entertainment.”
Shoko was enthralled.
“I’m not allowed to watch TV either. Father says that it kills brain cells and would spoil my character.”
“There you have it. You and me, two perfectly elegant characters.”
“. . . You’re the worst.”
Shindo laughed.
“Anyway, Gramma’s stories were way better than anything on TV. She had tons of stories that you’d never find in any kind of book. My favorite was this one about Baba Yaga.”
“Is it scary?”
“Not at all. Baba Yaga lives inside a real cool house. It’s in the middle of the woods, on chicken legs, so it’s super high above the ground. The inside’s all decked out with human bones.”
“Sounds scary.”
“For her, that’s regular decor. She spends her time snatching up people for her supper and casting spells on livestock in the area. She knows everything, can see through any situation, and she’s really good at magic and insanely strong. The villagers are terrified of her, but if a kind, purehearted woman asks her nicely, she’ll give her treasures or help her with her work.”
“Doesn’t that make her bad?”
“She does bad things, but she does good things, too. One day, she might burn a field to ashes, and another day she might help an innocent young maiden find a prince and turn into a princess. You never know what Baba Yaga is gonna do, or whose side she’s on, at least not when she shows up. That’s what makes the stories fun.”
Shindo took a sip of the house blend, lukewarm by now. Following suit, Shoko tried another sip of hers, like a bird testing a puddle with its beak. The flavor made her scowl.
“Baba Yaga does whatever she wants. Her visitors might get obliterated, or they might get welcomed back, but Gramma ended all her Baba Yaga stories with the same moral: ‘If you grow up to be a kind, purehearted woman, even scary people like Baba Yaga will help you out.’ No matter what Baba Yaga did in the story, this was always how she finished it.”
“And you grew up into a kind, purehearted woman?”
“Clearly. But I really wanted to be Baba Yaga. That seemed like way more fun. I could make it rain or thunder, or make the livestock’s balls grow to the size of water balloons. All kinds of fun stuff. I would be so strong and cool. But when I told my gramma that I didn’t want to be a princess, that I wanted to be Baba Yaga instead, she got so mad at me.”
Recalling this made Shindo chuckle.
If anyone was Baba Yaga, it was Gramma.
“If it was up to me,” said Shoko, “I’d want to be Baba Yaga too.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be a proper lady who gets married to a prince? Wearing those pretty clothes like that, and all your precious stones.”
“I never liked these clothes,” Shoko said; her face went dark. “I hate these clothes, I hate this haircut, I hate these shoes and handbag.”
“Then why wear them? Can’t a princess like you have whatever clothes she wants?”
“They’re my mother’s.”
Shoko said this in a low voice, looking down.
“My mother doesn’t live with us, not anymore . . . I have to wear the clothes she left behind. It’s all stuff my father bought for her. The department store used to come by with racks and racks of clothes. He only bought the ones he wanted her to wear. There’s pajamas, evening gowns, whole closets full of this stuff.”
The frilled collar of her blouse fluttered in the air conditioning. No wonder Shindo had thought Shoko’s clothes were so old-fashioned.
Not old-fashioned, no.
Just plain old.
“This haircut . . . and how I’m not allowed to put on makeup . . . all this stuff’s because it’s what my mother did. Or what my father wanted her to do. I’m well aware my classmates think I’m lame and out of touch. But it’s no use. Until I’m married, I belong to the Naiki household. Besides, I’m indebted to my father for raising me. It’s only clothes.”
“But you just said you hated them.”
“Once I’m married, I’ll be able to wear different clothes. It won’t be long. It’s fine. I can put up with it.”
“What if your new husband decides to pick your clothes out for you, too?”
Shoko hung her head. With that kiddish face, she could have easily still been in high school. The word “marriage” didn’t fit. More to the point, no amount of character development or etiquette could change a crucial fact: she was the daughter of a yakuza boss. What were the odds her “future husband” was a normal guy?
“I hate this thing the most.”
She hooked her index finger around the golden chain. As far as Shindo could remember, Shoko wore the N pendant every single day.
“Mother left this, too. It was the first present Father gave her after their wedding. He says I’m not allowed to take it off, no matter what, until I’m married.”
Unbelievable. Like a collar for a pet. Shindo felt it tighten around both their necks. She tried to shrug it off.
“I’ve told you not to look at me like that,” Shoko said in a cold tone. “Like I’m pathetic.”
“I wasn’t, it’s just—”
