A short story from The Name of the Flower by Kuniko Mukoda.

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When Sachiko woke up, the first thing she did was go to the kitchen and take two eggs out of the refrigerator. It was her morning ritual. She put them out in a bowl and then went to brush her teeth and wash her face. Eggs straight out of the refrigerator didn't taste good and she had been told that they would cook better when left for a while at room temperature.

The ice-cold eggs seemed stiff and leaden. They bumped against each other, making a dull clunk in the white bowl but soon they stopped moving.

It would be so much easier if her husband Takeo would just have toast and coffee for breakfast but he always said he didn't feel he had really eaten breakfast unless it was a Japanese-style one with rice.

'I'll have toast and coffee after our child is born,' Takeo had promised Sachiko on their honeymoon.

Sachiko thought then that her rice-cooking period would be only a year or so long at most. It never occurred to her that it might last five years.

'Not ready yet?' Takeo asked her at the table, the morning paper spread before him. He had forgotten about a morning conference and wanted Sachiko to hurry up with his breakfast.

The phrase 'not ready yet' was the last thing Sachiko wanted to hear.

'Not ready yet?'

'Don't you think it's about time?' her mother-in-law had asked Sachiko more than once.

Sachiko was thankful she wasn't living with her in-laws. Takeo was an only child and his mother was awaiting the birth of his heir. After waiting three years, though, she avoided raising the question of children when she met Sachiko. Sachiko would have preferred to be asked openly about it rather than to have the subject ignored.

Takeo left it to Sachiko to crack open the eggs at the breakfast table. The eggs were warmer now than they had been in the refrigerator but still colder than the white bowl. The egg whites looked half-transparent and half-frozen, perhaps because she had lowered the refrigerator temperature to make sherbet. She whisked Takeo's egg more vigorously than usual and added some soy sauce for flavour. When she broke her own egg into a bowl she cried out; there was a spot of blood on the white.

'What's the matter?' Takeo asked, peering out from behind the barricade of his morning paper. He seemed disappointed. 'It's nothing. Just take the bloody part out.' He offered to eat Sachiko's egg but she had now lost her appetite for it.

'Sometimes eggs are kind of disgusting,' said Sachiko. 'Once, when I was a child, I broke open an egg and out came what was almost a baby chick.' Sachiko took her egg to the kitchen, half concealing it from her husband, and put some seaweed preserves on top of the rice in her rice bowl. The unborn bird had had a whitish beak and huge eyes for the size of its body. The revulsion still lingered and every time Sachiko cracked open an egg she remembered the chick.

'You don't know anything, do you?' Takeo looked at her incredulously. His lips and the area around his mouth were yellow from eating the raw egg and rice. 'There is no chance of getting an egg like that any more.'

'Why not?' asked Sachiko.

'Nowadays they're all unfertilised.'

'How can they be 'unfertilised'?' Sachiko almost asked, then swallowed her words.

There was silence for a while.

'Eggs don't come from country farms any more. So roosters and hens don't peck at their food together in farmyards. Roosters get turned into grill meat and hens are lined up in cages and forced to eat and lay eggs. That's all they do.'

Sachiko wanted to ask if some hens produced unfertilised eggs even when they were with roosters -- but stopped. She had sensed something in Takeo's voice when he began to speak again after the silence, a casualness, a pretended casualness. Takeo always said that they shouldn't hurry to have a family. And if they weren't able to have children, then they simply wouldn't have any. He had refused Sachiko's suggestion that they should both have a medical check-up.

***

The chill of the eggs made Sachiko recall a scene at a china shop near her elementary school. She vaguely remembered she was with her mother, who had come to meet her. Beneath some shelves laden with rice bowls and tea cups was a large earthenware dish containing many eggs. She had picked one of the eggs up and had been surprised at how cold and heavy it was. She was told it was a fake egg made of porcelain, called a 'waterglass egg'. Some hens laid their eggs under houses or in other odd places, and the waterglass eggs were used to show the hens the proper places to lay. They could also be used to get a hen to sit on the eggs of another hen. Sachiko considered her love life with Takeo very good. But because she couldn't bear children, however often they made love, she felt her body must be made of porcelain, like the waterglass eggs.

***

After dinner Hideko, Sachiko's high school friend, came to visit. She was a year older than Sachiko, almost thirty, and had not yet married. She worked in advertising. She already smelled of alcohol when she arrived but wanted more to drink. So Takeo shared several whisky and waters with her.

'Are you all right?' Sachiko asked. Hideko was tossing her drinks back like a man -- unusual for her.

'It's one last fling. I'm drinking because I have to go on the wagon for a while, starting tomorrow.' Hideko laughed, but it was clear she was trying to hide her real feelings. 'I messed up.' Hideko shrugged.

Sachiko guessed she meant she had gotten herself pregnant. 'I'm seeing the doctor tomorrow afternoon to take care of the problem but I need a person to contact in case anything happens to me. I live with my parents but I can't give their names. Would it be OK if I gave them your name instead?' asked Hideko, pressing her hands together as if in prayer.

'It's weird, isn't it? Children aren't born where they're badly wanted and those who don't want them get pregnant,' Sachiko said.

