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LederhosenBy MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Alfread Birnbaum
"Mother dumped my father," a friend of my wifes was saying one day, "all because of a pair of shorts."
Ive got to ask. "A pair of shorts?"
"I know it sounds strange," she says, "because it is a straory."
A large woman, her height and build are almost the same as mine. She tutors electric an, but most of her free time she divides between swimming and skiing and tennis, so shes trim and always tanned. You might call her a sports fanatie days off, she puts in a m run before heading to the local pool to do laps; then at two or three iernoon its tennis, followed by aerobiow, I like my sports, but Im nowhere near her league.
I doo suggest shes aggressive or obsessive about things. Quite the trary, shes really rather retiring; shed never dream of puttiional pressure on anyone. Only shes driven; her body--and very likely the spirit attached to that body--craves vigorous activity, relentless as a et.
Which may have something to do with why shes unmarried. Oh, shes had affairs--the woman may be a little on the large side, but she is beautiful--shes been proposed to, even agreed to take the plunge. But iably, whes gotten to the wedding stage, some problem has e up and everything falls through.
Like my wife says, "Shes just unlucky."
"Well, I guess," I sympathize.
Im not in total agreement with the wife on this. True, luck may rule over parts of a persons life and luck may cast patches of shadow across the ground of our being, but where theres a will--much less a will strong enough to swim thirty laps or ruy kilometers--theres a way to overost any trouble. No, her heart was never set on marrying, is how I see it. Marriage just doesnt fall within the sweep of her et, at least irely.
And so she keeps on tut electric aing every free moment to sports, falling regularly in and out of unlucky love.
Its a rainy Sunday afternoon and shes e two hours earlier than expected, while my wife is still out shopping.
"Five me," she apologizes. "I took a rain che todays tennis, which left me two hours to spare. Id have been bored out of my mind being alo home, so I just thought...Am I interrupting anything?"
Not at all, I say. I didnt feel quite in the mood to work and was just sitting around, y lap, watg a video. I show her in, go to the kit, and make coffee. Two cups, for watg the last twenty minutes of Jaws. Of course, weve both seen the movie before--probably more than once?so her of us is particularly riveted to the tube. But were watg it anyway because its there in front of our eyes.
Its THE END. The credits roll up. No sign of the wife. So we chat a bit. Sharks, seaside, swimming.... Still no wife. We go on talking. Now, I suppose I like the woman well enough, but after an hour of this our lack of things in on bees obvious. The fact is, shes my wifes friend, not mine.
Im already thinking about popping in the video when she suddenly brings up the story of her parents divorce. I t fathom the e--at least to my mind, theres no liween swimming and her folks splitting up--but I uess a reason is where you find it.
"They werent really shorts", she says. "They were lederhosen."
"You mean those hiking pants the Germans wear? The ones with the shoulder straps?"
"You got it. Father wanted a pair of lederhosen as a souvenir gift. Well, Fathers pretty tall for his geion. He might even look good in them, which could be why he wahem. But you picture a Japanese man wearing lederhosen? I guess it takes all kinds."
Im still not any closer to the story. I have to ask: What were the circumstances behind her fathers request--and of whom?--for these souvenir lederhosen?
"Oh, Im sorry. Im always telling things out of order. Stop me if things dont make sense," she says.
Okay, I say.
"Mothers sister was living in Germany and she invited Mother for a visit. Something shed always been meaning to do. Of course, Mother t speak German, shed never even been abroad, but having been an English teacher for so long she had that overseas bee in her bo. Itd been ages since shed seen my aunt. So Mother approached Father--how about taking ten days off and going to Germany, the two of us? Fathers work wouldnt allow it, and Mother ended up going alone."
"Thats when your father asked for the lederhosen, I take it?
&quht," she says. "Mother asked what he wanted her t back, and Father said lederhosen."
"Okay so far."
Her parents were reasonably close. They didnt argue until all hours of the night; her father didnt storm out of the house and not e home for days on end. At least not then, though apparently there had been rows more than once over him and other women.
"Not a bad man, a hard worker, but kind of a skirt-chaser," she tosses off matter-of-factly. ions of hers, the way shes talking. For a sed I almost think her father is deceased. But no, Im told, hes alive and well.
"Father was already up there in years, and by then those troubles were all behind them. They seemed to be getting along just fine."
