NO TIME TO GRIEVE
Things Remembered and Things Forgotten by Kyoko Nakajima; translated by Ian McCullough MacDonald and Ginny Tapley Takemori
Sort Of BooksMay 2021Selected by Anthony Bird and Taylor Bradley
In East Asia, the short story and novella are held up as prestigious forms of literature, but because longer works are preferred by big British and American publishers, we are often deprived of the books most widely revered by Korean, Japanese, and Chinese readers. Considering this snootiness towards short literature and the fact that translated literature is still viewed as niche, we should be grateful for excellent short-story collections like Kyoko Nakajima’s Things Remembered and Things Forgotten. The stories, gracefully translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori and Ian McCullough MacDonald, often focus on grief and loss in simple, straightforward prose. “When My Wife Was a Shiitake”, for example, tells the story of a man discovering a hidden side of his late wife as he takes her spot in a cooking class. – Anthony Bird and Taylor Bradley
On a cold day seven years ago, just two days into his retirement, Taihei’s wife died. When she still wasn’t up at noon, he’d gone to the bedroom to wake her, cracking a joke – Is this how lazy you get when the head of the household doesn’t have to go to work any more? – only to find that her heart had stopped beating. An ambulance took her away, and the cause of death was diagnosed as a subarachnoid haemorrhage. The night before she’d complained of not feeling herself and had gone to bed ahead of him, he recalled, but it had never occurred to him she would die just like that.
The funeral had come and gone in the blink of an eye, with no time to grieve. Two or three weeks later, when the number of visitors had dwindled, Taihei was sitting all alone in a daze one night when his daughter, who lived in Tokyo, called.
“I just remembered that the cooking class with Tomiko Sugiyama is tomorrow. It’s really popular and cancellations aren’t allowed, so why don’t you go instead?”
“What are you talking about?” Taihei asked in his stupor.
“Oh come on, don’t you know? It’s the cooking class. The one Mum applied for. She was really looking forward to it. Getting into a class with Tomiko Sugiyama for her was like winning the lottery. She’s already paid for it, you know.”
“That’s more your sort of thing.”
“I’d love to go, but I’ve got work. You haven’t got anything planned for tomorrow, have you, Dad? You should go. It’ll help take your mind off things.”
“I can’t cook.”
“That’s a good reason to go, isn’t it? After all, it’s a cooking class.”
“Not for me, it isn’t. Give me her number and I’ll call to give her our apologies.”
“You’d be better off just going to it, though.” Her voice on the other end of the line sounded irritable. “Look, Dad, you’re going to have to do everything for yourself from now on. Think of it as a first step.”
“Just give me the number.”
“I think it’s in Mum’s address book. But you can’t turn it down, you know. It’s unheard of for anyone to cancel a class with Tomiko Sugiyama.”
“Whoever heard of not being able to cancel a cooking class for someone who’s died?” Taihei retorted caustically. He hung up and located the number, recorded meticulously in his wife’s address book.
“Tomiko Sugiyama’s Cooking Class. How can I help you?” said a voice brightly on the other end of the line.
“I’m calling on behalf of Misako Ishida, who was due to come to your class tomorrow. I’m her husband,” he started, but the bright voice cut in, cheerfully taking charge of the conversation.
“Oh, Mr Ishida, thank you for calling. Your daughter contacted me earlier. I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“As I mentioned to your daughter, all you need to bring with you is some salty-sweet shiitake, † ready prepared.”
“What?”
“Just some shiitake, simmered in sugar and soy sauce.”
“No, no, the thing is, my wife had a brain haemorrhage the other day.”
“Indeed.” The owner of the bright voice paused, as if struggling between a desire to express her deepest sympathies and needing to bring the call to a quick conclusion. “It’s such an awful thing to have happened. Please accept my heartfelt condolences. Well, then, I shall look forward to seeing you at one o’clock tomorrow. Goodbye now.”
Taihei was left standing there holding the receiver, but he didn’t have the courage to call back. Instead, he called his daughter.
“Sorry, Dad, a friend’s over,” she said, her voice hushed as if worried about being overheard.
“OK, I’ll make it quick. I called that cooking class. What did she mean by shiitake?”
“Oh, right. Tomorrow you’re making box sushi. You have to take some salty-sweet shiitake ready simmered in sugar and soy sauce.” ◉
Kyoko Nakajima is an award-winning Japanese author whose works include Futon (2003), The Little House (2010) and The Long Goodbye (2015) based on her father’s experience of dementia. This story, “When My Wife Was a Shiitake”, was first published in When My Wife Was a Shiitake (펄ㄼ流휙ㅐㅓㅏㅃㅽ) by Kodansha in Japan in 2013.
† The shiitake mushroom, revered for its healing properties, was historically considered in Japan to be an aphrodisiac; in China, emperors ate shiitake to slow the onset of old age. Shiitake has even been used in the treatment of mushroom poisoning.