'It's like the lottery,' Hideko agreed. 'The person who has everything draws the winning ticket.'

'That's a strange comparison.' Sachiko laughed, noticing an unusual expression in Takeo's eyes, which were fixed on Hideko's body. Hideko came to see them every three months or so, but now that Takeo knew she was pregnant, he was looking at her as if meeting her for the first time. His eyes shone warmly.

'Well, maybe you two could raise my child,' Hideko said.

'Thanks, but if we adopt a child we'd rather have one we don't know anything about,' Sachiko said without thinking. 'Besides, if there was something wrong with the child, I would hate you, and if the child was perfect, then you would want it back for yourself.'

'Hmm, that's a thought.' Hideko nodded.

Helping himself to more whisky, Takeo was silent.

***

The following day, Sachiko went to the university medical school hospital without telling Takeo. She had to know once and for all whether she could have children. If the examination showed she couldn't, she was prepared to accept the verdict. But she couldn't take not knowing any longer. The doctors said it would take two weeks to get the results.

Sachiko was afraid the smell of the antiseptic lingered on her body. It was as if she'd snuck off to the hospital to have a love affair, and was now on her guard so that no one would guess she had been there.

The examination revealed that Sachiko was capable of conceiving. Her reproductive organs may have been a little under-developed, but all was well, the doctor said. So, I'm not a waterglass egg, not that cold, hard, porcelain egg but a warm, human egg. She was pleased, but she was also upset about past events. For years she had had to hang her head in shame at family gatherings with Takeo, feeling inadequate because she had not yet had a baby. Her mother-in-law and the other relatives spoke as if she were solely responsible. But I'm not responsible, Sachiko thought; if anything, the fault is with Takeo. Could it be that he knew he was the culprit all along?

'You know a man can have mumps without even knowing it. It's unfair that I'm the one who's blamed. Please have yourself looked at,' Sachiko begged.

'I can get a woman pregnant,' Takeo said.

'Have you had an examination?'

'No, not exactly,' said Takeo. Then, reluctantly, as he hadn't really wanted her to know this he confessed that before they married, he'd had an affair with a woman who had conceived his child.

'But anyway, the child was never born.'

'Who was she?' asked Sachiko.

Takeo stretched out his hand for a cigarette.

In her five years of marriage, Sachiko had learned that men smoke when they don't want to talk. They put a stop to things by puffing out smoke instead of words.

'I won't ask her name then. But is it really true?' asked Sachiko.

Through the billow of smoke, he nodded.

Takeo's face was hardly apologetic; it seemed to be boasting that it was not his fault.

***

In the early evening of the following day, Sachiko got off at Higashi Nakano on Tokyo's Chuo Line and climbed the narrow slope in front of the station. After much hesitation, she had made up her mind to come. Her destination was a small bar called The Drop. It had no booths and was so small that the counter and ten patrons on bar stools would completely fill the place. Takeo had once taken her there, saying he had been a good customer since his university days. The mama-san of the bar was a thin, tough-looking woman with long, unpermed hair. She was probably a few years older than Takeo. When Takeo introduced Sachiko as his fiancee, she broke into a smile.

'Congratulations!' she said, banging a glass of Campari and soda on the counter. 'That's great. Really great,' she repeated. 'I'll have a drink tonight. It's your treat, Takeo.'

She acted excited but Sachiko sensed that she was forcing herself. The way she put the glass down on the counter betrayed her. Sachiko had forgotten all about her until she heard Takeo's confession, but then she suddenly recalled the mama-san. If he was telling the truth, then the pregnant woman had to be her, Sachiko thought, although she had no grounds for her suspicion.

The Drop was still in the same location. Its name was the same but the place had been remodeled, and the sign protruding above the sidewalk looked different. Sachiko pushed the door open. There was no trace of the intimate bar of five years ago; it was more like a typical cocktail lounge now. The young bartender slicing a lemon told her that the present manager had bought the place three years ago. He knew nothing of the mama-san under the previous manager.

Reluctant to leave, Sachiko ordered a glass of whisky and water. There were no other customers in the bar. She sat near the window and looked outside. What would she have said to the mama-san had she had been there? 'Is it true you carried his child?' or 'Are you sure the baby was his? Couldn't the father have been someone else?' Sachiko repeated the questions she probably couldn't have brought herself to ask anyway.

The Chuo Line rumbled just below. 'I'm not blaming you. I came on the scene after you and I have no right to blame you. I just want to know the truth,' Sachiko wanted to tell the woman. She couldn't bear to spend the rest of her life wavering between doubt and belief, blaming Takeo for her barrenness. She wanted to make it clear once and for all. The train passed again.

Suddenly someone spoke: 'I've just taken your photo. You looked so nice and I knew I shouldn't, but...' It was a man in his early thirties, about Takeo's age.

'Can I send you the pictures when they're ready?' he asked. The man's camera wasn't at all like Takeo's; it was substantial and heavy. Noticing the way he handled his camera and his clothes, which looked rather like US Army camouflage, Sachiko guessed he was a professional photographer.

'Don't think I'm bragging, but I think I did very well with this shot. I have a hunch I did. Do you mind if I send the prints to you?'