Things, however, didnt go without i. Her mother extehe ten days in Germany to nearly a month and half, with hardly a word back to Tokyo, and when she finally did return to Japan, she stayed with another sister of hers in Osaka. She never did e bae.
her she--the daughter--nor her father could uand what was going on. Until then, when thered been marital difficulties, her mother had always beeient one--so ploddingly patient in fact that she sometimes wondered if the woman had no imagination; family always came first and mother was selflessly devoted to her daughter. So when her mother didnt e around, didnt even make the effort to call, it was beyond their prehension. They made phone calls to the aunts house in Osaka, repeatedly, but they could hardly get her to e to the phone, much less admit what her iions were.
In mid-September, two months after returning to Japan, her mother made her iions known One day, out of the blue, she called home and told her husband, "You will be receiving the necessary papers for divorce. Please sign, seal, ahem bae." Would she care to explain, her husband asked, what was the reason? "Ive lost all love for you--in any way, shape, or form." Oh? said her father. Was there no room for discussion? Sorry, none, absolutely none.
"All this came as a big shock," she tells me. "But it wasnt just the divorce. Id imagined my parents splitting up many times, so I was already prepared for it psychologically. If the two of them had just plain divorced without all that funny business, I wouldnt have gotten so upset. The problem wasnt Mother dumping Father; Mother was dumpioo. Thats what hurt."
I nod.
"Up until that point, Id always taken Mothers side and Mother would always stand by me. Ahere was Mother throwi with Father, like so much garbage, and not a word of explanation. It hit me so hard, I wasnt able tive Mother for the loime. I wrote her who knows how maers askio set things straight, but she never answered my questions, never even said she wao see me."
It wasnt until three years later that she actually saw her mother. At a family funeral, of all places. By then, the daughter was living on her own--shed moved out in he sophomore year of college, when her parents divorced--and now she had graduated and was tut electric an. Meanwhile, her mother was teag English at a prep school.
Her mother fessed that she hadnt been able to talk to her own daughter because she hadnt known what to say. "I myself couldnt tell where things were going," Mother said, "but it all started over that pair of shorts."
"Shorts?" Shed been as started as I was. Shed never wao speak to her main, but curiosity got the better of her. In their m dress, mother and daughter went into a nearby coffee shop and ordered iced tea. She had to hear this--pardon the expression--short story.
The shop that sold the lederhosen was in a small town an hour away by train from Hamburg. Her mothers sister looked it up for her.
"All the Germans I know say if yoing to buy lederhosen, this is the place. The craftsmanship is good, and the prices arent so expensive, said her sister.
So Mother boarded a train to buy her husband his souvenir lederhosen. Irain partment sat a middle-aged German couple, who versed with her in halting English. "I go now to buy lederhosen for souvenir," Mother said. "Vat shop you go to?" the couple asked. Mother he name of the shop, and the middleaged German couple chimed in together, "Zat is ze place, jah. It is ze best." Hearing this, Mother felt very fident.
It was a delightful early-summer afternoon and a quaint old-fashioown. Cobblestone <s></s>streets led in all dires, and cats were everywhere. Mother stepped into a cafe for a bite of kaseku and coffee.
She was on her last sip of coffee and playing with the shop cat when the owner came over to ask what brought her to their little town. She said lederhosen, whereupon the owner pulled out a pad of paper and dre to the shop.
"Thank you very much," Mother said.
How wonderful it was to travel by oneself, she thought as she walked along the cobblestones. In fact, this was the first time in her fifty-five years that she had traveled alone. During the whole trip, she had not once been lonely or afraid or bored. Every se that met her eyes was fresh and new; everyone she met was friendly. Each experience called forth emotions that had been slumbering in her, untouched and unused. What she had held near and dear until then--husband and home and daughter--was oher side of the earth. She felt o trouble herself over them.
She found the lederhosen shop without problem. It was a tiny old guild shop. It didnt have a big sign for tourists, but inside she could see scores of lederhosen. She opehe door and walked in.
Two old men worked in the shop. They spoke in a whisper as they took down measurements and scribbled them into a notebook. Behind a curtain divider was a larger work space; the monotone of sewing maes could be heard.
"Darf ich Ihnen helfen, Madame?" the larger of the two old men addressed Mother.
"I want to buy lederhosen," she responded in English.
"For Madame?" he asked back.
"No, I buy for my husband in<q>.?</q> Japan."
"Ach so," said the old man, "your husband. Zen he is not here viss you?"