Sachiko thought that photos taken of her in this particular bar were not a very good idea. Had they been in some other bar, it might have been all right.

Seeing Sachiko hesitate, the photographer said, 'Well then, let's do this.' He fished a large datebook from his khaki camera bag, muttering, 'Schedule, schedule, where are you?' and leafed through its pages. Each day was divided into several sections, with appointments written in. He had to be a professional. 'How about if I bring them for you here at the same time a week from today?' he asked.

Sachiko took this bold suggestion in. Perhaps it was the easy way he said it, but she unconsciously nodded in agreement.

***

When she woke up the next day, Sachiko went immediately to the kitchen and took two eggs from the refrigerator. The cold eggs shivered and clicked against each other as if alive, but then became still, looking like a married couple. These were not real eggs, but some sort of egglike things. Even heated up, the two could not produce a child and become a family. Takeo and Sachiko probably had consumed a few thousand eggs for breakfast since they got married. But they only ate eggs; they couldn't produce them. Sachiko had kept her visit to The Drop a secret, and now she felt as if some translucent wall had come between her and her husband. Sachiko wasn't quite sure that Takeo's confession was true. Yet her spirits were up. She wondered if this was because she was looking forward to seeing the photos.

***

Sachiko returned to The Drop a week later. The photographer was already there. He handed her the photos without a word. The woman in the photos resembled her, but Sachiko felt she was looking at a stranger. In some of the photos her eyes were closed. In others, her eyes were half-opened, her unfocused gaze directed upward. In another, she was frowning as if in pain, creating a deep wrinkle between her eyebrows. In all the black-and-white five-by-eights, her lips were partly opened. Sachiko never knew she had such facial expressions. She was embarrassed; her cheeks were burning. How could she have looked like this when she had been thinking about such a difficult problem -- the relationship between Takeo and the mama-san of the bar? The photos revealed an unexpected sensuality.

The man peered into Sachiko's eyes and lit a cigarette. 'Your face looking at the photos is the same as the face in the photos. That's interesting,' he said.

Sachiko blushed again. She was afraid to look at the man, so she fixed her gaze on his fingers holding the cigarette. They were long, thick fingers that tapered at the ends, just like Takeo's, very artistic looking. The thumbs were stubby with square, short fingernails, like Takeo's as well. One time years before, when Sachiko and her mother were warming their hands in front of the heater, Sachiko had noticed how her own fingers and the shape of her nails were very similar to those of her mother. Now her eyes automatically went to the hands every time she met a stranger. Perhaps fingers had some correlation with height. The man, who was tall and thin, probably suffered from indigestion like Takeo, she thought.

'How many children do you have?' Sachiko asked, before she knew what she was saying.

'That's an interesting question,' he laughed, looking into her eyes. 'Just one. Do you mean to say that a man with a child is no good to you?'

Sachiko wanted to close her eyes. 'Oh, no. It's completely the opposite,' she wanted to say. Her question had been unmistakable: Can you get a woman pregnant? She didn't want to break up her marriage. She needed a child to strengthen her marriage. She had no intention of using the photographer to get a child. But she had asked him whether he had children. Did she have emotions and intentions she wasn't aware of herself, just as she had faces she never imagined she possessed?

'Shall we leave?' The man's long fingers picked up the bill. Sachiko walked slowly beside the photographer down the narrow slope along the railway track. The trains on the Chuo Line passed in both directions, packed with people in the evening rush hour.

The man suddenly stopped walking. Scissors-stone-paper,' he invited, gesturing with his hand. 'If I win, let's go in here.' They stood in front of a love hotel.

Tongue-tied, Sachiko just stood there.

'Ready? One-two...'

Tempted by his gesture, she held her hand ready.

Three, Sachiko thought to herself, suddenly running off. Without looking back, she ran straight for Higashi Nakano Station.

***

A month later, Sachiko discovered she was pregnant. A doctor assured her it was true. She had not even held his hand, but she believed the photographer had to be the child's father. Her marriage to Takeo had not been a love match; an old friend had introduced them. She was not unhappy in her marriage, but she had never experienced burning passion either. To get pregnant, did she have to have both her emotions and her body warmed up first -- like eggs?

Sachiko took the photos from the bottom of her underwear drawer and looked at her eyes half-closed in abandonment. Her face in pain, with the deep wrinkle between her eyebrows. Her lips half-parted as if waiting to receive something. This is the exact moment I became pregnant. What should I do with these photos? Tear them to shreds and throw them away? Should I burn them to ashes?

Deliberating, Sachiko dialed the number of Takeo's company; she wanted him to be the first to know. But the line was busy. Before I speak to him, I have to make up my mind about what to do with the photos. Should I throw them away, or what?

'Sorry to keep you waiting. I'll put you through now,' the operator's voice said, but the extension kept ringing. Sachiko thought she would keep the photos. She was certain she would never tell Takeo about them. They would remain hidden beneath her lingerie in the chest of drawers.

'Hello.' Takeo's voice sounded very dear.

'Hello,' Sachiko said, but she couldn't go on. Her eyes were filling with tears.

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