"No, I say already, he is in Japan," she replied.
"Ziss make problem." The old man chose his words with care. "Ve do not make article for er who ."
"My husba," Mother said with fidence.
"Jah, jah, your husba, of course, of course," the old man responded hastily. "Excuse my not good English. Vat I vant say, if your husband here, ve ot sell ze lederhosen."
"Why?" Mother asked, perplexed.
"Is store policy. Is unser Prinzip. Ve must see ze lederhosen how it fit er, ve alter very nice, only zen ve sell. Over one hundred years ve are in business, ve build reputation on ziss policy."
"But I spend half day to e from Hamburg to buy your lederhosen."
"Very sorry, Madame," said the old man, looking very sorry indeed. "Ve make no exception. Ziss vorld is very uain vorld. Trust is difficult sink to earn but easy sink to lose."
Mhed and stood in the doorway. She strained her brain for some way to break the impasse. The larger old man explaihe situation to the smaller man, who nodded sadly, jah, jah. Despite their great differen size, the two old men wore identical expressions.
"Well, perhaps, we do as this?" Mother proposed. "I find man just like my husband and bring him here. That man puts on lederhosen, you alter very nice, you sell lederhosen to me."
The first old man looked her in the face, aghast.
"But, Madame, zat is against rule. Is not same man who tries ze lederhosen on, your husband. And ve know ziss. Ve ot do ziss."
"Pretend you do not know. You sell lederhosen to that man and that man sell lederhosen to me. That way, there is no shame to your policy. Please, I beg you. I may never e back to Germany. If I do not buy lederhosen now, I will never buy lederhosen."
"Hmph," the old man pouted. He thought for a few seds, then turo the other old man spoke a stream in German. They spoke bad forth several times. Then finally, the large man turned baother and said, "Very well, Madame. As exception--very exception, you please uand--ve vill knownossink of ziss matter. Not so many e from Yapan to buy lederhosen. Please find man very like your husband. My brother he says ziss."
"Thank you," she said. Then she mao thank the other brother in German, "Das ist so vor Ihnen." She--the daughter whos tellihis story--folds her hands oable and sighs. I drink the last of my coffee, long since cold. The rain keeps ing down. Still no sign of the wife. Whod e藏书网ver have thought the versation would take this turn?
"So then?" I interject, eager to hear the clusion. "Did your mother end up finding someoh the same build as your father?"
"Yes," she says, utterly without expression. "Mother sat on a bench looking for someone who matched Fathers size. And along came a man who fit the part. Without asking his permission--it seems the man couldnt speak a word of English--she dragged him to the lederhosen shop."
"The hands-on approach," I joke.
"I dont know. At home Mother was always a normal sensible-shoes woman," she says with anh. "The shopkeepers explaihe situation to the man, and the man gladly seo stand in for Father. He puts the lederhosen on, and theyre pulling here and tug there, the three of them chortling away in German. In thirty mihe job was done, during which time Mother made up her mind to divorce Father."
"Wait," I say, "I do. Did something happen during those thirty minutes?"
"Nothing at all. Only those three German men ha-ha-ing like bellows."
"But what made your mother do it?"
"Thats something even Mother herself didnt uand after all this time. It made her defensive and fused. All she knew was, looking at that man in the lederhosen, she felt an unbearable disgust rising in her. Directed toward Father. And she could not hold it back. Mothers lederhosen man, apart from the color of his skin, was exactly like Father, the shape of the legs, the belly, the thinning hair. The way he was so happy trying on those new lederhosen, all prand cocky like a little boy. As Mother stood there looking at this man, so many things shed been uain about slowly shifted together into something very clear. Thats when she realized she hated Father."
My wife gets home from shopping, and the two of them eheir woman talk, but Im still thinking about the lederhosen.
"So, you dont hate your mother anymore?" I ask when my wife leaves the room.
"No, not really. Were not close at all, but I dont hold anything against her."
"Because she told you about the lederhosen?"
"I think so. After she explaihings to me, I couldnt go on hating her. I t say why it makes any difference, I certainly dont know how to explain it, but it may have something to do with us being women."
"Still, if you leave the lederhosen out of it, supposing it was just the story of a woman taking a trip and finding herself, would you have been able tive her?"
"Of course not," she says without hesitation. "The whole point is the lederhosen, right?"
A proxy<q></q> pair of lederhosen, Im thinking, that her father never even received.
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